Say You Love Her, An L.A. Love Story (18 page)

Angelina’s actions speak loud and clear. She’s done with me. It seems unfair to get passed over for something that’s not even the case. I’m not in love with Daisy. I love her as a sister-in-law, but that’s it.

At the moment, Monroe is standing behind my chair, rubbing her tits on my back. I can feel how hard her nipples are under the flimsy shirt she’s wearing with no bra. She’s pretending that her actions are merely friendly, but Shane wouldn’t see it that way if he knew about the hand job during dinner last night.
 

After the last shot of the day I head over to the bar in the lodge and order gin and tonic with a twist of lime. So far, I’m sitting alone. I prefer it this way. Usually someone has something to say to me about one thing or another. Some guy always wants to know when’s my next project or they want to introduce me to someone they think I should meet. Generally I nod and say, “I don’t know” or “I’ll think about it.”
 

Suddenly I’m struck by an urge to call Angelina. She might have moved on, but hell if I let her do it without hearing me out. I dig for my cell phone in one of my jacket pockets. It’s not in that one, so I check the other side.
 

“Here you are,” I mutter victoriously. The case is metallic green. “Damn it.” It’s Angelina’s phone.
 

I brought it with me just in case she decides to sneak back into L.A. Jack has the key to my house. I’m positive he’ll let her waltz right on in without me knowing it. I’ve done some crazy shit to that phone while alone with it. I’ve kissed it. I’ve put it on my pillow while I slept. Angelina has this picture of herself as the wallpaper, so most recently I rubbed one off to it. Like I said, I’ve lost my fucking sanity.

“What sort of blues are you drinking away tonight?” It’s Monroe and she’s put her tits on me again.

“Where’s Shane?” I ask and take another swig of my drink.

“He’s in the cutting room.”

“You know he’s into you? It might be love,” I say sarcastically.

“I never asked him to fall in love with me.”

“Then you should let him know that.”

“Charlie, look at me,” she says.

I turn reluctantly. “What?”

“What the fuck have we been doing?”

“Making a movie,” I say, pretending I don’t know what she’s referring to.

There’s a reckless twinkle in her clear blue eyes. She is beautiful, and her nipples are still poking her flimsy shirt. Her jeans are always skintight, and her curves are begging for attention. However, none of those attributes are enough to get Angelina off my brain.
 

Monroe and I motion to the bartender at the same time. “I got it,” I say and order another gin and tonic with a twist for me and a dirty martini for her.

“Thank you.” She heaves herself up onto the stool beside me and makes herself comfortable. “So why are you here night after night drinking your blues away?”

Unfortunately, all of my blues are still with me. “I’m not doing that,” I say.
 

“I disagree. After dinner last night you sat in that same seat, drinking the bar dry. If you keep it up, the next time I talk to Maggie, I’m going to tell on you.”

“Ah, Maggie,” I whisper cynically. I haven’t thought about her in a while, which is progress in itself. Her voice plays in my head like a track of all the shit that’s wrong with me. “How is she?”

“In love.”

“Good for Vince for lasting what”—I check my watch just to make the point—“three weeks.”

“Three and a half.”

“Then he hasn’t left the toilet seat up or hair on the sink.”

“Oh, she’s expunged them for a lot less than that.”

I raise a finger. “The farter. I remember him. And he didn’t even mean to do it!”

“There was a guy who wouldn’t let another driver in front of him. They were on their way to Connecticut for the weekend, and as soon as he did that, she made him turn the car around and take her home. She said it confirmed he was an inconsiderate asshole.” The bartender serves us. “It’s always been Jack doesn’t do this or Jack doesn’t do that. I tell her, well, you can’t fuck Jack.”

We look at each other, both of us smirking. It would be much easier if I could feel it for Monroe. I feel something, but not “it.”
 

Others who are part of the production start trickling in. A few hours later it’s crowded. Monroe hasn’t abandoned her stool. She keeps squeezing my thigh as she talks to whoever is on the other side of her and letting her fingers brush my dick. Then fucking Donald sits down next to me. I search for the fastest way out, but my feet and brain aren’t fast enough to take me.
 

