20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
As I expected, Mira and I don’t talk again. Instead of an apology, I get a new hole in my chest, as yet another relationship ends with a flawed perception. Just like with Christian, I have lost another friend. I try to fill their empty places with as many people as I can, in an attempt not to miss them.
Every day for the next month after filming, I go to the same bar to let off some steam with the usual trio of Errol, Michael and Priyanka. Sitting long past midnight, we share drinks and stories, digging into each other until we unearth the gems that showcase our best selves.
Here we are again, another night of being in each other’s company. I lean forward on the bar, resting my hands around my drink. Errol does the same, placing his chin on his free hand as he looks at me from the side.
“Tell me something,” he says, before taking a sip of his beer. I wait for him to swallow, watching his Adam’s apple bob. “Who was that guy the night of the party?”
Having firmly avoided this topic up until now, I knew at some point he was going to ask about Christian. I sigh out any hesitations while trying to settle into a place where I’m comfortable talking about him.
“He is my ex.” I start with the basics and let him lead the rest of the conversation with his questions.
“Bad ending?” Turning on the stool, he looks me right in the eyes.
I nod as I take a sip, drinking down the bubbling feelings that talking about Christian brings up.
“He cheated on me.” Saying it out loud, I lift some of the weight off my shoulders, laying the burden that is my pain out there for Errol to see.
“I’m sorry.” He looks like he means it. His lips are curved down, eyebrows furrowing into the middle of his forehead.
“Thanks.” I exhale. “Because of him, I don’t know if I can trust the way I did before. He was my best friend before we dated, and he was able to do this to me. What, honestly, is going to stop anyone else from doing it, too?” I look down, afraid to see the reaction on his face, waiting for the frustration and anger to dissipate, only leaving sadness.
His hand slides up and down my back in long strokes.
“What an asshole. I get how you can feel that way, but I really hope it doesn’t stop you from trying in the future. You deserve a good love story.”
I agree with him, even though part of me is unsure if I’ll ever have one.
“Love is complicated to say the least. It requires us to open ourselves up to someone and give them free access to hit us in every raw, usually hidden, place that people don’t have access to. A deep trust and desire is needed to do that.” I wave my cup at him as I speak.
Deep in my thoughts, my mouth runs free. “Then, if they do hit us there, it leaves scars that shift our willingness to open up again. So no matter what I deserve, I might not be willing to do what it takes to have it.” With all my emotions threatening to hold me down, I lean on my hand, needing something to keep me upright.
“It’s always worth it to try again, just based on what you can gain. Otherwise, you’re just subscribing to a life where you let fear be the deterrent for the possible love of your life. I would hate for you to miss out on that.”
Having thought I found the love of my life, the prospect of doing this all over again to be wrong one more time feels too daunting to take on now. Even if I know at some point I’ll want to.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?” I ask, finally looking up into his eyes.
They cloud over to the point where even though he is looking in my direction, he doesn’t see me. His hand stops moving up and down my back, landing right above my ass. I expect him to take it back, but he leaves it there, like a strong force holding me up.
“Yes.”
I wait for him to elaborate, to show me all the ways in which he is broken, too. He does.
“It was the only serious relationship I’ve had as an adult. We were together for ten years before he left me.” Shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, he focuses back on me. Lines crease around his eyes as his frown deepens further.
“What happened?”
“He was an actor. We met in film school, and started dating pretty much instantly. We were together for three years when I proposed. He turned me down.” He smiles at this despite the clear rejected look in his eyes. “He said he wanted to establish himself before he became someone’s husband. I understood, I guess, I mean I got it, but it sucked. We stayed together and I waited for his big break to come.”
I push my empty glass away as the bartender comes over to replace our drinks. Errol stops talking, waiting for the man to walk away, before he begins again.
“It didn’t, or at least it hasn’t. Mine did. I expected him to be happy for me. To celebrate all my hard work paying off. It was like he was incapable of doing that. He did the opposite. He made me feel bad for doing well. I constantly felt like I had to justify why I was good enough.”
