One More Time

by Laurelin Paige

  I ignore it.

  Walter texts seven times a day, so I ignore him too.

  Finally, finally, we pull up to a gated community, where the guard checks my ID—and my boobs—before waving us on. When we pull up in front of Tanner’s house, I’m floored. The massive Spanish-style home is a far cry from the bungalow we’d shared together back in the day. It serves to remind me yet again, that he is in a very different world than he was ten years ago.

  Do I fit in this world of his? Is that why he wanted to take it day by day, because he’s not sure yet?

  He greets me at the door, shirtless and smiling, and my worries melt away. How can I feel insecure when this tall, gorgeous man is waiting for me?

  Inside, I drop my bag and embrace him. “Your house is insane,” I tell him. I know, intellectually, that he’s worth millions, but seeing it in person is still amazing. The kid I knew back then on the brink of seeing all his dreams come true has now realized every single one of them.

  “Let me show you around,” he says, picking up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “After all, you’re going to be spending an awful lot of time here.”

  “Let’s go straight to my favorite room first,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me to an ornate set of double doors at the end of a hallway across from the living area. When he flings them open, I squeal.

  “Your own theater!” Everyone has their own idea of what success means to them. When we would lay in bed and sort through Tanner’s post-Jet scripts, chatting about the things we wanted—wanted to do, and wanted to be—he always said he was going to have a home theater. It would have a full bar, a concession stand stocked with his favorite things—smoked almonds and rice crackers, hummus and baba ghanoush. He’d host viewing parties for all his friends, so that the ones doing Lifetime movies could see themselves on a big screen, the ones shopping their student films around could show them to his new friends with small production companies, and everyone could enjoy the pleasure of throwing spoons at The Room any time they wanted.

  I spin around, taking it all in. There’s red velvet curtains, chairs, and loveseats, the bar in the back, and a full-sized refrigerator that I assume is probably more convenient than an actual concession stand if you don’t want to walk back and forth from the kitchen a bunch of times.

  Overwhelmed, I kiss him until we fall onto a loveseat.

  “Did you get yours?” he asks when my head falls to the side so I can kiss down his neck. I know what he’s talking about. When Tanner met me, I had all the free things I could ask for. The hottest looks before they even touched the runway, invitations to premieres and restaurants and boutiques. There’s no better way to get buzz than to have beautiful people linked to your brand. I had an apartment I liked just fine that I almost never saw because of my crazy travel schedule.

  No, I had all the physical things I could have ever have dreamed of. My barometer of success was a secret, something I never even told Tanner.

  All I wanted was more of a concept: home.

  I had the furniture, I had the art, but I never had the feeling. I thought I was getting it when I moved in with Tanner, but it only took a few months for me to lose it.

  Now it’s starting to feel like it’s within my reach again, but I’m still not ready to share.

  “Almost,” I whisper in his ear, gazing at the goosebumps I raise on his arms as I do. I suck his earlobe into my mouth, loving the way he responds.

  “Is this the first room we’re going to have sex in, then?” he asks.

  “The first?”

  “We have to christen my house,” he says, plucking the straps of my tank from my shoulders so he can shimmy my shirt down to enjoy my bra. It’s red, and matches his theater, which makes him smile.

  “Oh, yeah?” I unbutton his shirt as he slides a thumb under my bra cup to pinch my nipple.

  “And then we’ll have to christen yours, of course.” He pulls my breast out to suck where he was just touching, and I arch toward him.

  “Of course,” I say. I give up on his buttons and relax back, letting him feast on me.

  A phone rings. We ignore it. It rings again, followed by his cell.

  “I’m sorry.” He pulls back, but groans when we break contact.

  “No, I get it.” And I do. We wouldn’t have a theater to christen if he wasn’t popular. He answers the phone and mouths “my agent” at me, walking out of the room to talk. I pull my bra back up and take in the theater again. It really is amazing.