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says.
 

I wave him off. I’m always wary when another guy wants to buy me a drink. It means he has a motive. “I’m fine.”

“Let me, man! Not all of us here have been dumped by the hot and sexy Angelina Beauchamp. I feel as though we’re kindred spirits.” His grin is shady as hell.

I snort. “She dumped you? Not me.” I finish the rest of my drink.

“If you haven’t heard from her since she last fucked you, then she dumped you.” He slaps a hand on my shoulder like we’re old buddies. I want to punch him.

“I’ve heard from her since I last fucked her,” I say.

He looks like he’s about to choke. “You fucked her?”

I shrug. Hell, I’ve already said too much by misrepresenting the facts. “But I’ve been wanting to ask you—why the hell are you here?”

He lifts one side of his mouth into a sneaky-assed smirk. “It was a good script and a good movie. I wanted to be part of it.”

I snort sarcastically. “Did you practice that answer?”

He ruffles his eyebrows as if he’s stunned. This guy is a serious hack.

“Come with me, Charlie,” Monroe whispers in my ear. I let her take my hand and drag me out of there. “I’m going to do you a favor and help you conquer your blues.”

“I’m just going to go back to my room,” I mumble. It’s not hard to see that she has sex on the brain.
 

“We can go there.”
 

“Alone.”

“Charlie, you don’t have to love me or like me, I just want you to want me.”

I used to be able to want more than one woman at a time. Now I only want Angelina, and shit, I can’t have her—or maybe I can. Maybe I should stop sulking and go get her. But then what in the hell do I really have to offer her. She wants to go to New York and dance. I don’t know what the hell I want to do other than nothing at all.

I still let Monroe pull me down the hallway. I have no idea where we’re going. We pass a couple of familiar faces. They observe us curiously. She takes a sharp turn into an empty room.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she closes the door behind us.
 

She takes me by the shoulders and guides me until the back of my legs hit a lounge chair.
 

“Sit,” she whispers seductively as she pushes down on my shoulders.

“I’m not in the mood,” I say, but I sit anyhow.
 

My pants unsnap and unzip, and she wraps her fingers around my limp dick. It’s happening so fast that I can’t keep up. Her warm wet mouth engulfs me. I’m getting hard. It feels so damn good, but I haven’t put my hands in her hair or thrust my thickening pole deeper down her throat.
 

I look down to see the top of her head bobbing up and down. I want to ask her to stop, but the sensations are stirring in my penis. I pitch my head back. “Shit,” I mutter. I don’t want this, but then I do. Should I let her finish and deal with the consequences when it’s over?

Through her slurping and my heavy breaths I hear someone knocking on the door. Before I can turn to face the slice of light that has infringed on us, I hear Angelina say, “Charlie?”
 

Am I hallucinating or having a fucking nightmare? “Angelina?” I lose the sensations in my dick.

“Oh, sorry,” she says in a shaky voice and closes the door. I can hear her running down the hallway.

“Shit!” Monroe and I say in unison.
 

She scrambles to her feet. I fasten my pants as I run out of the room, chasing after Angelina. I sweep past the bar, hit a corner, and then run through the lobby. I catch sight of her as she runs out the glass doors and toward her car that’s in guest parking. She’s frantically pointing her electronic key fob at the car. By the sound of it, she’s hitting all the wrong buttons.
 

“Angelina,” I call.

She’s not facing me, so I walk up behind her and hold her tight. Now this feels right. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I promise you.”

Her body is stiff, but soft and warm. I expect her to head butt me or punch me in the nuts. “But it did happen,” she says, way too calmly.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Monroe.”

“Charlie…” She unfastens my arms from around her and turns to face me. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t regret anything we’ve done.” She forces herself to smile, but I can see that I’ve ripped her heart out.
 

“Fuck.” I sigh, disappointed. “How did you know I was here?”

“I saw Pearl yesterday.”

“And she told you where I was?”

“Yes, but that’s water under the bridge.”

“Why the fuck didn’t she call me?” I would fire her if she weren’t running the whole show.
 

“She said she would.”

