13. Chapter Thirteen
And the neighbors said, “Look who is walking on the beach.”
* * *
Because Graham doesn’t say anything, I finish the burger and most of the fries. I’m stuffed, but it was so good.
He’s right. I don’t eat. You can’t afford to eat in this town, or your career is over. Sure, there are some actresses that are making it as plus-sized, and I admire them. I really do. I wish we could all just be normal. But it’s not how I was raised.
I remember seeing my father watch women walk down the street. He was screening them, even if they weren’t actresses.
“Look at the arms on that one,” he’d say. “She could skip a meal or two,” he’d say about another.
There were times when he’d criticize my mother at the dinner table, and well, that kind of stuff trickles down.
I’d watch her go without eating, taking diet pills, getting sick after meals. As a child, you just assume that’s the norm and those are the expectations.
Penny and Sal even try to work my schedules around my period. There’s just no need for extra bloat when you’re on camera.
I scan a look over Graham, who has helped himself to his friend’s beer. He’s sitting in a chair across from me, feet kicked up on another chair, finding ease in the middle of his day.
He’s unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and taken off the tie he had on.
He ate at the hotel, and then had another burger with me. Now he’s having a beer and there’s not a care in the world going on in his head right now.
I want that. I’m envious of that.
“There’s not many people on the beach today,” I say, and he turns his head to look at me. We’ve been sitting in silence for a long time while I ate.
“It’s Thursday, in March,” he says, as if that’s enough for people to stay away.
I nod. “Right.”
He puts his feet on the ground. “Besides, this part of the beach is quieter, more private.”
“That’s nice.”
“It is. I’ll come down here and run this stretch of sand, or just sit by the water when I need some time to think,” he says.
I look out over the ocean. I don’t utilize its power very often. In fact, if I’m not working, I’m usually just wandering around my condo—alone.
“Do we have time for a walk on the beach?” I ask, and he sets down the beer.
“Are you feeling up to it? You did just eat a full meal.”
I purse my lips and take a breath to lash out, but he holds up his hand.
“Sorry. That was uncalled for.” He drops his shoulders. “Yes, we have plenty of time for a walk on the beach.”
We tend to react to one another rather than interact. Maybe this is a good time to think about that really hard.
I’m finding some enjoyable qualities about this maniac, but I wouldn’t dare tell him that. Maybe it’s just familiarity. I know him. Or I think I know him.
And to be honest, I feel safe around him.
We pick up our lunch trash, and he sets it by the back door so that we can take it with us when we leave. Then we head down the steps and out to the beach.
There are a few people walking about, some laying on the sand, others in the water. We walk close, but we don’t touch.
“What was your first role?” Graham asks me.
I lift my dress a little so that the hem doesn’t drag in the sand. “Itsy Bitsy Bites,” I say.
He purses his lips. “That’s baby food, isn’t it?”
“Toddler,” I correct.
“So, you were pretty little?”
“Yep. Other than that, it was bit parts here and there. But I was Annie when I was ten.”
“No shit?”
His admiration of that makes me smile. “My parts were nothing like you playing Chip. I mean, if you didn’t know where to look for me, you didn’t see me.”
He nods. “What was your first show?”
“I had a walk-on part in Cosmic MD.”
He laughs at that. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“You’ll never find it either. It was the pilot, and it never made it. Honestly, I didn’t do much until I landed the Love Is in the Air network. It’s been everything to me.”
Now he reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together, just as he had in the car. It’s comfortable, and I don’t feel the need to pull from him. Though we’re in private, he really doesn’t need to touch me.
“You’re really good at what you do, you know?” he says.
That causes me to stop, and it tugs on his hand, forcing him to turn toward me.
“Are you serious right now?”
He steps to me. “I’m serious.”
I study him from behind my sunglasses. “I suddenly don’t know when you’re messing with me.”
“Honey, I can say nice things.”
Now I want to lash out at the use of honey, but I don’t.
“Do you really think I’m good at what I do? I mean, all the characters I play are basically the same.”
