“You stay here for a minute, I’ll be right back,” she told him. “I won’t be long.”
Warren placed his drink on a patio table and sat while Jessica disappeared back into the house. He marveled at the change his life had taken in just a few short weeks. He knew better than to get used to it, but he’d enjoy this while it lasted. Down below him, the city looked so vast from here. Bridget was down there somewhere; heading off to the market to prepare for their dinner. In a few more hours he’d have her all to himself, if only for a while. Warren lifted his saxophone to his lips and began to play a tune, losing himself in the music.
When Jessica reappeared, she wore a silky pink robe. Warren stopped playing abruptly as he watched her with eyes opened wide. She turned a dial on the wall and the Jacuzzi coughed and burbled and came to life. “You really
can
play that thing,” Jessica said as she dipped a toe in. “Oooo, perfect!” she cooed in delight, placing her martini on the deck. She untied her sash and dropped her robe to the ground, revealing a tight pink string bikini that barely concealed her perfectly sculpted breasts. Warren’s mouth hung agape as Jessica slid into the hot tub. “You coming in?” she said with a sultry smile.
“In my clothes?” he gasped.
“However you want. Don’t be shy,” she prodded.
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
“And why would a nice, soothing Jacuzzi after a hard day’s work not be a good idea?”
“Well…I…” Warren stammered, his nerves getting the better of him. “Shouldn’t we practice our lines?”
“Don’t be silly, we’ve got plenty of time for that! Get on in here!”
Warren knew he should turn and walk right out the door. This was all wrong, all wrong. Bridget would be waiting. She was the one he cared for. But instead of leaving he froze where he was, his thoughts going in a million different directions at once. How long it had been since he’d felt the touch of a woman. Warren closed his eyes and inhaled, lingering on her intoxicating scent.
“What are you waiting for?” She was beginning to sound a little peeved.
“I’m thinking,” he answered.
“If I wanted to sit in here by myself I would have left you down on the lot.”
It was just a hot tub, Warren told himself. It didn’t have to be any more than that. Right? He tried to push his fears aside as he tentatively unbuttoned his pants. They dropped to his feet, revealing a torn pair of boxers underneath. He hopped around awkwardly on one foot and then another trying to take off his shoes and then his socks. When he’d managed, he removed his shirt and then slowly lowered himself into the water.
Jessica picked up her drink and mixed it with one finger. She put the finger in her mouth and sucked it as she gazed at Warren. “You’ll do just fine,” she said, mostly to herself.
“As what?” Warren asked.
“My love interest,” she replied.
“You’re talking about the movie, right?”
“Do you think I’m pretty, Warren?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Come on, I mean it! Do you think so?”
“Sure. Everyone thinks you’re pretty.”
“I’m not asking about everyone. I’m asking about you.”
“Yeah,” he said stoically. “I think you’re pretty.”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
Warren couldn’t answer this one, afraid to say yes, afraid to say no.
“You’re going to have to anyway,” Jessica laughed. “But then again you haven’t seen the script yet, have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Warren answered, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins.
“I find these scenes go so much smoother if we’ve practiced in advance,” Jessica said, sliding close to him. “How does that sound?”
“What exactly do you have in mind?”
Jessica climbed atop him, straddling Warren’s lap. She rubbed his chest with both hands. “Oooo, you’re nice and strong.”
“Is this in the film?” he asked.
“Something like this.” Jessica leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
Warren’s mind was a swirl of desire mixed with fear, and finally, a hint of shame. He closed his eyes and imagined he was back with Ophelia. It was what he’d wanted so badly, for so long, yet then again not quite. “Don’t forget, I’m supposed to meet someone at eight O’Clock,” he said.
