chapter 14
We stayed cuddled on the couch for probably another hour, the flight halfway through by the time we were appropriately dressed again. Prior to our shared moment, I wanted him to make love to me worse than anything. Now, I was satiated in a way that seemed to transcend my normal urges and compulsions.
It wasn't that I was overly sexual—it was that Jack brought something like that out of me, like he planted a seed in the most fertile ground possible.
I felt satisfied and safe, like I belonged to him as much as he belonged to me. Fact of the matter was, prior to boarding that plane, the biggest thing on my mind was how to deal with the Sam situation, to restructure the muddled pieces of my life. Right now, there was no debate whatsoever, no considerations taking place.
It wasn't that I didn't think about it—it just had no place here.
This was a protected, sacred place, at least for now.
Jack had gotten up and was rummaging in the refrigerator. "Do you want another drink? A snack?"
"What is there?" I asked. "And yes, another gin and tonic, please."
He opened the door wide and showed me—a couple of bottles of beer, and a container of hummus. "That's it, I guess."
"Are you calling beer a snack? That's a first, isn't it?"
"Well, it's got carbs and calories. Why can't it be a snack?" He lifted a bottle and slowly eyed the label. "They don't put any info on there so you won't feel guilty and stop drinking 'em."
"Nobody wants to feel guilty when they're getting drunk. Is there something to dip in the hummus?"
Jack opened a small cupboard, revealing another empty space, except for one thing: "Pita bread. It matches." He gave me a thumbs up.
Success.
My stomach grumbled, but obviously not loudly enough that he could hear it from his position. I'd have to use words to communicate. "Okay, I'm sold. Bring me food, please."
"Right away!"
He tossed the pitas and the hummus onto the couch beside me. "What the hell?" I yelled. "I'm not going to catch food."
"It's not even opened. You're safe. Plus, it's my furniture, and if I want to dump hummus all over it, I will dump hummus all over it."
I fiddled with the twist-tie on the pita bread. "I can't argue with that."
We sipped and ate, laughing constantly during the final moments of the flight. I felt so relaxed, so renewed. Our time together—and this vacation as a whole—was proving to be incredibly useful to my emotional state. I wasn't worrying, wasn't panicking about a damn thing.
"So what are doing here?" I asked. I was mid-bite on an abnormally large piece of pita, chomping until it became something I could actually swallow.
"Some business bullshit. I can take you along for almost everything, though. Maybe a cool party or something too." He had a look on his face that seemed to scream I have a secret. His subsequent quick grab for more pita to occupy his mouth seemed to suggest he was trying to hide a smile.
"Is there something else?" I asked curiously. I swallowed my gargantuan bite and then paused before grabbing more.
"It's a secret," he said promptly. "That means I can't tell you."
"Jack! Why'd you have to tell me at all then?" Knowing that something was coming would only make it worse since I didn't know what it was.
"My lips are sealed. You'll just have to wait."
I shook my head and laughed. Why the hell did I care so much, anyway? "Fine. I guess it'll be more fun that way, huh?"
"Last time I checked, that's how surprises work." He scooted toward me and gave me a hug, entirely impeding my ability to eat. "You'll really like it, I promise."
I rested my head against his chest. I thought of things I wanted to say but realized I probably shouldn't say them. Infatuation was back with a vengeance only like a bee sting this time—and my hand was still deep inside the nest.
***
Not long after that, we were strapped in and landing, pulling into a smaller runway for private planes at LAX. I couldn't believe how incredible the huge, sprawling city looked from the sky. It was breathtaking, especially with slowly setting sun.
We also managed to do the whole time-travel thing due to the time difference. This time, we won, but on the flight back, we'd lose.
"We're going to go to the hotel before dinner, okay?" Jack sat up and reached toward his suitcase. He missed, but his phone buzzed after re-gaining a signal and so he didn't try again immediately.
I nodded. I was thrilled to be here and willing to do almost anything. "Where are we staying?"
'The Hollywood Roosevelt," he said casually, his fingers tapping a text into his phone.
"Are you kidding? Seriously?" The hotel had such a huge history when it came to pop culture and celebrities.
He laughed at me. "I get a discount when I stay there. That's the primary reason why I do. They feature it all the time on those bullshit celebrity news sites as if a celebrity sighting is newsworthy." Jack put his phone into his pocket. "Any famous or successful person is good enough for them."
"If that's all you write about, then I guess it is newsworthy. Does that make me famous by association then?" I asked, my eyes gleaming.
Jack kissed my cheek."Prepare to sign autographs."
"I've been practicing my signature, so I'll be just fine, thanks." I gave Jack a cocky grin and then let him finish.
"Teddy's nightclub downstairs is a hot spot too. We can check it out. You'll probably see some famous people there."
My heart was racing almost as fast as the plane had been flying. I don't think I had ever been more giddy in my life. "Is that the surprise?" I asked again. "Staying somewhere like that?"
"No. It's something I planned just for you. Let's go." Jack stood up and successfully grabbed his suitcase this time. He took my hand and helped me to my feet.
I kept trying to figure out what it was, but convinced myself to let it go after we got out of the plane.
A limo was waiting for us, and so we obviously needed to keep moving. We hopped inside and Jack greeted the driver like they already knew each other. Honestly, they probably did since he used to live out here. Not surprisingly, the driver reminded me of Percy.
