I Love My Side of the Story Page 8

  I was on her for round two.

  ________________

  They say having sex on the first night isn’t good, that it will lead nowhere. I will argue that there are exceptions, and not just in our case. I know a few relationships that started with one torrid night, then stood the test of time’s turmoil. That’s what I hoped for, for Amber and me.

  After that night we were always together. I wanted to be around her, even when she wasn’t there. She never called me, which I knew was a ploy, the advice of some book, but I liked it. When I like a woman – I’ll let her know. I can’t not, because when I’m into someone, she’s all I think about, outside of acting and eating. If that’s not the case, I’m sorry… it’s not going to last. There has to be passion.

  I’ve tried to like women who I didn’t feel that spark with, but who were pretty cool, regardless. It couldn’t last because my cock wants out of my pants at all times. All I have to do is look at a woman who I think is hot and it could be a ‘go.’ This is directly at war with the other half of my nature, the side of me that loves having a girlfriend. I’m going to get married. I want kids. I know this about myself. Some guys don’t want these things, but most of us do. So – if you want these things – then you can’t listen to your cock, or you’ll lose what you’ve got. My point? It’s really hard to ignore my baser instincts when I’m with a girl who I’m not that into. It has nothing to do with looks. A ‘4’ will become a ‘10’ in the blink of your cock’s eye, if being around her makes you happy.

  That’s what I love about Amber. How feminine she is, makes me feel who I am as a man. How smart she is, keeps me interested. How loyal, loving, hot in bed, fun to be around, optimistic about life, all keeps me happy to have her around. I respect the hell out of her. Problem is, I don’t think she respects me.

  It started with Marlena’s party. The night of the party, I got to her place and she opened the door in a hot little blue number. It reminded me of the dress she wore when I met her. I tried to jump her in the hallway, but she wouldn’t have it. Said we were late. Totally fine. I don’t like being late either. But the second I saw an opportunity after we got to the party, I pulled her upstairs and fucked her in the host’s closet. When I said I loved her after we were done, I surprised even me. I knew I loved her. Knew I wanted to tell her…just not then. I planned to tell her in a more romantic setting, but you know what they say: How do you make God laugh… make plans.

  When she and her girlfriends disappeared onto the balcony, I knew they were talking about me. As a guy, you can’t get around that. Your woman is going to talk. So there I am, heavily aware I’m the subject of female conversation, wishing I knew what they were saying, and barely able to hold a conversation with David because my mind is out on the balcony. And I was worried with good reason because when she came back, I watched her face… and though she smiled at me, something was said out there that wasn’t good. Because when David handed me a beer, Amber said, “Are you really going to have another one? Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” or something like that. Inside, I felt a sting of embarrassment. For her to do that in front of David…it wasn’t cool. I handed the beer back and kissed her on the head to shut her up. As the night wore on, I decided to let it go… but in the back of my mind, I took out a scorecard and put a mental picture on it of the smug look she gave to Jessica. Jess even winked back to her. Or she had something in her eye. I’d like to believe it was the latter, but let’s get real.

  A Couple Weeks Later

  Waking up, I grab my phone and hit snooze on the alarm. Amber slides her arm over my chest as I lie back down. She turns on her side and wraps her leg over my crotch. Someone woke up before we did.

  “Mmm… Well, hello there.” Amber says.

  “He likes your leg,” I smile and reach up for her hand, sandwich it between my heart and my fingers.

  “Does he? That’s so sweet of him,” she purrs into my ear, her voice sleepy. “Why is your alarm set? It’s Saturday.”

  I close my eyes, answer “Rehearsal,” wishing I could fall back asleep for fifteen minutes. Or bang her. Or both.

  She kisses the length of my collarbone. “Rehearsal? You mean you have to go?”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to, though.” I pull her tighter. She’s so warm.

  “Then don’t,” she smiles against my chest, pushing her naked body against mine and making me harder.

  “I have to.” I pull her on top of me, her face above mine, hair falling around me. We are definitely going to fuck.

  “What are you rehearsing for? A scene in class?”

