Ashley
Send.
Perfect. How am I supposed to get ready and be loving and seductive today when I feel like a bag of trash? A sticky, wet bag being torn by shards of glass from the inside pouring yucky mess all over the carpet. Take my picture now. Fuck. Is that all I am? Is that how people perceive me? A pretty thing to be fucked and chucked. Never caring to scratch beneath the surface. Too scary. What if garbage starts pouring out?
But what if it doesn’t? What if I really am interesting and smart and emotionally attached to concepts, ideas, and other people’s motivations? What if someone can love me for my neurosis and care beyond my accomplishments? Is there someone out there who’ll love me if I’m ugly and all I do is sit on a rock? Probably not, because then I’d be a barnacle. How could anyone love a barnacle? Marine biologists probably do.
Okay, I am not going to envy a barnacle.
I pack a duffle bag with a few necessities for the day: water bottle, power bars, shorts, sunglasses, toothbrush, toothpaste, and money. I feel my eyes tingling.
No crying. Self-pity is so unattractive. It’s loathsome. And today you have to be gravitating. To Mikal, at least, and the photographer. Red eyes are not going to do it.
I pull a hat down low and take the sunglasses out of the bag and put them on my face. A quick glimpse in the mirror before heading out the door. Perfect, I match every other Hollywood star and wannabe, hiding tragedy behind shades and a ball cap.
I take the elevator up a floor and walk to Mikal’s room. One deep breath and opportunity knocks. Perfection answers in jeans and a Georgia Hoyas T-shirt. The blue faded one I borrowed the week before.
“Hey you! What’s with the getup? Undercover today?”
“Sort of, kinda lost track of time. I figured they could make me pretty in the trailer before the shoot. Did you get to the gym?”
“Yeah, I looked for you. Did I miss you somewhere?”
“I actually didn’t make it down. Had some e-mailing to do.”
“Hear from anyone interesting?”
“Actually yeah, I did. Chris’s ex. It’s over with Chris. He’s been seeing someone else.” I’m glad I’m the one with the sunglasses on because what I see in Mikal’s eyes is priceless. A dynamic compression of emotions into a split second. Joy that I’m single. Pain for my loss. Hope for the future. Guilt for his joy. Compassion. Anger at Chris for hurting me.
“I’m so sorry, Ashley. Come here,” Mikal says, putting his arm around me and taking me inside, shutting the door behind us. He leads me to the couch, and we sit, his arm still wrapped around my hunched shoulders. “How are you feeling? Do you want me to call production and try to reschedule today’s shoot?”
“No. No. Don’t do that. I just feel stupid. Like I don’t know what I thought it was with Chris but it obviously wasn’t the same to him.” I slide down and lay on the couch, my knees pointing at the ceiling and my head resting on Mikal’s lap. “It’s just so ridiculous because I know he was never the One. He has always been a Mr. In the Meantime. A Mr. Until I Meet the One. I’m so sorry, I’m just a mess right now.”
“Hey, hey, relax. It’s all right. That’s what friends are for. I’m glad you shared with me,” Mikal says, gently pulling off my sunglasses and hat and setting them on the side table. His voice is so soothing. My stress over Chris begins to melt away as he runs his fingers through my hair.
Oh, don’t do that. Yes, do that.
I love my mane played with. So calming. Am I in heaven? What happened to feeling like a ripped garbage bag fifteen minutes ago? “Ashley, can I ask you a question?”
“Mmmhmm,” I purr.
“Does my age bother you?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“I just wanted to be certain. Can I ask you another question?”
“Shoot, partner.”
“What are you looking for in the One? How do you think you’ll know?”
“I don’t know how I’ll know. I think it will just happen. All of a sudden I’ll know he’s the One,” I say, opening my eyes, looking up into his face. A face drawn so meticulously. “And what am I looking for in the One?”
“Yeah.”
I smile and sit up, grabbing my ball hat and sunglasses. “I can’t tell you that. Otherwise I may have to disappear you.”
That light is back. That beautiful light in his eyes that can only come from his soul. He smirks and bites his lower lip.
“Come on, buddy. It’s a big day and we’re going to be late,” I say, standing and pulling him up with one hand.
