She knew all of this. And yet—seeing Chelsea push her breasts into Axel’s airspace made her quiver with a desire to step in there, put her hand on Axel’s arm, or his ass, to press into him and stake him as her own. Her man. Her mentor. Her partner.
What if he did meet with Chelsea? Would he have the same heated conversations about sex and spankings, about the motivations of his characters? Would he tease her with his eyes and his words, threaten to toss her over his lap, give her that same exotic mix of alarm and arousal that would summon the character’s motivation to grow in her mind and heart? She wanted all of the flirting and teasing to be with her and for her only.
It wasn’t fair, sure, but fuck fair. It was how she felt.
“And then Mark and I cut off our pinky fingers and fed them to our hamster,” Martin finished. “Cool, right?”
“God, yes, you guys are the best,” she rejoined without thinking, then a beat later, “Shit. I’m sorry, Martin.” She flushed.
He punched her arm. “You weren’t even pretending to listen. Look, if you want to fuck him that badly, just do it.”
“Who?” But she knew who. She turned red.
Martin made a show of rolling his eyes. “Who. Right. Not the guy in the corner newspaper stand with the mustache and the weird mole. Please.” He looked meaningfully at Axel.
“It’s not like that,” she protested, looking around. “Keep your voice down.”
“Oh, like nobody else notices the tension between you two? Nobody cares who you fuck. Who any of us fuck, for that matter, as long as the play is good. You rock your role and get us good reviews? You can sleep with the entire Cubs team if you want. Hell, we’ll drive them to your house and help them undress.”
She couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter. “Oh, that’s a really appetizing thought. Should I put a number dispenser by my front door? Or maybe have someone come by with a tablet and give them a line number. Or, no! I got it. Like at a restaurant. They can all have a buzzer and it will light up when it’s their turn.”
“Batter up!” called Martin. “Oh, foul balls. You need to shower first, man. Next?”
Cleo giggled. “It would give second base and home run the appropriate meaning for sure.”
But then Axel looked over and their eyes locked, and over Chelsea’s intrusion and Martin’s jokes, the spark flared between them, the thing that had almost devoured her the other day in the woods, and she caught her breath. Yeah, she wanted him. And she was pretty damn sure he wanted her, too.
“Just be careful,” Martin warned, his voice serious, “that you don’t mess things up, Cleo. People are tolerant of success. But if you ruin things by getting involved with him? Fuck up the play? Now that could burn you hard and cause gossip you can’t easily recover from, you know?”
She nodded, uneasy, understanding just what he meant. The artistic world was free and easy in one sense; a place where people were open to all genders, sexual orientations, cultures. People were expressive and exotic; hookups were common, sex wasn’t frowned upon, necessarily, as long as it didn’t affect someone else’s career.
But people could also be hard and catty, violently devoted to malicious gossip and innuendo. An affair could either be shrugged off, no biggie, or it could become a stumbling block for future career moves, if someone decided she was ‘difficult to work with’ or ‘preferred to sleep her way to the top.’ The same affair could be ‘a beautiful relationship’ or ‘whatever’ in other circumstances. She took a deep breath.
“I know,” she said, feeling oddly deflated. “I know.” She bit her lip.
Axel was still talking to Chelsea, focused on her face, and Cleo pointed offstage. “Walk to get our stuff?”
As Martin followed her past the dusty curtain that smelled of dust, wood, and the age of a thousand performances compressed into the thick red fabric, she added, “We’re just doing some extra mentoring. You can tell people that if they ask.”
Martin touched her arm. “I don’t plan on telling anyone anything. I’m just saying, be careful, that’s all. You know?” His face was solemn.
She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She watched as Chelsea followed Axel backstage, and her heart dropped. Yeah, she’d gotten ahead of herself with all of that exuberant passion. Of course he was going to do the same thing for Chelsea. She tried to shrug off the feeling of distaste, thinking of Chelsea sitting across from Axel in the slouchy bucket seat, maybe asking the very same questions Cleo had about spanking, about domestic discipline, about kink.
