"What the fuck are you talking about, lady?"  Gabe Wells bellowed into the phone.

Everyone stopped dead in his or her tracks, including diminutive me, who on a good day felt like I could reach most of the ashtrays on the desk. He had been scheduled to do some radio interview with some snotty bitch and it looked like she got to him. You could practically see the smoke coming out of his pink, shell like ears.

He barely knew me, but I got a good glare from him anyway as he stomped past. Even though we were shooting, he had promised a radio DJ in Oz to talk to her about his band. She wound up being pretty nasty and he got pissed. What a shocker. In any case, he would come out of this looking like a bully once again and she (she shall remain nameless) will smell like the proverbial rose.

Yes, I was just a lowly gofer who went for everything, low on the food chain, but I got a chance to gape at him every so often, and grab a quick, lukewarm breakfast every morning. Lucky me. So, this is what menopause is all about? Hot flashes and wet panties every time I looked at his stubbly face. But I digress. Being rather limited in my ability to assert myself, I hoped that I would just melt into the wallpaper and not feel his wrath. I tried to get a good whiff of him as he breezed past, but he was much too fast for me.

I wondered if his little tirade would make it to the papers; everyone's always chomping at the bit to get a tantrum story on HRH. Truth be told, I found him a bit sexy in that livid mode; his eyes looked dark and inviting. Not to mention that I'd love to hump his leg as well.

But since he didn't offer me his leg or any other body part, I would have to make do with a rich fantasy life.

With all the women at his beck and call, all nubile, young blondes, what the hell would he see in me anyway? I'm older than he is, and nubile is not a word that comes to mind about my body. No matter. Of course the episode gets played in the papers, on the entertainment shows and he looks like a surly bastard once again. In reality, the woman who interviewed him was not well prepared and deserved the reproach she got.

The next day, as usual, I was supervising the breakfast banquet and decide to put out little packages of malted milk balls on the catering table; the nurturing side of me surfaces once again. Someone once told me I was born to be a waitress. Hmmm.

As Gabe perused the contents of the table, he gazes at my candy dish, perplexed. I explain to him that it's candy, little malt balls. He smirks, picks up a small package and proceeds to eat one. "Not bad, uh...your name again, love."

"Sara."

Feeling brave, I venture further with, "One can never eat too many chocolate balls, ya know?"

I know I'm not his type, but I do like to flirt and think I'm pretty good at it. At least I got him to giggle and that was my intention. He was off to get more coffee, winked at me, clutching his little bag of candy. I noticed my hands were shaking slightly as he sauntered off.

Knock it off, I told myself sternly. He's just a guy. But secretly, I felt triumphant.

I do try to blend in with the scenery, only seeking attention with friends I know well. But I wanted to catch his eye, in some way. Just for fun.

He acknowledged me later in the day as he's suiting up for a new scene, his dresser trailing behind him. He tilted his head toward me, gave me a slight nod and then a cocky grin. My heart leapt, but again I reminded myself that it meant nothing. And once again the next morning, by the catering truck.

"What, no balls today?" he bellowed, much to my dismay. People around me tittered, not understanding for a minute what was going on. I didn't see him for a few days, we just didn't run into each other and I felt bereft. I saw him just as everyone was packing up, after the days shooting. He was with a tall, blonde type of person, his arm wrapped around her waist. I was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy, so I avoided him. She was on the set again the next day, so I was sure they weren't just playing bridge in his suite the night before.

That evening he was nowhere to be seen and I was told he was extremely grumpy, a real bear. Another reason to avoid him. One of the grips invited me to go for some beer and I tagged along. We arrived at this bar, a real non-descript place with wobbly stools and a sticky sheen on the bar itself. A huge jukebox in the back caught my eye. Being a real blues fan, I teetered over to punch in some George Thorogood tunes and as I was scrutinizing the songs, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to see Gabe holding a beer, and smiling sweetly at me. I couldn't believe he was already well on his way to being plastered, but he certainly had that look in his eye. Truth be told, he actually looked sad, not angry at all.

"How's the balls hanging?" he slurred. 

"They're not hanging as well as yours are," I said. I was feeling bold. 

He scoffed at me, took a sip and gestured for me to sit down with him. My heart was racing. Whatever possessed me to say that, I wondered. Perhaps the thought of his juicy ones encased in denim brought that on?

I shivered and came to reality. I'm 54, slightly overweight and have a crooked tooth. No glamour queen, this. But since my divorce, I had come to caring less and less what people thought of me. Since I'm not going to spend my vacation money on my face, they can lump it if they don't like it.

Being unceremoniously dumped for a girl just barely out of her teens was a slap in the face. I just wondered if she had even gotten her period yet.

Actually, Gabe and I were in the same boat...maybe not paddling together, but in that general vicinity. He had just ended a relationship with some bubble headed blonde known for her glacial stare and a penchant for doll's clothes. She cleaned him out pretty well too. He doled out several cars to her.

