Dazzled

  “Maybe you could come out for my birthday?” I said, feeling hopeful.

  “Um, I don’t think so. It’s right before my finals and…”

  “No, of course, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. That’s way more important.”

  Rhonda cleared her throat.

  “Okay, kids, I’ll leave you to it. Nice to see you again, Clare. It’s been… eventful.”

  They shook hands and risked a tentative smile at each other. I was glad that they seemed to be getting along better – it made things easier. Yeah, in the huge pit of chaos that surrounded me, it made things easier. A bit.

  But when the time came, Clare wouldn’t even let me go to JFK with her.

  “It would be just our friggin’ luck to get photographed with me looking like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson,” she said. “We’ll just say goodbye here. In private.”

  She was trying to be tough and I loved her for it. I was missing her already and she hadn’t even left yet.

  “This sucks,” she mumbled into my chest as I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her soft curves pressing against me.

  “Yeah, big time.”

  “I love you,” she said, her voice so quiet I could hardly hear her.

  “Love you, too, Clare. All the way. You’re… perfect.”

  She laughed quietly.

  “I am so going to remind you of that the next time I piss you off, or when I eat the last mini donut in the box.”

  A knock at the door interrupted any reply I might have choked out. The airport car had arrived, and the valet was there to collect her suitcase.

  We shared one more desperate kiss, and then she pulled away from me.

  “By the way, I left you a present,” she said, as she stood at the door.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, just something small. Read it and think of me.”

  “Read it?”

  “Yes, you know – black marks on the page that make up words.”

  “Funny.”

  She winked and blew me a kiss.

  Then she was gone.

  I realized she hadn’t told me where she’d put this present – or what it was.

  Clare

  God, I was going to miss him.

  I left my ‘gift’ in an envelope marked Private and put it in his messenger bag, in the same pocket where his iPod charger lived. I knew that way he’d find it sooner rather than later once he got back to LA and I was in London. I wanted to leave him something funny and silly – something that would remind him of me.

  I knew that it was going to be a very long five months. It was the most we’d been apart ever. I was dreading it, so it seemed important to leave something that would make him laugh. At least I hoped it would.

  I’d written a résumé that summed up our sexcapades over the last few days – or rather, Miles Junior’s exploits. It may have been the only dick in the world to have its own CV – well, along with Mark Wahlberg’s equipment, perhaps.

  Curriculum Vitae

  Name: Miles Junior

  Nationality: British

  Driver’s license: stick shift

  Work Experience: varied (blondes, brunettes, redheads)

  Previous Employment: bathrooms, school library, theater, restaurant restroom, on flight bathroom, sometimes bedrooms

  Personal Attributes: nine inches long, impressive girth; circumcised; liberal (dresses to the Left)

  Always rises to the occasion and is good at thinking for himself. Dresses suitably for all events and knows how to behave in public private. Thoughtful, passionate and not dissimilar to an Eveready battery (keeps going longer).

  Qualifications: Masters degree in Physiology and Anatomy

  Hobbies: making surprise appearances, and attending charity events

  Current Employment: contented girlfriend

  And I attached a close-up photograph of the prospective job applicant in his pink, rubber interview suit. I’d used my camera phone to take the photograph when we were messing about. I thought it would make Miles laugh.

  It had been a mad few months, and a crazy week. My best friend was on his way to becoming an international movie star – but best of all, my best friend had become my lover.

  Yeah, and now I was traveling First Class!

  JFK was busy when I arrived, but the British Airways VIP lounge for first class passengers – excuse me the Concorde Room – was quiet. I liked the idea that I was considered first class, especially after having been dragged through the proverbial primordial slime by certain gossip websites and magazines. So yeah, first class was suiting me very well, even if it meant Miles had to pay to have a first class girlfriend.

  Oh, who the hell was I kidding? I was so low rent, I would have made a reality TV show look classy.

  And I have to admit that I was slightly intimidated by the sheer opulence of the first class lounge. Who knew that airport terminals had chandeliers? Oh, and complimentary champagne, which was probably a bad idea, but getting sloshed when I felt so miserable seemed like a sensible option. Yes, I know. Alcohol when you’re flying just dehydrates you and makes the jetlag worse. Whatever. But some situations can only be improved by administering industrial doses of alcohol or chocolate.

  But then I discovered the real jewel in the crown of the Concorde Room: the spa!

  With an hour to kill, I opted for a shoulder rub and flying feet. No, really, that’s what they called it. I suppose someone thought it was witty. But, wow, that was some foot treatment. It was almost as good as sex. Well, not quite, but if they’d given me a bar of dark chocolate to go with the free champagne, it would have been pretty darn close.

  The masseuse, Marla from Detroit, put these weird glove things on my feet that smelled of lime. I’ve never been a toe sucker – ever – but I swear, the aroma was so heavenly, it made me want to lick my own feet. God knows what I’d have done if Miles had been there – mount him on the ergonomic chair or give him a foot job? It would have been even money, either way.

  Then Marla used hot stones to massage the soles of my feet – it was unbelievably wonderful and amazing, and I stopped feeling ticklish after the first 30 or 40 passes.

