21. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Two months into filming, and the set is a lot warmer than it was when I started. Word has spread that I got Tiffany reassigned, so some crew members give me the cold shoulder when they see me, but the people I have seen most nights have developed a different opinion. Still, I hide out in my trailer most days, trying not to let them get to me. The only one who does is Mira.
Standing silently in a room with her while she pins some pants on me, I still don’t have the words to get us to a point of cordiality. I don’t even know if I want to, or if we even can.
“All done.” She scoots back and directs for me to take the pants off. I slide out of them and move to put my skirt back on. Once dressed, I have no reason to stay, but I do, waiting for her to look at me.
“Mira,” I start, but then I stop unsure of what to say.
She turns towards me, her lips pulling down.
“Farrah, don’t. I thought I made myself clear. I don’t think we should be friends.”
The statement is so final, it echoes through the room like a gavel hitting the block. I’m silenced. She doesn’t look sad by this, or even relieved. If anything, she looks just as mad as when I left her. My chest constricts at the tearing of another thing from my heart. I press my palm there and nod, thinking this is going to be the end of it. Just as I reach the door, she calls out to me.
“You know you’re still doing it.”
I look over my shoulder and pause while she elaborates.
“I see the way he looks at you. Errol, that is. I wanted him, but once again he wants you.”
There are so many ways I can argue this, but only one thing comes out of my mouth.
“He doesn’t date staff.”
“You’re missing the point.”
Tired of arguing with the people, I leave it at that and walk out.
Just as I get control of myself in my trailer and sit down on the couch, there is a knock.
“Come in,” I yell. The door cracks open and in walks Errol. His face is drawn tight, his shoulders rigid, and he’s walking like the floor is going to fall out from underneath him.
“What’s wrong?”
He makes his way over to me. Lifting my feet to make room for himself, he slumps at the end of the couch and places them on his lap.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“No.” His voice is pulled thin, like a string on its last tether.
“What happened?” I sit up, sliding my knees underneath me and scooting to kneel next to him.
“I can’t get the scene between Dante and his father to play out the way it does in my head. We have done it over and over again, and it’s not ringing as powerful as it should.” He slides his hands up and down his face. “It’s not the actors, they’re bringing the right emotions, but it’s like the words aren’t right, or the pacing is off. I don’t know, I can’t pin point it, and that is what I’m supposed to do. It is literally my job.”
Taking one of his hands into mine, I squeeze it, trying to channel some reassurance through the touch. When he looks over at me, I can see all the self doubt circulating in his eyes.
“Hey,” I say, rubbing his hand in between mine. “You’re not the problem. Whatever is stopping this from working, we will figure out. Rewatch the clips and see if you can catch it on screen instead of in person. I can come over tonight and we can workshop the script and see if there’s a different way to approach this conversation. You are not failing.”
His shoulders ease a little at my words as he lays his head back against the top of the couch.
“I know it makes no sense. I know it doesn’t. But I feel like if every movie I make isn’t a booming success, it’s going to tank my career.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You are too hard on yourself. One failure is not going to be the end of it. Not to even say this is a failure. You have a good script, a good team and good actors. It’s going to come together in the end.” I move my free hand up to rub his shoulder, trying to work out the stress holding them tight. “Plus, it can’t fail. I can’t have my acting debut be a total disaster.” I give him a wink, and his body shakes with laughter.
“Only you could make my anxiety about you and not seem selfish.”
I gasp with faux offense. He opens his eyes to look at me and sees I’m smiling at him.
“I can make almost anything about me. It’s my entitled talent. I’m glad it didn’t come across as selfish, though.”
He laughs again, raising our intertwined hands to rest on his chest.
“Seriously, you are amazing, and so far everything I have seen about this movie has met that level. So don’t worry, this scene will be that, too.” I sweep one of his locs out of his face, resting my hand on his cheek.
He looks down at all the parts of us that are connected. His brow furrows in concentration at our touching hands. His lips slightly part open a little more when his tongue comes out to lick across the bottom one. I wonder if he is thinking about the last time my hands were in his. I wait for him to say something else, biting down on my bottom lip.
