Rouse Me

by Crystal Kaswell

  “I'm fine,” I say.

  “Are you sure? We have a bunch of crap. Water. Tea. Coffee.”

  “Maybe a coffee.”

  “Alyssa was just leaving,” Ryan says.

  “She can leave after her coffee,” Luke turns to me and offers his hand. “I'll walk you out.”

  Ryan frowns. Before I can make much of it, Luke leads me into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  The office kitchen is small, and the promised coffee is from one of those single-cup machines. Luke loads the machine, adding exactly the right amount of water. My heart beats faster and faster. I swear I start sweating. I shouldn't be alone with him. It's not appropriate.

  Especially when he's so fucking handsome.

  “You were amazing in that film, Mahogany,” he says. “You stole every scene you were in.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You must hear it all the time.”

  “Only occasionally,” I say. It's not like I go anywhere where I would hear it. It's not like I go anywhere where anyone would recognize me.

  “I remember when it came out. I think Ryan had just started dating you. And he was bragging about how gorgeous and talented you were. But he hadn't seen it. So I told him, and—fuck, you probably got the short end of the stick on this one. I told him that you do a strip tease in it.”

  “Well, aren't you a fucking instigator,” I say with a laugh.

  “Did he throw a fit?”

  “He wasn't pleased.” Ryan is never happy about any love scenes. God forbid a role call for nudity.

  “Sorry, but the look on his face… God, he was so jealous. I thought he might punch me.”

  “Oh, please. You did it just to annoy him. You would have worn a black eye like a badge of honor.”

  “Maybe.” He laughs. “Probably.”

  “That's why you insisted on making me coffee, isn't it?” I ask.

  “Well…”

  “Well?”

  “I've been dying to meet you for a while.”

  “Are you saying that because he might overhear?”

  Luke shakes his head. “I was hoping you'd be a bit more…”

  “Vacuous?”

  “Show off.” He brushes his hand against mine for no particular reason, his eyes locked on mine, studying me for a reaction. I bite my tongue to keep from blushing. He's touching me on purpose.

  “It's not because you're blonde,” he continues. “Or because you're gorgeous. And not because you played that slutty cheerleader.”

  My heart beats faster. He thinks I'm gorgeous.

  “And not because all actors are idiots.” I offer.

  He nods. “I couldn't imagine Ryan being with someone smarter than him.”

  “Than he is,” I correct him. I brace for an eye roll, but he smiles, his big, brown eyes lighting up.

  “I'm jealous. I've never been with someone who corrects my grammar.”

  “Ryan hates it.”

  “Fuck Ryan.”

  He hands me the cup of coffee and points me to the packets of cream and sugar. I dump one packet of sugar into my cup—one can't hurt—and take a long sip. His eyes are still on me, big and wide and full of enthusiasm.

  I feel breathless again. My heart beats faster and louder.

  “I should let you get back to work,” I say.

  “You can stop by anytime. If Ryan won't see you, I will.”

  “You're really after that black eye, aren't you?”

  “Well, it would be a badge of honor,” he says as he walks me to the door.

  His hand brushes against my back and, once again, my body surges with electricity. What would his hands feel like on my bare skin? What would they feel like on my ass or my chest or between my legs?

  ***

  I arrive home to an urgent email from Corine. All her emails are “urgent,” but this is interesting at least. It's a breakdown of the show and an audition scene.

  Model Citizen is a single-camera comedy by writer Laurie House. After burning every bridge in the modeling industry with her drunken antics, Marie Jane gets out of rehab and moves in with her stuffy sister.

  Marie Jane: female, mid 20s. Pretty but worn out. A fun-worshiping party girl with no desire to stop drinking. She must suffer through hours and hours of community service while trying to get back on top.

  It sounds cute enough, even if it's a bit cliché. I can play a woman like Marie Jane, and I can use my reputation as a practically has-been actress to my advantage. Not that I'm famous enough to have much of a reputation.