Then I remember that I left my phone in the room and I have Angelina’s in my pocket. “I didn’t have my phone with me today, probably not yesterday either.” Since I’ve been clinging to and masturbating to her cell phone.

We stare into each other eyes. I can’t believe she’s here. It’s as though a genie has granted me my only wish. But it wasn’t a good genie—it was an evil one, who wants to ruin shit for me.

“How did you know I was in the room with Monroe?”

She rolls her eyes. “Does it matter?”

“To me it does.”

She sighs forcefully. “Someone told me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, a girl.”

I think about the faces we passed as we walked down the hallway. I want to fire every single one of them, but then what would that change? What’s done is done. “Don’t leave,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
 

“Charlie.” She sighs softly. “After what I saw? I’m not angry, but I am hurt. I don’t know why I’m here or what I hoped to find, but I have to go.”

I curl my fingers around her waist. She doesn’t pull away. I pin her against the car. “I do have a case to plead here, Angelina. One I can win.”

She peels her eyes off my face to look past me. I turn to see what’s captured her attention. Monroe is standing outside the entrance with Donald.

“Is that Donald Light?” she asks with a snarl. “What’s he doing here?”

I shake my head. “Monroe hired him.”

She sneers. “She plays dirty. I’m leaving, bye.” She moves so quickly that our bodies detach, and she opens the car door.

“Wait,” I say as I catch the door before she can swing it all the way open.

“What, Charlie, what?”

“Are you staying at my house?”

Her laugh is facetious. “Is that a joke?”

“Are you back in Long Beach?”

“I’m at Daisy’s.”

“For how long?”

She blows an impatient breath. “I’ll be gone before you’re back.”

“What about your cell phone?”

 
“I’d forgotten about it.” She sighs gravely. “Well? Do you have it?”

“Not here.” I’m desperate enough to lie.

“Well, I’m not going to wait until…”

“I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”

She squints. “Are you wrapping tomorrow?”

“They’re not, but I am.”

“Charlie…” She shakes her head.

I open the door for her. “I’ll see you at Jack and Daisy’s tomorrow?”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, yes.”

Say it, I tell myself.
Say what you feel
. “See you later,” I say, instead of
I love you
.

***

Angelina

The lines on the freeway were blurry through Angelina’s tears. She wasn’t going to cry in front of Charlie and was embarrassed to be crying at all. She was not the kind of chick who wept over boys. The sad part was that she hadn’t expected more from him. That revelation hit her when he pinned her against the car. Her heart had fluttered and so had her desire. His hilly chest, powerful arms, and his musician’s fingers never failed to stimulate her. If he were anyone else, she would’ve stayed and listened just so they could have make-up sex. And after it was over he would never have heard from her again. However, Charlie wasn’t anyone, and they were family by marriage. She could pull no disappearing acts with him. They would see each other again sooner or later. She
wanted
to see him again.
 

By the time she reached the 210 Freeway her tears had dried. That was it. No more crying over boys. No more crying ever again! Her mother had died. She’d become closer to her half-sister. She could no longer deny the feeling that it was the end of an era. Her life would change dramatically. A spontaneous sigh escaped her. The thing was, she believed that Charlie was part of her forever happiness.
 

Angelina promised herself that she would stop thinking about the sensual way he sucked her lips into his mouth and then circled his tongue around hers. Then there was the way he trapped her nipples between his teeth and how possessed she felt when he held her from behind and slammed his solid penis inside her. She felt comfortable divulging anything and everything to Charlie. When she added it all up and put it all together, he would’ve been really fun to run off into the sunset with. Angelina had no doubt that they could’ve made it last forever if he wasn’t afflicted by a severe case of the “poor me” syndrome. She never would’ve found him and Monroe together if he weren’t so self-loathing.
 

Oh well
… She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
Such is life
.

Angelina found Daisy at home, behind the desk in the office, working on her laptop. Daisy looked so engrossed with her eyebrows pulled together and her thick curly hair disheveled that Angelina didn’t want to disturb her. Since Daisy hadn’t looked up from the screen yet, Angelina was about to quietly back out of the doorway and leave her undisturbed.