14. Aaron
FOURTEEN
AARON
“Damn, bro!”
“Ay-oh, did you know that’s what was hiding under all that baggy shit?”
The voices of a few crew members break through my concentration on the script, where I’ve been struggling to perfect my lines in this upcoming scene which I’m just not nailing. You’d be hard-pressed to get me to admit it, but I’m not doing so great with my lines and scenes since my assistant quit on me. The new one doesn’t have the same knack for helping me memorize and getting me into character. Maybe it’ll come with time. I had Gem helping me for, what, like, five years? It’ll probably just take a while for this new person and me to get into the same groove. A mental self-five is in order for that kind of optimism. I probably deserve an even bigger treat?—
“Ay ay ayyyy!” The lewd howl interrupts my train of thought.
“I heard he made her dress like that to keep this shit covered!”
“Well it’s no wonder he kept her around for so long, dude! I mean, look at those tits, I could suck on those all night. Mmm!” That noise of satisfaction at the end might’ve been the grossest thing I’ve heard in a long time, and that’s saying something. My last trip to LA was… I shudder at the memory.
When I look over in irritation to glare the guys into silence— some of us are trying to work here —I find that two of the three are already looking at me, the third firmly focused on the phone in one of their hands, and my hackles raise in suspicion.
“No, but, for real. I’d tap that into next week!” The most obnoxious one, the one who hasn’t noticed the imminent death threat, still has his eyes glued to the phone, the knuckle of his first finger between his teeth, biting down on it like he’s in pain—or he really, really likes what he’s looking at—and still he won’t shut his stupid mouth. Now I have to know what they’re looking at.
The problem is, I think I already know. Two guilty looks are confirmation enough, but when the third looks up and his hand straight up drops from his mouth down to his side, that’s what really gives it away. His eyes are brown and deep, just like the shit he’s in if he’s looking at what I suspect he’s looking at.
One quick glance tells me the director is still preoccupied, nowhere near ready to resume the shot, so I make my way over to the trio of soon-to-be dead men and watch as three Adam's apples bob at my approach.
“Mister…Mister Stone,” the third one stammers. No one on this set calls me anything but Aaron, and now I know they’re done for.
The one who’s been holding the phone, the guy in the middle, makes to shove it behind his back, probably into a pocket or something, but I don’t give him the chance. My hand snaps out and grabs the device before he’s even locked the screen.
But there’s nothing that could’ve prepared me for what I see on the screen.
Gemma, but not my Gem.
Her hair’s different.
She’s wearing makeup.
She’s got some outfit on that there’s no way she picked out. It’s doing things for her small waist and there’s curves on her I’ve never seen before.
She looks… hot .
Their vile words from seconds ago circulate in my brain, paired with this new visual.
I’m always typecast as the happy-go-lucky one, but that’s about to change. Possibly forever, if my blood pressure is any indication.
I can’t figure out how they’re seeing these pictures of her ( did they hack her phone, did this new guy share pics she sent him?) until my brain catches up and realizes this is a fucking Tinder profile. And rage overtakes everything else within me.
There is no way she would’ve done this on her own. There’s only one other person she really talks to besides me, and I’m going to absolutely kill them for getting her to do this.
My eyes scan the rest of the phone screen.
Gemma, 24, 8 miles away
Avid reader, looking for her own happily ever after.
No weirdos, please.
To be honest, I’ve only ever used Raya myself, never Tinder, but I’ve heard enough about it to get the gist of how it works. Pulling my own phone out of my pocket, I quickly snap a picture of the profile for my own purposes before I swipe left to make sure none of these fuckers have a chance at matching with her and hear a groan from one of the guys, and a yell of frustration from the owner of this accursed phone. I shove the damn thing into his body, causing him to huff out a breath at the impact—he’s lucky I didn’t smash it, or his face, into the concrete flooring for his disgusting behavior—before turning my back on the group and charging away, back to running lines and waiting for my cue, trying not to visibly fume.
By some miracle, I manage to get all the way through the final takes of the day before storming halfway across the lot until my fist is pounding on the door to my new nemesis’ office.
