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“You made us Insta official without my permission. Bad girl.” The underlying husky current in his voice belied his words. He loved it, and she knew it.
“Well,” she cooed, “someone had to take control and let the world know you’re taken…break it to all those girls hoping for a little Jake Skyler action.”
A gruff laugh trickled through the phone. “Is that so?”
“Well, mate, it was about time I let the hordes of horny fans know that the only gal getting a piece of Jake Skyler is me,” she teased.
“Well, Ms. McCarthy, I am perfectly fine with the world knowing that. I just know you were a tad skittish with announcing it on social.”
“Mmm, yeah, still not sure how I feel about social media being part of my, well, view of myself. I just…”
“Ignore the comments. It’s part of the celebrity thing. There’s good and bad with that, but mostly good. It can really help people get to know you, and I love that I get to be a part of the world getting to know you. So, I’ll be shouting to the media from the rooftops that you're with me.”
“Okay.” She blew out a breath.
“How was the audition?” The tentativeness in his voice was not lost on her.
She thought about her answer for a second…she’d texted Jake before learning about Bernardo, so she needed to walk back her excitement about him while sharing that she felt good about the audition. So not a lie, but not the raw truth. “Well, I think it went really well,” she said as if she were judging her own performance with some degree of restraint.
“You said, Bernardo was impressed with you…” She heard him swallow, and the cautious way he’d over-enunciated his words.
She weighed telling him to cut the shite! That’s how he’d respond, but she just needed the next few days to be stable; her nerves had been strung out and she planned on organizing her room and making sure she was on top of all her work stuff before heading back to Sacramento on Friday. The rest of the week would be an exercise in waiting…and it already felt like every nerve fiber was at attention.
“Yes, he said that, but didn’t elaborate. I know I entered my acting zone because the audition felt like a blur, and when I’ve been in plays or commercials, actually even during photo shoots, when I am able to enter another character, it always feels fuzzy, like it’s not me. Then I know I performed well.” As the snippets of thoughts formed an explanation, it occurred to her that the way she escaped herself, disassociating, when a client’s hands roamed her body had become a useful strategy.
Chapter Fifteen
She took a long sip of whatever non-descript white wine they were serving that month. The napkin under the cup read, Wanna Get Away. She knew what the slogan meant: escape the everyday mundaneness of life, take a vacation. For her, when she said those words to herself in the not-so-distant past, she meant to get away from who she was, become someone else, and start a new life. And it had begun, hadn’t it? So no, I don’t. I don’t want to get away; I want to be right here on a plane traveling to see my boyfriend…boyfriend?! She almost tapped the shoulder of the older woman sitting next to her and said, “I have a boyfriend, and he’s nice, and he likes his mother and sisters, and he has a dog and plays for the NFL. Oh, and I used to be an escort, and now I’m an actress and model.” It all sounded so surreal. Jake Skyler is your boyfriend. When she played it out in her head, it seemed more like she was reading an article about a famous person, the kind she used to devour in Vogue or Cosmopolitan, about the love life of the Hollywood elite.
She took another sip of the room-temperature wine, a rush of warmth moving over her as she thought about the barely contained boyish pride in Jake’s voice Tuesday night bursting through the line. She’d, well, technically Jonathon, created an Instagram account to let Jake know she was serious, but maybe more importantly, that she was ready to shout it to the world. She thought about the little cheesy cocked smile that consumed his face when he’d FaceTimed her last night, and his teasing question, still wanting to talk about her Instagram announcement. “Did you get permission from my agent to use those pictures, Ms. McCarthy?” he’d asked her in a deep, theatrically stern voice that could not disguise his giddiness.
Her head resting on a pillow propped against the headboard. She’d shot the screen a side-eyed look, not concealing her satisfaction in herself; it felt right to do something that made Jake happy. It finally felt as if she could be in a real relationship, to care for him the way he seemed to care about her. She didn’t want to lack emotional connectivity with anyone, especially a partner, the way her mom had seemed to with her dad. She pushed that thought away, remembering her response to Jake. “So, Mr. Skyler, is that how it’s going to be? I need to get approval from your agent before I can post pictures of you and me. Is there anything else I should run by your agent? What else does Brian control? Anything I should know about?” she’d clucked in a low, husky voice, her eyes fixed on the screen, the pad of her pointer finger slowly grazing along her lower lip. She had to smirk, watching him be affected by her, his blue eyes shading darker as the hoods lowered almost imperceptibly just enough to let her know that her voice, combined with the non-verbal gesture, registered with him. There was definitely power in that.