  I shake my head, kiss her neck and answer, “Uh uh. Showcase.”

  She pulls herself up away from my mouth, her face curious. “What showcase?”

  Even though Amber’s a casting director, we rarely talk about the business because she’s very opinionated on things, and it makes it hard to talk to her… especially since she’s farther along than I am on the success ladder. For now. I’ll get there.

  “Actors Unite. Kara Wayfied, Jenna Strong Casting, Allison Taggert & Associates.”

  “God. Seriously? I feel sorry for you.”

  I blink. “What do you mean?”

  She pushes her hair over so it hangs off one side, but my cock is softening, thanks to the elitist look on her face. “Well, Jenna casts worse that C-list movies. Allison is useless; she only does those showcases to make money.”

  “What about Kara?”

  “Meh.” She shrugs. I don’t say anything. She looks down. “Oh, baby. He went back to sleep.”

  The alarm goes off again. I lift her and put her down to the side of me. Then I roll off the bed and stand up. “You can stay here if you want, but I have to get ready.”

  “Yeah? Okay.” I look back at her to see her snuggle under the covers, pulling them up high under her chin for warmth. I smile; she sure is cute. While she dozes, I brush my teeth, pull on a t-shirt, jeans, socks, boots, then go to kneel by the bed and kiss her goodbye. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay,” she smiles, waking. “Are you doing a comedy or a drama?”

  I hesitate. “Um…Drama.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?” I ask.

  “Well, people like to laugh and if you want to make a good impression, then…” She shrugs again.

  “Yeah, but I want to do dramas. Or at least, realistic life stories. Or action. And Kara casts dramatic independent films.”

  Amber, her hair sprawled out on the pillow behind her, her fingers touching my shoulder, says, “Honey, Kara has no talent for casting. Trust me. I interned for her and that woman has no eye for it.”

  I take a deep breath. “Babe... she just cast a feature that filmed here in the city. I got ahold of the script and it was awesome. That’s the kind of stuff I want to work on. And I have to try.”

  “Of course you do. I’m sorry,” she says.

  I stand and slide my arms through my jacket. “You can hang out here as long as you need. I’ll call you later.”

  “Have a great rehearsal.”

  “Thanks.” I close the door and start walking.

  A Week After

  Class is brutal tonight. It’s like everyone has a target on their back, and our coach is pointing a shotgun, then deciding we’re too pathetic to shoot. Watching the scenes, I can understand it. Matt and Melissa did one from Streetcar Named Desire that, besides having been done a million and one fucking times, lacked even a sliver of passion. Gary’s scene was okay, but only because it was surprising to see him do a scene from Glengarry Glen Ross. All David Mamet’s plays are heavy on dialogue. The other four scenes were uncommitted, painfully boring, and hard on the eyes.

  Now I’m onstage – my turn to get slaughtered, but I release my fear and go for it. I’m with Sylvia, a girl so sexy that both men and women want to sleep with her. We’re in the middle of the one-act play Split when suddenly our coach – Henrick Von Clauson – stands up and makes his trademark noise of fury-tai
nted disappointment. I didn’t even hear the sound because I was in the zone; that place where you and the character are one person.

  I do hear him when he says, “No no no no…NO.” I grit my teeth and wait for it. “Sylvia – it’s not working. She’s afraid her husband has cheated on her with his female best friend who’s world-traveled, when you’re not. Who’s well dressed, when you’re not. Who’s gregarious, the life of the party, when you’re not.” He thrusts out his pale, wrinkled hand, palm up and asks her, “Do you see what I’m saying? Could you please – Dear God, I’m begging you! – try to a bit more bland… or at the very least stop pushing out your breasts so goddamn much??!!”

  She juts out a hip and lands her manicured hand on it. “I’m just not that type, Henrick. What do you want me to do?”

  He looks at me like Do you believe this? But I don’t move, save for my eyebrows. I don’t by any stretch want Sylvia to see me react because on top of being a knockout, she is bat-shit crazy. She will make me pay in rehearsals. I’m not stupid.

