The buzzing alarm penetrated Colin’s head like a drill. He groaned into his pillow, reaching a hand out to smack at the clock. His head was throbbing, and his mouth was dry and sour-tasting.
Monday.
Last night’s whiskey was not the genius move it had seemed at the time. Colin sat up and scrubbed at his gritty eyes with his fists. Pushing himself up off the mattress with a grunt, he swung his feet to the floor and stomped to the bathroom. He gulped down a glass of water and a couple of aspirin while he waited for the shower to warm up, cursing his stupidity.
This was going to be one hell of a long day.
He could feel his dehydrated body absorb the water he had drunk as he stepped into the shower spray. Grabbing the shampoo, he scrubbed his hair. It was long enough to snarl a little around his fingers, and Colin made a mental note to go in for a cut.
Alicia had seemed to like it shaggy, but there was no guarantee that he would ever see her again. He had spent the latter part of last week and the entire weekend waiting for a call, a text, a knock at the front door.
Nothing.
He had to assume that her promise to consider taking that leap of faith would end in her deciding for the option she felt was safer. And if she was going to protect herself, he was going to have to as well. That meant not getting his hopes up.
After he shaved and dressed, Colin headed downstairs, fetching the Post from his doorstep on the way to the coffee maker. Sipping, he settled in and began to scan the day’s news. A small feature in the Style section caught his eye, a piece on a certain television show that was about to start filming on location in D.C. Knowing he shouldn’t, Colin read, his heart constricting.
The article wasn’t anything that would have even interested him a month ago. Just a puff piece on the show, noting the critical and popular expectations the show had, given its stars and writing team, and some casting news.
Alicia was mistakenly identified as a “local” actress, which made Colin’s jaw clench, wishing it were really true.
“Here’s your trailer.” The production assistant indicated a door that had a card with her name on it to Alicia. Her role was big enough that it merited a share of a “triple banger” trailer, consisting of three private rooms for three different actors, each with an en-suite bathroom. This was a step up from all the television she had previously done, where her dressing room had been one of five tiny cubicles in a “honeywagon” with the bathroom in its own separate trailer.
“Thanks,” she said as she opened the door, but the PA was already turning away, talking into her headset. Alicia rolled her eyes and entered her new little home away from home. The furniture was comfortable and neutral, with no distracting colors or strange details. Putting her bag down on a beige armchair, she leafed through the new script pages that the PA had handed to her.
Exterior: Day, The Sculpture Garden at the National Gallery.
Alicia’s hand flew up to her mouth, memories of that afternoon with Colin flooding through her. Shoulders rigid, she made herself breathe deeply.
The last few days had been a slog of rebuilding her usual life. Doing things on her own, taking care of everything herself. She should feel better by now. She should feel whole.
Instead, she kept thinking about the promise she made to Colin. The promise to think about the two of them and if they could have a future.
But how could they have a future with their differences? Her brain, traitor that it was, handed her own words back to her.
But when you let your guard down…you’re kind. You listen. You don’t assume.
Her treacherous mind continued on that path, reminding her how his lips felt on hers, his solid muscles under her hands, the wild heat that he could make coil inside her.
And…he’s a good man. A good person. Kind and smart.
Her lips compressed, and she tried to re-focus on the script pages. This is the biggest job of your life. Don’t get distracted by…whatever that was. The party’s over, remember? It’s time to call it a day.
“Dude, if you’re not careful you’re going to send that thing into orbit.” Russell’s dark eyes widened as he stood behind the weight bench, watching Colin rhythmically shove a barbell toward the ceiling.
Colin grunted and pushed the weight up one more time, arms trembling. He nodded at Russell, who helped him rack it. Sitting up, Colin wiped down the bench with a towel.
“Your turn,” he said, nodding at the weight.
“Given your mood, I’m not sure I trust you to spot me. You look like you want to murder someone. What’s going on?” Despite his words, Russell lay on the bench and lowered the weight to his chest, preparing to press.
“Alicia. She left.”
Russell blew out a breath as he began to lift. “Back to New York?”
