Twenty-Six
Dash
“So what do you think? Feathers out or more inward?”
I flip through a few frames, showing Ammy different versions of our film’s star.
“I like out,” she says, standing behind me. “I think this one—” she points— “makes her look more extroverted and curious. Excited about life.”
“Excited about life it is.” I click the image, and in all the frames we have of Dove, the bird’s feathers transform, perking just a little on her wings, her head and tail.
We’ve only got two weeks left on the film, which means a lot of shit to do. We’re not doing most of the post-production, which is good because I’m in up to my eyeballs capping off the animation and the rendering.
“I still can’t believe how much math there is in this,” Am says. “Geometry. Who knew it would be so useful?”
I snort. “I did?”
“Better you than me.”
Most of Amelia’s writing work is done. Adam, Ashley, and I are here late every night, and on weekends. I stay later than anybody—sometimes until three or four in the morning—and Amelia almost always hangs with me, lately in the guise of being interested in the animation side of things.
“I thought you were interested in the animation side?” I smirk, and she swats my shoulder.
“Did I say animation? Because,” she trails her fingertip down my arm, then moves to my chest. “I thought I said animator.”
She stands between my legs, and I know what she wants. I pull her up onto my lap, then work her hips closer to me, so I can push my dick against her ass.
“I know what I want to animate,” I whisper in her ear.
It’s Sunday evening, so she’s wearing leggings and a longish cotton shirt. I move the shirt aside and reach into her leggings, finding—
“Fuck. No thong…”
She giggles, even as she writhes under my finger. “Just for you.”
I push myself against her ass and rub while my hand works her pussy. I love nothing more than Ammy’s panting little whines which build to moans as I carry her to the cot room, spread her out on one of the cots, and peel her pants down to her knees.
“What if someone comes?” she moans.
“You always say that.”
I taste her and tease her, getting her so ready that her legs, around my neck, start kicking. I could finish her like this, but I want her to come when I do, so I make her wait. I pull her halfway off the cot and flip her over, so she’s leaning over it, her bare ass in the air, her slickness dripping down her thighs, making me want to come before I even get inside.
I wrap an arm around her chest and pull her back against me as I work my way inside. Fuck, she’s tight. She’s always fucking tight, like it’s the first time.
Every time I thrust, she cries out like a porn star. I can feel it building in my lower belly, pleasure tightening my balls. I pump harder and faster, making Ammy jolt and moan.
“Beautiful…” I squeeze her hip. “Who’s my dirty little bird?”
“Me!”
“You like it when I fuck you in the office, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
All too soon, I can’t hold back; I’m coming. I don’t want to pull out when I’m finished. I would stay inside her all night if she’d let me.
She crawls up onto the cot and turns around to face me.
“You’ve got pink cheeks.” I smile as I rub my finger over one of them.
“It’s your fault.” She draws her legs up, folding them chastely. Which makes me chuckle.
I shrug. “Your fault. Leggings. When you’re wearing those things, it’s always your fault.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to be comfortable at work.”
I take her hand and bring it to my mouth, where I kiss it. “You should go home, Am. It’s getting late.”
“I think I’ll stay and read a book while you work.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know, but I want to.”
She slides off the cot and twines her arms around my neck. “Maybe you should come home early.”
“Can’t.”
Her fingertip trails up my cheek and underneath my eye. “You need your beauty sleep, Mr. Animator.”
“Nah.”
But Ammy’s right. We buried Lex two weeks ago. I haven’t gotten decent sleep since before I found out she died. I get an hour or two here and there, but not real sleep.
“Welllll, if you want to talk any time.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You know where to find me.”
I decide to quit working at ten because I’m tired of keeping Am awake. We go to her place, where I sleep the best, and watch The Martian. Ammy falls asleep against my chest, with one long leg thrown over mine. I shut my eyes and try to do the same—but I can’t.
I’ve never had insomnia before, but it’s weird shit. I’m tired, but I’m not sleepy. I spend a long time moving her off my arm onto her pillow. Then I tuck her in and get a shower. I always have this idea that spending time in the shower, where it’s warm, will make me sleepy, but like usual, it doesn’t.
I dress in my boxer-briefs and a pair of men’s pajama pants that showed up recently at Am’s place. Then I get a glass of water and head out onto her deck. The city’s always noisy, day and night. I like that.
I stand by the rail and watch the cars on their parade down Broadway. I try, as I sometimes do, to tell myself that Lex isn’t in any of them. She’s not at her place in L.A., or on a plane, or in a hotel somewhere interesting, like Iceland. She’s gone. Just gone. She won’t be back. I won’t see her again in this life. Maybe not ever.
The thing is…I don’t believe that. Don’t believe that things end here. I shut my eyes and ask her for some sort of sign. I know it’s cheesy and cliché, but I don’t know…I guess I’m fucking cheesy and cliché.
I keep them closed a long time, long enough that I start swaying. I guess I am tired. When I open them, there is a dove there on the rail. A perfect, plump, smooth-feathered dove, exactly like the one I’m animating. She leans her head back, peering right up at me—and I watch her small eyes blink.
I watch her while she walks around the rail and then eventually flies off. Then I curl myself behind Amelia and I sleep.
Epilogue
Amelia
May 2017
“Oh my goodness, what a precious wittle princie!”
I touch Prince Ollie’s tiny forehead and then beam at Lucy, my best friend and his beautiful mother.
“Maybe I’m biased, but I have never seen a cuter baby ever. Look at all this hair.” I run my fingertips lightly over baby Ollie’s wavy, dark brown hair, and he rewards me with a quick show of his dimple.
“Was that gas? It wasn’t, right? He was totally smiling at me.”
“I’m afraid it might have been gas.” Lucy laughs. “He’s still too young to really smile. Just five and a half weeks.”