  And when I’m with him, I really do feel like home may not be a place after all, but a feeling.

  “Good news and bad news,” Tanner says, walking back in. “Good news, we get a week in New York where no one cares what celebrities are up to. Bad news, we have to leave right now.”

  “Oh, Tanner!” I can’t believe the shitty timing. “I can’t go to New York, I literally just booked a guest role on Karma Kills. Like on the way over here. And it shoots all week. What are you doing, do you have to go?”

  “It’s Saturday Night Live,” he says.

  Well, yeah, he has to go.

  And fuck. I wish I could go with him.

  “You were hilarious last time,” I tell him, not too proud to admit that I watched his episode multiple times. “Who’s the musical guest?”

  “Nick Ryder.” I throw myself back in the loveseat and make a dramatic pose.

  “He’s my favorite! This is so unfair. How will we christen the house now?”

  “Do it without me.” I know the look on his face right now, and it’s dirty. “Finish the tour while I’m gone, and christen them solo. Send me pictures, playing with your pussy in every room.” I’m wet already, and the idea of teasing him for a week alleviates just a little of the anxiety I feel about how this relationship will work if we’re forced to be apart so soon.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “That’s my perfect girl,” he says, dropping a kiss on my head and getting back on the phone to make travel arrangements. I pull out my phone, too, and text Walter. Having Tanner gone just as soon as we’ve landed is convenient for my bestie, for sure. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen his face, and I owe him a long conversation. I text:

  In-person catch up Saturday, SNL slumber party at my place?

  He doesn’t even bother to respond with words, just a string of booze emojis. Looks like I’ll survive the week after all. But there’s still something I haven’t done, something I need to do now. So as Tanner walks out the door, I call after him.

  “I love you.”

  18

  Tanner

  New York City is grueling any day of the week, but it’s totally brutal when you’re prepping to host Saturday Night Live. The minute I touch down at JFK airport, I’m getting e-mails and calls from the writers about sketches and jokes and whether or not I can sing or dance or tap dance. The host of SNL gets in deep with the writers and cast. I’ll be sitting in on pitch sessions and have to be available to test out ideas. I might even get to write a skit if I want. It’s exhausting.

  It’s also one of the most fucking amazing things I’ve ever gotten to do. And I’ve gotten to do it twice now. I’m a lucky man.

  It would be more amazing if Jenna could be here with me, but this life is a lot of watching each other do cool shit from afar.

  By day two I have been hunkered down inside the offices at Thirty Rock for what feels like a month, but it’s just Wednesday, late afternoon. Things are going well so far. We’ve got a solid cold open down and enough sketches to take into the first pitch session to the executive producers tomorrow. That means I may actually get out of the building before ten tonight. Not that I know what I’ll do with myself once I’m free. Every hour I spend away from Jenna makes me realize how much I want to be with her every second of the day. I’m making a total fool of myself with these writers because all my suggestions for skits involve Janner, and I spend all my free time on my phone with her. I’m probably coming off like a real lovesick dickhead.
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  Well, that’s because I am a real lovesick dickhead.

  We break for dinner way earlier than usual, which means six pm instead of eight-thirty. I head into the cafeteria to make a plate and see if anyone is talking about an evening plan. The writers will probably hang to work but there will be cast or crew members that will probably invite me out for a drink. I should go just so I don’t end up back at my hotel watching crap TV.

  Still, I’m not really in the mood for going out. I miss my girlfriend, and that makes me shitty company. Besides, if I just head to my room, maybe we can Skype, or watch the same movie while we chat on the phone.

  I run into Kevin, the line producer, en route to the sushi station. They don’t skimp at SNL, which is always nice. “Hey, man,” he says, “Any interest in a beer? Some of us are hitting the club.”

  I consider it for a moment, wondering if I ought to just go and stop mooning around. “Nah, thanks, though. I’m going to get back to the hotel early tonight so I can make sure I talk to my girlfriend before I hit the sack.”