After departing the airport, I watched in utter fascination as the city rolled by as we traveled toward Hollywood Boulevard. Jack remained quiet, aware that I was overwhelmed by visual stimuli. I didn't even realize that I had fallen completely silent. I just kept staring and absorbing everything that happened to pass through my vision.
I hadn't been this excited in years. I had just been in New York City a few hours ago, and now I was rolling through West Hollywood in a limo. This was kind of like a dream vacation come true—with the hottest tour guide in the world.
We arrived at that iconic hotel, slowing down as we approached the front. I had seen it in movies more than once, its iconic shape climbing into the sky with lights that you could see for miles. Kind of like a metropolitan lighthouse.
I remembered it first from that dumb Charlie's Angels movie but then also in an episode of Entourage, which Timothy had liked to watch much more than I did. The Roosevelt appeared to be very popular—which didn't surprise me, of course—and my eyes kept excitedly scanning the scenery for celebrities.
"As you can probably tell, we're here." He gave me a wide smile. "I hope it suits your needs, madam," he said in a phony French accent.
"That was just rotten," I said. "Sorry to say it."
"I know." He buried his head in his hands as if I'd really hurt his feelings. His shenanigans ended promptly when the door opened and a couple of guys helped us with our bags.
The lobby was gorgeous, as initially mesmerizing to me as the city had been. I waited while Jack quickly checked in and then we headed up to our room. My eyes profiled every person coming in, desperately hoping that they would be some movie star or famous musician or something. My overactive imagination was actually wearing me out. Just keeping my eyes open had never required so much work.
Done at the front counter, Jack led us toward the elevator. "It's a Cabana Suite," he said. "I don't get the super huge ones anymore. It's just a waste."
"I wouldn't know," I said, following behind him.
"Well, people get rooms that are bigger than a small house. I don't know what we'd do with that much space."
"Start a family?" I asked playfully.
"I think a house would be the better option. I can't even imagine how a kid raised in this sort of environment would turn out."
"I would assume like Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian," I added. "Not that hard to imagine anymore."
"Yeah, you're right." Jack let out a hearty laugh.
We got into the suite—it was big, but not too big. It was like half the size of a house, which was still huge to me. I think his New York Palace suite was bigger than this, but I wasn't sure. There were multiple TVs as well as a gorgeous, wide-open balcony over the pool and bar area that gave me a full, unhindered view of the city.
"I want to just sit out here later, Jack, and look. Can we do that?"
"If you're still up to it later, sure, we can. We might be out late tonight, especially with the time difference." I had forgotten that it was almost ten in NYC right now. "If we need it, we can get a cup of coffee with dinner."
Jack always had a solution for everything.
We took a quick shower—the rain showerhead in the bathroom was incredible; I suggested to Jack that he get one in NYC—and got dressed to go out on the town. Jack had reservations somewhere, but informed me that we could dress casually.
I threw on the most stylish blouse/skirt combo I had, feeling intimidated by the style I was probably going to encounter. My repeated trips back to the mirror set Jack off.
"You don't need to worry about that bullshit," Jack said, noticing my panic as I dug through my suitcase. "You look beautiful."
"I just..." I just what? "I don't know. Everyone is so cool out here. You didn't even try and you look better than me." His low-slung jeans and polo shirt looked impeccable as usual.
He laughed. "How do you know I didn't try?" I was busted.
"Dammit. I don't know. You just said that there might be famous people around and—"
He walked up to me and looked straight into my eyes. "None of that matters. This is a popular hotel, but I'm not as famous as some people and so no one gives a shit about snapping my photo. And you actually look really good, despite the fact that I know you don't believe me."
I took a deep breath and sat down on the bed. My hands settled on my thighs. "You mean it?"
Jack leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "I promise. I caught you off guard with the trip, so now you're over-compensating."
After a short introspective pause, I felt dumb about my tiny outburst. "God, you're right. I'm never this superficial. I don't know any of these people."
"You think Tom Cruise gives really a damn about how you're dressed?"
"Joseph Gordon-Levitt might." I gave him an evil smile. "If he asked me out, I don't know what I'd say."
Jack raised one eyebrow. "Is that right? Maybe you're onto something there. I've got a camcorder and I could film you guys—"
"Doing what? You're such a sicko."
"I was just suggesting that you do an interview with him," he said, obviously lying through his teeth.
None of it mattered, because Jack had successfully distracted me from what was an irrational problem anyway. Sometimes being a girl was hard, so hard that you needed a guy to tell you it was okay.
"We should go," he said, extending his arm to mine. I took it and rose to my feet with him.
I grabbed my purse and took his arm as we walked out to the limo. My eyes were on the prowl the whole time, searching for anyone famous who might be nearby. I didn't even notice the eyes on us as we climbed into the limo. After I was seated, I noticed a few people pointing at the car.
I couldn't lie—feeling like a pseudo-celebrity wasn't bad at all. After weeks or years of this, it might get old.
Our dinner was at an Indian restaurant called Gangadin, a place that wasn't really what I expected for L.A. yet exceeded my expectations entirely.
"I always eat here," Jack said. "It's great. You'll like it." Indian food was fine by me.
