17. Lex
17
LEX
I t was easy to understand why Dad used to get so frazzled and distant when one of his films was coming close to the finish line.
If it weren’t for my phone being on me at all times, I would forget what day it was. I’d sat in more meetings over the past two weeks than I ever remember sitting through in all the years since I started working with the company. To think, I got bored out of my mind going through budget meetings and such—the shit work Dad used to assign me.
At these meetings, people looked at me for answers, confirmation, or the go-ahead to keep moving in one direction or another. When I wasn’t sitting in conference rooms or on Zoom, I was crunching numbers, researching tactics to get this movie in front of as many people as possible. ‘Good enough’ wouldn’t be enough this time around. We had to crush all expectations. Dad’s methods might have worked back in the old days, but in a world of digital distractions, what mattered was rising above the noise.
“If the studio were mine, my first act would be to replace all the older staff in the promotions department.” I pulled off my tie and tossed it onto an armchair just inside my bedroom door. It was past ten o’clock, and I had just gotten home after a stuffy business dinner. There had been countless nights in the past when I hadn’t gotten home until nearly dawn, and I never felt this exhausted. Was I turning into an old man before my time?
“Wow,” Summer murmured on the other end of the call. “That sounds terrible. What’s the age cut-off going to be? Forty? Fifty? What are you going to do to the people then? Drive them out to a farm where they can play with all the other people you put out to pasture for being too old?”
Now that she put it that way, my idea soured. “I’m not saying I would fire them,only that I might reassign them somewhere in the company. Same pay, if not more. It’s not even a matter of age,” I concluded, dropping to the bed to take off my shoes.
“What is it, then?” She was back at her apartment after a long day of her own. That was all we had in front of us from now until the premiere in four weeks. Long days. Connecting over the phone was the safest way to spend time with her lately.
“The ability to be flexible,” I replied as I started unbuttoning my shirt. “A guy may be seventy years old, and it wouldn’t matter so long as he was willing to keep up with current practices. I don’t care what worked back in the eighties or nineties. That was a different world.”
“I guess it’s not easy for people to let go of what has worked for them for so long. I mean, look at your dad.”
Like I needed her to remind me of him. My teeth ground together at the thought. “That’s not the same. He thinks he knows everything, anyway. It wouldn’t matter how old he was.”
“I know, but he’s coming around. He likes what we did with the movie, and let’s face it. Landry International hasn’t put out anything like this in a long, long time. Something with action and a plot, you know? He’s adjusting.”
I would let her hold onto her illusions. There was no use correcting her just so I could say I was right. “I know. That’s true.”
“Can I ask you something?” I heard the water running on her end. It was nice to imagine her puttering around, making herself tea or whatever it was she was doing. A distraction from the responsibilities of the day. “Before, you said if you ever owned the studio… something close to that, anyway. What do you mean if? I thought that was the assumed outcome.”
I froze halfway through, pulling the shirt from my waistband. “Did I say it that way?”
“You did. How come?”
“Freudian slip?” When she didn’t laugh, I gave up the act. “To be honest with you, I’ve never seen myself in his position.”
“You’re kidding! Why did you never say that?”
“It never came up,” I pointed out. “And it isn’t the end of the world.”
“What would you do otherwise?” She made it sound like the most unbelievable concept ever. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t need to work, really…”
It was a relief to be free of what had felt like a straitjacket all day. I left the shirt and pants to be picked up for dry cleaning before sliding into a pair of soft shorts. “I would still be here, at the studio. But I’m more interested in making movies. Not sitting behind a desk, trying to figure out how to squeeze another dime out of the budget. I’d want to be the person behind the camera if possible.”
I had never admitted that to another living soul. Not even Spencer, my oldest friend. It was almost like ripping open a wound. A vulnerable feeling. What did I expect? For her to make fun of me?
“I had no idea you felt that way.”
I couldn’t tell what she thought. She was working hard to hide her reaction. “What, you don’t think I can’t do it?” I asked.
“Jesus Christ! Why would you jump to that conclusion?” Her laughter echoed in what sounded like the kitchen. “I just didn’t know you would ever want to direct. What kind of movies? Do you have any projects in mind?”
“Down, girl.” It was a relief to know she didn’t think less of me opening up, yes, but her excitement was a little overwhelming.
Her frustrated little grunt wasn’t surprising. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. I bet you see scripts all the time that you would love to make.”
“Now that you mention it…”
“I knew it!” she crowed, laughing. “What is it? Tell me about it.”
“It was a Cold War thriller. This was years ago,” I explained as I walked barefoot from my dressing room to the bedroom. I could almost imagine her here with me, the two of us connecting after a busy day. “I was only interning at the time. Reading scripts, providing synopses. It fucking crackled, I swear to God. I couldn’t stop flipping through the pages. I saw the whole thing in my head, exactly how I would want it shot.”