  “Girlfriends,” Kevin says. “They’re good with those short leashes.”

  I smile and shrug, but I’m not complaining about my leash.

  Then he asks, “So you and Jenna Stahl are officially back together?”

  He has to ask because I haven’t specified that fact. I now realize that I’ve talked about Janner, but I haven’t said anything about Jenna and I being a couple again. And I really shouldn’t, not without talking to her, seeing as I was the one who said we should take it slowly as far as the public goes.

  I’m so caught off guard that I respond by bumbling, “Well, I don’t…we just…ten years ago we were…you know…everyone knows, but now. I don’t know. We’re figuring it out.”

  “Oh. Okay. Cool,” Kevin replies with a very confused look on his face. And then he slips away.

  I don’t blame the guy.

  I instantly realize how dumb I look and sound, and more importantly feel. Why the fuck have I been keeping things so wait and see with Jenna when I know how I feel? We’ve said we loved each other. I’ve loved her years before we arrived on that film set together. And now I’m going to play games? This is exactly the kind of bullshit that ruined my relationship with Jenna the first time around, and I don’t want to do that shit anymore. I don’t want to wait and see.

  I want to put a ring on it.

  Holy shit. I want to marry Jenna!

  The minute I allow myself to think that massive thought, another idea pops into my head. I look down at my watch. It’s just after seven. I do a quick Google search to find out if I can make it where I now know I need to go ASAP.

  Yep. Still open.

  And then I walk right up to the director and say, “I need to run an errand. I’ll be back.” I don’t wait for a reply. I’m playing that diva actor card I hate, but it’s totally worth it.

  Fifteen minutes later I’m standing in front of the diamond engagement rings display at Tiffany & Co. on Fifth Avenue. It’s the flagship store, the one from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, one of Jenna’s favorite movies of all time. For our first Halloween together she went as Holly Golightly in her sexy white button down shirt and eye mask get-up, and I was Paul Varjak in a vintage suit Jenna snagged for me at a costume shop. That night Jenna had said, with a wink, “If I ever get engaged I want it to be with a diamond from Tiffany’s. The real one.”

  She probably never thought it would take ten years, but better late than never. Especially if you have the chance to get it just right.

  “Tell me what you’re looking for, sir,” the shop girl says to me. She’s young, maybe twenty-five, and has the kind of trendy style that makes me think she’s up on her magazine reading. And that makes me think she knows Jenna Stahl.

  And probably me.

  “Hi,” I say, deciding to just lay it all out there. “I’m Tanner James.”

  “I know,” she says with a smile. “It’s an honor to have you in, Mr. James.”

  I’m relieved that she’s a professional and not fangirling the way some people do when they meet me. “Tanner, please.”

  “What are you shopping for today?”

  “An engagement ring,” I say, and her face lights up.

  “For Jenna?” she whispers.

  Damn. I’m suddenly worried about the paparazzi. About this salesgirl letting word slip about what I’m doing. Just my luck, TMI would blow my proposal before I got a chance to pop the question.

  The girl in front of me seems to sense my concern. “Don’t worry, Mr. James. Uh, Tanner. I would never tell anyone about anything you purchase or who it’s for. Not only would I lose my job, but I also wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

  “Thank you.” I have a feeling she’s telling the truth, but I’m not going to throw all my faith in the stranger—I’ve been burned before. I realize it doesn’t matter, though. Jenna knows not to believe anything TMI says anymore. It will still be a surprise.

  So though I don’t say Jenna’s name, I don’t correct the salesgirl. “Do you think you could help me find something just right for her?” I ask.

  “Oh, I know I can.” Immediately, she starts opening cases and pulling out rings.

  It only takes us twenty minutes to find the perfect option. The third ring Jessica, the shop girl, tries on is a vintage-inspired stunner called The Audrey.

  “Boom,” I say. “That’s the one.” The perfect ring for my perfect girl.