The restaurant was smaller than I had expected but great. Right after our appetizer arrived, a seemingly very star-struck college-age guy walked up to our table. He was wearing a hoodie and torn-up jeans
"Hey, you're Jack Teller!" He nervously pointed at Jack as if he were literally driving the point home.
Jack smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that's me. And this is my date, Effie."
I gave a polite smile and an awkward wave. The guy didn't seem that interested in me.
"Dude, your album Feedback is awesome. I've listened to it so many times. It changed my life, really."
Even though this stranger was obviously a big fan, it made me feel stupid that I had never researched Jack's albums, especially since I'd had ample time to do so. I would have to ask him for input later, because I didn't know how much longer I could go on not knowing that part of him.
"Thanks. That means a lot, really." Jack maintained eye contact the whole time, ensuring that the fan felt warm and welcomed. "That was from a tough time in my life, but I'm glad I captured it."
"Yeah, man." He turned back toward his table, where a girl and another guy seemed to be watching him with amusement. "Wow, it's just such an honor."
"What's your name?" Jack asked, keeping the interaction moving.
"Marc."
Jack suddenly procured a pen from nowhere and started writing on his napkin.
To Marc, my ultimate fan.
-Jack
"Don't sell it on eBay, okay?" He handed it to Marc who accepted it as if it were a bar of gold.
"That's so cool, man. Thanks so much." His face oozed genuine gratitude
"It's my pleasure, Marc. I've got to get to dinner now. I can't keep this beautiful girl waiting any longer." He reached his hand out and shook Marc's. "Thanks for the kind words."
Marc was clearly floored by the interaction. "Yeah. Cool, you're welcome." He turned and walked back to his group, looking prouder than ever.
"Jack, you're so full of shit," I said.
He downed a gulp of water and smiled, apparently unfazed. "About what?"
"We've only been out for five minutes and somebody already recognized you!"
"I guess I got lucky," he said, casually running his hand through his hair and looking as superficially cool as possible. "I do get lucky sometimes, Effie."
I laughed and picked up one of the lamb samosas. "I can't believe how well you handled him. That was really nice." After adding some mint chutney, I took a bite and couldn't believe how good it was. The spices were so rich and flavorful.
"Well, thanks," he said humbly. "It's a combination of being polite and efficient. If you're nice in a forward way, it keeps them moving, surprises them. They're nervous as hell already. Takes a lot of guts to walk up to someone you really admire like that."
"That's exactly how I felt with you," I said teasingly. "I was so nervous I spilled coffee all over myself."
Jack's lips curved into a huge smile. "Oh yeah, that. We forgot to order coffee." He shook his head with disappointment.
I was barely paying attention to his obvious body language. "What if he wanted to sit down and eat with us?" I was already on my second samosa before Jack had finished his first.
"I would have said no, obviously. You can draw lines with this stuff." He finished his bite; it made me feel less like of a pig to actually see him eating with me. "I'm okay with him stopping by, but I don't want him to stay all day."
The more I thought about it, I didn't know what to say. How did it feel to have someone tell you that something you poured your heart and soul into changed their life? What was that feeling like? Would I ever feel something like that? I hoped so.
"That must be pretty flattering," I muttered.
"What?"
"That your album changed his life. Why haven't you ever showed it to me?"
He groaned. "I don't much care for Feedback anymore. It was ambitious, but you grow out of that stuff. Every album you make is your most brilliant album ever—until you make the next one."
"Huh." I stared down at the empty appetizer platter, deeply wishing there were more samosas. "Was that album about—"
"They were all kind of about her," he interrupted, ending the sentence with a chuckle.
"Oh." There appeared to be some tension on his face, but I was certain I that I was reading into it too much.
"Have you ever kept a journal?" he asked suddenly.
I dug into my mind. "Yeah, actually. In high school. I wrote down stuff that I thought was important. Pretty stupid stuff."
"Have you ever gone back and looked at it?"
I thought about his question again.
A couple summers ago, I had been cleaning out my room and uncovered my journals under a pile of old homework assignments. I remember gagging as I read my very decorated and pretentious entries about prom and general social anxiety, the loquacious verbiage a product of my tenth-grade AP English course that happened to have an excessive focus on vocabulary.
I couldn't even interpret much of what I was trying to say, even though at the time it had seemed to flow out so freely and clearly.
I could barely make fun of myself since I didn't even know what the hell I was trying to say:
My decision anomalous, I would forego prom and not bore myself with that wretched facade. Prom is merely ephemeral, an event solely for the philistines that only remember it via their facile, photographic evidence. It is no quandary—I will not attend.
God, I was glad that phase passed quickly. I actually did end up going to prom that year, despite my brazen turmoil. No one had asked me yet when I was ranting away in that secret book—a full two months before the event. My fear was entirely premature.
"Oh God," I whined. "They were terrible.
"That's basically what those albums were—journals." He seemed quite satisfied after realizing he had conveyed his message so efficiently. The look of disgust on my face confirmed his success. "Some stuff was serious, obviously, and some of it was just superfluous and over-the-top. Listeners can't tell, but I sure can."
"Well, I did like the actual writing," I said, thinking back to how great it felt to put pen to paper and wind up with strange ideas sometimes. "Did you like your writing process?"
"Of course," he said. "I love my craft. It doesn't mean I like the final result years later, however. And you should write more if you like writing. You're probably really good, especially with how funny you are."