“Relax, baby. You’re Jessica Turnbull’s now,” she answered.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bridget hurried home from the market with two bags full of fresh ingredients and a nice bottle of wine. She’d opted for chicken stir-fry; easy to prepare yet slightly exotic. When she arrived back at the apartment, she left the food on the counter and went straight to her closet to decide what to wear. It shouldn’t be too dressy, she knew, but more than her usual sweatshirt and worn jeans. She opted for a grey cotton dress, cut off at the knees, with matching strappy sandals. The outfit was casual, yet she knew she looked cute in it. She wondered if trying to look cute for Warren was even a good idea. She didn’t want to lead him on, yet then again…there was no harm in making a good impression. Bridget was still a little bit confused about how things stood between them. She never did figure out what was bothering him the night before. Was it the pressure of life on the set? Did it have to do with her somehow? Or was it something else entirely? After the night she’d kissed him Bridget had some second thoughts of her own, yet the truth was she couldn’t resist Warren, despite all of his complications. All she knew for sure was that she wanted to see him any chance she could.
Once she’d showered and changed, Bridget chopped the chicken and vegetables until all of the ingredients were ready to cook. She set two places on her counter with a single candle waiting to be lit. Was that too much? She thought this over, too. It was just a candle. What could that hurt? By eight O’clock she knew he would arrive at any moment. Perhaps she was a little bit
too
eager, but there was nothing much she could do about that. She watched the clock as it ticked from 8:00, to 8:10 to 8:15. By the time it got to 8:30 she began to feel a sickness in the pit of her stomach. That empty, nauseous feeling of being stood up. Of course, maybe he was simply late. He wasn’t used to operating on a schedule. Did he even own a watch? Maybe she should go ahead and start cooking.
Bridget moved to the stove where she put on a pot of water to boil and measured out some rice. He should arrive at any time, and when he did show up, dinner would be all ready. With ten minutes to go before the rice was done, she threw some oil and a bit of teriyaki sauce into the skillet. When it was nice and hot she added her chicken, cooking it to a golden brown. She threw in the vegetables for just a few minutes, being careful not to overcook them. When the meal was ready she took down two plates and scooped some rice on each, then added the stir-fry on top. She lit the candle and put the steaming plates of food on either side. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was 9 p.m. She sat at her place, watching the second hand tick by until she could avoid the truth no longer. Her heartbreak was complete. Bridget blew out the candle and put a fork into her meal, moving the food around just a little. She took one bite but found she’d lost her appetite, so she carried the two plates to the garbage. She dumped the food in, put the plates in the sink and then went back to her oversized chair where she tucked her legs up beneath her and held her arms tightly around her knees.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Under the bright white lights of the Cinerama Dome movie theater, Smiley and Duke sat on the sidewalk with cups at their feet as a small crowd filed out past them. Duke wore his blind man attire, with his dark glasses, cane and sign. Couples on dates and small knots of college kids hustled on by, clutching tightly to their wallets and purses. One solitary man in khaki pants and button down shirt dropped some change into Duke’s cup as he went.
“Hey, man! Ain’t just one of us gotta eat!” Smiley shouted after, but the man continued quickly on his way. “Damn, that blind man get-up ain’t fair,” Smiley said to Duke.
“Ain’t about bein’ fair, man,” said Duke.
“I gotta get me an angle. Like wounded vet or somethin’,” said Smiley.
“Don’t even think about blind. That one’s mine!”
“I’m the one’s blind in one eye!” fumed Smiley. “I’ll tell ya whose got the angle. It’s Warren, man. He’s got somethin’ goin’ on. I don’ know what it is yet, but I’ll find out, man. I’ll find out.”
“I thought he said he was a movie star,” said Duke.
“Ha! Movie star. You believe that, I got a big sign I can sell ya. Say’s ‘Hollywood.’ All yours for five bucks.”
“What do I want a sign for? I can’t read it anyway, I’m blind!”
“Yeah, you’re blind like my man Warren’s in the movies. Bah! I’ll find out what he’s up to. Just you watch. I’ll find out. And when I do, I want a piece’a that action, I’m tellin’ you!”
Smiley looked into his cup at the few coins resting in the bottom. He shook them back and forth to make some noise as the last of the movie patrons walked past without dropping in a red cent.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When she drove Warren to the lot the following morning, Jessica Turnbull made sure the top to her Ferrari was up. She entered the studio at a lesser-used side gate. It was more discreet that way. She almost kicked him out of the car a few blocks from the studio, but in the end she didn’t have it in her. Not that it would have bothered Warren. He didn’t want to be spotted, either. Or more specifically, he didn’t want Bridget to see him. The guilt weighed heavily.