I had no such luck. I inherited a modest one-bedroom apartment and one cat. Period. Not even a bicycle. It had been an awful year; the year from hell I called it. Besides, the breakup, my best friend had just passed away from lung cancer. It was a slow and insidious death; stopping my life in midstream. Not fair, I thought. A woman so young, the same age as I, reduced to a mere shred of herself. Truth be told, I was actually on autopilot...still.

I wasn't looking for the time of day, much less a romance or even a passing acquaintance with anyone, including some pampered movie star. A one-night stand? Perhaps, but not likely, not with him anyway.

So, anyway, Mr. Movie Stah was seated next to me, bobbing his head in time to the Stones, and feeling no pain. He must've had a shot of beer intravenously before he got there. I was perplexed as to what he wanted and what, if anything, I could say to him. My lust clouded my vision and thought processes. A noisy bar full of people is not conducive to discussing Nietzsche or quantum physics.

"You like the Stones?" I questioned him. He bobbed his head yes. Well, that was good for openers. 

So, now we were sitting next to one another, while he bobbed and I scrambled to think of something to say. 

"So, how do you like New York, Gabe?"

"I like it." Bob, bob and more bobbing. Oh good. 

Then he stood up.

"Wanna come with me to get something to eat?" He seemed suddenly energized. 

Mick Jagger's ear piercing howl resounded in my ears. I wasn't quite sure what he was suggesting or even if he knew what he was suggesting. I stealthily snuck out as he lumbered behind me, smiling. He insisted we go to the pizza parlor next door.

I brushed the old crumbs and dead flies off the table, while we struggled with the plastic/Styrofoam chairs. Obviously, this was a self-serve situation.

"What would you like?" I asked Mr. Movie Stah. 

"Pizza," he slurred. 

I set off in search of anything coated with cheese for Gabe. Somehow, I had the feeling he wasn't as inebriated as he appeared to be. Not sure why though. I placed the pizza covered paper dishes on the table and handed him a wrinkled napkin.

"That's for your mouth," I explained huffily as he looked at me in confusion. " And this is pizza. You eat this. Put it in your mouth and chew."

I was beginning to feel like I was talking to a Russian immigrant. Because of his barely lucid state, he had a hard time maneuvering the slippery substance into his mouth. The cheese and sauce kept dribbling down his chin. I stood up, feeling like a grumpy parent tending a high-spirited child. At one point, his eyes almost rolled back into his head and I had thoughts that I was way out of my league here, with this slobbering man I hardly knew. Actually, I'm a real giggler and I was having a very hard time suppressing my natural instinct to whoop it up here. He just looked so silly.

I managed to run next door to a Starbucks and get some strong espresso for him, to try and waken him a bit. Between the food, whatever had not fallen onto the dirty tiled floor, and the coffee, he seemed more lucid. "Ya know," he mused, "I'm the king of unrequited love."

"Oh yeah, then I must be the queen."

He grimaced at me. "Life is tough," he waxed poetically as he dragged on his cigarette.

"Yup,"I observed with a grim look.

"You have a past too, I assume?" He cocked his head, the way he did when he was really paying attention. 

"Pfffffffffffft. Have I got a past!" And I chuckled, but it had a hollow sound. I stared at the floor. 

He seemed to be more lucid now. "Life is,........." he mumbled. And then stared groggily at me. "Thank you so much, Sara."

Then silence. 

Then he belched, very loudly. I sighed, slinking down in my chair. Dear Lord, what's next? I shuddered. All my girlish fantasies shot to hell. Even though he was red eyed and a bit wobbly, he rose to leave with me. Now what? I thought. Where to put him? Hmmm

So we stood on the damp, dirty street eyeing one another. "So," I squeaked out, "you wanna go home now?"

"Sure, luvie, wanna come with me? " And he gave me a drunken half wink. I had to hold my stomach at this point because inwardly, I was laughing hysterically. He wasn't at the point of drooling yet, but he certainly didn't look like a hunky movie stah, either. Where was his shadow, Marcus? I didn't see him anywhere.

Then I heard the minders booming voice. "You fucking wanker! Where the fuck did you go? I was shitting bricks here." Marcus's eyes were as dark as the night. Gabe giggled at him, wagging a plump finger at him. Marcus barked orders at Gabe  instructing him to get his fat ass into the SUV as soon as possible. Gabe turned to wave bye bye to me and I waved back, wondering if he would even remember our conversation.

The next morning, I arrived on set, preparing to be forgotten by Mr. Wells. Much to my amazement, someone delivered pink roses to me during breakfast. With a card that said, "Thanks again, love Gabe". My heart stopped, but my cohorts wouldn't let it go.

"Somebody's got a crush on you," they whined in unison. I proceeded to turn ten shades of purple. Sure, what a laugh Gabe  and me...or is it Gabe and I? As if he even knew I were alive.