His overly optimistic praise of my ability made me rise to his defense, dodging the compliment. "Your albums are probably great. And they actually affected people. No one ever read what I wrote. It's not a fair comparison."
Jack straightened both his silverware and his posture. "We'll listen sometime, I promise. A listening party, I guess."
"Will there be booze?"
"Of course!" Jack lightly stroked my hand that was sitting on the table. Honestly, I hadn't even realized it was there. His smooth touch felt good, so real. "And you will write more." I nodded to acknowledge him.
Although we were lightly dancing around that dark secret of his, I didn't sense any misery or regret like I had last time.
Circumstances were different. No one had just knocked me onto the floor in a coffee shop.
Chicken tikka masala interrupted our remaining snippets of conversation. "This is way too good," I said after my first bite. We had both gotten the same thing since Jack swore by it. And I was thrilled when he ordered for me. It felt so chivalrous.
She will also have the Chicken tikka masala.
It was so simple, but I couldn't deny how good it made me feel. No one had ever ordered for me before. I blushed a little after he did it.
Jack laughed at me as I struggled with the spiciness. I had gotten mine medium, while he had requested spicy.
"It's more than I'm used to," I said in my defense.
"A little heat never hurt anyone. Good for your immune system."
"So is sex," I said matter-of-factly. "I just read an article the other day."
"Well, cold season is coming up here, so we'd probably better act preemptively."
Dammit. I wished he could take me right then and there, right on that table after we shoved all the platters and everything on the floor like they did in the movies, our raw urges dictating such destruction and chaos. No one would stop us either.
It was just a fantasy.
Right about the time we finished stuffing our faces—we ate a lot, especially given the hummus snack we had on the plane—Jack's phone buzzed. "All right, we need to get going, little lady. We've got a special meeting tonight."
"Is this the surprise?" I asked. "The meeting?"
"Yep. We're going out for drinks." He said it so confidently, his features stone-cold and serious. The way he said it made me giggle.
"The surprise is a bar? Wow, Jack, you just keep blowing my mind!" My sarcasm was borderline cruel.
He flagged down the waiter and got the check, giving up his credit card without even seeing the bill. "There's more to it." He nibbled his own lip slowly, something I had noticed him doing from time to time. It was quite cute, actually.
The bill paid—and the waiter tipped handsomely, of course—we made our way back to the freshly-arrived limo and headed to a place called Bar 1200, part of yet another extravagant hotel on Sunset Boulevard. I didn't know what to expect, other than a surprise, whatever that meant.
When we got inside, it was busy, but not so busy that you couldn't hear anything. Jack punched another text into his phone and then ordered us a couple of Irish coffees to make up for our missed opportunity at the Indian restaurant.
We stood by the bar for a couple of minutes, and I just watched the crowd as if it were the rumbling cars in the subway. Everything was moving so fast, people coming and going and having a great time along the way. It was hypnotic. They were much happier here than in the subway, that was for sure.
"Let's go," Jack said as he smoothly wrapped his arm around my back and coaxed me in his desired direction.
I carefully walked with him toward a quieter corner of the bar, one with a couple of empty tables that had apparently been ignored by the numerous patrons. There was a woman sitting at one of the tables by herself, clad in sunglasses and a hoodie. We sat down at the table next to her.
"Okay, Effie, are you ready?" Jack asked.
I looked all around the restaurant, searching for whatever was about to surprise me; I could find nothing out of the ordinary. Was something about to mysteriously drop from the ceiling? I looked up, but couldn't find any incriminating evidence there either.
"I guess," I said. "Am I going to have a heart attack? I have insurance. Should I get out my insurance card?"
"Maybe." He turned toward the woman at the empty table, her expression distant and apathetic from what I could see behind the sunglasses. She started to look familiar the second I actually looked at her. "Ma'am?" he asked. "It's kind of dark in here, why are you wearing those?"
She pulled off the glasses, and my jaw-dropped—it was none other than Stacy Levons. The combination of her ponytail and large glasses totally threw me off since I was used to seeing her made up in red carpet photos and movies. In my defense, the bar wasn't that bright either. Even without all of the make-up, she looked beyond gorgeous.
They stood up together and shared a brief hug before Jack turned and introduced us. "Stacy, this is Effie. Effie, this is Stacy."
Dammit, Jack, I thought. Of course I already know who she is!
"Effie, it's cool to meet you." I took her hand and shook it, over-thinking the gesture and worrying that I had shaken her hand either too firmly or not firmly enough. They had talked about handshakes so much in my high school career courses that I had grown deathly afraid of them most of the time.
"Stacy, hi," I said awkwardly, desperately trying to sound cool and composed. When I realized this wasn't just a chance encounter and Jack was the one that made it happen, my guard fell. It all happened so fast. "You're actually my favorite actor," I admitted nervously. "I didn't know this was going to happen at all."
"Thanks, Effie," she said sincerely. My heart fluttered a little.
The thing was, although things were going incredibly with Jack, there was just one, glaring problem with everything—I'd get used to being on earth with him, and then he'd do some outlandish, dazzling thing like this and make me forget everything. I didn't even know how to respond. Stacy was just a normal person, and I knew I needed to treat her like that—but I wasn't kidding at all when I said she was my favorite actor.