“You know what happened last night was just a one-off thing, right?” Jessica said as she pulled the car down a row between two stages.
“Sure,” Warren replied.
“It was just a bit of fun.”
“That’s fine.”
“So we’re good, then? You’re not going to be weird on me when we’re working or anything?”
“No, we’re good.”
Jessica’s relief was obvious. She even managed a smile. “Well, all right then,” she said, pulling into a spot. When she turned off the ignition they both climbed out.
“Maybe you ought to go first,” he suggested as he stood beside the car, saxophone in hand. “So nobody sees us together.”
Jessica nodded. “Good idea.” She headed off toward her trailer to prepare for the day. When she was gone, Warren waited around for a few extra minutes. He thought he noticed someone else sitting in an old sedan nearby. When he looked more closely he could tell it was a woman, with long, wavy hair, a little unkempt. She appeared to be watching him. Before Warren could move away, she opened the door of her car and hopped out.
“Good morning, Warren!” Marjorie called out with an eager smile. “Isn’t it?” she added.
“Yes, good morning Marjorie,” Warren replied with resignation.
“I love this business, don’t you? Always something interesting going on. You can see why I keep coming back, year after year. It never gets old.”
“No, I suppose not.” Warren knew there was nothing else he could say. He was caught, and no matter how much he denied it, Marjorie would see right through him. He was certain she would spill her guts as soon as she had the chance. His heart sank at the prospect.
“See you on the set.” Marjorie gave that smile of hers again and then walked off.
“Yeah, see you,” Warren responded quietly.
When he hadn’t spotted Bridget on set by mid-afternoon, Warren went outside to the extras tent where he scanned the tables without any luck. He did find Charles, who had no idea where she was. “No, man, I haven’t seen her today,” Charles said. “She probably just got called for an audition.” This sounded promising to Warren. Maybe it was the call-back she’d been waiting for, and if she wasn’t here, then she didn’t know. But Warren saw Marjorie sitting on the far side of the tent, watching him with a smug grin. The cat that ate the canary. It was an ominous sign.
When Bridget didn’t show up the following day, Warren’s concern mounted. By the time Saturday rolled around, he broke down and made the walk to her apartment. He simply had to see her, to find out what was going on. Was she angry with him? She should be. Even if she didn’t know about Jessica, she had a right to be upset with him anyway. He’d said he would be there for dinner that night and he wasn’t. The fact that he’d been unable to apologize was wearing on him. The fact that she might know the full truth was worse.
When he arrived at her building Warren was struck by competing emotions. He wanted to rush right back to her apartment, but he was nervous about what he might say when he got there. How could he explain it? He wasn’t sure exactly, but he knew he had to try. He moved through the courtyard deliberately, maintaining his composure as he walked past the fountain. He stopped at her door and wrapped three times loudly with his knuckles. Then he waited. There was no answer. He tried knocking again, and then called out her name. “Bridget? Hello! It’s Warren, are you there?” Again he waited. Again no answer.
When the door to the unit next door opened, Warren looked up expectantly, hoping that Bridget might come walking out. Instead it was a man, wearing casual slacks and a blue collared shirt. He was a good-looking man, and Warren eyed him warily.
“Hey, you’re looking for Bridget?” said the man.
“I am. Have you seen her?”
The man shook his head. “Not today. Should I tell her who came by?”
“No, that’s ok.” Warren considered pumping this guy for information. Maybe he could find out a few things, about Bridget and the producer. Then again, he didn’t want it to seem like he was stalking her.
“Are you a friend of hers?” the guy pressed.
“Yeah, we’re working on a film together. My name’s Warren.”
“I’m Markus.” He reached out a hand.
“Nice to meet you Markus,” Warren shook the hand. “Go ahead and tell her I stopped by if you see her.”
“Will do. Take care.” Markus stepped back into his apartment and closed the door.