  “Yep,” she replies. “That’s the one. I just showed it to you third and not first because people are weird about buying the first thing they see. I guess it just takes some people a little longer to decide on things.”

  “Story of my life,” I say.

  The look on her face tells me she knows exactly what I mean.

  I start to walk back to Thirty Rock with a little Tiffany blue bag in my hands and what I’m sure is a dumb-in-love look on my face. Two blocks in I realize I should probably hide the bag, as well as my smile, in case any paparazzi are lingering on Fifth Avenue. I definitely want to surprise Jenna, and the longer I take to propose, the harder it will be to keep it secret. Besides, I don’t think I can sit on this for very long. I want to do it soon after I’m back in LA. And I want to get back to LA as fast as humanly possible.

  The next morning, I call my agent’s office and have them change my flight from Monday to first thing Sunday morning. There’s a six am flight out of JFK that will get me into LAX at nine AM. Jenna lives fifteen minutes from the airport, which means I can get to her before she’s even out of her pajamas.

  If I’m lucky and she’s having a lazy morning, I can just slip right into bed next to her for some wake-up sex. I’m dying for it after a week away from her, and I know she’s got to be too.

  With a ring purchased and a decision made about our future, I’m more anxious to get done with this trip than ever. The next few days seem to move like molasses, but finally, it’s Saturday night. I text Jenna before we go live, and she shoots back a sweet good luck message along with some dirty talk that boosts my ego and helps me feel confident when the cameras start to roll. I’m sure it’s partly because of her that the show goes off without a hitch.

  After we wrap, Jenna texts me another message telling me how good the show was. I want to talk to her, but I don’t want to let on that I’m coming home early. Plus there’s the after party to go to. I send her a quick text back, telling her I love her, then I head over to the club.

  The cast stays out until three in the morning, and I grab my luggage from the hotel and go straight to the airport after that. I’m going to be tired when I get home, but I’m going to be with Jenna, and if I have to spend all day in bed, well, so be it. Though, with her in bed with me, I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll be catching up on.

  She’s all I think about as I sit on the five and a half hour flight back home. About touching her, being inside her. And then about more serious things, like our future together and about popping the question. The diamond
in my pocket feels bulky and I can’t stop patting my hand over my jacket to make sure it’s still there—no way was I leaving it in my luggage, out of my sight. The longer I wear it, though, the more I long to see her wearing it.

  I should just do it now. Why would I wait, anyway? To make it more special? What’s more special than a total surprise?

  By the time I land, I’ve made up my mind. It’s happening today, the minute I walk in the door.

  I work on my proposal speech in the cab over to her house. I change it a million times because there are so many things I want to say to her. Too many things. I decide I’ll tell her that this is coming ten years too late, but that I’m glad we’ve had all the time to become better people for each other, me especially. I consider stopping to get some flowers, but I’m dying to get there before Jenna even steps foot out of bed so I abandon that and tell the cab to drive like hell. I’m holding the ring box in my hand for the whole car ride.

  I’m ready.

  I step out of the cab and take a deep breath. It’s nine-thirty am. This is it. I’ve never felt so sure of anything.

  Jenna gave me a key when we got back to LA from Vancouver, so I let myself in as quietly as possible. She’ll hear me if she’s already up, so my plan is to just pivot to a proposal out on the patio. But I don’t hear a sound as I enter; she’s still asleep.

  Perfect.

  I carefully put my bags down in the foyer and take another deep breath. For a second I wonder if this is the right decision. Not because I don’t want to propose, but because I want it to be the right proposal. Will Jenna be mad that I’m doing it without talking about it first? I said we were taking it a day at a time. Should I warn her first? Hint around? Should it be more special?

  Maybe I should call her and tell her I’m coming in early, then meet her for dinner at Joe’s in Venice tonight. That might be a more romantic location. Is this the way our engagement story should go?