I had spent years watching her on screen, loving her characters and her artistic, driven approach to filmmaking. She had gone beyond acting and had even directing credits to her name before turning thirty. In many ways, she was very similar to Jack. They had broken up, and maybe that was the reason why. Could two people that intense co-exist without problems, without constant antagonism?
Aside from our first date, I had never really mentioned her to Jack again. His memory was almost inhumanly good. Now I was really wishing that I had asked him for more information up front.
"What do you do, Effie? How'd you meet Jack?"
I cleared my throat and took a sip of that very rich drink. "I work at MCI Music Group in New York. Just accounting stuff. Nothing special."
"I came in for a meeting," Jack said, "and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She almost made me sign with them right then and there."
"Shut up, Jack," Stacy said playfully. "Unless the deal was perfect, you'd never just sign with anyone."
"Yeah, you're right." He gave her a wry smile, an admission of defeat.
Oh, yeah, the deal. I had forgotten about it, but this was not the time or place to start remembering. The alcohol came to my rescue almost instantaneously, smoothing my troubles away and bringing me back to the very pressing matter at hand.
"Well, whatever. I don't really know these things," I said honestly.
"No, no. That's cool, Effie. I was actually an accounting major before I dropped out to go to acting school." She smiled and took a sip of what looked like a dry martini, apparently digging into her memories.
"Really? I didn't know that."
"Yeah, I don't think I was cut out for it." She was being so humble and honest, not something I was used to. Stacy was always great and down-to-earth in her interviews, but this was another level of humility. I mean, give her a script and the resources and she's literally unstoppable.
It was as if I wanted her to be so far above me since that's what my phony assumption was. There was something so surreal about having a basic conversation with a person who, without these very unique circumstances, wouldn't have ever been accessible to you. Like a book on the very top shelf—when there's no ladder to get up there.
"I'm going to run to the bathroom, okay? You two ladies keep this conversation rolling." Jack's constant smile had changed the tone of his voice. I didn't know what to expect while he was gone, but I would just have to roll with it and do my best.
"How do you like L.A.?" she asked politely.
"It's really cool so far," I said. "I've never been here before."
"It's a long trip from the East Coast. It's definitely worth it if you have a guide. How do you like Jack?"
The question actually really hit me off guard. I caught myself before I blurted out something stupid. "He's... he's great." A drink had never tasted sweeter—or comforting.
"He sure is," she said. "He's so talented, too. I definitely miss him sometimes, but our break-up was for the best. Near the end, we only saw each other like once a month or less."
"Seriously?" I asked. I hadn't realized they had become so distant. The tabloids only said so much.
"He's busy and so am I." Stacy's look became distant, her eyes casually surveying the crowd. When she was satisfied, she continued. "He goes on tour, and I'm acting in films and location scouting for my next project. When you're doing that and your schedules don't line up, you spend a lot of time alone. It's even harder when you love what you do so much that you can't give it up, even for someone you really care about."
The thought was scary. Could I deal with him being gone all the time like that? I wouldn't ever want to hamper his creative output, not when he had so much to offer the world. It was so weird to be having a conversation about my boyfriend with my favorite actor. How often did that sort of thing ever happen?
Stop, Effie.
Once again, now was not a good time to do this sort of analysis, analysis that would force me to arrive at these ostensible conclusions, given my inability to really know anything. Jack and I could communicate; I knew that already. The facts in our relationship had yet to be established. We could make it work. I knew we could...
"Stace, did Effie tell you some guy was gushing to me about Feedback at Gangadin?" Jack was back—which meant our private discussion had concluded. He slid into the booth beside me and put his arm around my back.
She let out an almost maniacal laugh. "Really? I know how much you love it when people talk about that one."
All I could do was grin and feel slightly out of place. Why had I never looked into his albums? Well, when were together, I just didn't have the time. And when I was alone or on a break, I was doing my best to not think about him. I guess my total incompetence regarding research did fit into my grander scheme, as much as it felt like, well, incompetence. Thankfully, the conversation shifted away quickly.
"Yeah." Jack smiled. "It's probably like when people talk about The Garden with you."
"Shut up! I needed the money at the time. Besides, it was an 'art' film, not smut."
I started laughing. "That movie wasn't bad at all, Stacy." She had done a nude scene in it, one that had polarized some critics—some of the more conservative ones found it to be trashy or distasteful—from what I had read. The movie was an effort by a self-indulgent director, and she was just doing what was asked of her. "I liked it."
"Jack, what did you really think about that? Me doing a nude scene?" She gave him an intense look, one that was strange but acceptable. Actually, thanks to that movie, we had both seen her naked, something unusual for sure.
Slowly but surely making his way toward an empty drink, he sipped and gave a casual pause. "It was right before we met. And so what? You're an actor and some actors do that. You did it for your art, whether the final picture was cheesy or not."
I started to think about what he had told me, about not telling anyone the full story about his traumatic past. I wasn't going to bring it up, either. His relationship with Stacy had been very different from any relationship I had ever been a part of.
"You and that whole big heartbreak thing," she said. "At least you got some albums out of it."
Jack shared a glance with me, one that seemed to confirm what he had told me in that moment of utter vulnerability. Stacy didn't appear to know the full story, only that he wrote about some girl that was no longer his. His eyes conveyed so much in that fleeting moment, enough honesty and trust to drown me in warmth.
