The Former Miss Cheddarworths Grandson – Ellena Espejo #3
“That’s a relief,” she exhaled. “One client’s deathly allergic to fish, and here at my favorite restaurant, it’s in everything including dessert.
Finn mentioned commercials, so you’re versed in the art of killing time between takes—whole other discipline from theater.
Better than just a lead, though, in you I see both quirky lead and boy next door.
That’s special. Brother of protag, well-intentioned teacher, ambitious-slash-vengeful middle management.
I like this. A haircut would give you stock market bully or—even better—superhero vibes.
Don’t need to tell you comic book flicks pay well.
How recent are your headshots? Oh! Before I forget, just this morning. ..”
She scrolled through her phone with one thumb while the fingers of her other hand played with her platinum pixie cut. “Nope. Damn it. I’ll have to get back to you. Thought I snapped a picture when it arrived on my doorstep. The CD’s all over the map.”
Recalling that ‘CD’ stood for casting director made Xander smile.
He loved knowing what he knew, knowing there was so much to learn, and he adored LA people.
Olga’s verbal train barreled down the rails, smokestack gushing warmth and amusement.
“She’s not cookie cutter, and I adore her for that.
It’s a truly fresh approach to sorting the wheat from the chaff—but she hasn’t grasped that casting call notices exclusively sent hard copy hot-glued to a flower arrangement or a box of donuts is neither portable nor transferable to every device.
Great for her purposes. Great for inspiring creativity.
That’s what the industry should be about, but it makes prep a bear.
That said, what I recall from my cursory glance told me you might be perfect for this role.
I’ll be out of town a couple days; catching a plane tonight and my assistant is down with the flu.
But I will get to it, so keep your phone handy. ”
At the start of his shift, Xander tripped in the kitchen, breaking dishes that were ready to be served.
His manager dressed him down about it. Then, due to a typo on the supply order, they ran out of chicken within the first hour.
Chicken Parmesan was their most popular menu item.
This led to an evening of disappointed customers stingy with their tips, and in one case, skipping out of paying entirely.
A couple celebrating their anniversary begrudgingly accepted the alternative Xander suggested, then abandoned the barely-touched eggplant Parmesan and the open bottle of Prosecco without settling the bill. According to the next table over, they left arguing.
The cherry atop the night was falling asleep on the bus.
He woke, startled and disoriented and a thirty-minute walk home through unfamiliar, unlit streets without sidewalks.
Grumpily whining to himself about his long miserable evening, he complained that he couldn’t even find success as a waiter, much less as an actor.
Though one night’s flame suggested that he was unforgettable, those shattered pages depressed him as much as they uplifted him.
Residing in Los Angeles at Aunt Cathy’s began with hope and enthusiasm for the future; he paid rent mostly through house-sitting and checking off tasks from the honey-do list. However, success in tracking down “Verity” would demand he humiliate himself by admitting to her that his life was not particularly stable or independent.
Over ten years, to focus on learning the craft through performing in small theatres, he bounced around, lived frugally, and—to reserve time and cerebral energy for his heart’s endeavor—had paid bills mostly with menial work.
His current job was a few baby steps above what he did when that now-published author last saw him. No car, little savings, and a struggling plan were all he had to his ‘prestigious’ name. She was probably long married with kids, a house, and a menagerie of pets. What was the point?
The point was…it motivated him. And if his life’s accomplishments forever remained leagues behind hers, he had proof someone thought ardently of him, even if only for a moment. That should be cherished. As soon as he was home, he reread the evidence of his effect on her.
Pressed against each other for warmth in my twin bed, his dark eyes shined in the light of the battery lamp throughout giggly staring contests and a naturally flowing conversation. Piece by piece, clothing came off while the icy bedsheet—protecting us from sandpaper-wool blankets—thawed.
Some body parts remained a hurdle for me, still too weird or dangerous or intimidating.
Anyone as unacquainted as I was with second base would not have been ready for ‘doing it’.
There were plenty of negotiable possibilities, but I all but banned his cock from our little club.
He accepted my youthful recoil without hesitation and kept it in his briefs.