He waved at me later, with a crooked smile and I waved back, mouthing my thanks. I was determined not to be swayed by his charm and good looks, but remembered he still blew his nose and belched. Sobering visual, don't you think?

 

I took to watching him, staying in the background, making note of his moods and facial expressions. He seemed to be quick tempered and gruff at times, but Rob, the director, always knew how to settle him down. Very, very intense and intimidating.

"Breathe, breathe," I told myself. He's probably wears ripped underwear.

I knew he had his demons; he had just parted ways with a mop headed, married actress and been raked over the coals by the media. Funnily enough, I had just split up with a married boyfriend of eight years. It was a bloody mess and I was still suffering with canker sores and sleepless nights. I shrugged and went on my proverbial way. This guy spelled trouble.

I had hoped he would at least pretend to know me or acknowledge me in some way. Oh, I would get the perfunctory wave or smile, but of course none of that closeness I had enjoyed a few nights before.

We were going to be shooting boxer scenes next. Him....in boxers, shirtless, nipples on full display. I was fucked and I knew it. At least he had spoken  to me, even treated me to pizza. Was I lucky or what?

No, disgruntled was more like it. I'm older than he is and I'm not blonde, but I give a mean blowjob and can be funny as hell. Isn't that worth something?

For the next few days, I snuck glances at his luscious thighs as he galloped across the set. My eyes would just naturally drift to those tree trunks and I'd have to catch myself as I wiggled in discomfort. On one occasion he caught me staring at his form and he winked at me. I supposed that was to placate me in my state of constant horniness? I don't think so. Plagued by my desire,  I finally got up the nerve to shove some malted balls in his face as he trudged to his trailer one night after shooting wrapped.

"Care for some of my famous balls?" I quipped as I proffered the chocolate gems. He did laugh out loud, remembering my offer from eons ago.

"Ah yes, the balls lady. My savior. How are you?" He gave me his mega watt smile. Internally, I was soaking, but pretended not to care. Without uttering another sound, and with outstretched palm, now full of gooey chocolate, I smirked. He arched an eyebrow and glanced at my sticky hands. Just at that moment, an assistant approached him, so he turned his back on me. Nice.

What was I thinking? Acting like a 12 year old, with weeping candies sticking to my hot little palms? 

He must think I'm an idiot, I thought to myself. And he was probably right. Maybe it was time to give up, go home and forget about Gabe Wells. He had little interest in what I said or did. I sighed and traipsed home with a heavy heart. As I did my nighttime routine, readying for bed, I kept picturing him cursing at reporters, spitting at waiters and glaring at the cast. That should do it, I thought. Just as I was about to drift off into a Gabe-less dreamland, my cell phone blipped away. I grunted some kind of greeting.

"Sara, my love, is that you? The chocolate lady? I turned around and you were gone!" He was once again slurring. Oh no, not again. 

Somewhere I got the courage to spit out, "What do you want now? Some more pizza?"

He squeaked into the phone, obviously delighted by my outrage. "Now listen darlin, don 't be mean to me. I like you. I like your company. And you were so sweet to me the other night. I don't forget a friend. Surely you know that." I heard a loud hiccough. Oh God.

"Can I come over?"

"No, you cannot. I'm just going to bed. Alone. And there's no pizza here."

"Well listen darlin, how's about we have some brekkie tomorrow morning?"

Why was he only bothering me when he was drunk? I just didn't get it. He was beginning to look more and more like a jerk to me. 

I babbled into the tiny gadget. "And how did you get my cell phone number?"

"Ah, a little birdie told me," he slurred. 

I sighed. "Whatever Gabe, tomorrow is fine." 

My patience was now wearing thin and I feel into a deep sleep, thinking for certain he'd forget me in the morning. 

Well, you coulda knocked me over with a strap-on, but there he was, bright and early next morning, standing outside his trailer with a goofy grin on his face. He ushered me into his trailer, pointing out a sumptuous display of food. My heart sank. What the hell did he want with me, of all people? I felt like an open wound and looked unkempt most of the time. I self-consciously brushed my unruly hair out of my eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze.

I could feel his potent stare on me as I stumbled my way to the small seating area and all that luscious food. Fortunately, I couldn't fling myself very far because of the limited space in the trailer, so no real harm done.

I plopped down, gawking at the fresh fruit platter, muffins, bagels and even waffles as I un folded my cloth napkin...I was impressed. How did he whip all this up in such a short period of time? I couldn't see him slaving over a hot waffle maker.

"To friendships," he toasted his freshly squeezed orange juice.

What the fuck does he want, was all I could think at that point. I squinted to get a good look at this mess he called a trailer. Trash strewn about, scripts lying on the floor, an empty beer bottle, and an ashtray filled to the brim with ashes and butts.

"How attractive," I muttered.

