Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
She took a long sip of whatever non-descript white wine they were serving that month. The napkin under the cup read, Wanna Get Away. She knew what the slogan meant: escape the everyday mundaneness of life, take a vacation. For her, when she said those words to herself in the not-so-distant past, she meant to get away from who she was, become someone else, and start a new life. And it had begun, hadn’t it? So no, I don’t. I don’t want to get away; I want to be right here on a plane traveling to see my boyfriend…boyfriend?! She almost tapped the shoulder of the older woman sitting next to her and said, “I have a boyfriend, and he’s nice, and he likes his mother and sisters, and he has a dog and plays for the NFL. Oh, and I used to be an escort, and now I’m an actress and model.” It all sounded so surreal. Jake Skyler is your boyfriend . When she played it out in her head, it seemed more like she was reading an article about a famous person, the kind she used to devour in Vogue or Cosmopolitan , about the love life of the Hollywood elite.
She took another sip of the room-temperature wine, a rush of warmth moving over her as she thought about the barely contained boyish pride in Jake’s voice Tuesday night bursting through the line. She’d, well, technically Jonathon, created an Instagram account to let Jake know she was serious, but maybe more importantly, that she was ready to shout it to the world. She thought about the little cheesy cocked smile that consumed his face when he’d FaceTimed her last night, and his teasing question, still wanting to talk about her Instagram announcement. “Did you get permission from my agent to use those pictures, Ms. McCarthy?” he’d asked her in a deep, theatrically stern voice that could not disguise his giddiness.
Her head resting on a pillow propped against the headboard. She’d shot the screen a side-eyed look, not concealing her satisfaction in herself; it felt right to do something that made Jake happy. It finally felt as if she could be in a real relationship, to care for him the way he seemed to care about her. She didn’t want to lack emotional connectivity with anyone, especially a partner, the way her mom had seemed to with her dad. She pushed that thought away, remembering her response to Jake. “So, Mr. Skyler, is that how it’s going to be? I need to get approval from your agent before I can post pictures of you and me. Is there anything else I should run by your agent? What else does Brian control? Anything I should know about?” she’d clucked in a low, husky voice, her eyes fixed on the screen, the pad of her pointer finger slowly grazing along her lower lip. She had to smirk, watching him be affected by her, his blue eyes shading darker as the hoods lowered almost imperceptibly just enough to let her know that her voice, combined with the non-verbal gesture, registered with him. There was definitely power in that.
“Sweets, you don’t need an okay from anyone. I’m yours and open to whatever you want from me.” Mischief brightened his features, contrasting with a somber note in his voice. His expression brimmed with expectations; all she could think was, I hope I can do this. I want to do this!
She jolted forward in her seat, digging her heels into the ground as the tires screeched to a halt on the runway. Quickly unbuckling her seatbelt, she grabbed her purse and a small carry-on bag and stood with the first of the passengers, thinking it was so silly how people rise quickly when the plane lands, as if they’d get to the exit a second earlier. Friday evening flights always made her feel like she was headed to a group party, even though she didn’t know a soul on the plane. The past week ran through her head, possibly a life-changing week. The audition with Bernardo felt almost perfect; fragments of her memory wore the skin of another person, Emmerson, smitten by her father’s employee, a man she’d known since she was a child. Young Emmerson had all his attention, so when his girlfriend became his wife, the fourteen-year-old Emmerson cried. Her parents had joked that she was jealous, reluctant to share, not knowing that her outward emotion cloaked a more sinister aim: to destroy. Rakell struggled to embody that character, but when she went through the Rolodex of memories, the many times she’d shelved Rakell so she could see herself as Marietta, she stepped into Emmerson. Once she did, she was gone with it. The lines weren’t just from a script, nor was the way she’d baited Bernardo with her eyes and body; her being had been transported during that audition. Even if she couldn’t remember every nuance, she knew she’d nailed it, confirmed by Bernardo’s words immediately following it, which continually cheered in her brain: impressive, impressive . She pushed back on the question that kept crawling to the forefront of her mind. Should she have let that bikini top drop, or was it enough that she’d untied the back, leaving it floating over her chest, so provocative yet somewhat shielded?
Then, her introduction to social media. She took the bold step to shout out to the ether that Jake and she were a couple. How do people adjust to having their whole life played out on a media platform that invites random strangers to weigh in, including on whether the person they are dating is right for them? In her case, it was the hordes of women and their disappointment that Jake Skyler was no longer available, that he could have done better , or that when he tires of you, which he will, I’m here. Jonathon had said, “Shake that shit off, there will always be naysayers.”