Chelsea would probably ask in the same tone of voice, too, have the same expressions. Cleo suddenly felt very naïve, dumb, and worse—repetitively boring. How many times had Axel been forced to explain these things to newbs? Probably a ton. By now it was probably just a routine for him, or even boring, although as an actor himself, he’d hide that. Instead of being fresh and new to him, Cleo was only that to herself. To him, she was just a clone of every other eager actor/fan/girl who gushed up at him adoringly with a mixture of trepidation and desire.
In any case, there was no mention of Cleo staying after today for special training, even though Axel had said ‘every day.’ So when Laska asked her to get coffee before heading home, she said yes.
* * *
“So this is really cool,” Laska said, her eyes bright. “My patient who was born in the Philippines? She cooked traditional spring rolls for me and the entire office! God, they were delicious. My thighs said thank you to her personally today, that’s how delish they were. My ass asked her for more.”
“Are you supposed to eat food that patients bring you?” Cleo laughed. “And does your ass diagnose patients, too?” She forced herself to focus, because the other half of her mind was still on Axel, wondering what he and Chelsea were doing right now.
“My ass is very smart,” said Laska. “She tells me when it’s time to exercise and when it’s time to get new pants. No, but about the food? It’s up to our discretion. I’ve known her for years. She’s a great cook. She owns that restaurant on Clark.”
“Tell her to bring some to our next rehearsal,” suggested Cleo. “Also, does she make chocolate cake? Just asking.”
Laska laughed. “The thing is, she probably would. She’s so generous and nice.”
“Why don’t we have someone here who brings yummy food?” Cleo complained.
“Come on, what are you whining about? Didn’t Martin offer to share his kale-celery juice with you just the other day?” teased Laska. She dunked her croissant into her coffee. “If you’re hungry, get a croissant, like me. Here. Look at all the flakes. Don’t they look like fish food?”
Peering over at the thin, delicate scraps floating on top of the hot coffee, Cleo had to agree. “Yeah, you’re right. You need a goldfish in there to come snap all of those up.”
“New drink idea,” said Laska. “Goldfish Surprise! New twist on your daily protein drink!”
“Whether you’re a fan of raw fish or a PETA protestor, there’s something for everyone here at the MoonBeans Café!” announced Cleo.
The two laughed, then Laska asked, “So… what’s going on with Axel? Today went so well. You must have had another good talk?”
“Well, yes, I guess it was good,” said Cleo, pleased that the topic had turned to what was already looming in her mind. She added, her words coming a little faster, “Uh, interesting fact. When you left the other day in the woods, when we were running? He was there! So we sort of raced together and, you know, talked. Oh, and was your patient okay?”
She ducked her head to look at her coffee, then snuck a look back at Laska.
“Baby boy, eight pounds, mom and baby healthy,” Laska replied. “And so what did you talk about, might I ask? I’m only interested because your face is a very special color of pink.”
“What did we talk about?” Cleo bit back a little smile. “Stuff. Pink is healthy, Laska. Good blood flow. You’re a doctor, come on.”
“Uh huh.” Laska winked. “Stuff.
” She made air quotes. “Blush-worthy stuff needs to be further discussed. Spill.”
“Play stuff.” Cleo lowered her voice. “Also, some personal stuff. Swear you won’t tell anyone?” She leaned in before getting a reply. “He’s kinky. Like, really kinky. The stuff in his play? He really does that, in real life.”
Laska shrugged. “I know.”
“You know?” Cleo sat back and tilted her head. “How do you mean, you know?” She frowned.
“Everyone knows! It’s like, common knowledge. Wait, you didn’t know that about him?” Laska sounded incredulous.
“No!” Cleo felt silly and more curious than before. “I didn’t. I knew he was a former skier and stuff, but I never asked about his sex life. How do you know that about him?”
“I don’t understand how you can live in this world and not know that about him. It’s like, living your life not knowing there’s a moon in the sky. Or not knowing that raisins are really tiny desiccated roaches in small red boxes. God.”
“Apparently I missed the memo entitled, Facts About the Sex Lives Of Your Bosses. My bad.”