Errol finally moves his hand from my back, using it to grip on to the new beer placed in front of him. I feel shaky without it.
“When I got my first studio film, he went crazy. He just kept telling me how unfair it was and that it wasn’t right. I broke then, and finally stood up for myself. It felt good to finally say that I deserved what was happening to me. That night he packed up and moved out.” He lowers his head, staring down at the ground.
I reach out and lift his chin up, forcing him to look into my eyes.
“You do deserve what has happened to you. You are talented, driven, and unique. You have earned everything you’ve got.” I speak the words, hoping they implant in him. Hoping they sink into whatever places that guy chipped away at and make him whole again. The shadows of this disbelief have followed him to this day. It lurks in every insecurity he has expressed to me, and outlines all the work he puts in.
His ex told him he wasn’t worth this, and some part of him still believes that. I want that part to go away.
“I mean it. You are amazing, Errol, and if anything, Hollywood should have noticed sooner.”
He smiles as he looks back at me, lips pulled wide. I smile back, wanting him to see that I believe what I’m saying.
He takes my hand from his chin and intertwines his fingers with mine, before placing them on the bar.
“Is it me or is cold in here? Must be from Hell freezing over with your compliment.”
I throw my head back and laugh. He does, too, at the sight of my amused response.
“Well fine, let me rephrase. You alright, I guess,” I tease.
He lets go of my hand to point at his chest an eyebrow raised in my direction.
“Me, just alright? I think not.”
“I mean, all in all, I’m not impressed.” I make an exaggerated eye roll.
He is laughing again, loud and raucous, taking over the space around us.
“Sure ma’am.” He smirks that cocky little smile he has been giving me since day one.
I gape at him.
“Did you just ma’am me?”
He nods, biting his bottom lip to try and stop himself from smiling.
“I just turned thirty. I’m not a ma’am yet.”
He nods again, and I slap my hand down onto his leg. He lays his hand on top of mine, keeping it there as his stare turns heavy. The feel of it sweeps up and down my body while he squeezes my hand tighter. I pull it back and put it on my own lap, clearing my throat.
“So is this relationship why you’re a fuck-boy now?” Sweeping my straightened hair over my shoulder, I turn to look at him again.
“Who says I’m a fuck-boy?” He has the nerve to look offended, lips pursed and face crunched as he questions my statement.
“Well, let’s see: since starting on this movie, you have been seen with Erica, the guy from the pool party, and Piper, and those are just the ones I know about.” I tick a finger up with every name, showing him the grand total. He puts down my fingers until only one is left standing.
“That is how many of them I have actually slept with. The rest were just dates.” He looks proud of himself, his face ready to burst with delight at that clarification.
“Still a fuck-boy,” I deadpan.
“How?” he exclaims, pushing his hands out in front of him.
“How long has it been since you and your ex broke up?”
He tilts his head, calculating the timeline.
“Two years.”
“And in that time, how many people have you slept with?”
He stops for a moment, taking the time to figure it out.
“It doesn’t matter.” Having likely come to a number that is more than the one he was just proud of, he decides against sharing.
“Oh no, fess up,” I say, clapping.
“Why?” He crosses his arms. “So you can slut shame me. You know there is nothing wrong with only wanting sex from someone, as long as you are honest about it.”
He isn’t wrong, but something about him doing it bothers me.
“I’m not slut shaming you, as long as we both can now agree that you are a fuck-boy.”
“I’m not, though.” His face hardens the same way his tone does. “Fuck-boys play with people’s emotions. They lie to them and manipulate them into sex. I don’t do any of that. I’m honest with what I’m looking for at all times, and upfront about it, too.”
Maybe he has a point. I swallow a big gulp of the alcohol, thinking on it. Yes, he does get around, but if he’s doing it the way he says, then there is nothing wrong with it.
