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She ushers me out into the muted waiting room. Before taking her next client, she faces me, taking my hands in hers like a grandmother would a granddaughter. Somehow, it feels kind instead of clinical. Her gray eyes soften as they flit between mine.
“Cohen or not, make a friend. Andtell them.”
She’s vague with those two words but we both know exactly what she’s saying.
Tell them about the baby.
“Are you nervous?” The whisper is meant to avoid me, but makes it to me regardless. I continue tugging my tights up my leg, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that I can hear them.
“A little, I mean, it’s freaking Lucy Lovegood, you know?” Maxi’s voice is rich with shock, and a warm tingle worms through me.
At Jizzabelle when I overheard people discussing me, it was never a confidence-boosting conversation. Here at Crave, though, everyone is excited to work with me, honored even. And it’s genuine.
Like most things, it gives me anxiety.
And on the heels of a gritty session wherein my therapist and I discussed my need for friends, I am feeling down.
Collecting a deep breath, I twist my torso and glance back at them, over my shoulder.
“I’m so excited to work with you too, Maxi,” I interject awkwardly, seeing an organic moment to bond and not wanting to miss my opportunity to take Dr. Evans’ advice. And more than that, I know I won’t have the courage to do it without an organic opening.
God I used to have so many friends. More than I could keep up with. More than I knew what to do with. But Pete managed to scare them away, convince me they were toxic, and make me believe I was better off without them. All in under a year.
It feels strange to make friends as a twenty-three year old woman. It shouldn’t feel clunky and foreign, but it does. But Maxi makes it easy, getting up to sit next to me, bumping her hip to mine.
“Oh my gosh, that’s so nice of you to say,” she beams, blinking at me with her wide dark eyes. She’s beautiful, but it’s not her eyes or curves that caught my attention. All of the actors here at Crave are healthy. No one has track marks from injectable performance enhancing drugs, no one seems like they’ve taken an anti-anxiety drug to help them through the job, and I’ve never caught a whiff of booze on set. It’s amazing.
“I mean it,” I add, moving to my other thigh to tug the fishnet up. It snaps around my leg as I release it. “I watched some of your movies this week, in my dressing room, and I have to say, I think we’re a great pair on camera. We complement each other.”
It’s true. Over the last week, I’d asked Lance to drop some movies in my dressing room so I could get a feel for the actors I’d be working with this week. I like to do that, and I’ll do it until I’ve officially worked with everyone here.
I can’t deny that watching the movies gave me a reason to stay in my dressing room. And staying tucked away in that room alone made it very easy to avoid Cohen.
I don’t even want to avoid him but… I feel so bad for asking him to leave. I just, I don’t want him to know about Pete and all the humiliating things I tolerated. The way I was treated, the things that took place at Jizzabelle… It's mortifying and I don’t wantanyoneat Crave to see me that way.
Especially Cohen, which I know is ridiculous because we’re virtual strangers. People who pass by one another daily and don’t even exchange eye contact.
But he drove me home. He cared enough to wait for me to lock the door—twice. It doesn’t matter. Whether his intentions are kindness or more, none of it matters because I’m in a million tattered pieces. As it is, I’m working myself up to making friends as if I’m at my first day at kindergarten. And this task is almost too much.
Caring about Cohen is a fool’s errand, and one I won’t let myself go on.
“I think so too,” Maxi says finally after being shoulder tapped by Lance. “And I know that’s flattering myself because hello, you’re you, but still, I do think we’ll totally be fire together on camera.”
I nod, pushing the stiff curls Alexa left me with behind my shoulder. Today, we’re competitive dancers after the big competition. We’re in the locker room together, reminiscing on training and how we’ve felt about one another.
I’m going to touch her, and she’s going to touch me, and it’s the first scene I’ve had since being at Crave to explore this part of my contract—the contact same-sex scenes. Until now, Aug has been easing me in with masturbation or dual masturbation. But today, I’mgivingan orgasm. And I’m receiving one, too. Or at least, pretending.
“Ladies,” Lance interrupts again. “Come take your spots for a lighting check. Then we’re going to roll.” His gaze veers up and down our bodies after we stand, and he nods his head approvingly. “I like the costume change. This is much more realistic.”
Maxi and I are both in thigh highs, wearing glittering unitards with mini skirts attached. The first outfit was literally dance recital outfits for a third-grader, complete with a bonnet and skin-colored tights.
Maxi and I chat about how we’d like the scene to go, as this one has the dialogue completely left to us. We take our spots on the X’s marked with red tape on the floor, then the lights flicker on. Large and bright, they immediately warm us and in tandem, the studio air conditioner kicks on.
“Test,” a gruff, deep voice radiates from the radio on Lance’s hip. Heat forms beneath my cheeks, dripping down the back of my neck.
Tipping my face up, I raise my gaze tohim. His eyes are on me already, but I think I knew that. He doesn’t smile but gives me a subtle nod. No warm arms looping my waist, no soft lips against my cheek or soothing words melting into my ear but still—Cohen’s attention feels like an embrace.
“Fine,” Lance calls up, and then Cohen’s back is to me, taking the lift down, and disappearing into the ring of darkness bordering the set. Suddenly, as I align myself on my mark, I have the urge to explain to him that I did appreciate him checking on me. I did like the care. It’s just, I’m not keen on anybody witnessing my train-wreck of a life.