  I spend the rest of the night studying the scene. Marie Jane has just arrived at her sister's place, and she is dead set on ogling the hot 17 year old boy across the street. She is dead set on convincing the hot 17 year old boy he wants to fuck her. She could not care less that he is only 17. She could not care less that it will ruin her sister's reputation.

  It's a scene about desire. And, if I want to impress the casting director, I need to find the desire, the thing I want more than anything. I try to think of Ryan, of our first night together when I was desperate for him to think of me as more than a friend. But it doesn't work. That was a sweet, dull want born out of companionship. This Marie Jane is not a companionship kind of girl. No, she's a jump in headfirst, fuck-me-now-or-I'm-going-to-scream-fire, the word “reckless” is not in my vocabulary kind of girl.

  I try to channel my thirst for the part, but it's not enough. That's a strong need, but it's sensible, more or less. I need something that could consume me. Something that could destroy me.

  Something like Luke. Not that I want him. But what if I did? He's my fiancé’s business partner. Anything between us, even a kiss, would be bad news. It could destroy my life. It could destroy his business. He is handsome, yes, and something about him is so appealing. It would make sense if I wanted him, and it wouldn't be wrong. A want is just a want. It doesn't hurt anyone.

  What did the call sheet say? Marie Jane is fresh out of rehab. So it's not so much that she wants this 17 year old kid. She wants an escape, something to make her forget who and where and what she is for 15 minutes. And what could be a better, more self-destructive escape than fucking your boyfriend's business partner? Would there be any better way to ruin your life without resorting to drugs or alcohol or binging and purging?

  Chapter 3

  The days before my audition are painful and slow. Ryan comes home late every night, and he goes straight to bed. In the mornings, he's glued to his computer, clearly uninterested in discussing my acting career.

  All day, I practice. I read my lines until I can recite them backwards and forwards. And I use Luke as a trigger every time. I shouldn't—I'm going to feel so tempted when I see him again—but I can't help it. No one else works, and the thought of him rouses something in me. I can't describe it. I can't even think about it. I just need to get through this audition and never think about him like that again.

  The morning of my audition, I am a nervous wreck. Ryan senses something is different, but he doesn't say anything. He only warns me he'll be home late again as he kisses me goodbye.

  I agonize over my clothing for hours. Skirt or shorts? It should be something low-cut, something showy. She's a showy kind of girl. But she'd never worry like this. She probably slaps on whatever outfit she finds on top of her suitcase. She probably does her hair and makeup in the car, flicking liquid eyeliner across her lids at red lights. But I'm not so good at liquid eyeliner. It takes me three tries to draw a straight line.

  I check the clock. Another two hours until I need to leave. I try to relax, but watching TV doesn't help. Reading doesn't help. Playing games on my phone doesn't help.

  Might as well leave early.

  There's no traffic on the road. I get to the production office an hour early and hide out in my car. My stomach is butterflies and it doesn't respond to deep breaths or slow sips of water. This isn't a normal audition. It's a chance to get the fuck out of the doldrums of my boring, housewife to be life. It's the dif
ference between long, lonely days doing nothing and a career. I had a career once, and it was going well. I was on TV, a second lead on a cable show, but it was still TV. It paid well. And, better yet, I loved it. I was in movies, a bunch of tiny movies with limited releases, but still they were movies, and I had a few starring roles, and I totally killed it with my performances.

  I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can do this. Can I do this? Fuck, can I actually do this?

  I can leave. I can drive back to the condo and spend the rest of the day with my Kindle. I won't have to lie to Ryan. I won't have to convince Ryan. I can do it. I can leave. The condo is safe. It's quiet. I can't get hurt there. I can't be rejected there. I can't fail there.

  But I have to do this, even if I'm going to fuck it up.

  I get out of my car and walk to the entrance. It's all so familiar. White walls, beige carpet, air conditioning on full blast. An assistant sits at a desk in front. She looks up at me, only vaguely interested by my presence. “It will be a few minutes,” she says. It's an important enough audition that no one else is here. They're probably not seeing many people. My odds are good.