Downstairs the valet signals to our limo that we’re ready and the driver hops out, relieving us of our bags, and opens the door. “Good afternoon. Any stops on the way, gentlemen, or straight to set?”
“Straight to set, but take a scenic route,” Mikal instructs. We climb in and the door is shut behind us. Mikal clambers up to the driver’s window, leaving me sitting far in the back, enveloped in the smell of black leather. “Will you put on some music, my man, something upbeat?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mikal turns back to me, smiling as he holds the button raising the dark glass between the driver and us. “Screwdriver, Ashley?”
I nod and the Virgin pierces the silence with her latest top ten single. Mikal mouths the words and dances for me, as best he can, crouched so as not to hit his head. Grabbing a “holy shit” bar on either side, he swings his head and hips. My own personal go-go dancer in my limo ride to work. Does life get any better? Giving a sly wink, he beckons me to join him with one finger. I laugh and shake my head.
“No dancing for me. I just like the show, Mikal.”
“Come here. How often do you get a private dance party?”
“With you, every day I imagine.” Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawls toward me, shimmying his shoulders. I’m in hysterics. Who does this?
Arriving in front of me, he half stands, pulling me by the elbows. “Come on, Ashley, dance with me.”
I shake my head, and Mikal suddenly falls on me as the driver picks up speed, smooshing us in an awkward pile. He hurries to get up and off of me. I grab him by his shirtfront. “Hold on, mister. Where are you going?”
“Umm, to… just….”
“That’s what I thought. Come here.” I pull him by the shirt until his face is right in front of mine. I look straight into the white, blinding light dancing in his eyes. Grabbing his hair, I pull his head to the side and savor his scent from his jaw up to his hairline, then whisper in his ear, “I thought you were making me a screwdriver.” I push him away playfully.
His face reads satisfied shock as he falls on his back, propping himself up on his elbows. The shock slowly curls into a playful grin. “You come here first,” he commands. A thousand chariots couldn’t pull me away. I drop to the floor and climb over him until our bodies are parallel on the floor. I lower myself onto Mikal, and he pulls me into him, one hand on my shoulder, the other in the small of my back. Icicles form up and down my spine, and the roller coaster does a triple loop in my stomach.
These are the eyes I’ve been searching for; those are the lips that brush mine in my sleep. Here is a best friend for my soul. He loves me. He has since the moment he saw me. He knew in ages past I was the One. An unspoken truth.
“Ashley, are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I say and close my eyes, bringing my mouth to his. Mikal tastes of milk and honey.
No longer is love forbidden me. It is a promise given to each of us. The choice is if we accept the gift or decline and think ourselves unworthy. Here and now I am worthy. The love that dares not speak its name feels like singing right about now. Because fuck it. Fuck every person who condemns. Fuck each one who says we are sick. Or misled. Or living in sin. Or disgusting. Or wicked. Or casts us in with a lot of pedophiles and adulterers.
To every fearful hater, I have something to show. To each one who called us faggot. Or pansy. Or dyke. Or lesbo. Or queer. Or sissy. For each one who incited us with guilt over our interests, whether in the arts, sports, cinema, sociology, or otherwise. To each serpent-tongued “friend” who listened thoughtfully and hid a bullhorn behind his or her back. For every parent and family member who decided love has fences and boundaries and isn’t infinite in its domain.
But especially for my brothers and sisters on the road. For my warriors. I name you Mars and Diana because the battle is far from over. Come, look and listen. I show you love. As a shining pearl is formed in the dark mucus of a clam’s clamped shell, so too is love. Rising in blaring white heat out of black hate and icy fear is love. Hidden behind the door of rejection is love.
The only place better than on top of your lover is below, in my opinion. I nudge Mikal to switch and we roll over on the black-carpeted floor. As I settle on my back, I smile at the Italian statue leaning over me. The triceps in his right arm bulging in a horseshoe, suspending his weight. He lowers himself onto me, starting with his legs, waist, abdomen, and then chest.
I thrill as he presses against me, a heavy but welcome weight. He must weigh in at 185 pounds to my leaner 160-pound frame. Six feet of hard muscle is resting on me. His black hair, neatly combed this morning, hangs down, tickling my forehead as he nibbles my chin. Mikal licks my lips and runs his left hand tightly up my side from my hip bone, up under my arm, drawing it straight above my head. Holding it there, he does the same with my right. With both our arms up above our heads, pinned to the ground, we kiss deeply. I bite his full lower lip and he growls. I feel torn between wanting to kiss him endlessly and holding him at arm’s length to gaze upon.