"Sorry love, the place is bit untidy. My cleaning girl hasn't arrived yet. "

I looked up at him, wondering if there was a touch of sarcasm there. He grinned that mischievous grin at me and my heart sank all the way down to my pussy.

You know how grief deadens the taste buds, dulls the senses? I'd put up a barrier of sorts, becoming something of a recluse and reveling in it. That façade quelled the rage that resided in my belly and kept me at arms length from real feelings. Funny, how people treat you in this stage. There are those well meaning ones who whisper condolences hurriedly and then there are those who avoid you, as if grief were contagious.

I felt his eyes on me the whole time and prayed I wouldn't choke. As I looked into the pools that were his eyes, all I could think was, Please don't like me. Not now. I don't have the patience for this. I suppose as way of explanation, he stroked his beard and watched my face for a reaction as he spoke.

"I noticed you a while back. There's something about you. I can't put my finger on it. Ethereal? Sad? But also funny. Don't know if I can verbally express it. And you were my knight in shining armor ..........that night when you rescued me from the pizza parlor."

I gulped. "So, out of kindness you wanted to repay me?" I could feel my insecurities nudging at the back of my throat.

"Woman, get a grip, no! I liked you. I wanted to get to know you." He tilted his head again, not unlike a confused puppy, not understanding my intention. I looked at him blankly as he smiled at me once more.

No, I don't want to like you.

But my mind and body had a different agenda. As did his, I was soon to find out. told me later on that I resembled a wounded sparrow at that time. I looked down at my hands and wondered when I last had a manicure or had my hair cut. I also had lost quite a bit of weight and my clothes tended to hang on me as if my form was a kind of errant hanger.

Without any warning, he reached over to me, cupped my face in his hands and lightly brushed his lips against mine. I could feel the tingling traveling up my spine. I almost cried in despair and joy. I didn't dare look up at him.

He rubbed his finger gently on my cheek. All I could think of was, this guy really knows his way around women. And then he kissed the tip of my nose. I almost fell to the floor, shuddering.

He sat back, lounging in his chair, surveying his "work" as I struggled to appear calm. I could feel my sweaty palms trembling slightly as I slurped my coffee. I had an irresistible urge to run as fast as I could out of there. But I dug my heels in, sweaty, shaky hands gripping the seat.

Someone tapped lightly on the trailer door. "We need you now, Gabe."

He grimaced, extended a hand to me as he rose. I felt his warm flesh press against mine and rose with him.

"Thank you, Gabe." I mumbled into his shirt.

"Thanks for coming, love. We'll talk later, okay?" And he pressed a roughened hand on top of mine. I barely looked back at him as I descended the clunky steps out of his trailer.

What was I going to do now?

 

*

 

It's a strange thing to be tethered to this thing called grief. It pulls at me and makes the walls of my brain feel tissue thin, like the skin on my elderly mother's hands.

I knew someone at work, right after my friend died, came to me, asking if I were okay. One week to the day after the funeral. I wanted to say, "Yes, I'm just fine, thank you. All better."  Soothing as she tried to be, I found her highly annoying, like a persistent fly in the sticky heat.

"You just have to go on with your life. She's dead and won't come back."

Basically I gaped at her, telling her to go fuck herself. She didn't get it.

And irony of all ironies, now Gabriel fucking Wells was yipping at my heels like a misguided puppy. The man I dreamt of, fantasized about and wrote fan fiction about...was interested in me. My heart was as heavy as lead and just as lifeless.

Frequently upon awakening, my mouth felt like cotton and my hair like twisted yarn. Maybe it was time to take an interest in my appearance again. Not for HIM, but for me.

It was the next day, after our romantic brunch and I was trying to think of an outfit for that day. Not that it mattered much. Most of the Pa's dressed in jeans and sweatshirts. I decided to be different and snuggled into an old cashmere sweater that showed off my chest. Even applied makeup.

Still cranky and hating the world, I showed up on set, as always on time, with a grimace plastered on my face. 

I knew he was watching me when I arrived, but I kept my distance. His demeanor suggested aloof, but I could see the hunger in his eyes. I instinctively stepped back.

I heard a low whistle as he breezed past. 

"You look gorgeous, love," he whispered to me. I turned a crimson red. I noticed some of the women on the set looked envious and some annoyed. I don't like attention drawn to myself; I'm happiest in the corner, just observing. I thrust my hands into my jean pockets as I lumbered along, tending to my tasks of the day.

Whenever I was near him, I could feel his steady gaze on me. In fact when one of the grips tried to flirt with me (like this happens every day!) I noticed Gabe twitched and looked a bit sour.

But I shrugged it off thinking I was getting carried away with myself in my old age; as if a handsome actor would chase after me!

But as the day began to wind down, I could sense he wanted something from me. He tapped my shoulder, startling me as I collated scripts.

"Darlin, are you free tonight, by any chance? Share a little tucker with me?"

I looked at him dumbfounded. 

"Huh?"

He laughed out loud.