  He spins in a circle, his hands in the air and yells, “I want you to act! I want you to act, Sylvia. This is not a Being Sylvia class. This is a Being The Character class. The living, breathing, feeling, dreaming, crying, praying – CHARACTER. Get off the stage. You’re making me ill.” He waves his hands with a snort.

  I step down, sunken and disappointed. As I pass him, he looks at me and says like it’s nothing, “Josh. Excellent work. You disappeared. You were him. Your best work to date. Excellent.”

  I stare open-mouthed at my coach, my god among men, and my father figure. “Oh. Um… thanks, Henrick.”

  “Go on then. Stop staring at me,” he says, and shoves his reading glasses back up on his ancient nose, thumbing through a folder.

  “Right. Sorry.” I go take my seat next to Gary and we share a look. When Henrick Von Clauson says excellent work, you feel like you won not one Oscar, but ten. He only says it a couple times a year, and never to the same person. As soon as class is over, I shoot out of my seat, thinking, I have to tell Amber. She said she was working late tonight, so I’ll go surprise her at her office.

  “Great job,” Gary says, hitting my shoulder on my way out.

  I spin on my heels, say, “Thanks Gary. You too!” and take off running.

  “You want to grab a beer, Josh?” Matt yells after me.

  “Can’t, Matt. Have to go,” I yell back.

  Eighteen Minutes Later

  When I get there, her name on the building directory stops me: Amber Monroe Casting. Pride swells. My girl is a successful casting director on her way up to the big leagues. Now we’re both on our way! We’re gonna get there together, and it’s gonna be great. I take the stairs two at a time without losing my breath.

  Inside, she and Annie are in the main room, shocked to see me.

  “Oh, Josh, you scared me!” Annie laughs.

  “Hey Annie. Sorry.” I look at my girl and smile, “Hey you.”

  She comes over and kisses me. “Hey.”

  Annie says something and leaves. “See ya Annie.” I call after her – my eye on the prize.

  Amber and I shoot the shit for awhile, but all I can think is how I want to push her up against a wall and fuck the living daylights out of her. As soon as I can, I grab her, pick her up and eat her out until she’s screaming and grabbing onto my head for dear life. When she collapses onto me, and I lay her on the chair, it pops out: “I think we should move in together.” No reaction from Amber. She didn’t hear me because she’s wrecked. I love it. Well, here’s my chance to back out. Nah. Looking at her, I know what I’ve always known – I want to be with her. I repeat, “I said I think we should move in together.”

  I see her stop breathing. One eye peers up at me. “Excuse me?”

  “I think we should move in together. I don’t want to live apart from you anymore.” I stand and walk to a framed pic of her, Jess and Nicole. Huh. Where’s us?

  She springs upright, “Really?”

  I sit on her desk, taking up a fraction of its gargantuan size. I look down, but see no pic of us there either. “Yeah. Really.”

  We talk about the logistics and it occurs to me… “Oh, you didn’t tell me. What project are you working on?”

  “The new Spike Jonze film,” she says.

  Say what??!!! “Spike Jonze? Adaptation Spike Jonze? Being John Malkovich Spike Jonze?”

  “Uh… yeah. It’s my first feature with him.”

  “Well, he doesn’t do TV, so of course it’s a feature film,” I explain like an idiot out of sheer brain-splitting enthusiasm.

  “You know a lot about him…”she says slowly.

  “Who doesn’t? His films are ground breaking. The guy is a phenomenal talent.” Impressed and convinced we are both bound for the big life, I say, “Wow, Amber. I can’t believe he hired you.”

  She gets tense and backs away from me. “Why wouldn’t he hire me? I work really hard, Josh. And I’m good at what I do.”

  “Baby, no no no…” I reach out, grab her to explain, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant it’s an incredible opportunity. How far are you into casting?”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, I cringe. I promised myself I’d never ask her for an audition.

  “Far. Just have a couple women’s parts to do left,” she says.

  “Oh.” I’m almost relieved, because I don’t want her to think I’m a mooch.