“Co—”
Pushing the door open at the first syllable, I don’t wait for her to finish the words to grant me access.
Relief hits me when I see that she’s the only one in the small office for a change, her metal desk crowded with multiple laptops, binders, and various samples. Her walls are absolutely covered in sticky notes, with some sort of scheduling map that only she and the director can understand, flowing from one wall to the next in this cramped, narrow space. But no other living witnesses to the murder I’m about to commit.
The woman I’m here to see sits in her chair in and amongst the madness, seeming in control of her domain, despite the endless confusion the sheer volume of shit that comes across her plate would present to literally anyone else, and, more frustratingly, she even looks nonplussed at my barging in.
Rage isn’t something I’m familiar with on a personal level. Even my characters are usually charmingly easygoing, blithe, and carefree, much like I tend to be. Not a bad typecast to have as far as being pigeon-holed goes, but it means the anger coursing through my veins is entirely new to me, and I’m not quite sure how this is supposed to go. I let it out at the only person I can think to pin all of my recent problems on.
She’s the reason Gemma got feisty with me.
She’s the reason Gemma started dating some schmuck, and between the two of them, they pulled her away from me and out of my world.
Not only am I stuck trying to put the pieces of my life back together with my second brand new assistant of the last couple of weeks, but they’re proving to be as useless as the first one was.
I have no idea what is happening with two-thirds of the projects I count on Ralph to take care of for me, including updates on contract negotiations for my upcoming roles and the final details on my trip to Romania in July, which is already next month.
I’ve been losing my mind with anxiety over this next shoot, and let’s not even talk about how shitty my takes have been recently. It’s taken way longer to get in character than I’m used to. Not to mention this guy has messed up nearly every task I’ve given him for the house or my food, so I’ve been extra cranky on top of the rest of it, which hasn’t exactly helped.
Gem and I had a rhythm, one that doesn’t seem to be easily replicable with someone else, I’m learning the hard way.
Honestly, everything in my life feels like it’s sliding out of my control since she left, and I. Blame. Alex.
Perhaps just as bad as all that shit is the fact that my best friend, this innocent, wholesome, hilarious chick who deserves something good from whomever she dates is now plastered up on Tinder looking…well, not quite sleazy , but not like my Gem. Those pictures and that cute little line in her bio is going to get serious male attention (exhibit A: those fuckwads on set), and not the wholesome kind from someone who’s interested in her, who knows her on the deepest levels, and who wants to take care of her in all the ways she’s worthy of.
I’d be a little hard-pressed to prove to a jury of my peers that Alex is the source of most of my problems, even if it’s obvious to me, but the pic on my phone of that Tinder profile is all the proof I need to confront her, to let off some of this steam on at least one of the banes of my existence right now.
I wave the phone in her face dangerously, probably too fast for her to discern what the fuck is even on my screen, but I suspect she knows what she did.
“Did you do this?” My voice practically growls on the words.
Damn. I might talk to my agent about getting me a more intense role before long. That sounded pretty fucking legitimately pissed off. My range might be wider than any of us thought after all. Nice.
Alex raises a single eyebrow—God I’m jealous of that skill—like she can’t believe my audacity right now, but fuck her, because I can’t believe hers lately. She’s hanging out with my best friend, turning her against me, and beyond that, she’s turning her into someone I don’t even recognize.
The smallest voice somewhere far, far deep inside my consciousness whispers that lately, I’ve been someone Gemma probably doesn’t recognize either, but I’m not ready to listen to that fucker. Being mad at myself will accomplish exactly nothing , but tearing into Alex might get me somewhere. Might ease some of this constant fire in my gut that hasn’t let up since that God awful fight with Gemma and the screaming silence from her ever since. It’s worth a shot.
When I don’t explain myself further, Alex speaks, with a dangerous edge to her voice.
“Do you wanna calm the fuck down and use your words, Aaron?” It’s as much of a threat as it is a suggestion, but logic isn’t my strong suit at the moment. Her hands finally leave her keyboard and come to rest on top of some papers on her desk, her piercing eyes trained solely on me. Normally, this is where I’d be tempted to gulp, make a witty comment to cover my own ass and diffuse the tension, then peace the fuck out, but I’m far from normal right now.