“So what happened?”
“It got stuck in development hell for a few years, and the last I heard, it was shelved permanently.”
I heard a spoon clinking against a cup, like she was stirring her drink. “It makes me sad, thinking about how many potentially classic movies are shelved like that before anybody ever gets the chance to turn them into something real.”
“I feel the same way.” She had no idea how many scripts got rejected every day. Not marketable, too cerebral, too expensive, the list went on.
Her enthusiasm was endless, it seemed. “But that’s the kind of movie you’re interested in?” she asked. “Thrillers, that kind of thing?”
“I think so. A little drama, a little excitement. I’ve always been drawn to them.”
“If you could remake any movie, which one would it be?”
“Oh, you can’t do that!” I pulled my blankets up, then flipped off the light next to the bed. It was a little early for me. At least, it was early when my life wasn’t completely upside down. I had a seven-thirty breakfast meeting, though, then another at nine halfway across town. I had to be sharp.
“Says who?” she teased. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“It’s not just one movie,” I decided. It was almost like settling into bed with her, having her voice in my ear. “There’s so many. It’s to the point where I have a hard time enjoying a movie because all I can think about is what I would do differently.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I know what you mean. It’s like, I can’t take any pleasure from watching movies anymore. All I can ever do is think about how I would have framed a scene or if I would’ve held a shot a few seconds longer.”
“Yes!” She got it. I should’ve known she would.
“You know what I need to know now, right?” There was something wicked in her giggle. “You know what’s coming. You have to.”
I hadn’t until she brought it up. “No,” I told her. “I never imagined what I would shoot differently with this movie. That’s the truth.”
“Good answer.” We laughed together again, more softly this time. I imagined her sipping herbal tea, curled up in her bed where we spent that first night together months ago. It felt like half a lifetime had passed since then.
“So what are you wearing?” I asked because I had to. There was no way I could be in bed, speaking to her, and not think about what we should be doing together.
“Do you want the honest answer?” she asked. “Or the answer you’re looking for?”
“Let’s go with option B.”
“Oh, Mr. Landry.” The formality of my name slipping off her tongue shouldn’t have stirred my cock, but it did. Suddenly, her voice went breathy and high-pitched like a bad Marilyn Monroe impersonation. “I’m wearing this itty-bitty little nightgown. It’s see-through. You can see my nipples straight through it, and I’m not wearing any underwear.”
It was supposed to be a joke. What a shame my dick didn’t have a sense of humor. “What color is it?” I asked.
“Pale pink,” she whispered. “Just as pink as… I can’t say.”
“You can.” I was getting harder by the second. I pictured her like that, wearing a scrap of see-through fabric. “Just as pink as your pussy? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Yes,“ she purred. “Now, do you want to hear what I’m really wearing?”
“No, let’s talk more about that nightgown.” I reached into my shorts, and my dick jumped at the brush of my fingers. I would’ve much rather had her touching me, caressing, wrapping her tapered fingers around my aching shaft.
“Are you touching yourself right now?” she asked. “I can hear the way you’re breathing. The way it’s getting faster.”
“I’m holding onto my cock right now, baby.” It twitched and jumped in my hand as I closed my eyes and settled back, focusing on the mental image of Summer on her hands and knees, crawling up the bed, the sheer nightgown she described sliding over her skin.
“Is it me you’re thinking about?” she whispered.
The fucking tease.
“Just you.” Precum dribbled from my tip, and I swiped a thumb across it, using it to lube me, moving faster. “What about you? Are you touching your pussy now, thinking about me?”
“Yes…” she moaned, “… oh God, yes. I’m playing with my clit like it’s your tongue licking me.”
Fuck. Images of her legs spread wide, giving me a look at those glistening, pink folds passed in a blur, and I could almost taste her as I fucked my fist, listening as her soft whimpers got quicker, more urgent.
“Shi-it, Lex, yes…” she panted, “… mmm, yeah, that’s good… faster… just like that…”
My fist was a blur, tightening the way her pussy would. “Would you like that? My tongue slipping through your folds, flicking your clit… ” I whispered, groaning when she did. My balls lifted in time with her high-pitched whine, and I let go, coming until my ears rang while she whimpered and moaned.
“Oh God.” She sighed, still breathless. “That was not where I saw this conversation going.”
“You should know by now there’s always a chance of the conversation going that way when it’s me you’re talking to…” I paused to catch my breath, listening as she caught hers. “So, what were you really wearing?”
“No, let’s not destroy the fantasy,” she decided. A fantasy. That was all this was, really. When I looked at the other pillow on my bed, it was empty. Her head wasn’t on it. It wouldn’t be until the movie premiered. She wanted to play it cool after that brief flare-up with Danica, and I understood why.
She was right too. There was always someone watching, waiting for somebody to fuck up so they could profit from it. I could withstand that kind of a mistake, but she couldn’t.