  It was supposed to make my feet ‘feel lighter’. I wondered if it would work on the rest of my body. Yes, I was a curvy kind of gal (okay, chubby – well, hefty), but I’d always thought if I could just push the fat from my stomach up to my boobs, I’d have the perfect figure. I may have mentioned it before – I really should look into patenting that idea.

  “I suppose you’ve met lots of famous people?” I said to Marla, by way of starting a conversation.

  “Oh, you know it, ma’am! They all stop by here on their way to London. My magic hands are spoken of on five continents.”

  Marla was brimming with humility as well as being fabulously indiscreet. Once I got her started, she couldn’t stop spilling the beans.

  Celebrity A was a groper – never kept his hands to himself. Groped guys, too. “He’s not fussy,” she said.

  Celebrity B had bad breath. “He could have stunned a buffalo at a thousand yards. I needed an oxygen mask just to give him a massage.”

  Celebrity C had a fungal infection in her toenails. “I thought I was gonna hurl my chicken burrito when I started working on those trotters.”

  Me, too, Marla. Me, too.

  I would have loved to tell you which celebrities she was referring to, but you could probably Google it for yourself. Or use your imagination – that would work.

  “I hope I’m not being indiscreet,” she giggled.

  I wanted to channel my inner Oscar Wilde and say, “No, but your answers are.” Instead, I just smiled and pumped her for more dirt.

  “Did you ever meet that actress, oh, what’s her name… skinny, small tits… you know… the one who got caught blowing that guy?”

  “Oh! You mean Lilia Purcell. Sure, she’s been in here a few times.” Marla leaned down to lower her voice, and I couldn’t help craning my neck to hear her. “She’s a
lousy tipper,” she whispered, conspiratorially.

  Damn! Marla had totally backed me into a corner! If I didn’t give her a humungous tip now, I’d be lumped in with Lilia – she of the airtight wallet.

  I’d been shafted royally. Even so, I had to admit that I was in awe of Marla from Detroit, and I wondered how much of what she’d said was true, and how much was simply the equivalent of onboard entertainment.

  But then my flight was called, and I had to leave Marla and her magic hands.

  “Have a safe journey,” she said. “Thanks for the tip. Hey! You never did tell me your name?”

  “Oh,” I said, quietly. “I’m no one.”

  It was a long and dreary flight home. Worse still, the house was empty when I got in because mum and dad were both out at work.

  I trudged up the stairs and dumped my suitcase next to the bed. The last time I’d slept there, Miles had been in it. I sniffed his pillow, but his scent had already faded. Oh, my God, I’d turned into a pillow sniffer! And that night already seemed a long time ago.

  When my phone rang, I knew without looking at the caller ID that it would be Miles. Apart from anything else, I’d programmed an alarm call on his cell phone to remind him to call me the minute he got home. He said he wouldn’t need reminding, but although he was just about perfect, he was still a guy.

  “Hey Clare,” he whispered, his voice tinged with sadness. “Are you at home?”

  “Yeah, just got here.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I know. I programmed your phone.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. It feels weird here.”

  “Weird, how?”

  Weird because you’re not here and I feel like my body has been ripped in half.

  “I wish you were here, that’s all.”

  He sighed.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “So, how’s it going? How’s does it feel to be back… home?”

  It hurt to think that LA was his home and that London was just somewhere he’d lived once.

  I could hear a rustle in the background and I knew he was pulling his t-shirt over his head. The thought of those fabulous abs that I was missing already, sculpted by long hours with the gym Nazi, made my mouth water – and other parts.

  “Yeah, just been looking at my schedule,” he murmured. “I’ve gotta do a couple of days dubbing some of the scenes from Lifers – you know, the one I shot in Ohio. That’s all. Then some publicity stuff on Dazzled.”

  “How’s Lilia behaving?”

  I could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

  “Like Lilia. She’s still spinning this line like we’re an item. I don’t know – it’s taken some of the heat off since… you know. So Rhonda says. Who knows, maybe it’s a good thing. At least they’re not slagging you off as much.”

  What was Lilia’s game? There was no way that bitch would do me any favors. I felt my body stiffen with sudden anger. And now I wasn’t even there to put the skanky ho in her place this time. Maybe I should write a book: The Teflon Tart – Making Sure that Shit Don’t Stick. Could be a bestseller. Or not.

  Miles could tell how I was feeling because he carried on speaking hurriedly.

  “Don’t worry about it – you know I don’t think of her like that. But the studio bosses really get off on it. They think it’ll help sell the film and if Laura Dorien agrees to the sequel… you know, if people believe the romance. Everyone wants a happy ending, right?”

  I knew I did.

  Then his voice changed. Regret and irritation were replaced with pure sex.

  “I found your letter,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I mean, the CV. It was a great… job reference. And I was wondering if you had, um, an opening, because Miles Junior seems to be out of work at the moment.”

  I couldn’t help smiling.

  “Really? Is he looking for a job?”

  “He’s feeling kind of redundant.”

  “That’s odd. I thought he would have taken himself in hand by now.”

  “You think he should?”