“This,” I repeat, swinging the phone in her vicinity again. “This fucking profile for Gemma on Tinder that I caught half the crew circle jerking to. I know it was you. She’d never do this shit on her own.”
“Why’s that, Aaron? Did you think you had some sort of claim on her? Keep control over her life, her appearance, who she sees? Did you make sure to keep her from dating, connecting with her feminine side and allowing herself to partake in the most simple of human pleasures? While you hooked up with whichever model slash actress caught your eye that week?”
Venom surges up my throat at her implications. Her accusations are ridiculous. Of course I didn’t hold Gemma back from dating, from, from, from ? —
“Fuck you, Alex.” I spit the words out with more contempt than I’ve ever heard from my own mouth before.
Infuriatingly, she scoffs a laugh at my response, like I’m the ridiculous one here. “Fuck me? For helping her feel more comfortable in her own skin? Giving her an ear to talk to? Introducing her to someone who appreciates what she has to offer? No, Aaron. Fuck you for having that literal gem of a human being by your side for the last decade and not seeing the treasure you held in your hands. For taking her for granted all this goddamn time. You had no idea the value of the loyalty, the friendship you two shared, and you fucking threw it away in a couple of tantrums when you got your dick all twisted up because you’re a fucking idiot where it comes to her. Don’t you go blaming this on anyone else but you, buddy.”
Her eyes are burning with the words, like she’s been absolutely dying for the chance to spill them. “You. Made. Your. Bed.” She enunciates each word on its own, and somehow that makes her sentiments pierce through my armor of anger, landing in that same roiling spot in my stomach that I associate with the lack of Gem in my life, and the events that led up to her departure. “Now fucking lie in it.”
The dismissal is clear in her tone, but I’m not done here.
“How dar?—”
In one swift motion, she slams her palms down on the desk, shoves her chair back and away from her, and stands to face me, braced with her hands still on the desk, arms extended. I can honestly say that I’ve never realized how terrifying she is until this very moment. I’ve mentioned before that she’s a beautiful woman, but it’s more than her looks that demands attention. She has this inherent command, this innate control of everything around her, and right now, I feel all of it trained on me. Now’s the time that gulp finally makes an appearance, and I try to absorb her words this time rather than just fight them.
“You listen to me, Aaron. I’m not taking the blame for your mess that you created because you’re too blind to see what is right under your goddamn nose. I used to think I liked you all right, and I really care for that girl, but you’ve got a lot to realize if you’re going to try to get her back in your life.”
She makes it sound like Gemma is completely out of my life.
That’s ridiculous.
Sure, we’ve never fought like that day before. And, yeah, we’ve never gone this long without talking, but she’s cooling down, cooling off. Probably shacking up with Steven or whatever his name is, and when they fall apart, she’ll snap back to her old self, and we’ll get back to normal. Or, as normal as we can be with Kayla in my life now. But, normal-ish, you know? Talk shit out, we’ll both admit we were wrong, and figure out a new routine that works for everyone moving forward.
My eyes have zoned out, staring at the emptying parking lot outside the short window of her office as I talk myself through this scenario, and she snaps a few times in rapid succession to regain my attention on her.
“You are so fucking oblivious to your own situation, Aaron.”
“What situation?” I spit the words out individually, emphasizing each syllable. My breaths are coming heavier again as I’m seething at the condescension in her tone.
“I’m not going to spell it out for you. You can figure it out yourself. But if you think there was nothing between you two but friendship, your head is farther up your ass than I thought.”
Someone other than me might describe what my mouth is doing right now as sputtering, but I have more self-respect than to call it that. My irritation wins out, freeing the words from my mouth. “Just spit it out, Alex. Cut the shit. What are you saying? She’s got a thing for me or something? She got jealous of Kayla and couldn’t take it, or what?”
Her dark eyes narrow on me at my deduction. “No one has ever had purer intentions for another individual than that girl has had for you. Your best interests have always been first and foremost in everything she did. But you and Gemma have never just been friends.” She makes air quotes on the words. “What was between you two practically blinded me the first time I met you. You have to be the only one who’s ever met you guys who doesn’t see how goddamn lucky you are.”