Laska giggled. “You ignorant bitch. Pay attention, okay? No, seriously. The guys on the painting crew were talking about it the other day.”
“Really? What did they say?” Cleo leaned in, rapt.
“Just that rumor has it that he’s a sexy kinky dominant guy. Some ex-girlfriend blabbed to some web-based tabloid a few years ago. It’s not earth-shattering news, or anything, so not front-page material. Not like Kim Kardashian’s ass. But if you research him, you can find it.”
“Ha. Interesting. Did they talk about his exes, at all?”
Laska shook her head. “No. Why, did you hear something juicy?”
“When we were running the other day, he acted like he’d been burned in the past. I was just curious.”
“Well,” Laska pulled her phone out of her purse, “let’s ask our good friend Siri to help.”
She cleared her throat. “Siri, please find the ex-girlfriend of Axel Masters, the man who my bestie kind of wants to fuck.”
“Stop!” said Cleo, in a mixture of giggles and alarm, as the well-modulated voice replied, “Searching for Axel Masters.”
“Hmm.” Laska scanned the results. “Okay. I don’t know if this is the most current thing, but it looks like a year ago he was engaged and then it was broken off. She was…” She scrolled. “Alyssia Hart? I feel like I know that name, somehow.”
“Let me see that.” Cleo grabbed the phone. “Alyssia Hart, like, the real one?” Her voice was incredulous. “She’s a singer.”
To be sure, a picture of Axel on a beach was embedded in the text, his arm around the singer, her blonde curls mussed from wind and sea salt, her body delicious and provocative in a tiny white bikini that perfectly set off her tan skin.
“She’s kind of famous, Laska. She made some Top 40 hit last year after being featured on The Song, that television reality show where they pick new talent? That song with the birds and bells. It was on all the radio stations for a while.”
Laska shrugged. “Oh, yeah. I heard that. It’s all right, I guess. I didn’t love it. So is she really a big star now?”
“Uh, yeah.” Cleo paused to think. “She’s making bank.”
“Let me see what it says.” Laska took the phone and perused the screen. “Star-studded wedding bells may soon be ringing for Alyssia Hart, singer of the hit release ‘Steamroll My Heart’ and Axel Masters, American’s favorite bad-boy former downhill Olympic skier and winner of the blah blah blah… let me skip ahead. A close friend of Alyssia told us that he proposed on a recent trip to Aruba. The two have been romantically linked since before Alyssia shot to fame. But this is from, like, over a year ago.”
“Guess that wedding never happened,” said Cleo, feeling relief, but also disappointment at the fact that he was associated with Alyssia, even in his past.
“Her loss,” announced Laska, “can be your gain. At least ten inches of gain. I’ve checked him out and he’s packing the big gun.”
“Oh, my God.” Cleo rolled her eyes.
“You know you did it too, the first day. We all did! Those pants, right? Jesus. Even the straight boys on the crew wanted to fuck him. And all of us married women put him right at the top of our list.”
“Star-studded?” Cleo stared at the phone, as if looking at the picture would garner more information. “That really doesn’t sound like him at all. He’s so private, you know? Gruff, fierce. He just doesn’t seem all that social and into stars and stuff. I didn’t even know he was so, you know, connected.”
She wrinkled her nose, feeling inadequate and a little dumb. “If he’s dated people like Alyssia, he’s probably friends with rich and famous people, too. I thought he was more, regular. Like us. I mean, not regular, but not so connected, and high society and whatever. That means that I don’t…”
“You don’t what?” Laska raised her eyebrows.
“Never mind.” Then, she frowned. “Have a chance.” This was worse than seeing the expressions of all the women in the crew watching the video of him skiing. Those were at least normal women, like her. But a star like Alyssia? That was so much more impossible to match.
“Do you want a chance?” Laska’s face turned serious. “I thought we were joking here. Do—wait, you really like him?”
“No, I don’t really like him!” Cleo shook her head. “That would be a terrible idea. I mean, he’s my boss. You can’t sleep with your boss. It’s death to your career. Martin already lectured me. Right? Plus, he’d never really be interested.”