  My odds are too good. What if I fuck this up? How will I forgive myself?

  I wait at an empty desk, reading over the script, whispering the lines to myself. Fuck. I am so rusty. But I have to fake confidence. I have to get this part.

  A door down the hall opens. I can hear some pleasant conversation, but I can't make out the details. It's probably some other actress, some other audition, some other meeting. The assistant looks up at me. “Alyssa Summers, right?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “They're ready for you. It's the second door on the left.”

  I nod, thank you, and walk down the short hallway. Deep breath. I try to slip into my best smile, my best attempt at Marie Jane. She is fun, charismatic, fearless. She is an amazing train wreck, all instinct and need. I can play that. I can get this part.

  The room is drab and gray, empty except for a long table and two women behind it. One looks like a casting director—a woman in her 40s, in a sensible suit, serious look on her face. The other I recognize from her IMDB page—it's Laurie House, the showrunner. She's younger than I expected, in her early 30s maybe, black, with curly hair and big red glasses.

  “Thanks for coming in,” she says, incredibly cheerful. She makes small talk and asks a few basic interview questions. Where are you from? What's your favorite TV show? How do you approach a role? Who inspires you? I try my best to answer honestly. Truth is, I've forgotten all my canned answers.

  The casting director nods to me, “Let's take it from the top of the scene. I'll read with you. Whenever you're ready.”

  I turn around and prepare. I try not to resort to my trigger. I try to picture the hot underage kid standing in front of the window, enticing me with his perfect body. There's a sexy, off limits escape in front of me, and I need it. I need him. I've never needed anything more than I need him under me.

  But it's too generic. I don't feel anything. If I really want to nail this, I need to think of Luke. I need to harness that feeling in my body when he touched me… God, how did he make me feel like a nervous schoolgirl? How can I want him so much when I barely know him?

  But Marie Jane barely knows this hot kid. All she knows is that she wants him. And all I need to know, all I need to feel, is how much I want Luke.

  So I close my eyes, and I let the desire wash over me. When I open my eyes, I am not Alyssa Summers. I am Marie Jane and I want this hot kid. My only concern in life is convincing him to fuck me. Everything in my life will be perfect if I can kiss him and touch him and ride him until I come.

  I recite my first line and lose myself in the scene. By the time I finish, my heart is thumping in my chest. My legs feel weak. I can't remember the last time I wanted something so much.

  “Thank you, that was great,” Laurie says. “We want you to hold your availability.”

  Fuck. Are they really considering me?

  Does that mean I have a chance?

  Does that mean I have to figure out how to tell Ryan?

  I nod, “I will. Thank you,” and step towards the exit.

  “I really loved you in Mahogany,” Laurie says on my way out the door. I hear the casting director scold her for such personable, unprofessional behavior, but I still take it as a good sign.

  ***

  I take a walk around the marina—our condo, well, Ryan's condo really, is in a big, modern building on the water—but it doesn't help me calm down. I can't wait any longer for his permission. I'm so close. And, even if I don't get this role, I need to go back to acting. I need to have a life again. I need to feel again.

  Ryan will call at 7. He calls at 7 every night, to make sure I've eaten dinner. Maybe I can keep him on the phone long enough to ask about this.

  Or I could ask him now. I'm close to his office—his building is across from the water, less than a mile from the condo. I'm far too casual, but I need to do this now. He'll forgive the interruption. Hopefully.

  Or do you want another chance to see Luke?

  I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress as I enter the building. This should be easy. Ryan loves me. He is strict, but it's because he is looking out for me. He protects me. He takes care of me. He's not going to take away the only thing that makes me happy.

  Is he?

  I check in with the legal secretary. She looks at the schedule and tells me, “Mr. Knight is in a meeting,” as if I am not on a first name basis with my own fiancé.

  “When will he be done?”

  “He's very busy tonight,” she says.