“Sweets, you don’t need an okay from anyone. I’m yours and open to whatever you want from me.” Mischief brightened his features, contrasting with a somber note in his voice. His expression brimmed with expectations; all she could think was, I hope I can do this. I want to do this!
She jolted forward in her seat, digging her heels into the ground as the tires screeched to a halt on the runway. Quickly unbuckling her seatbelt, she grabbed her purse and a small carry-on bag and stood with the first of the passengers, thinking it was so silly how people rise quickly when the plane lands, as if they’d get to the exit a second earlier. Friday evening flights always made her feel like she was headed to a group party, even though she didn’t know a soul on the plane. The past week ran through her head, possibly a life-changing week. The audition with Bernardo felt almost perfect; fragments of her memory wore the skin of another person, Emmerson, smitten by her father’s employee, a man she’d known since she was a child. Young Emmerson had all his attention, so when his girlfriend became his wife, the fourteen-year-old Emmerson cried. Her parents had joked that she was jealous, reluctant to share, not knowing that her outward emotion cloaked a more sinister aim: to destroy. Rakell struggled to embody that character, but when she went through the Rolodex of memories, the many times she’d shelved Rakell so she could see herself as Marietta, she stepped into Emmerson. Once she did, she was gone with it. The lines weren’t just from a script, nor was the way she’d baited Bernardo with her eyes and body; her being had been transported during that audition. Even if she couldn’t remember every nuance, she knew she’d nailed it, confirmed by Bernardo’s words immediately following it, which continually cheered in her brain: impressive, impressive. She pushed back on the question that kept crawling to the forefront of her mind. Should she have let that bikini top drop, or was it enough that she’d untied the back, leaving it floating over her chest, so provocative yet somewhat shielded?
Then, her introduction to social media. She took the bold step to shout out to the ether that Jake and she were a couple. How do people adjust to having their whole life played out on a media platform that invites random strangers to weigh in, including on whether the person they are dating is right for them? In her case, it was the hordes of women and their disappointment that Jake Skyler was no longer available, that he could have done better, or that when he tires of you, which he will, I’m here. Jonathon had said, “Shake that shit off, there will always be naysayers.”
She’d called Jake to tell him her flight was delayed and made it clear he didn’t need to park; she could grab her luggage and meet him out front. When he scoffed, she made the case that it would save lots of time, but he’d said emphatically, “That’s not how I do it, Sweets. I will always be waiting when you get off the plane.” The sureness Jake walked through life with almost seemed naïve at times like he thought he knew the future.
Reaching the top of the escalator, she saw him standing at the base, his broad smile, dark hair sweeping back from his temples, offsetting his electric blue eyes. His hands in the pockets of his jeans, his elbows winging from his sides, wiggling—the way he rocked back and forth on his feet as he grinned at her—it all made her think of a young child who’d been given specific instructions that he must control the urge to wave with both hands, jumping up and down when he saw her.
Her hands were occupied, one gripping a duffle, the other a computer bag more like an oversized purse. She might have been the one waving madly if she had a free hand; once her eyes captured him, her nervous system crackled. Her body was already intertwined with the memory of his touch, anticipating his skin to hers, so she didn't hold back when she stepped off the escalator. Showing no restraint as she let herself cave into his arms, her duffle slipping from her hand, she looped an arm around his neck. “I missed you so much,” rushed from her mouth, and when she heard herself, the breathy confession, it sounded like someone else.
He chuckled, but she saw his chest puff and his impish grin; he loved it. His arms tightened around her, his lips brushing up against her forehead. He sighed, then murmured, “You have no idea, Sweets.” She wasn’t sure who moved first, but before she could think about a reply, their lips were touching, their mouths open, tongues intertwined in a kiss brimming with emotion, an exchange that should have been private.
The sound of young girls giggling snapped her from her fog; she pulled back her eyes, moving them toward the laughter. Three girls, their arms held straight out, trained their phones on Jake and Rakell, videotaping them, until one of them gushed, “Oh sorry…sorry…you two were just so cute, like a movie.” She then shoved her phone into her back pocket.
The girl beside her said, “Yeah, sorry, but aren’t you the Sacramento quarterback?”
“Yeah,” Jake said gruffly, his tone softening as he shifted his gaze to Rakell, as if apologizing.
She let the side of her mouth twist up in a grin before she murmured, “Superstar.”
He shrugged, a shallow snort escaping his mouth, before reaching down to pick up Rakell’s duffle bag.
“Wait, wait,” one of the girls squealed, pointing toward Rakell, “you’re the one who got him by cheering for him on a date with the other team’s owner, right?”
