Quirks & Kinks (5 page)

“Jesus, Ash,” I grumbled, bending down to collect some of her paperwork, “I actually have to have sex to get pregnant, and that sure as hell hasn’t been happening.”

“I know, I know. I just panicked. I mean,
you,
with a baby.” Her body gave a full height shudder, and I froze as a pang gripped my chest.

In order to distract myself from the shame I felt—the upset of the brutality of my sweet sister’s opinion of me—I stopped picking up papers and went back to reading the script.

Wanting to stop the toxically spreading ache, I forced myself to hold on tight to my quickly fleeting joviality.

“I swear to Mary, Mother of Jesus, my willingness to get freaky with some dude in a clown nose will significantly diminish when I’m with child.” She looked up from her position on her hands and knees and met my eyes. “And it’s already pretty low to begin with.”

“Why Mary?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you swear to Mary instead of Jesus himself?”

I hadn’t even been conscious of my choice, but in the face of her questioning, the reason became abundantly clear. “Because Mary is a sister, she’s had the kid high-jumping on her bladder, and she would understand.”

“Shit!” she yelled, jumping up from the ground to point at the clock. Two quick steps to the side had her grabbing my robe from the hanger on the door and throwing it at me. “Put this on! We’re late!”

“Late for what, goddamnit?!” Pointing angrily towards the floor, I laid out my demands. “From this day forward, I want a printed itinerary! I’ve been like a hooker without a john all morning, and I’m fucking sick of it!”

“A hooker without a john?”

I rolled my eyes. “A little lost, a lot desperate, and constantly begging you to give it to me. ‘It’ being information.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “You can have all the printouts you want, but for now, just get in the robe. You’ve got hair and makeup, and wardrobe, and you’ve got to meet your co-star.”

“Great.” I fake smiled and stripped off my t-shirt and yoga pants. “All things I can’t wait to do since I found out I’m going to be clowned up, carrying thirty extra pounds, and pretending to hump some stranger.”

Settling my arms into the sleeves, I tied the sash, slipped my feet back into my flip flops and scooped the script up off of the table. “Ready. Let’s go.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Ashley soothed as she ushered me out the door. “I’ve never seen you this out of sorts. Take a deep breath, calm down, and find the confident inner bitch you’ve got living somewhere in your body.”

“Right.”

She was right. The sooner I stopped freaking out and put on my game face, the better off I would be.

Preparing, I steeled my face and hardened my eyes.

“But not too bitchy,” she amended, obviously worried that she was going to push me into being unreasonable. Her micromanaging panic was enough to bring me back to my happy place. A place where I could handle anything and had the awareness I needed to tell
her
everything was going to be alright.

“Relax, would you?” I teased. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to be the best pregnant clown sex deviant you’ve ever seen.”

She giggled softly, sounding the youngest I ever heard her these days. Being my agent came with too much responsibility. She’d started too young, become jaded too fast. I liked any time I saw a glimpse that I hadn’t completely ruined her youthfulness.

“You’ll be the first pregnant clown sex deviant I’ve ever seen.”

“See? I’m betting you’re not the only one. I like things where I have a built in winning streak due to a lack of competition.”

This time both of us laughed, looking at each other as we entered a random room. At least, it was random to me. Ashley had been the one to lead us here.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Larry barked without preamble, turning away from the guy next to him. I couldn’t make out any of his features other than a dark complexion and hair.

I was all fired up to lay into him when Ashley touched my arm in warning instead. She didn’t bristle or yell or turn any of the many shades of red I’m sure graced my face.

Nope.

She
smiled.
Sweet and innocent and completely unlike me. She obviously got the good set of genes from our parents.

“My fault, Larry. Sorry about the wait,” she cooed softly, tilting her blond head just so and blinking her navy blue eyes daintily.

Was Larry actually fucking blushing?

“No worries, Ash. We have plenty of time,” he said with a genuine smile.

Okay . . . what?

His eyes lingered just noticeably before turning to me and hardening. “Come here, Easie. I’d like you to meet your leading man.”

Confused and curious, I gave into his command, moving toward him and the shadowy stranger but looking back at my sister’s face. She busied herself, looking everywhere but at me or the other occupants of the room.
Especially
one very specific male occupant of the room.

My sister and Larry?
No way. He was, like, fifteen years older than she was, and she was too smart.
Wasn’t she?

Fuck. I didn’t have time to follow this yellow brick road right now. I could only handle one ginormous, uncomfortable thing at a time.

Ha! That’s what she said.

Shut up, brain.

Larry grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the man in the chair, introducing me in an effort to multitask as he did. “Easie Reynolds this is—”

It was as if time slowed down as my eyes followed the line of his hand to the mystery man. Black shoes and finely pressed pants disappeared into the abyss of his dress coat, the tan column of his throat flexing noticeably as he made an effort to turn toward me. Dark hair sat just perfectly askew, and in one heart pumping moment, recognition kicked in.

I could feel it coming, the slap of the Karma God’s hand as it struck violently against the apple of my cheek—those torturous eyes. Those evil, world destroying—

Blue eyes.

Blue.

“—Ryder Thompson.”

Not
Anderson What’s-his-name.

Oh shit. Oh
shit.
I was losing it. One completely discombobulating conversation, and the hot waiter at the restaurant had burrowed his way so deep inside my head I was mirage-ing his face onto the bodies of unsuspecting strangers.
Holy brown gravy, get your shit together, Easie.

“Ah, nice to meet you, Ryder,” I forced out, somehow pep-talking my way back out of the black vortex of a panic attack.