“No. She’s got another job here. But…we’re not together anymore.”
“That was…fast. What happened?” Russell grunted slightly as he pushed the bar up.
Colin gritted his teeth. Exercise was supposed to burn off tension, but it wasn’t working today. He felt even more wound up than when they had walked into the gym an hour before.
“It was the education thing. Some sort of ridiculous class nonsense. She insists her background is so different from mine that we’re doomed from the start.”
Russell’s dark, shaved head shone with sweat, and his eyes focused with concentration on the ceiling as he kept a slow, even tempo with the weight. “So, is that it? It’s over? Or are you going to try to get her back?”
“Well, she promised she would at least think about making a go of it.”
“And you don’t believe her?” Russell sighed as he racked the weight, sitting up and shaking out his arms. “Again?”
Colin scrubbed his hand over his face. “We moved beyond that, Russ. It’s not that I don’t trust her. But I don’t know what she’s going to do.”
Russell took a long drink from his water bottle and wiped his mouth. “Sucks to have it taken out of your hands, doesn’t it?”
Colin huffed a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah. I want to go camp out in her front garden until she agrees to give us a chance. But I promised I’d give her space.” Space. It reminded him of her insistence that they were from different worlds—aliens visiting new planets.
“Yeah, no. Chicks don’t dig the stalker thing.” Russell moved away from the bench and toward the rack of smaller free weights, Colin trailing behind. Taking two dumbbells, Russell began alternating bicep curls. “You just going to stand there, or are you going to lift?”
Colin mentally shook himself and selected weights of his own, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of the dumbbells in his hands, first one side, then the other. He watched his own biceps bunch and stretch and tried not to think about the way Alicia had run her fingers over his arms, seeming to like the size and solidity of them.
Closing his eyes, he let his arms hang at his sides and shrugged his shoulders, trying to release the tension that had made him ready to snap at everyone and everything all day. In his self-imposed darkness, Russell’s voice carried over the clanks and grunts of the weight room; “Time to get you a beer, my friend.”
Two days later, Alicia shut the door of her trailer, kicked her shoes into the corner and flopped into an armchair, flexing and pointing her toes.
Fucking heels. The balls of her feet throbbed. Standing on the sidewalk doing take after take in stilettos in D.C.’s August heat could kill a girl. A tap on the trailer door made her groan, and her head dropped to rest on the back of the armchair.
“Come in,” she called, raising her head. The door opened, and Laura Wu, the episode’s director, poked her head in. Alicia scrambled to her feet. “Laura, hi. What can I do for you?”
Laura adjusted her baseball cap, her long, dark ponytail trailing out of the hole in the back. “I can come back later if you need a minute, Alicia. I just wanted to chat about something with you.”
“No, come on in. Have a seat.” Alicia waved at the love seat in the small room, trying to ignore the flutter of nervousness in her gut and plopped back into the armchair. “I was just recovering from foot fatigue.”
Laura wrinkled her nose as she sat down. “I don’t envy actresses’ wardrobes. Life behind the camera has many distinct advantages.” Waving a hand to indicate her own faded Wonder Woman tee shirt, worn jeans, and sneakers, she leaned back. “And that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. Wardrobe. Or the opposite.”
Dread curled in Alicia’s stomach. “The nude scene?”
“Yeah. I want to change it.” Laura’s dark eyes, intense and intelligent, bored into Alicia.
“To…what?” More nudity?
“I don’t see that there’s any need for the skin, frankly. The guys in the suits like it, but they’re guys in suits.” Laura laughed, but it had a hollow sound. “Emphasis on guys. I’ve already gone ten rounds with a bunch of male executives who talk about how naked women are empowered and strong because they’re not wearing a stitch. But before I go all in on this, I want to make sure that’s in line with your vision of the character. So, what do you think? If you want to do it, we can shoot it as written. Otherwise, I have a final conference call with L.A. later today and I’m going to try one last time to get it taken out.”
Alicia blinked. “This…was not the conversation I thought we were going to have.”