"That's strine for dinner. Can you come?" 

He was literally wringing his hands as he spoke.  I hesitated and as I did, he nudged me saying, "I don't bite love, unless you want me to."

I didn't address the double entendre and again stared at my boots, as if there were an answer there. 

"Sure, okay," I whispered into the wind. 

Clapping his hands triumphantly, he started muttering about an Italian place he knew that was very discreet. There was an awkward silence as we stood together, not really looking at one another.

"You like Italian?"

"Sure. Okay if I dress like this?"

"No worries, you look fine. You look wonderful actually. You do something different to yourself? Oh, it must be the makeup, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so." 

I tried very hard not to stare at my boots OR his crotch, both of which were on my mind. 

"Okie dokie, then." 

He rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Pick you up at 6ish? That okay?"

I nodded dumbly. 

And so it begins. 

We wound up in a nice, unassuming Italian restaurant, somewhere on the West Side of Manhattan. He sat with his back to the door as I gazed out on the bustling streets. An older waiter served us, totally oblivious of who his famous patron was.

We dawdled over beers. I grew sleep eyed until, nodding at his self-important diatribes, I started wondering why in the hell I'd come in the first place. He did rattle on and on about his films.

Still, he was attractive and charming. The evening seemed to be slowing down to me but I resisted the temptation to glance at my watch. The food finally came, grilled fish for me, pasta for him. I tried to be dainty, but I felt sluggish somehow. I knew I had too much to drink.

After what seemed like twenty beers, he was still sharp as a tack. I found his table manners to be lacking somewhat, but it was funny in an odd sort of way. He acted like a college kid ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent he was all of six.

His constant fondling of his beard and delicate ear lobe was making me horny and I wasn't happy about it. I wanted to slap his hands. 

"Listen," he said in that lofty, drunken tone of his. "I'd love to see you again. I like you. What do you think of that?"

I scrunched up my drunken face and asked, "Should I genuflect now or later?" 

Instead of being furious, he howled in laughter. Oops. 

"You don't like me, luv?" he questioned me as his spoon clacked against his espresso cup. 

I took a deep breath. In the back of my mind, I knew the shoot would be drawing to a close soon. A matter of weeks actually. He would return to his country and I would return to my life, such as it was. I wasn't quite sure where I wanted to go with this.

"Listen, I've just had the year from hell. My best friend died from lung cancer and a long relationship with a guy ended. I don't like people much anyway, but I like them even less now. I'm really not in the mood to start something with someone. I wouldn't mind fucking you, but I won't. Just the way I feel right now."

And as soon as that flew out of my mouth, I regretted it.

"So, you'd fuck me? Is that it?" His hooded eyes drifted lazily over me.

"Yeah, except I won't. I don't want to do anything with anyone." 

"Sad way to feel, luv."

"Why?"

"Cause you miss out on stuff."

"Like what?"

"Love, friends..."He took a deep drag of his cigarette, knowing full well he shouldn't be smoking in here. 

"I have friends."

"You could have more."

"I don't want anymore. I have too many as it is."

I think his jaw dropped to the floor as I rambled on. 

"Man, someone really fucked you over, didn't they?"

"Yup, and I don't intend to let it happen again anytime soon. I've spent too much crying in the last year."

He hesitated, but then slowly reached over to rub circles on my lower back. I didn't flinch. It actually felt good, but I didn't want him to know that. I thought it might be time to end the evening. I wasn't sure if I liked him less or more. He gazed at me with drunken adoration in his eyes. Dear God.

Once again, I stared at the worn, wooden floor and sighed. 

"Let's call it a night, shall we?" 

He squinted at me. He asked if I minded stopping at his place first; there was something he had to pick up. 

Like a condom, I thought?

Internally, I was shaking my head in disbelief.  But like the little tin soldier, I marched up to his place.  

He grinned as he turned the key in the lock. 

"Sumptuous place you have here," I noted.

I licked my lips. Indeed. A bit heavy handed for my taste. In the living room, heavy velvet curtains leather couches, masculine furniture, oozing testosterone.

The dining room was like a breath of fresh air, pastels, comfy furniture, and a pale wooden armoire. More of a woman's touch, I thought.

"Is this a rental or what?"

He grinned mischievously.

"It's a what..." 

We both giggled. He steered me into his cavernous bedroom; I wasn't quite sure if it looked like a reject from a bordello or some Lothario's hide away.

My knees were knocking together and he hadn't even kissed me yet. Shit. 

He stepped forward, placing himself right in front of me, no distance between us at all. I swallowed and slowly looked up at him. He was very tender at first. I felt virginal and shaky, but if Gabe sensed it, he didn't let on.

The kiss grew into a passionate one and before I could stop myself, I had grabbed his ass, squeezing him with delight. 

We stopped, breathless. 

He whispered to me, "Are you sure?"