He shrugs. “Mine too. I guess that’s why I want an action role. I can do more than drive an old pickup truck and pretend to be some Christmas tree farmer or dress in a pretentious suit and pretend to be some CEO.”
That makes me laugh, and I cover my mouth with my other hand. “It’s so predictable, isn’t it?”
He smiles. “That’s why it’s popular. People say they want new entertainment, but they don’t. They want comfort. That’s what we give them. They want the happily ever afters they don’t have at home. They want the meet cutes and the first kisses. It’s all relevant.”
I pucker my lips. “But you want to shoot people?”
“I can’t help it. I’m a guy. I’d like to play a sports hero, too, someday, but I’ll take what I can get. Right now, I have a gig that includes a girlfriend.”
My jaw goes slack. He said that as if it didn’t mortify him as much as it did a few days ago.
This relationship, though fake, has some realism. We’re the only two people going through it, and we’re doing that together. But in the end, we both get something we want, and it doesn’t have to involve the other person.
“Are you bothered by being associated with me?” I ask.
Graham studies me again and then takes my other hand in his as well. The hem of my dress drops and skims the sand.
“If I were, I wouldn’t make movies with you. I’d have asked to be released.”
My mouth has gone dry, so I lick my lips. “We don’t get along.”
“It’ll take some work on both our parts.”
Okay, I’ll admit I find some joy butting heads with him all the time. Maybe I could find some joy being his friend, too.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll work on it.”
“Me too.”
We stand there for another moment, neither of us moving. Our hands are still grasped in one another’s, and our gazes are set.
“Maybe we should head back home,” I say. “I mean, you should take me home. You have plans.”
He nods slowly, but we don’t turn back to the house.
“I want to do something first,” he says.
“What?”
He takes off his sunglasses and hooks them on the front of his shirt. Then, he takes my sunglasses and pushes them to the top of my head.
I wince from the brightness of the sun.
He cups my face with both of his hands.
I swallow hard. I’ve seen him do this before. I’ve been part of it. This is how he kisses. This is his move in.
We’ve tried this a million different ways, and this is his signature move, the one they can get in one take—from his perspective.
I’m prepared for him to lick me, or head butt me, or hell, just to walk away. So, I keep my eyes open and watch him.
The corner of his mouth turns up. “I’m actually going to kiss you this time,” he says.
“Why?”
“I want to know what it’s like when it’s not scripted.”
“I’m a bit leery,” I whisper.
“You should be, but I’m being honest.”
I worry my lip and he watches me. “No one is watching,” I say, as if that’s the only reason someone would want to kiss me.
“I know. I just feel like it’s the right thing to do.” He eases even closer to me, closing the gap between us.
This forces me to wrap my arms around him just to keep my balance.
“I could count it down if you’d like.” His breath is warm against my mouth. And though we just ate onions on our hamburgers, there is no hint of Doritos. He’s kissing me without the purpose of sabotage.
“Maybe that’s a good idea,” I agree.
“Okay.” His thumbs brush my cheeks. “One. Two.”
We both say, “Three,” at the same time and move in.
His mouth is on mine, and it’s hot and open. This isn’t a well-practiced kiss, this is one of feeling.
Our kisses are always hard and firm. But I open to him and one of his hands moves to the nape of my neck. The other slides down to my waist, pulling me in closer.
His tongue moves against mine and my head swims. I’ve never felt this before when we’ve kissed. We don’t kiss like this. My body isn’t rigid like it usually is, and it goes pliant under his touch.
I gather the back of his shirt, and I can feel his hand at my lower back. He’s gripping my dress in his fingers.
The sun is hot. The ocean loud. My skin is damp from sweat and probably from the increased activity my heart is feeling as it thuds in my chest.
When neither of us can breathe, we ease apart. Needing a moment, we rest our foreheads to one another’s.
“Okay, well...” he says on a ragged breath, but doesn’t go on.
“Yeah, well...” I agree.
I watch his throat work as he swallows. “We should get you home. I need to get to my trainer.”
Without another word, we put on our sunglasses and walk back toward the house.
I wonder if he feels the same way I do. We’ve just crossed a line we can’t uncross.
This farce just became very real.