Had their relationship been that superficial? I wasn't sure if superficial was the right word for it or not. Maybe they never really talked about serious things at all.
He insisted that Hollywood couples were different from the rest of us. Yeah, they were regular people, but they also dealing with a whole slew of powerful influences that most of the population would never know or understand. An evening out in an unflattering outfit could spell disaster for the highly sensitive type. Gaining a few extra pounds could put you on the front of a tabloid with some exaggerated headline that could make you contemplate suicide.
What kind of life was that really? Well, it involved a lot of money, at least.
Jack got us another round of drinks—by that time, it was actually the second round he had gotten for everyone—and shortly after he returned, Stacy got up to use the bathroom. As soon as she was out of sight, Jack suddenly kissed me, the intensity peaking as soon as his lips met mine. I kissed him back and ran my hands through his hair ferociously, both because I wanted to and because I was a little drunk.
He withdrew his tongue and nibbled on my lower lip. "Jesus, Effie. I want to f*ck your brains out so badly." His whisper felt like a scream as his fingers made an inconspicuous trip along my inner thigh, approaching a spot that would obviously lead to some serious awkwardness if he reached it right now. He stopped right before arriving, deftly completing his tease. What a jerk!
"I really wish you would," I said weakly, my breath a thing I had to battle for.
"Soon," he said, pressing his lips against mine one last time. Just like that, his composure returned, ready for Stacy's return. A subtle wetness had already spilled from me, but thankfully, it wasn't obvious. God, he could get me going so easily...
Every time it happened, I was just as surprised as the time before it.
"Thanks for doing this," I said, trying to divert my attention away from the screaming urges of my body.
"You don't think it's weird? Some people might."
"She'd be my hero if I were actually into acting."
"You could do it, I think. Remember how well you did that that party with all of the uptight, rich a*sholes?"
"Uptight, rich a*sholes?" I asked. "Like you? Besides, I want to write, not act."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to pick up this tab, Ms. Amateur Writer?"
"I'm not so sure I could. Plus, your credit card is already with the bartender."
"Okay, you win." He gave his cell phone a casual glance, probably checking the time. I hoped that's what it was, because I couldn't handle any more surprises tonight.
"She's really pretty in person, too. I'm not used to seeing her without make-up." It was tough not to feel inadequate hanging out with basically one of the most beautiful people in the world, as declared by more than one celebrity gossip magazine.
His look was distant at first. "I always liked her better that way." After a few seconds, he honed right in on my eyes. "She doesn't compare to you, though. You're f*cking beautiful, Effie. Believe me."
As he spoke those words, my cheeks flushed red and butterflies flooded my stomach. On one hand, I felt that he was full of shit because, after all, this was Stacy Levons we were talking about. But on the other hand, he had no reason to lie to me in such an extreme fashion. "Whatever," I said, trying to deflect what I felt was a very incongruous compliment. "Thanks."
He didn't waver. "You know I mean it. And when we get back to the room, I'm gonna f*cking prove it." Only one word describe his expression—hungry. I really don't think he could fake that expression, no matter how hard he tried.
I cleared my throat and tried to calm my frazzled nerves. "Okay," I whispered.
Jack quickly glanced around, his eyes most likely searching for Stacy. "Do you want to get going soon?"
I realized that I was kind of sleepy—and craving other things pretty seriously now as well. Midnight was fast approaching, which meant it was nearly three in the morning in New York. I felt weird letting sexual urges get in the way when I was sitting here with a genuinely talented celebrity I admired, one who already felt like a real friend of mine.
"That seems okay. Will Stacy care?" I couldn't give up without a tiny fight, even if I actually wanted to lose it.
"Probably not."
She returned seconds later, just missing the conclusion of our very-interesting discussion. "Stace, I think we're going to head out soon. Is that all right with you?"
"Yeah. It's hard to stay out late anymore. I'm getting old, I guess." She gave us both a wry smile.
"Just wait until you're my age," Jack said.
"What, next year?" she asked. "Will it really be that much different than now?"
"I guess not." He smiled. "It was really nice to see you."
"Same," she said. "Nice meeting you, Effie."
My whole feeling star struck thing returned, the ugly monster that it was. "Yeah, you're great… to meet." I mumbled, feeling silly.
She seemed to ignore my slip up. "Shoot me an email sometime, if you want. It's just stacy dot levins at gmail dot com."
"It's that simple?" I asked. "Do you ever get unsolicited emails from fans?"
"No one ever guesses it because it's that simple." She put her sunglasses back into place, completing the minimal disguise. "They probably think my email address is at hollywood dot com or something."
I laughed harder than was probably expected of me, but I couldn't help it. "Or bigstar dot com," I added. Stacy laughed and it reminded me of that fact that I was joking around with a person who I had spent hours upon hours watching on my TV and computer screens. I felt so small yet so thankful.
"We can walk you out of here," Jack said.
She nodded graciously. "Oh, shit. I almost forgot. Do you guys want to come to a party tomorrow? It's all industry people and it sounds really boring if I'm going to be there alone. My agent wants me to make an appearance. Semi-formal kind of thing. It's at this guy's super-nice house. Mostly Hollywood people."
"What do you say, Effie?" Jack's expression seemed to imply that he already knew my answer.