Laura chuckled. “You thought I was going to push for more?”
“The thought had occurred to me.”
“Well, I won’t. What do you want, Alicia?”
“So,” Russell said, lowering himself to a bar stool. “What’s your plan?”
“What plan?” Colin scrubbed his hand through his hair, still damp from his shower. It felt strangely short and bristly at the back.
“Your plan to get Alicia back.” Russell grinned his thanks at the bartender and tipped his head back, taking a long swallow of beer.
Colin looked at his friend for a long moment. “Russ. Have you recently struck your head and suffered memory loss? I already told you I needed to give her space.”
“Yeah, I heard you. How much space have you given her so far?”
Colin counted back. “A little over a week.”
“Now’s when you need to make sure she knows you still want her.”
Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Colin took a sip of beer. “And you know this because…?”
“Because one of my sisters went through this kind of give some space, think about it, sort-of-but-not-really-a-breakup. And it was about a week in that she called me crying.” His voice rose, imitating a woman. “Russell, what if he’s relieved? What if he doesn’t want me?”
Colin grimaced. “I can’t imagine Alicia having a crisis of confidence like that.”
“Maybe she won’t. But would it hurt to reach out and let her know you’re still hoping it can work out? It’s not a lot to do. Based on how jacked up you were in the gym, I'd bet you would do a lot more than that to get her to consider coming back.”
Sighing, Colin nodded. “I’d do practically anything. It’s awful.”
“So…let her know.”
“I can’t do that without contacting her. That’s the opposite of giving her space,” Colin groused.
“Think outside the box. Go old-school,” Russell said, canting his beer bottle slightly and shrugging.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Write the woman an actual letter on paper, with a pen and everything. Mail it to her house. That’s still personal, but it’s also removed. Less pressure. Besides, it’s a romantic gesture. Chicks dig those.”
Colin thought for a moment, fingers running across his mouth. “I’ll think about it.”
Alicia stared at Laura. “What…what do I want?”
Laura shrugged. “Yeah. Do you want to do the nude scene as is? Because if you do, then I’ll keep my powder dry with the suits. If you agree with the whole naked empowerment thing, I won’t argue with you. Each woman has to decide for herself, you know?”
We could have never had that argument. I would still be blissfully ignorant and maybe have woken up next to him this morning.
Alicia’s fingers curled into her palms and her nails dug in. This shouldn’t change anything: he was still practically from a different plane of existence, and she would have come to the same conclusion sooner or later. And yet she yearned for the alternate timeline where she had had more time, more talk, more sex, more of the entire package that was Colin. She shook her head, exhaling. She wasn’t making any sense. That was why she had left when she had. The more time, the more attached she would be, the harder it would be to re-knit herself back together after they inevitably tore apart.
“Well?” Laura was still looking at her, cool intelligence in her gaze.
“I’d rather not do it, to be honest. I agree with you. It seems there to titillate, no matter how much the guys in L.A. might want to dress it up as some sort of reverse empowerment thing.”
Laura leaned back, slapping her thighs with her palms. “Yeah. Let’s put it this way: when a woman feels empowered by showing skin? I buy it. When a man makes that decision for her? I call bullshit.” She rose to her feet. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll win this fight, but I feel better about taking it on knowing that we see things the same way.”
“Thanks for asking, Laura. I appreciate it.” Alicia also stood as the other woman left the trailer. When the door closed and she was alone again, she sank back into her chair and picked up her phone. Oh great. An e-mail from Susan.
To: Alicia Johnson
From: Susan Vernon
Subject: Television, huh?
Congrats, I guess, on the TV gig. If that’s the way you really want to go with your career. It’s one thing to have done the occasional Law & Order guest spot—everybody did those back in the day. But a long-term role? You really think that’s going to polish your résumé?
Leave it to Susan to hit her there. The very thing she had accused Colin of being capable of in the sculpture garden. Something he had not, in fact, done. A sharp blade of longing twisted in her chest, and the hot tears she had been suppressing for so long trickled down her face, her breath heaving in increasingly gusty sobs.