“What do you need?” I ask when enough time has passed that it doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything.
“A distraction. I need something to take my mind off this movie.”
I stare down at his mouth, thinking about what it will take to distract him. Looking back up, I catch him staring at my lips too, fire burning in his eyes.
“Let me guess, would a pretty girl or boy kissing you senseless do the trick?”
His lips curve upward, making him look feral.
My breath catches at the sight.
“No, not just anyone will do. It’ll take someone special.” He untangles our fingers, bringing his now free hand to rest on my leg. His thumb works circles into the curve of my knee as he flutters his eyelashes, trying to look innocent. Watching him watch me with that sensual hunger burning in his eyes, only one name comes to mind when I think of who he should kiss.
Standing, I walk over to the counter, trying to outrun that thought. It catches up as he comes to stand behind me, hands lowering onto the counter on either side of me. I turn around and find I’m pinned by him, surrounded by his feel and scent. An urge burns inside of me, stroked by desire.
“Errol.” My voice lacks density as all oxygen leaves my lungs at the sight of his head dipped in my direction.
A few locs slip out of his ponytail, coming to rest on his cheek.
“Farrah.”
He says my name like it’s a prayer. Heavy on his lips, it’s full of all his wants and desires. The air feels hot in the space between our bodies, full and ready to burst. Common sense is screaming something at me from the back of my mind, but I can’t hear it over the sound of my own rapid heart beat as I move my mouth up, almost meeting his.
He takes my chin in his hands, tilting my face up more. Lowering his mouth, he stops an inch away from me.
“Farrah?” he asks, inquiring if he can go all the way and finish what was started the other night. I know the answer even before I speak it.
“Yes.”
We hold for a breath, a span of a moment that feels like forever and less than a second all at the same time. Then his lips are pressing into mine. The pressure is light, tentative and subtle, like he is still unsure if he should be doing this. But all at once I’m on fire from his touch. He moves his mouth against mine, and fireworks explode inside of me, lighting me up. Hungry for more, I push up on my toes, deepening the kiss. The action unlocks something in him, and suddenly he is moving. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me tight against him as he moans his approval into my mouth.
Hooking my arms around his neck, I pull him down so our height difference is less of a problem. With his lips fiercely moving against mine, and our bodies pressed against one another, goosebumps rise up my back. When I think I can’t take any more, his tongue eases across my bottom lip, asking permission to enter. I part my mouth, allowing him entrance. He brings a hand up to rest on the nape of my neck, holding me steady.
His tongue grazes across every inch of mine, intertwining, and caressing. Dancing to the tune of our lust. He tastes like coffee, and something that is inherently just him. He makes my mind write stories about our future, using the feelings he elicits from me as ink. Every part of me leans into this, certainty seeming so clear in this moment.
When the hand on my neck slides into my hair, grabbing my curls, he shakes free my last shred of self control. Locking his fingers in, he pulls lightly, tightening his hold. The action pulls a moan out of me that he seems to like, because he does it again. Passion ignites in me, heating my body until the only thing that makes it seem bearable is taking off my clothes. Pulling back to do just that, I’m caught on the sight of his swollen kissed lips.
Not yet finished, he brings his mouth to the curve of my neck. His lips graze across, peppering little kisses up and down. Each press shoots down into my core, building the anticipation. My panties soak through with every nibble and smooch.
“Errol.” I can’t take anymore and not want to strip him bare in this trailer.
He stops, his mouth hovering above mine. His eyes are heavy with desire. Lid’s half open, they are full of his want to do more. Instead of acting on all the wicked thoughts traipsing across both our minds, he steps back, letting me go.
Without all the warmth of him pressed against me, I’m cold. Crossing my arms, the loss of his touch slows my heart down enough that I can finally think clearly.
What did we just do?
Shifting on my toes, I pull at my shirt, trying to make it feel right on my body again.