I replied no. Because I wasn't. But as long as I was in the playground, I might as well play, right? I literally grabbed at him, remembering after a long dry spell how good this felt. In fact, it seemed like years. We started humping at each other like two pups in heat.

His hard body felt good against mine. And so, our little dance began.   Or should I say, wrestling session. We lunged for each other, tearing at clothes; I know I ripped several buttons of his flannel shirt as he groaned, half lying, half sitting, next to me. And in the process, we were half on the floor, half pressed against the wall.

Before I could protest, he threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the bed. He placed me on the large ornate surface, kissing my neck, and then biting it, as we grew more heated. Ah, finally, we were both naked. We lay there, drinking each other in, touching, groping. He flicked at one of my nipples, squeezing and pinching. Gabe then dipped his fingers into my wet cunt as I wriggled. He started pulling on my nipple and I threw my head back. Rough never felt so good. I came, screaming, pressing against his hand.

I was tipsy, but not unconscious, thank God. 

I was surprised at how soft his beard was; I was afraid it might feel like a toilet brush. When he brushed it against my thigh, I shook uncontrollably. Sexiest thing I had ever felt. And brushing it against my pussy was delicious, torture really. He was a master at eating pussy. Few men are and show little interest in it. I couldn't spread my thighs far apart enough for him.

As a matter of fact, I almost felt like I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I'd come to and Gabe  would be doing something delicious, like sucking on my big toe or licking behind my knee...such nice, sensitive spots.

I nearly fainted at the sight of his beautiful dick. Cut, thick and long with big beautiful balls. I have quite a cock fixation and he more than lived up to my fantasies. He took particular delight in masturbating for a bit as I drooled over his furry crotch. I had always had a weakness for a guy jerking off; I found it terribly erotic.

Gabe was getting off on my glazed expression as he pulled at his thick cock. I finally dived in, so to speak, licking his enormous balls. 

We must have been going at it for hours; it certainly seemed that way. And in all this flurry of activity, I found myself licking his armpits; delicious and so masculine.

He brought me off with his fingers once and then with his mouth twice. Sucking away at my swollen nub, I literally humped at his face, grinding my hips into his beard. I felt like I was eighteen again.

And then he started with the dirty talk; things I never even imagined came flying out of that man's mouth. I was panting like a dog by that time.

"I want to fuck your pussy all night long. I want to watch you come all night long. Let's see, it's only been, what three times so far? Let's see if we can get it up to six or seven times."

I gaped at him, marveling at his desire to please. The surly bastard. I put my hand up against his chest. 

"I need a break first, big boy. I'm not used to all this action."

He grabbed me and held me as if I were his prize.  

We took a small break for a soda and a joint. We giggled a bit at nothing in particular, snacking on Mallomars, getting crumbs all over the Egyptian cotton sheets.

I flattened my palm against the soft fabric; for some reason, it felt like cashmere or flannel to me. I supposed Gabe took things like that for granted, being wealthy and pampered.

"Fancy those sheets, luv?"

"Yes, they're Egyptian cotton."

"What the fuck is that?" 

I laughed out loud at him. "It means it's soft...you didn't know?"

"I don't know fuck all about sheets, mate."

I had to use the bathroom and was happy to see it so well equipped. I was equally enamored with the huge brass towel warmer in the bathroom. It made a slight humming noise as it made the thick towels toasty. Like a child, I had to touch and examine every extravagant item I could find.

I flounced back into the room, hoping he hadn't heard me investigating the premises while he smoked, staring up at the ceiling. 

"And what toys were you playing with, little girl?" he winked and waggled his eyebrows at me. 

"The towel thingy...it's so amazing," I blubbered. I was beginning to sound like a kid in high school. I felt my face flush. 

Gabe stubbed out his cigarette and opened his arms, waiting for me to join him. I climbed into the safety of his lap and embrace, snuggling against his chest. The break was short lived as he proceeded to kiss my temples and neck. In mere minutes, he had me squirming for more. He then inserted two of his chubby fingers into my cunt, while his able thumb circled my clit. Then he removed his fingers from inside of me and started tweaking my clitoris, using his thumb and index finger. Very gently, but it was making me sweat.

I stared up at him as if he was a god and he grinned down at me.

"Like that baby?"

I could feel myself falling into unconsciousness again. No one, not even my married lover, took the care to get me off like Gabe was doing. Coupled with his sexy growl and the chest the size of a Mack truck, I felt like I no longer existed. I became pure feeling, pure lust.  When I finally came, my whole body was quivering...it felt like my insides were quaking along with my genitals.

Gabe was kind and loving and held me close, whispering encouraging nothings in my ear. My face felt hot and I could barely move.  When I could manage it, I knelt before him, admiring his beautiful thick cock.

"It's beautiful," I whispered into his balls. I proceeded to lick and suckle and fondle until he came in my mouth, almost too much for me to swallow. I actually reveled in the saltiness; it felt like I had the ocean in my mouth.

