He thwarts my efforts when he steps in every direction I try to lean, blocking my view until I give up, turn it off and lift an eyebrow his way. I catch the wisp of a smirk, but he smartly flattens it and puts on an earnest face, hands on his hips.
揑 mean it. I didn抰 think. I didn抰 even want to stay long and I think I assume that everyone else is miserable at those things like I am. I should抳e invited you, and I promise I will next time. Maybe then I won抰 be so miserable. I抦 sorry, Farley Amalie Jones.?
I make a sound in the back of my throat. 揇on抰 use my middle name, that抯 cheating.?It makes me feel all feminine and lovely, which makes the reptilian part of my brain want to follow it up with a burp.
And then the avatar currently operating Meyer抯 body gets on all fours and begins to crawl towards me. I抦 unable to look away. 揥-what are you??
He folds his hands in front of him, sitting up on his knees. And then he juts out his lip in the saddest, most pathetic pout I have ever seen. 揚lease forgive me,?he flutters his eyelashes.
I can抰 help it, I snort nervously. He抯 so ridiculous and unlike himself. 揧ou must need food. You抮e acting loopy. Why didn抰 you eat at the party??
揑t抯 Hollywood, there抯 never enough food at those things,?he replies before he resumes his pouting and phony lip quivering.
揊ine.?I move to get up, and he wraps me in a hug from his knees, almost knocking me back over. My hands flap at my sides, his cheek against my belly button. And instead of patting his shoulders like a normal hug from any other normal human in this position, my hands both go to his head, cradling it, nails lightly scraping against his scalp. It抯 a lovers embrace, not a friendly one. It抯 so at odds with how we normally are together, hovering like opposing magnets, unable to touch梐ctually avoiding it. He went and flipped on me sometime today and forgot to warn me. I feel myself cracking.
I grapple for a segue, any segue. 揢hhh I抣l only make the s抦ores if you cut a deal, though,?I come up with.
He抯 frozen, we抮e frozen like this, his arms crossed and resting just above my very clenched behind. Ovaries can抰 make sounds internally, right? Like how a stomach growls? His ear is pressed so close to them. I can practically feel my eggs screaming in tiny cartoon voices, 慦e抮e in here, sweet virile man! Save us from this would-be spinster she-devil! Let us not waste in vain!?揧eah??he replies.
揧ou take a selfie with me, and you let me cut your hair,?I say. Maybe that will cover me as far as why my hands seem to be touching it in such a proprietary manner. Hazel hates his hair in this longer, scruffier style anyway. I personally think he could pull off a bowl cut if he wanted to so it makes no difference to me.
揂re you plotting shaving my head or any other nefarious act of revenge??he asks warily, his deep timbre vibrating through my core. I swallow.
揘o,?I feign a laugh, my own voice coming out a full octave higher, 搄ust clean it up a bit.?
揂lright, I can do that.?He takes a deep breath and I panic-part away from him, shuffling back to the kitchen.
He follows me, continuing to hover while he inspects every ingredient and measurement that I combine. He抯 clearly suspicious, stopping mid sentence to say things like, 搊kay wait, how much of that??and 揾ow long did you mix that then? And that went in first??He leans back into the counter on his palms, head angled my way while he continues to watch me work, as he shares anecdotes from the party, some of the drama from the show that he抯 neglected to apprise me on. Tales about entitled celebs and their insane demands. I抦 more interested in the smaller, pettier gossip, though. The set designers clashing over a wallpaper, the sabotage and food stealing wars. He nods to the bowl with a frown when I抳e stopped working, when I turn my full attention to him in shock after hearing how one sound tech paid for Ubers for a week just so he could leave his car in the designated spot reserved for his work nemesis. 揂lright, alright. Patience, My-guy.?
I distract him just enough to maintain my secrets. I ask him to go move my clothes to the dryer for me so I can quickly add the browned butter I抳e discreetly made. And when I pull them out of the oven finally, I ask him to open a bottle of wine so I can grab the flaky salt. I grab a healthy-sized pinch before I close the cupboard and start to sprinkle.
揥hat the hell is that??his voice sounds, inches from my ear. In my panic, I throw the salt over my shoulder. 揊ee??he growls. I turn around slowly. There抯 flakes of salt stuck in his beard and the front of his hair. 揥hat. Is. That??My jig is up.