  “Yeah…” It’s obvious she’s bummed she didn’t bring me in to audition. Kicking myself for asking, I walk away.

  “Are you leaving?”

  I turn around, surprised. “Yeah. We’re going to celebrate. This is a big day. My baby and I are moving in together.”

  She’s got a weird expression on her face, and no top on. “Oh. I should put some clothes on.”

  I grin and run over to her. “Nah. I like you like this.” I swing her around, set her down.

  For the remainder of the night, as I go over planning the move – movers, notice to our landlords, changing addresses, the best day to do, etc… – she barely says a word, because she knows I’ve got it covered. This makes me feel pretty great, I won’t lie.

  At dinner I say, taking a bite of my steak. “Babe, one thing I’m not sure on. Should we live in your place or mine?”

  She pushes some grilled veggies around her plate. “I don’t know Josh. What do you think?”

  “I think your place is bigger. It has a more homey feel to it.”

  She smiles. “You think so?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Your place it is.”

  “Our place, soon,” she corrects me.

  “To our place.” We lift up our glasses.

  “To our place,” she says, and drinks, looking down.

  I say, “You’re barely eating,” and slice off another chunk of meat, shove it in my mouth.

  “Yeah.” she shrugs. “Not hungry. Too excited, I guess.”

  “Amber?”

  “Yes?” She looks up.

  “I love you.”

  She smiles. “I love you, too, Josh.”

  Night Before The Move-In

  Stepping out of the subway, my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and see it’s my agent. Odd to get a call from her after 6 p.m. I look at the time and see 7:32 p.m. Huh. Are they going to drop me? My heart is beating fast. Please don’t drop me the night before I move in with my girl.

  “Josh here.”

  “Josh, it’s Marci.”

  “Hey… yeah, I know. What’s up?”

  “I just got the call about that Toyota spot you auditioned for last week. You booked it.”

  I stop walking, nearly colliding into a guy who was pedestrian-tailgating me. “What the fuck!” he says.

  “Then don’t follow so close!” I yell. To her, I say; nicer, “Say that again.”

  “You booked it. You booked the Toyota spot.”

  I hold my head, look down at the sidewalk and turn in a circle. “You’re shitting me.”r />
  She laughs, “No. I’m really not. You have a wardrobe fitting on…”

  But I cut her off by whooping and hollering and jumping in the air with a fist pump like you would not believe. “I BOOKED IT??! Oh my God – Marci, I’m moving in with my girl tomorrow! This is the best news ever. Thank you! Thank you!!”

  Through laughter, she says, “That’s very exciting! I’m so happy for you. Well, have a good weekend moving in with your girlfriend because your fitting isn’t until Monday. You’re free until then! The shoot will be sometime between next Tuesday through Friday, and we’ll have the exact dates for you soon.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” I say seriously and then burst out with, “What am I talking about? Of course I’ll be there! Why would I be anywhere else? This is so great. You don’t even know. National Network, right?”

  “Yep!”

  “Wooohoooo!!! Thank you, Marci. You just made my life. Thank you.”

  “Goodnight Josh. And congratulations on your move. She must be very special.”

  “She is. She is. Goodnight Marci. Have a good weekend.”

  “It’s not as good as yours is, but I’ll try,” she says with a chuckle and hangs up.

  I take off running. When I get to Amber’s building to pick her up – tomorrow, our building, wow – I stop outside. You know what? I’m going to wait to tell her the good news. I’ll wait until we’re at dinner with Jess and David. Make it a real celebration. Dinner on me! The stars are shining on me today, man! They are mother fucking shining!!!

  Thirty-Three Minutes Later

  I look around the place, my first time here. The restaurant is a slender long rectangle, lit by retro lampshades above wood tables and comfortable cushioned seats backed with burnished iron. You can see the kitchen through a large glass window; watch the magic as it happens. I like it. We’re at the bar and Jess and Amber are off to the side, talking about whatever it is they talk about, which always seems to keep them happy no matter what it is. (I’m a little jealous of the friendships women have.)