He bounded out of the bed, gesturing that he had to pee. 

I was feeling pretty comfortable at that point; he must have felt the same, as he peed very loudly into the toilet...with the door open no less.

As he sauntered back into the room, his thick cock banging against his thigh, I thought how self-assured he was in his nakedness. And I thought how insecure and shy I felt about my own body, feeling fleshy and thick. I raced to cover myself with the comforter.

"Don't do that, I want to see you." And he gently pulled at my camouflage. I tried not to fidget under his stark gaze as he drank me in. As he had been doing all night, he started tweaking at my nipples and I felt myself gulping as I lost my breath.

Finally, finally, he was inside of me and riding me like a stallion as I hung on, thighs wrapped around his waist. For the first time in my life, I came close to having an orgasm during intercourse. I didn't, but I almost made it. It was enough to start the tears. Gabe as stunned as I did, not believing me at first when I told him I had never even been close before.

"Really? Never?" He looked incredulous. I felt embarrassed, child like. 

I stared down at my hands, neatly folded on the comforter. Prim and proper. 

And then he pulled me to him. 

"You're a ratbag, you know that?"

"Me?" He laughed out loud at my Aussie obscenity.

"Don't make fun of me." I whispered into his armpit. He pulled me closer.

"I'm not, I'm just surprised, that's all. You seem so...sensual."

"I am," I hesitated, "in my own way, but certainly not uninhibited. I have a long way to go in that department."

He rubbed his soft beard against my head. 

"Maybe I can help loosen you up a bit, luv."

Inwardly, I cringed. Not now, I thought. That was enough to make me panic.

I snuggled into his hairy armpit, breathing in his sweaty smell. In seconds, he was snoring loudly. I drifted off, thinking of his soft words and kind heart.

Something awakened me; I'm not sure of what. But I was startled back to reality and found I was lying in a pool of sweat. I panicked for a moment, not remembering where I was, Gabe's loud snoring had settled into a soft sigh as he snuggled against me.

I sat up in frenzy, feeling closed in and frightened. I had to get out of there. 

I tiptoed around, trying to keep my clothes from rustling as I hurriedly dressed in the dark.

A life in disrepair. That was me. I couldn't add more uncertainty to it with a celebrity who wouldn't even remember my name in a week's time.

In two weeks, he'd be flying off to his country, a whole continent away. I could easily avoid him for that length of time. He had no room for me and I had none for him.

I stealthily slipped past his sleeping form and closed the door behind me. I smiled to myself and stole away, like a thief in the night. 

 

*

 

As I clambered out of the cab at that ungodly hour, I looked up at the sky. The color of indigo. I was almost tempted to start counting the stars, but thought I should really get inside. The air was turning a bit too crisp for me.

My cat, who thinks she's a dog, greeted me happily, getting tangled in my heels as I searched for the bedroom. I slumped down on my bed. Safe at last. I blocked out the guilt I felt and the fear of his wrath. True, it had only been a one-night stand, but I thought he might not take kindly to my hasty exit. I let myself sink into my flannel sheets and fluffy comforter, finally drifting into a dreamless sleep.

My heart sunk when I awoke; I was not looking forward to this day. 

I tried to stay away from his usual spots; I just lingered in the background.

Soon, I could feel his eyes on my back as I shuffled my papers around, scripts to be collated. Then I heard his boots clomping down on the concrete walkway.

"What the fuck were you thinking last night?" Gabe bellowed at me. I wasn't expecting an outburst in spite of the rumors I'd heard about him.  I yelled back at him to shut up. He looked visibly shaken.

"Can we take this down a notch, please?" I whispered listening to people shuffling around us.

"I don't give a fuck all about the crew."

This was taking a surreal turn. Some guy is pissed at me for fucking him and leaving him? This time, I squinted at him.  

Now my hands were on my hips and steam was coming out of my ears. 

"Well, that's typical. YOU don't care, but I do. Think about someone else for a change, would you?"

His eyes were on fire. 

"Are you insinuating that I'm self centered?"

"No Gabe, I'm not. I'm TELLING you you're self centered." 

Gabe vaguely resembled a bull in a ring, minus the ring in his nose. And I was the red flag. If I weren't so angry, I would have laughed. 

"Why the fuck did you disappear in the middle of the night? You couldn't talk to me, tell me how you felt?"

He was leaning in close to my face, but his expression looked menacing. I felt slightly threatened and stepped back. 

"No, I couldn't." I heard my voice quiver and that made me angrier. 

"How was I supposed to know if this was going to be another one of your one night stands? How was I supposed to know if I wanted more than that? I still don't know what I want. And why the fuck do you care anyway? You're going back to the outback in a couple of weeks anyway. What difference could it possibly make anyway?"

I was now having trouble breathing and I felt myself close to tears. 

"Don't you think it was incredibly rude, not to mention, real chicken shit, to disappear in the middle of the night?"