揑t抯 just salt, okay??
揧ou never included that on the ingredients list.?
揘o??
揘o!?he parrots.
揥ell you抎 think you would have seen it on the bars themselves, Meyer, it抯 not exactly hidden,?I say with an undignified eye roll.
揧ou抳e been keeping this from me!?
揑t抯 salt, Meyer! Not exactly groundbreaking.?When I meet his eyes they're crinkled, suppressing a laugh.
揧ou didn抰 want me to have the secrets, did you??he teases, squinting at me. 揧ou wanted me needy, begging for it, didn抰 you? You抮e high on power.?
Sweet salmonella, why does that idea make my stomach drop to my toes? I shove a bite of the dough I抎 reserved into my mouth to hide my shock.
揂ww, Fee. Don抰 worry, I抣l still be desperate for your treats, whether or not I have your secrets.?I go white hot and cold in an instant.
揧-You don抰 need to. You can absolutely make them on your own now. Save me the trouble. It was an honest mistake Meyer,?I try and shrug, all false bravado.
揝ure,?he replies playfully.
揊or real, have you checked your blood sugar? You抳e been especially weird all night.?I point the spoon at him accusingly and he laughs, taking a massive, gooey bite.
揧eah yeah. We taking this selfie before or after my grooming appointment??
揂fter. And really, though, what抯 gotten into you??
He shrugs once, a quick toss of his shoulders. 揗aybe it is my blood sugar,?he frowns.
揧ou know what, maybe it抯 me. Maybe I抦 finally having an effect on you. Maybe I just make you feel younger.?I smile with all my teeth and mime tossing my hair.
He feigns a gag, but then replies, considering. 揗aybe??He cants his head to the side with a squint, leans a hip on the counter next to mine.
揑 know you have some kind of influence on me and how I feel, that抯 for sure. I don抰 know if I抎 describe it as younger, exactly. Maybe lighter. You make me feel a little less weary.?
Blood flees my head in centrifugal motion and I stand there, mouth suspended in a little 搊攨 Because isn抰 that the dream? To have a heart that抯 less burdened simply because of who you share it with?
揂nyway.?He propels himself off of the counter, clearly not suffering the same profound moment that I am. 揕et抯 get this cut done. You抣l save me from needing to use another babysitter night.?
This was a mistake of epic proportions. Cutting his hair has my fingers on it, in it, and on him. It抯 wickedly intimate. It抯 his eyes cataloging me as I circle him. It抯 me bending, leaning forward into him to keep the lines straight. His breath ghosting against my wrists or my face.
揗eyer, do you ever think厰 I can ask. I should ask. 揇o you ever think about meeting someone? Do you try? I realize I抦 kind of a selfish friend, that I never ask.?
He looks down, considerate again as he folds his arms across his broad chest. Jesus, he抯 getting broader, somehow.
揑 guess, sure. But I feel like I抦 just now starting to get a hold of my life again and of myself. Like I抦 just starting to break the surface, reaching calmer shores, sun breaking through the clouds, whatever kind of analogy you want to throw at it. So, I抦 not putting pressure on it. I抦 feeling厰 he sighs 揾appy, with life. Anything else is an added bonus. And dating when you have any kind of fame is?complicated, believe it or not.?
揙f course. That makes sense.?That抯 why he hasn抰 dated, not because he harbors something for you.
揟hank you for this,?he gestures up to his hair as he takes off the sheet. 揥ant to watch Survivor? Maybe it抣l motivate me not to eat the entire tray.?
揙kay. Good idea.?
I end up falling asleep during the show, and don抰 remember to take that picture.
When I remind him the next day, I get a photo message back of him leaning over and grinning toothily next to an open-mouthed and passed out me. The photo is from the couch, though I woke up in bed this morning with no memory of walking myself there.
23
NOW
揈go is hilarious - especially the vanity of a comedian. As soon as you see one start worrying about how cool he is or about how many stadiums he can fill, he stops being funny.?- Ricky Gervais
MEYER
揝trip it down.?I say.
揋ladly, but Lance and Bob are, like, right around the corner,?she replies.
揓esus,?I mutter under my breath when the mental image of her stripping is immediately conjured, abs going tight. Point, Fee. My eyes dart over to her satisfied expression as she leans back in her chair.