That’s what does it for me. Like a blow in a fight sequence I fucked up my choreography on, didn’t sidestep in time, my head snaps back.
In seconds, my entire existence is reframed.
In seconds, I see a slideshow of our years together, all the moments that made each of those up. The hue on those memories changes, taking them from grayscale to something softer, rosier. I see the love for me that all of Gem’s actions were rooted in for all these years. The care in everything she did for me—from keeping tabloids out of my sight, to helping me stand up and negotiate better contracts for myself, her pep talks, even the way she made our breakfast, or binged shows with me when she knew I needed a break. No one else has ever fought for me day in and day out like she has.
She never treated me like a job, and she was better to me than any friend I’ve ever had. Gemma treated my happiness, my wellbeing, as a higher priority than her own. Alex’s words are forcing me to see that at the end of every single day, Gem is the reason my life was as good as it was.
The drop in my stomach is instantaneous. The paradigm shift almost knocks me back physically, and when I stagger, it takes effort to catch myself before I lose my balance.
There’s some inescapable truth in what Alex is telling me that a part of me recognizes, despite my denial, my shouts of protest. Maybe her actions were based in something more, something deeper than friendship. Something that I crushed in her, in just a handful of moments. That acceptance cools some part of the fire in my gut, the understanding replacing a small portion of the desolation I’ve felt since our falling out.
“She doesn’t—she’s not…” my words falter as I struggle to put any of my thoughts together. “I’ve never seen her like that, I swear it. And—and she’s not into me anymore, right?”
It’s everything I’ve ever feared for us. That harmless crush she harbored for so long turning into something more, and it ruining what we’ve had. I worked so hard over the years to keep that distance in our romantic lives, to make sure no lines were ever crossed between us.
But I can’t unsee that what we had was different from a normal friendship. It was…something more. What exactly it was, I don’t know. But I can see now that it was everything. To both of us.
The rub of it all is what we had got ruined anyway, and it had nothing to do with any leftover, lingering feelings. It had to do with growing up, growing closer to new partners, and growing apart.
Alex lets out a strangled yell of frustration that breaks me from my concentration.
“You’re lucky there’s only one more week left of production this season. I might get us both thrown off set if I have to deal with you any longer than that.” Her nostrils visibly flare as she takes a deep breath before continuing. “If I were you, and thank the gods I’m not, I’d spend the summer break learning what life is about. I’ll give you a hint: it’s the people you love who make it worth living.”
That slideshow keeps ticking away inside my mind—running like B roll as Alex talks—all the best moments of my life on display, all of them shared with her .
“Learn how to be a decent fucking friend, coworker, boss, human being.”
Those words from Alex cut especially deep. An asshole isn’t something I’ve been called very often, but I’m starting to see that maybe I haven’t handled these past couple months as well as I should’ve.
That hole in my stomach doubles in size, the burn intensifying as I struggle to reconcile everything she is saying with everything I’ve held to be true all these years. She doesn’t let up though, doesn’t give me a chance to absorb it all.
“Maybe think about how fucking awful this place would be if everyone pulled that kinda shit you did a few weeks ago.” An honest-to-God grimace breaks out on my face as I recall my harsh words to Gem, the look on her face as she accepted that it meant the end of what had worked so well for so long. Alex’s voice snaps me back yet again.
“And fucking fix it if you want her back. Stop taking her for granted. Maybe show her the kind of support she’s shown you. Be happy she’s found someone who sees the best in her and makes her happy in return. In short? Grow the fuck up.”
She may as well have physically kicked me in the balls, the blow and those insinuations hurting at least as bad as that time Gemma accidentally kneed me in the nuts at a sleepover when we were thirteen.
The overwhelming sensation of feeling lost is all I can focus on, grappling for anything familiar in my life, inside myself. Alex must see it on my face, in my posture, because I feel some compassion radiate from her with her final words to me.
“And before you ask, if you actually pull your head out of your ass and are willing to put the work in, yes, I will help you make things right again. But right now? Get the fuck out of my office.”
Scratch what I said about that compassion.