I wasn't about to not jump on the possibility of spending more time with Stacy—and it only took me about a second to realize that. "Let's do it."
"Okay, cool," she said, her expression brightening. It appeared that our interest had legitimately improved her mood. "I'll text you the address tomorrow, Jack. It's in Beverly Hills."
"No problem." Jack straightened out his collar before continuing. "I've got to meet a couple of people in the morning and then we're free." Stacy nodded to acknowledge him.
We walked out of that busy bar together, the night just beginning for most of the crowd. The summer air was so warm and smooth, not muggy and humid like I was used to back home. Stacy snuck away toward a car that was parked in the back of lot while Jack attempted to hail us a cab. "I don't like to do the limo thing if we're going to be out late. I give 'em a break sometimes."
"You don't need to justify it," I said. "You don't have to cart me around in a limo all the time. Cars are okay too."
"I feel like I should, though." He gave me a wicked smile. "Plus, we can get away with a lot more in the back of a limo than in a cab."
"Or we can just wait until we get home," I said, hinting that maybe I was a bit too tired for both limo sex and sex in the room.
"Yeah, or that," he said.
***
I almost dozed off in his arms on the way back; the sleepiness ended as soon as we pulled into the hotel. The nightclub was wild. It was hard to tell if the sounds of the nightclub would creep into our room or not.
"Do you want to go in there?" Jack asked pointing tentatively at Teddy's. Even though he knew I was tired, I appreciated that he was giving me the opportunity.
"Not tonight. Unless you're prepared to face indecent exposure charges." I kissed his cheek, lightly running my tongue along his freshly formed stubble. I didn't really want to mess around anymore. I needed him inside me—now. We had a tacit understanding of what needed to happen next.
This whole trip thus far had culminated in these feelings that were really overpowering me. We strolled into the hotel together, desperately prodding at the elevator button to try to get it to close once we were inside. As soon as it did, Jack's hands were hiking up my skirt and rubbing circles against the most sensitive part of me as he shoved me against the elevator wall.
"God," I moaned, my moans filling the elevator as it starting rising. I had never done anything like this before, and it was thrilling in its own way. He kissed me and stripped away my ability to speak another real word.
I guess this was just his way of proving that he meant what he said...
Was he about to f*ck me here? There was nothing I could do to stop him if that was his intent.
I was so dangerously wet already, my panties soaking up the moisture like a sponge. He was nuzzling the tops of my breasts, his chin pulling down my blouse.
Right when I thought it would go one step further, the elevator dinged and the door opened. We both turned around abruptly. Fortunately, the hall was empty.
"C'mon."
He pulled me into the hall and we giddily sprinted to the room, his hand fumbling in his pocket for the room key. After unlocking, the door swung open, revealing our paradise, the place reserved for just us. Our making out continued as we stumbled into the room.
His erection felt fuller and thicker than it ever had, maybe just because I wanted it more than ever. He kept pressing it against me, but I pulled away, creating some space between our bodies, and began fumbling with his belt.
Any hints of sleepiness had thoroughly departed, barely even memories at this point. Reality was now, right here in this room, his body and mine.
His belt loosened, I unbuttoned his pants and slid my hand through the elastic of his boxers, gripping his cock firmly. I could feel pre-cum that had beaded on the tip, pre-cum that I smoothed all over his engorged head with my thumb and then began to lightly stroke.
Honestly, I wanted him inside of me, but this felt like some sort of ritual of its own, something like inverted foreplay. He could have thrown me down on the bed—well, I hoped that was still on the way—and just started f*cking me like an animal, with no regard to anything other than that raw activity.
His hands cupped my breasts through my blouse, his attention to them almost angry. I pumped slowly down below, listening to his breath as if he was telling me a secret. "Dammit, Effie," he moaned. "I just can't f*cking resist you."
He pulled up my blouse as I kept stroking him, his pants falling to the floor from my efforts. I leaned into him, breathing in his musk, giving his deft fingers access to the clasps of my bra. It fell to the bed seconds after he started, my blouse discarded on top of the clothing pile.
Jack started sucking on my nipples one by one, nibbling and biting, disrupting my ability to please him. I was a mess internally, an amalgamation of pure lust and throbbing curiosity that was going every possible direction. My mind was stuffed to brim with graphic images, images of him coming on my breasts, coming in my mouth, coming inside of me.
Every time those images flashed in my mind, I could only look into his imagined eyes, couldn't break that contact and watch his seed as it spilled against me.
F*ck.
My core was wild with desire, the tingles of pleasure forcing me against him, straining to get as close to him as possible. He hungrily kept at my nipples, my hands fleeing from him momentarily and instead unzipping my skirt and dropping my panties. When I was fully exposed, I pushed him back, my hands immediately tugging at, and unbuttoning his shirt.
He took the cue and finished the job while I dropped to my knees. No, a blowjob to completion wasn't my ultimate goal—but tasting him right now was. I was practically shivering with want as I wrapped my lips around that pulsing tip and sucked it clean, that flavor of pure manliness overwhelming my senses. I could smell how riled up he was, that musky Jack-ness something I had grown so familiar with.
I took him into the back of my throat, narrowly avoiding my gag reflex. After returning to the tip, I spiraled my tongue there and then pulled away. Licking, sucking, so wet and warm.
"God, you're so cruel," he growled. "And f*cking naughty."