  “Definitely. It’s important to keep your skills up to scratch.”

  “There’s this audition I’d like to try out for,” he said, his voice rough with need.

  “Do you want to run through your, um, lines with me?”

  “Yeah, I’d love to do a run-through with you. Right now.”

  His words made me feel warm all over.

  “Have you got everything you need to hand, Miles?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it an action scene – or is it a love scene?”

  He hesitated for almost a whole second.

  “Both.”

  “Perhaps you’d better describe the setting, just so I can picture it.”

  “It’s set in a bedroom.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “There’s a guy.”

  “A guy – got it.”

  “He’s lying on his big, empty bed. He’s lonely.”

  “Why is he lonely.”

  “He misses his hot girlfriend.”

  He called me hot!

  “How much does he miss her?”

  “Too fucking much.”

  “And I’m guessing she misses him, too.”

  “Yeah, I think that’s in the script.”

  “Well, it should be… So what does he do, being all lonely and stuff?”

  “He’s thinking about her.”

  “Is he doing anything while he’s thinking about her?”

  “Yeah. He’s remembering how good she makes him feel.”

  “How does he do that?”

  “He imagines her hands on him. All of him.”

  “Is he imagining her hands on his chest?”

  “Lower.”

  “His stomach?”

  “Lower.”

  I swallowed, imagining exactly what he was telling me.

  “Is he stroking himself?”

  “Yeah.”

  His voice came out in a long sigh, and I sat down on my bed, feeling heated and really turned on.

  Miles’ voice brought me back to myself.

  “Do you think his girlfriend is doing the same thing – thinking of him – because it doesn’t say in the script?”

  “I’m sure she is. In fact, I’d guess she’s imagining his hands on her – in her – right now.”

  He groaned, and I slipped my hand inside my decidedly damp knickers.

  “W-what happens next?” I said, my voice shaky.

  “This is where the action scene starts.”

  “What, like guns?”

  “No, but there is a weapon.”

  I couldn’t help laughing, even if it did come out as a breathy gasp. “So, the action speeds up?”

  “God, I miss you, Clare.”

  My lungs gave a painful squeeze as Miles dropped all pretence, playfulness peeled away. He misses me.

  His breath was coming faster now and I slid onto my back to take care of myself, missing his hands, his body, his beautiful eyes staring down at me as we made love.

  I screwed my eyes shut and tried to convince myself that he was near, and that he loved me. Only one was true.

  Three minutes later, I concluded that the Miles Junior CV had been a great idea. Miles Senior seemed to agree with me, if the grunting sounds coming through the speakerphone were anything to go by.

  “Clare? Baby?”

  His voice seemed a long way away.

  I scrabbled around the rucked up duvet and finally found the source of his voice.

  “Sorry!” I gasped. “I dropped the phone.”

  His dry chuckle made me smile. “Yeah, me, too.”

  We spoke for a while longer but then he had to go – some publicity thing – even though he’d only been back less than an hour. He didn’t elaborate; he just sounded tired and more than a little blue.

  After he ended the call, I decided to email him daily ‘job advertisements’ unt
il he came back to London, or until I flew out to join him in LA, in the hope that they’d result in more hot, steamy phone sex.

  But five days later, I concluded that the Miles Junior CV was a really, really, fucking awful idea.

  Because it ended up on the internet.

  LA was eight hours behind London time, so I was really surprised when Miles called me while I was eating my lunchtime sandwich on the grass in front of the British Museum.

  “Hey! Have you been out partying because I know it’s only 4 AM and…”

  He interrupted me.

  “Clare, have you been online this morning?”

  “I checked my emails, but…”

  He sighed. “I think you’d better look at the Hollywood Life website. Or just Google my name.”

  I pulled out my phone and connected to the internet. It took me less than 15 seconds to see what he was talking about.

  “Holy fuck!”

  A photograph of the Miles Junior CV was sitting on the gossip website’s homepage – along with an enlarged photograph of Miles’ very erect dick.

  The breath left my body, and I felt sick.

  “How the hell did they get hold of that?”

  “I’m guessing it was someone who worked in my building,” he said, his voice full of tension. “Or it could have been someone at the gym. I, um, I’ve been kind of carrying it around with me.”

  “Shit, Miles, you idiot!”

  “I know. Rhonda is going crazy.”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I stammered, trying to calm him – and myself. “It could be a photograph of anyone’s di… I mean, a photograph of some random guy. It doesn’t prove anything.”

  He sighed again, and I damned camera phones to hell and back.

  “I’m so sick of this shit,” he spat out. “It’s just relentless. Why does anyone care?” He swore softly, and I felt like such a fool for putting him in this position – for screwing things up for him, yet again.

  “It means I’ll have to be more careful,” he said, “and… oh, fuck. Rhonda’s calling me on the other line. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  He rang off before I could answer.

  My sandwich didn’t seem so appealing now. Trying to eat would have choked me, so I pulled it to pieces and fed it to some pigeons that were keeping an eye on me a few feet away. One of them looked kind of tousled, with ruffled feathers and a bad foot. I threw most of the crumbs in his direction – or it could have been a her.