“Yeah, it probably wouldn’t be the best idea,” agreed Laska, eyeing Cleo curiously. “I mean, unless you think there’s something real there. Conflict of interest. I mean, if you guys argue now about your acting, imagine if you were dating. That could really fuck up a relationship. Or a role.”
Cleo tried to smile, but suddenly—without warning, her eyes filled with tears. Alarmed, she wiped them with her finger. “Yeah, it sure could.”
Laska’s eyes softened. “Oh, Cleo. I don’t know about this.”
“I don’t either.” Cleo sighed and pushed her cup away. “He’s really sexy, okay? But we are working together. Plus, if he’s used to people like Alyssia Hart?” She pushed the phone with her index finger. “I couldn’t get him.”
“Why wouldn’t you? You’re prettier than she is,” argued Laska, “and more talented. And probably much, much nicer. I bet she’s a cunty whoribitch. I mean, she must be, right? All of those singer people are.” She waved her hand dismissively.
Cleo snorted. “She did modelling before singing. And now she’s touring. Also, I heard she’s going to enroll at Harvard.” She bit her lip. “She’s probably like a girl genius, and he’s still in love with her.”
“Well, they’re not together,” pointed out Laska. “So technically, he’s available.”
“He said he doesn’t date. He just fucks around.”
Laska coughed on her coffee. “Not those exact words. You’re lying.”
“Pretty close! He said he just does… arrangements. He’s not looking for love.”
“Nobody thinks they’re looking for love,” scoffed Laska. “That’s just the moment when it hits them. It’s like Zen enlightenment for the uninitiated. Bam! You stop wanting it, you stop looking, you get it. So, did he, like, ask you… to arrange?”
“No. Besides, he knows I’m not kinky. He’d think I’m boring.”
“Everyone’s kinky!” said Laska brightly. “At least a little bit. You don’t have to get all cray-cray insane with him and dress up in a latex suit and let him whip you. Just, you know, have a little fun.”
“Do you?” Cleo’s voice held a challenge.
“Do I what?” Laska sounded wary.
“Get kinky with your husband. With Derek.”
“Well, since you ask, I mean, a little bit. Sometimes.” Laska’s face turned red, but she continued, lowering her voice, “We do a little spanking now a
nd then. I got really intrigued when I read those books, and he was up for it. It’s really a lot of fun. I mean,” she added quickly, “we’re not into it, into it. Nobody’s going to be building a whole Red Room in our house. But playing around in the bedroom has really spiced things up. I bought some new things online, too, to use together? All I can say is, wow.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“You crazy woman.”
“Happy woman,” corrected Laska.
“But he doesn’t… hurt you, or anything? Right?”
Laska shook her head. “Of course not. It’s all about new sensations, trying fun things, and only doing what you both like. There’s a big difference between sexy games and injury.”
“No, I know that, of course! That’s common sense. It’s just. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It seems so different.”
“If he’s a good guy, he can get as kinky as you want, and then stop when you want. Anyone who pushes you to do something you don’t genuinely want to do? Someone who forces you past your own limits, or beyond sensible life limits? Asshole. Avoid. I don’t get the feeling that Axel’s an asshole.”
“Not in that sense, no,” agreed Cleo. She did instinctively trust that Axel would have the skill and experience, as well as the kindness and generosity, to make any sexual experience fantastic; he wouldn’t push in a pervy aggressive way.
“So back to Axel—did he indicate that he wanted to get together with you, like seriously?”
“No! He didn’t even do that. He’s flirty, and all. But I think maybe it’s just him motivating me for the part, which—admittedly—needs to have that vein of sexuality running through it. I think he’s smart, getting me all worked up so I do better in the job, and then we all win.”
“I don’t know. He wants Martin and the rest to have that vein, too but you don’t see him going after them with his blood draw kit.”
“I think we’re good with analogies now,” remarked Cleo. “You get to blood, and I start to get ready to pass out, ‘kay?”
Laska giggled. “Good thing you have a doc as your BFF.”
“Yeah, like that helps. You never give me the good drugs for free.”
His Firm Direction Page 6