Unfortunately, when the panic was gone, the smarmy look on my new co-star’s face remained. Mirth lit his eyes as he muttered, “Nice robe,” but it wasn’t the good kind. Under the scrutiny of his gaze, I felt naked. And dirty. Like, dipped in a vat of molasses, rolled in cow manure, buried in mud kind of dirty.

Skeeve-central.

“Easie, over here!” Larry called impatiently, and for once, I didn’t have any desire to protest. Ryder’s wandering eyes had traveled enough unapproved miles, thank you very much.

Helping me into the makeup chair, he spoke. “It’s showtime, kid. For as much as we throw blows at one another, I know you’re talented. So, read up on that script and add your flare. Snarky is good, as long as it’s the charming kind.”

Larry was nice, and I was speechless.

And just like that, everything was upside down again.

“I’M WORRIED,” I MUTTERED
, chewing on a nail as the makeup and hair people stepped away from my chair.

“About what?” Ashley asked with a huff. All of my yo-yoing was apparently trying her saint-like patience.

Lowering my voice to whisper, I explained. “Ryder kind of gives me the creeps.”

“He’s said two words to you.”

“Yeah. A creepy two words.”

“E—”

“And have you read this script? I mean really read it? He spends half of the episode with his face
this close
to my vagina!”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s a little personal, a little fast—”

“You have no problems when it’s your gynecologist,” she pointed it out.

“Well, I don’t
like
it—” I started to argue.

“Or your waxer or spray tan lady.”

“But—”

“At this rate the mailman—”

“Okay! I get it. You’ve made your point. My vagina’s like Grand Central Station. I’ll be cool.”

“That’d be great! Thanks!” she chirped like an annoying little bird.

“Five minutes, Ash,” Larry called with a knock on the doorframe.

“Thanks,” she called back, hustling me out of the chair and across the hall to the wardrobe room.

Grabbing a colorful skirt and stockings off of a rack, Ashley handed it to me and shoved me in the direction of a changing screen. “Hurry up and get changed. You heard Larry. We don’t have a ton of time.”

Scanning the clown-themed skimpiness of the costume, I realized something. “I think I need a new management team.”

Seeing as my management team was her, Ashley reacted accordingly. “What?! Why?”

“Because Ryder is in a fucking tuxedo, and I’m in
this!
” I shook the flimsy, striped fabric in front of her face. “And he was in it thirty minutes ago, so he’s obviously better informed.”

“You know how it is, E. Sex sells and all that. During the opening of the show, Ryder will wear his tux and you’ll wear a show-themed, sexy get up.” I pretended to gag as she continued, “That’s just the way it is.”

The sour news contorted my face just as though it’d been actual candy.

“During the reenactment, he’ll be in clown shit too. And I’ve seen it, it’s even more ridiculous than yours.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Hold away,” she offered with a shove. “Now get your ass behind that screen and pull the straps of your suspenders over your nipples. There’s a limit to exactly how much sex we’re allowed to sell.”

“Cute,” I mocked through a fake laugh. “Laugh it up now, but I’ll get you back for this.”

“I’ve no doubt you will,” she agreed as I slid behind the screen. “Don’t forget the stockings!”

“I won’t,” I grumbled. “Trust me.” They were the most substantial part of the whole outfit.

I made quick work of the stockings first, and then pulled on the suspender style straps and smoothed my hands down to the edge of the bright red, fluffy, tulle skirt.

I could scarcely remember feeling more ridiculous, but even I couldn’t deny that my boobs looked great. If you were going to get into the clown lifestyle, this was the way to go.

“I guess the silver lining is that I don’t have to carry the pregnant belly yet,” I said, stepping around the screen and back out in front of my sister.

As soon as the words cleared my lips, Ashley stepped forward and smothered my good mood with the well-timed placement of my bright red nose.

“I love your positive thinking, E,” she praised through a smile, leaning forward to place a smug kiss on the apple of my cheek. “Breathe through your mouth, m’kay?”

Hustling out of the dressing room and toward the set, I pulled the script out of Ashley’s arms for one last read through of the opener. It was a largely loose format, giving us guidelines and specific talking points, but leaving the extras up to us. I liked the idea of having some creative liberties—the chance to really tap into any and all talent I might have—but the idea of doing it with someone I knew nothing about shifted my nerves into overdrive.

Cameras and the crew sat waiting as we approached the set, and for the first time all morning, I took the time to take it all in.

I was doing it. Sure, it might not have been my dream job, but it was a job—and a real one at that. An actual director awaited our arrival by perusing the set and doling out orders, and cameramen sat patiently behind several cameras.

It was fairly low budget, just as I would have expected, but
real.
And about a million times better than Bernstein’s backlot commercial gone wrong.

Ryder waved me over, looking attractive and far too normal in his tuxedo around the periphery of my big, red nose. His tux hugged the lean line of his body and the silvery blue of his thin, striped tie coordinated well with his eyes.

Turning to tell Ashley where I was going, I found her deeply enthralled in a conversation with Larry, so I nudged her with a nod to convey my point and walked
onto
the actual set for the first time.

A huge neon sign lit the back wall, and colorful lights tinted the air all around us. A simple wood floor sounded under my heels as I walked and at least three cameras pointed directly at our marks on the floor.

“Good God,” Ryder breathed when I arrived, pulling me from my distracted perusal and staring at my chest unabashedly. Naively, I’d thought he was awed by the first day jitters too, but the direction of his eyes wasn’t exactly promising.

“Thank fuck this show is about kinks.”

Anddd neither were those words.

“What? Why?” I asked as I tried in vain to stand at an angle that didn’t give him such a good view but not appear needlessly rude.

He chuckled and leaned dangerously closer. “Because if I’m going to have a boner from thinking about licking your tits all the time, at least I can blame it on my role.”