“Okay, but why is that all you’re looking for?” Asking the question eases the bubble in my stomach a little at the thought of him just sleeping around.
“It takes a lot to earn my heart. I don’t give it freely. I’m not just looking for sex, but with most people that is all I end up wanting from them.”
What would it take to get Errol Davis to fall in love with you? Why do I want to know? Standing, he excuses himself to the bathroom. I down the rest of my drink and let the burn of the alcohol sooth me. By the time he comes back, all questions have faded away behind the buzz I have going on.
The music kicks up as the bar turns from a chilled lounge to a more active club. We have to raise our voices to be able to hear each other. After failing to keep up a conversation, we go silent as we look around.
“Want to dance?” he screams over the music, pointing to the back of the room. I follow him over to the floor as old school music thrums to life all around us. The people brave enough to start dancing before others grind and gyrate to the music close to their partners. I step in front of him, ushering for him to start us off, eager to see what he’s capable of.
He swivels his shoulders, his hips moving from side to side as he steps in beat to the rhythm of the song. Seeing him get into the music, I start to move, rolling my body while turning in a circle. When I am face to face with him again, he grabs my hand and pulls me closer. Resting the other one on my lower back, he guides me to be in step with him as we move. Standing just a breath apart, I shift in closer, closing the distance. Chest to chest, he looks down into my eyes as we dance against one another.
The music changes to a slow R&B song, causing us to sway in smaller steps to create space for more people joining the dance floor. Despite the fact that we are right against each other, it doesn’t feel like enough. I want our bare skin to be touching.
The lyrics sing out a story of love as I gaze into his eyes like it’s the first time I’m seeing them. The obsidian pools are layered with different emotions too hard for me to read. They are beautiful, just as breathtaking as the rest of him in this low lit room.
I tilt my head up while he lowers his down until we are almost touching. I want to kiss him. To press my lips against his. But I wait for him to make the move. We rock slowly, pressed against each other. He takes my other hand in his, now holding both of them.
It feels like everyone else in the room is gone, and it’s just us dancing to the sweet sounds of the harmonizing voices. The tip of his nose presses into mine, and my breath hitches. Just as I’m moving to close the gap, the song ends and a more upbeat one begins. The moment is gone, and we pull apart like it was never there in the first place.
We head back to our spots, only to see they are taken. Interpreting that as a sign to go, we head outside into the brisk night air. We stand in silence, waiting for the cabs we called to come. Looking everywhere but at each other, we are unsure about how to be around one another after that moment.
“You don’t have to come in tomorrow. What are you doing with your day off?” he asks, finally making eye contact.
“I don’t know.” I lean against the bar window. “I think maybe I’ll just decompress from all this. It’s still new to me and I am not quite used to it.”
He nods, looking over at the street.
“Call me if you want someone to talk to. I’ve gotten so used to seeing you every day, it’s going to be a little weird.”
I nod, feeling the same.
“Hey, did you ever talk to Mira?” I ask.
At first a sigh is his only response.
“I did. She owned up to the script change, but not the other stuff. She apologized for lying, but I just don’t feel like it’s enough.”
Well, at least one of us got an apology.
“I would push for her to be let go, but we don’t have time to find a replacement. If you were still in the department, you could have taken over as lead, and we could have, but we just have to keep her.”
So what she thought would have happened was a possibility. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the case if she hadn’t spent months lying to people. The fact that nothing is going to come of her betrayal seems to bother him as much as it does me. His mouth is pulled into a frown, and I can’t help but stare at it.
Instead of thinking about the fact that he is upset, my mind trails back to what happened a few moments ago. Catching my look of unrestrained want, he licks his lips in a way that is almost too much for me to bear. Just then, the first cab pulls up and he opens the door for me. I step into it, looking back at him one more time. I want to ask him to come home with me, guide him back to my room, and finish what we started on the dance floor. But I think better and instead close the door, shutting out the opportunity.