How could that generosity not stir up magic?
The night would not be manufactured for voyeuristic pleasures, and it would not end without a drop or two of mortification, but what mattered was his kindness.
Initial hours fell to experimentation, including use of a cheap pair of handcuffs I’d owned for years.
I locked myself to the bed frame. Raleigh was obviously not into that sort of thing.
For me, it was purely curiosity. His disinterest in the game, however, didn’t stop his velvet mouth from suckling and kissing me from throat to hip.
If the experience was new to him, then his instincts were brilliant.
My desire to ‘give up power’ waned once the cuffs prevented touching and embracing him and running my fingers through his hair in response to all he did for me.
Xander visualized her; hands above her head shackled to the metal frame with those damnable dime-store restraints. She was right; he wasn’t into it. Not that it mattered; it was her choice. However, he shook with laughter over an incident that had nothing to do with their night together.
Logs used as benches framed a campfire; a boombox belonging to his friend Dan blasted Metallica on a picnic table.
Xander assumed “Jennifer”/Verity brought the cuffs to the gathering just for kicks.
Dan locked them on his wrists—because of course he did—where they stayed even after midnight when the noise drew the rangers to the gathering.
Dan directed someone to turn down the music, but the rangers demanded it be shut off, the fire be doused, and that everyone leave. Then they spotted Chris with a beer, which would escalate their paperwork—and devoured their patience—due to underage drinking.
One ranger shined a flashlight on Dan, who failed to hide his wrists.
The campfire glowed on her expression under the rim of her Smokey the Bear hat.
Admonishment outshone amusement, her tone intent on communicating precisely how close he came to a jail cell that night.
“You are so lucky they’re not police-issue. Clean this place up and go home.”
Dan couldn’t go straight home.
A guy with a nameless face and a ratty army jacket glued himself to Jennifer/Verity that whole evening. They flew off while the authorities were distracted, handcuff key still in her pocket.
Xander hadn’t noticed their escape; wedging his beer somewhere discreet occupied him. He nursed that can of frothy postponed-piss most of the evening, while averting his gaze from their make-out session and ruminating over the luscious sound of her name.
It smacked him in the head— Jessenia .
Her name was Jessenia! Of all the names on the planet, how could that one slip his mind?
Some friends nicknamed her “Hazy”, but he called her Jess with an English ‘J’.
She didn’t mind since it was the common Americanized form, but they did once discuss the proper pronunciation (H-yes-en-ya) in which her voice resonated as a cascade soaking fields and stretching stream beds after an autumn storm.
Sous chefs called her “Yes-and-Oh-Yeah” behind her back, implying she couldn’t resist houndstooth trousers. Coworkers alluded to time spent between her thighs.
He regretted not calling them out, but what would he say?
In his eyes, selectivity was a positive trait for reasons of health, not morality.
He left her bed far more experienced than when he climbed in, and for all he knew a dozen people could have seen her naked that season.
But to claim he resisted rutting the daylights out of her because she wasn’t ready wouldn’t defend her honor.
They would only twist it into evidence that she burned through the entire cafeteria crew.
Xander would rather think about her name; the waterfall that would gather details, impressions, and evocation, then crash over the edge to echo throughout the valley. It described her and held powerful energies within.
Halloween was just another night for park employees. Children were prohibited from living there, so it was unusual to answer one’s door and be faced with a shout of, “Trick or Treat!”
Xander didn’t recall how the friend was dressed, but Jess wore a vintage costume made for a little kid.
The mask perched on her head, depicting the face of a cartoon cricket, was the crinkly-plastic kind with quarter-sized eye holes and a slit to breathe through.
The bug’s green body printed on an apron of tablecloth material barely obscured the blouse clinging to her curvy torso.
Their treat bags revealed a successful venture: dollar bills, bumper sticker, Santa hat, can of Vienna sausages, full-sized candy bar, and a bag of chips.
A quick scan of his room provided a package of ramen for each of them.
They squeaked with joy and ran down the dormitory hall, her aura beaming so bright he reflected on whether she might be a shape-shifting fairy.