She’d called Jake to tell him her flight was delayed and made it clear he didn’t need to park; she could grab her luggage and meet him out front. When he scoffed, she made the case that it would save lots of time, but he’d said emphatically, “That’s not how I do it, Sweets. I will always be waiting when you get off the plane.” The sureness Jake walked through life with almost seemed na?ve at times like he thought he knew the future .
Reaching the top of the escalator, she saw him standing at the base, his broad smile, dark hair sweeping back from his temples, offsetting his electric blue eyes. His hands in the pockets of his jeans, his elbows winging from his sides, wiggling—the way he rocked back and forth on his feet as he grinned at her—it all made her think of a young child who’d been given specific instructions that he must control the urge to wave with both hands, jumping up and down when he saw her.
Her hands were occupied, one gripping a duffle, the other a computer bag more like an oversized purse. She might have been the one waving madly if she had a free hand; once her eyes captured him, her nervous system crackled. Her body was already intertwined with the memory of his touch, anticipating his skin to hers, so she didn't hold back when she stepped off the escalator. Showing no restraint as she let herself cave into his arms, her duffle slipping from her hand, she looped an arm around his neck. “I missed you so much,” rushed from her mouth, and when she heard herself, the breathy confession, it sounded like someone else.
He chuckled, but she saw his chest puff and his impish grin; he loved it. His arms tightened around her, his lips brushing up against her forehead. He sighed, then murmured, “You have no idea, Sweets.” She wasn’t sure who moved first, but before she could think about a reply, their lips were touching, their mouths open, tongues intertwined in a kiss brimming with emotion, an exchange that should have been private.
The sound of young girls giggling snapped her from her fog; she pulled back her eyes, moving them toward the laughter. Three girls, their arms held straight out, trained their phones on Jake and Rakell, videotaping them, until one of them gushed, “Oh sorry…sorry…you two were just so cute, like a movie.” She then shoved her phone into her back pocket.
The girl beside her said, “Yeah, sorry, but aren’t you the Sacramento quarterback?”
“Yeah,” Jake said gruffly, his tone softening as he shifted his gaze to Rakell, as if apologizing.
She let the side of her mouth twist up in a grin before she murmured, “Superstar.”
He shrugged, a shallow snort escaping his mouth, before reaching down to pick up Rakell’s duffle bag.
“Wait, wait,” one of the girls squealed, pointing toward Rakell, “you’re the one who got him by cheering for him on a date with the other team’s owner, right?”
Rakell shook her head. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I did do that, but I’m not sure that’s how I ‘got him’ as you say.” Her tone masked the irritation the young girl’s insinuation incited in her.
Jake snaked an arm around her shoulder, looked at the girls, and said, “Truth is, I’ve been chasing this woman for over a year, and she finally said yes to being my girlfriend.” He steered her body toward the luggage area as he finished the last word.
Rakell nudged his side. “I love how the world thinks I got you by making a fool out of myself, jumping up and down on the Jumbotron,” she said as they walked toward the baggage claim.
She heard his husky chuckle. “I could do a press conference and tell folks the truth…”
Rakell lifted her eyes to his face, “And that is?” She couldn’t hide the challenge in her voice.
“That is that you had me with ‘cock swallow.’” A throaty chortle jumped from his mouth as she shoved her hip into his side.
“Mate, that would be your last press conference.” Smirking, she added, “Alive.”
He guffawed at her jest, his eyes cutting her way. “If I could just do a press conference to tell the world I met that girl.”
He had an intangible way of making her shoulders relax, leaving her feeling like they were two ordinary people, that he truly was the boy from Austin who’d grown up on a ranch wanting to be a history teacher, not who he was, the NFL quarterback whose team had just won a Super Bowl. His very nature juxtaposed the people she had been surrounded by in Hollywood, everyone buzzing around, making sure you knew who they were, not who they really were, but their titles or what they had done seeming more relevant than anything that indicated who they were as people.
“I think we’ve given the world enough to buzz about, Jake. How about you just don’t talk?”
“Got it,” he said, then grabbed her suitcase, joining his fingers with hers and pulling her toward the exit.
The effusive brightness that had ruled the Southern California sky as she’d boarded the plane, partially owing to the Santa Ana winds that whipped through the day before, clearing out the smog, had softened to a muted glow during the hour-long flight north. The yellow orb lingered close to the ground as Jake rolled her suitcase to his car, his other hand grasping hers. The air she sucked into her lungs made her think of a pine soap commercial, like in the next few steps, they’d be descending a mountain and pitching a tent on its peak. This juxtaposed with the ocean-moneyed oxygen of L.A. with Sacramento at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains, which had a more rustic scent.
Just like people, places are infused with a smell that seems unique to them.