“Distracted?” I try to sound light-hearted about it, but my insides are twisting about in a flurry of questions and hesitations, trying to make sense of everything I’m feeling.
“Farrah, that’s not what that was.” His face looks caught between lust and concern as he watches me.
Stepping past him back towards the couch, I try to create distance between us.
“Well, whatever it was, it shouldn’t have happened.” He said it himself, he doesn’t sleep with people he works with; and I don’t even think I’m ready to do that.
Errol turns to face me, hands coming to rest on his hips, and he looks ready to do what we do best; argue. The silence is interrupted by his radio going off as someone calls for him to return to the set. Picking it up, he doesn’t break eye contact as he leans into the speaker.
“I’m coming,” he says, and like the freak I am, I imagine him saying those words in a different context.
Shaking my head, I try to clear that thought, along with all the others clouding my brain about him. When he doesn’t turn to go right away, even more join the fray as he looks down at me, that same fire sparking in his eyes again.
“Can we talk about this more?” He steps toward me instead of the door.
I nod, knowing we’ll have to, all while hating that fact. He turns to leave, looking over his shoulder once more, then he opens the door and walks out.
Sliding back onto the sofa, I try to make sense of the feelings rising inside of me. Part of me feels hopeful, while the rest feels dread when I think about what we just did. We kissed. Why? What does it mean? With every reason to never cross that line, we just hopped right over it.
He is the director. He is my friend. He is the person I said I would never sleep with. Now, he may or may not be the best first kiss of my life. First and last, if my brain has anything to say about it. Sitting in my own juices produced by his touch, I know that my brain isn’t the only thing capable of controlling me. While packing up to go for the day, I wonder what he’s thinking.
This question plagues me even as I step out of the shower, freshly washed and touched. I thought I would have been done wondering about Errol after I brought myself to orgasm three times with the shower head, yet thoughts of him stay on repeat even after I get dressed.
Walking into the livingroom, I look for Monty to help me make sense of it all.
Finding her in the kitchen chugging down green sludge, I wait for her to finish the cup.
“What is that?” I slide into a seat at the kitchen table.
“It’s a juice cleanse. I’m trying to reset my body from all the junk I consumed this past weekend.”
I try to understand her commitment to healthy living when the smell of wheatgrass and mint waft from the cup, reminding me of outside.
“Um, nice.”
Finishing up, she joins me at the table, grabbing the deck of cards we keep there. She sits and deals out a game of Canasta, staring me down.
“Come on, say what’s on your mind.”
Not even bothering to act like I came for anything else, I dive into the details of what happened. Telling her everything, from the way he looked to what we were talking about before it happened.
“I just don’t know what to do. Clearly, we can’t keep on like this. It will look really bad if people find out, and I have yet to see him fully date someone. He doesn’t even date staff, so I’m sure he regrets it. Plus, I don’t know if I can date someone right now. All of it spells out: bad, bad, bad.” I conclude.
Playing my opening hand in the game, I lay out my cards both figuratively and actually.
Putting her cards to the side, Monty stops playing and looks at me.
“Do you like him? That is the only thing you should be asking yourself right now. The rest can wait.”
Did I? What do I know about Errol? A lot now, honestly. I know what shapes him, what drives him, what keeps him up at night. I even know the minuscule details about him, like his favorite color and how he takes his coffee. The big stuff that defines him stand out clear to me, from the way he is patient, kind and thoughtful, to the things he values most in life. In so many ways, it seems I do know him very well, and I like all of it.
I try to keep the accompanying smile at bay, while I share this all with her.
“Good. Now what are you going to do about it?”
I think back to every moment Errol and I have shared and realize there has been a spark there since the start. I have always felt strongly for him in some way, first negatively and now like this. Will that be enough? Am I okay with just having a fling with him? Or do I want more? Can I handle more after Christian? Should I risk this good place we’re in now for the possibility of something that could really fail?
“I don’t know.”
Monty picks up her hand again, and we resume playing. I focus on the game, keeping thoughts of him in the back of my mind for now, not ready to face that decision until I’m surer of my feelings.