“Why me, Mikal?” I ask into his ear as he kisses my neck.
“Because I dreamt about you.”
“When?”
“For a long time. Since I was twelve.”
“What do you mean? What was the dream?”
“It was always raining. Raining really hard and you would come out of the gray sky. When I was younger, I didn’t really understand it. I just felt really at peace when we were together. And I knew you already. Like we were brothers but I wanted to be close to you. That’s what was really confusing because I thought I liked girls. As I got older, I would try to have that dream. Imagine trying to dream of someone you’d never seen before. That’s why I was shocked when I saw you. You’re the boy in the rain.”
I don’t know what to say. I pull his head down to rest on my chest and stroke his hair.
“That’s not crazy, I know exactly what you mean. Mikal, I can’t help but feeling a little guilty over Chris. Once I met you…. I could tell you were really special. You’re the man I’ve been waiting for.”
Mikal lifts his head and looks down at me, completely serious. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and traces my face with his fingertip as I talk.
My eyebrows.
My nose.
My lips.
My jaw.
“Isn’t it weird? I mean, leaving Canada to come down here was so strange, so sudden. But I just felt something calling me. An adventure. And here you are, from Miami yet. Such different paths but they had to cross. We had to meet.”
“And already I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
“Me neither.”
“I’ve never thrown myself into something quite like this before. Never knew so instinctively.”
“I know.” My heart is so full it wants to burst, but it knows better because that would be gross and I have a queasy stomach never mind the actual logistics. I have such a bittersweet mix of pain and joy; it’s amazing in its intensity. Like the brink of emotion where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry so you do both. Or when you’re so excited before a performance you could either belt a high C or throw up. I start to laugh and grasp his head in my hands and kiss him on the forehead. Suddenly we slow to a stop, and Mikal reaches up and locks the doors as we hear the driver open his and the sound of polished shoes squishing gravel. The handle lifts but doesn’t open.
“Give us a minute, please,” Mikal yells, then turns back to me. His lips part and curl into that amazing smile, and his eyes dance as he comes down slowly, drinking me in.
He
is drinking
me
in. How amazing. And he softly, oh so gently greets my mouth. He pulls away, and it is rapturous pain. “The beauty of today is, this is work,” Mikal whispers, brushing my lips. “Let’s go make some magic.” He presses the unlock button and after helping me up, knocks on the window. The door opens to a powder blue sky and a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. About fifty feet below us is combed tan sand, a little cove guarded by the steep red cliff we are gazing down from.
“Pretty, huh?” Mikal says as he hangs an arm around my shoulders. “Isn’t that crazy how those big red rocks stick straight up from the sand? Like a little Stonehenge.”
The rocks stand like seven sentinels around a large bed. A set designer and assistant are dressing it in crisp white linen, and a grip is running cables to a generator.
“How are you boys doing today? Excited for the shoot?”
“Hey Marc, yeah, it’s gonna be interesting I bet,” I say, smiling at the Production Manager.
“Hop on my golf cart. I’ll take you guys down to catering and your trailer. If you’re going to eat, do it before makeup. And don’t eat too much,” Marc instructs as we walk to his cart and jump on. We drive down the road a little ways and enter a parking lot with a catering van and tables already spread, a production truck, and our trailer.
“Cheryl and Tony are inside, ready to do your makeup. Matthew and Richard have your wardrobe laid out, which isn’t a whole lot today, so there are robes for each of you as well. We’d like to get our first roll started in an hour and a half. I’ll be around, after a cigarette. If you need anything, you have my cell number.”
“Thanks, Marc. You rock, brotha,” Mikal says, slapping him on the back. Marc is already lighting up as I thank him, and he pulls away as Mikal and I walk toward our trailer. “Big day, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s all about you and me.”
“That’s the way it should be!” Mikal laughs. “Are you hungry? Do you want anything before we get prepped?”
“No, I’m good to go. Let’s give them the shots they need and get out of here. I’m taking you dancing tonight.”