  “Tell him it's important.”

  She shoots me a pained smile and pops her head into Ryan's office. I hear them exchange a few words—he's clearly annoyed—and the assistant returns to me.

  “Mr. Knight will call you at 7:00, as usual.”

  “I can wait here until he's done.”

  “You should wait at home,” she says with a glare that couldn't mean anything but you don't look like you belong here. I guess it could just as easily mean what does Ryan see in someone as pathetic as you? Or Ryan would be so much better off with a smart, sensible, professional woman like me.

  “Fine,” I say. “Do you have any idea when he'll be finished?”

  “He has a lot to do,” she says.

  I grit my teeth. I will not snap at this woman. I will not roll my eyes. I will not tell her to go fuck herself. It won't help my case.

  I only say, “Fine,” and squeeze my purse on my way to the door. Ryan could easily step out to have a conversation with me, but no, he has work, precious, important work.

  What difference does it make? He's going to say no. There's no way he'll let me do this. There's no way I'm ready for this kind of freedom.

  I hear footsteps behind me. Could it be Ryan? Is it possible he changed his mind and tried to grab me before I left? No. It's not possible. Not in a million years.

  “Fancy seeing you here.” It's Luke. I turn around and I take a long look at him. He's in jeans and a V-neck, his t-shirt hanging perfectly off his shoulders. Jesus, did he become more attractive since I saw him last?

  “Hi,” I say, and I try my best to keep my eyes on his eyes. Only his big, brown eyes are as appealing as his chest and shoulders. My heart beats louder. My mouth goes dry. But it's nothing. It's only because I used him as a trigger in my scene. I don't really want him like that. I don't really want to fuck him. Right?

  “I meant to tell you the other night—you were also amazing in Surrender.”

  “You watch a lot of pretentious indie crap,” I say.

  “Miss Summers, you underestimate me. My mother was a film historian. I watched some of the most pretentious crap ever put on screen.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Are you familiar with French new wave?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “It makes Citizen Kane look like Transformers.”

  “And you'd rather watch su
perheroes save the world?”

  “No,” he says. “I like mysteries. And,” he laughs at himself, “court room dramas.” His eyes connect with mine. Jesus, his eyes are amazing—the darkest of browns, big and full of life.

  “Are you heading home?” I ask.

  “I was,” he says. “But seeing as how we're both free… Ryan's an asshole for ignoring you, by the way.”

  “I can't argue with that.”

  “Maybe we could have dinner.”

  “I don't know if that's a good idea.” No, I know it's an awful idea. I'm still keyed up from my scene. If he so much as kisses me on the cheek…

  “Come on, it's on me. Well, on Lawrence and Knight.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Please. I'm dying to have a conversation with an interesting person.”

  He can't mean me. No one thinks of me as an interesting person. Pretty, charming, agreeable, sure. Fun even. But interesting?

  “Ryan wouldn't like that,” I say.

  “Ryan doesn't like anything except getting more billable hours.”

  “Yeah, but he's a little…”

  “Boring?”

  “Jealous,” I say.

  “It can be our secret.” He smiles. God, that is a million dollar smile. I shouldn't go. At the very least, I should let Ryan know. But he does get jealous and he does overreact…

  “Okay,” I nod, and I press the call button. Luke's hand brushes against my back as we step into the elevator. Jesus. I hope he keeps touching me.

  Chapter 4

  We sit at a corner table at a cozy hotel lounge. It's a nice place, gold and orange from the decorations and the sunset bleeding through the windows.

  A waiter drops off our drinks. Tequila on the rocks for me. A lime green margarita for Luke.

  “Don't look at me like that,” he says. “It's a skinny margarita.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What were you doing at the office?” Luke asks.

  “I needed to see Ryan.”

  “For a quickie?”

  I laugh, nearly choking on my drink. “You got me. I do it all the time. I wait until you leave. Then, I creep into Ryan's office, strip to my bra and panties, and climb on his lap.”