I leaned toward him and peppered his belly with small kisses, my hand stroking, my eyes adoring his member and his perfect, lean physique. His pubic hair was perfectly maintained, hair that was almost pillow-soft. I felt somewhat conflicted about what to do next, but then I was certain I knew the next step, knew it beyond a doubt.
My body gave me the answer.
Jack took advantage of my inaction and pushed me onto the bed, onto the small pile of my clothes. I didn't care, because I couldn't stop then. He started to kiss my inner thighs, approaching my * that I had so painfully disregarded while pleasuring him. My mind suddenly jolted me back to reality before he went any further and I totally lost control.
"No. F*ck me now." It came out like a growl, the words from some primal part of my brain I barely understood.
"Sure." He reached toward his bag and his arm returned with a condom.
I swatted it out of his hand. "Not tonight. I need to feel everything. All of this." My chest was heaving out of control.
"Goddammit, Effie. I can't believe what you do to me."
My legs spread wide for him, his eyes hungrily surveying that part of me reserved just for him. I caught that twitch in his lip, that gentle excitement that said so much. He was riled up and ready, his erection beyond powerful.
He rubbed his cock against my slit, the moisture almost overbearing by this point. I had never been so wet in my life. His tip pressed right against my *oris and I almost blacked out right then and there. But I fought because I needed to feel all of this.
Back and forth he grazed that tender flesh, teasing, but with forward momentum. He was rocking his hips, the motion so seamless and smooth. I knew he'd enter me at any moment, but I wasn't certain when that moment would be.
I closed my eyes and arched my back, hiding in the blank space of my mind, using my tactile abilities to the fullest instead of my eyes. And then, I felt that marvelous hardness parting me, that width that made my fingers dig into the bed and clutch, as if I were preventing a fall from the edge of a cliff.
"Jack," I moaned. He was filling me slowly, inching inward, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest. He was so big it hurt at first—it was almost as if he had gotten larger since the last time we had sex—but then the pain subsided as quickly as it had arrived. It was like a delicate blend of flavors, the ache that sweetened the pleasure.
My walls clenched him, accommodating him like there was no better place he could be. I opened my eyes to see that look of ecstasy of his face as he reached the hilt. He was all the way inside of me now; I could feel him everywhere, physically and mentally.
"I'm going to f*ck you until you pass out," he growled.
I melted into his intensity and he began frantically pumping, giving everything he had to this moment. I flexed and contorted, sometimes following his lead, sometimes losing track and disrupting the flow.
His shaft ground against my * with every movement, his angle perfect and consistent. I watched his muscles flex, his body a perfect f*cking machine. My fingers crept toward my nipples until they were tweaking, the sensation the perfect complement to his intensity. Pleasure was trapped deep inside of me, raging in every direction and seeking an escape route.
Jack forced his hips against mine, holding my legs spread and moving his torso over mine. He paused for a second and then took both of my hands and pinned them against the bed with his own. I was trapped there with him, held down by his magnificent urges.
"You're gonna f*cking come for me, Effie." The look on his face was like rapture.
"I know I am," I stammered.
He started jack hammering into me, the world becoming a blur. My ears were ringing while my vision seemed to fog up, as if I had been wearing glasses in the dead of winter and just stepped inside a sauna. I couldn't touch myself, couldn't escape him at all. My breasts shook against my chest with every thrust, every movement that he gave exclusively to me.
I was climbing toward that peak, climbing with him perfectly. I writhed against that bed as the sounds of sex continued to fill the air.
And then I crossed the line. The air rushed out of me, my voice filling the room immediately with screams of ecstasy. My heart was in overdrive, my nipples hard enough to cut glass. Jack was groaning, pushing himself toward that point so we would share it together. So it could be ours.
"Godammit, don't stop!" I was raging inside, the world an almost forgotten concept. "I need to feel you come!"
His back tightened and then he groaned, the sound like a prayer. "F*ck!" he screamed out, the word so raw and desperate. His hands clenched tightly against my wrists—and I could go nowhere. Perfect.
Release spilled into me, jolting me up into another orgasmic peak. Nothing was between us this time. It was just him and me, Jack and Effie. His seed went deep into me, my p-ssy gulping up everything he could offer. I felt every twitch of that unfiltered, raw sex happening right inside of me.
I had wanted this—and it had turned out to be exactly what I wanted.
The sight of him continued my frenzy of bliss. His scrunched features, his closed eyes, his sweat-stained forehead. He kept me held there against the bed, all his. My orgasm just wouldn't seem to stop.
His hips continued to f*ck his release into me until finally we were spent together. I could feel him softening inside of me, his body relaxing in waves. Everything about me felt tingly and new. He released his grip on my wrists.
Jack collapsed, my body breaking his fall, kissing me, cupping my breasts again like they were shaped exactly for his hands. He touched me all over, his fingers just gazing the surface of my skin. I felt so savored, so appreciated.
"You're f*cking beautiful, I mean it. Once I start looking at you, I can't stop."
I didn't know what to say. I kissed him again and again, as if doing it repeatedly would make something different happen. He was the first man that had ever done that inside of me, the first man I’d ever given my whole self to.
"Thank you," I whispered. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"I know," he said jokingly.
We both smiled and cuddled in the afterglow. And despite my former fatigue, we made love one more time before falling asleep.