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I’m eager, and I don’t mask it. “I’d like that”
He closes my door and I try to hide my eyes in the rearview as I peer back, taking a mental picture of Cohen standing in the parking lot, watching me drive off.
ten
cohen
Use it or lose it is a saying for a reason.
It’s been six days since I took Scarlett to coffee. Since we exchanged phone numbers. There have been a few times where I almost sent her a text message. My fingers were hovering, thoughts spilling out of me as I nearly typed them up.
Then I rememberher. I rememberthem. I remember all the ways I failed my family. And I put my phone down.
Though we haven’t shared a text message thread, and we haven’t spoken too much at work, we shared a moment. I don’t know if she felt it, too, but with my whole chest, I felt it.
She was preparing for a scene, discussing it with Aug and Lance. I was nearby, replacing the foot on one of the prop barstools. I wasn’t trying to listen. But when she speaks, I hear it, I swear.
“I don’t know. The authoritative role just… isn’t one of my strengths,” she’d said to Aug. It pained me hearing how nervously she spoke the words. So much uncertainty inside of such a beautiful soul. I couldn’t believe that she could be uncertain or insecure about her performance. Before she was even officially here at Crave, I must’ve heard a hundred conversations between actors, sharing their disbelief that Lucy Lovegood, the number one female adult film star, was coming here to work with them.
I did something out of pocket for me, but necessary for her. Stepping outside of my comfort zone, I moved forward onto the set under the guise of adjusting electrical cords running adjacent to the rolled out carpet. Scarlett, still looking nervously through the script pages, didn’t seem to notice I was kneeling at her feet.
Looking up at her, the spotlight for the scene already on and in place, shone brightly behind her. A sort of ring rounded her profile, and my plan wavered momentarily as I committed her image to memory. The light caused her hair to glow, as shadows lapped at her sides. She was truly a sight.
Blocking out my hesitance, I reached out, placing my palm over the top of her foot. She startled a bit but didn’t move except to look down where I was crouched at her feet. I watched her throat bob in a nervous swallow, and then I took one more chance.
“People tremble in your presence, you’re that good.”
She stared at me, her eyes glossy and wide. I couldn’t believe she looked surprised, and I didn't know if it was my words of affirmation or the fact that I was touching her. I took my hand back and tucked the cords under the carpet, rose, and disappeared into the off-set fringe.
While coiling the extension cords in the very back of the studio, I kept my eyes on her during the scene. I’ve never done that before, not even once in four years. As someone with almost no sex drive, the movies being made were simply something happening around me, nothing more.
But that day, it felt wrong not to watch.
She was filming promotional material for her new toy, Loved by Lucy. I don’t know what was intended, but I watched her guide Otis into the toy with one hand, the other hand tenderly stroking down his flexed bicep. Each time he’d groan his pleasure, she’d pump the toy up and down his shaft, earning more growls and grunts from him. She repeated that process on Dallas, using the replica toy to masturbate him slowly, keeping him on the edge of his seat. Then she produced a second toy, and finished them off at once. The tagline,more pleasure with Lucy Lovegood, was slated to roll across the screen post editing. I’d overheard that part.
When Aug slammed the slates, and the piece was done, a set hand approached the guys with towels, like usual. But Scarlett put her robe on, and it occurred to me then that I hadn’t even taken in her bare naked body. I’d been so focused on her eyes and trying to understand what she was feeling, why she’d been nervous, and if my words had helped her.
But there were no retakes, and she walked off set wearing a huge smile, heading into the workroom with Vienna.
And even though I didn’t have any more answers than before, she seemed happy, and that brought me inexplicable relief.
While in my office looking through our inventory spreadsheet on my computer, there’s a knock at the door. With my back to it I call out, “It’s open.”
Another few clicks and I’m highlighting all the specialty bulbs we need. “What’s up?” I ask, only partially looking back, waiting for Aug to interrupt my work. He always does. A nice knock followed by a slew of one-sided conversation is his MO.
As I highlight the LED field, a hand comes down on my shoulder and gently squeezes. The touch is both soft and strong, and my eyes fight closing to bask in the touch. Fingertips dip into my shoulder as her voice melts over me, sticky and hot. “What you said to me a couple of days ago, on set.”
It’s not a question, but my voice is hoarse nonetheless. “Yes.”
She strokes her hand along my shoulder and I fight the feeling of comfort and keep my eyes open.
“Thank you. I got through it because of you.”
My eyes glide over the same number in the cell on my spreadsheet about fifty times, but I have no clue what I’m seeing. All I can focus on is her admission that I indeed made her feel better. I did it for her, but I can’t deny that a bit of selfish pride runs through me.
She takes her hand back and a moment later, the door clicks shut. I spin in my chair and face the wooden grain. My heart is racing, my thighs flexed against my chair. I grip the arm rests and stare at the door, chest rising and falling with fatigue and urgency. As if I’ve just surfaced after a cruel swim.
It takes me a minute to quantify the pulsing, heated feeling coursing through me. It’s been four fucking years after all.Use it or lose itis a saying for a reason.