I pushed at his chest. "Don't you fucking call me a chicken shit! Haven't you ever been indecisive about something in your life? With all the decisions you've made about relationships, you've never wavered in any of those?"

"You bitch," he hissed at me. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Movie Stah, were you addressing me?" I felt like a five year old in the wrong sandbox. "I didn't want to create a scene. You know, all that bullshit the next morning. Share some coffee; I'll call you sometime in the next millennium. And I wasn't so sure I wanted to see you again. In fact, I was positive I didn't want to see you. And that's the truth."

Gabe's upper lip was sweating and quivering, under all that moustache. 

I noticed some of the crew eyeing us as we verbally sparred.  We looked as if we might engage in a swordfight at a moments notice.

Gabe seemed to be out of breath and my hands were trembling in my jeans jacket. 

He reached out to grasp my arm.

"Can we please talk about this later? Say over a drink?" The darkness in his eyes had gone; he appeared to be swimming in his emotions.

"What for?" I spat at him. 

"So we can have another dinner and another fuck...what good would that do? I have too many reservations about you and this ..." I looked him up and down, "and this quarrel only reinforces this."

I turned on my boot heels and left. I know he was left sputtering there, confused. He doesn't handle defeat well.  The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag. I couldn't wait for the crew say "we're done."

I left as soon as I could, practically racing into the little van that usually dropped me off at the end of the day. I was so sure Gabe would catch up with me somehow, but he didn't.

I sat motionless on the sofa.  Cooking a dinner seemed out of the question, I was too fidgety. I could bake.  It always distracted me, centered me somehow. Rugalach. The creamy, cheesy dough I could manipulate in my hands and roll out.  My mouth watered in anticipation.

 

I put on a little Dylan.  Forever Young. I sang along, badly.  

 

 

I puttered around in the cramped, but cheerful room.  Antique signs on one wall, baskets on the other. My little sanctuary in this fucked up world.  Jars of jam waited to be used, a chipped measuring cup paused in the flurry of activity for its turn.  Sugar and flour were strewn everywhere. I laughed out loud at my clumsiness, a life long affliction. 

I put on a pot of strong coffee. Something to keep me bouncing off the walls all night. And changed into my comfy sweats. 

My trusty, beat up rolling pin helped me make my cookies look edible. Ruby in her wisdom, decided to play with the flour, burying her furry face in the bowl and howling because of it.

I heard my cell phone jangling and I knew. I deliberately left it, checking the message later. Of course it was Gabe, but I had no intention of calling him back. This was beginning to feel a little like harassment to me. We barely knew each other.

I had just pulled the Rugalach out of the oven, smelling sweetly of jam and sugar, when the doorman rang from downstairs. My heart sank to my tummy

I suppose I had to let him up. What else could I do? I gritted my teeth and held on to my rolling pin for some reason. I must have looked a sight, weapon in hand, covered in flour. He almost laughed.

"Can I come in?" he whispered softly, eyes downcast. He almost grinned when he saw the rolling pin.

"Are you going to hit me with that?" 

I smirked. 

"No, but I'd like to."

I ushered him in.

Instead of asking, he just plopped himself down on the couch when Ruby came flying in, looking like an air borne alien. In spite of the tension in the air, we both giggled. I grabbed at her before the scene turned too friendly and intimate.

"What the fuck did I ever do to you? Why are you so pissed at me?"

I was tired. 

He lit a cigarette and stared at me.

"So?"

"What did I do to you?"

I averted his gaze and sighed heavily.

"Well, first thing...when we went to dinner, you talked non stop about yourself, your career, your life." I didn't dare look at him.

"Secondly, I see the way you treat people on the set. Some of the so-called underlings you treat like dirt beneath your shoe. Now, tell me why I WOULDN'T think you were selfish?"

He sat back against the plush cushions. 

"I know you're right. I'm a shit sometimes. I get into these black moods and take it out on everyone. I am a shit." He stared at the flame on his cigarette.

"And besides, you're flying off to the jungle or wherever the fuck you live in a matter of days anyway. So, what's the point?"

He almost stood up. "Are you a physic or something? How do you know where I'm going or what I'm doing?" 

I knew he would be sputtering a speech before long. I just nodded lamely. 

"Even I don't know what I'll be doing after I finish shooting."

" Gabe," I looked him in the eye this time. "I thought I told you that I didn't want to get involved anyway. I just got my guts ripped out. I'm not a masochist. And you're a handful, ya know."

"Yes, I am," and he stuck his chest out proudly. "But I also give a lot back. I'm very loving and affectionate, generous, funny..."

"Hrumpf," I huffed. 

"And also you're short tempered and you drink, you're self centered, as I pointed out before...what's in for girl like me?"

"Like I said..." and he sat on the edge of the couch, so close to me, I could feel his breath."...I'm loving, I'm a good listener," and he took my hand. "I know about pain, I've had my share. We could have fun together. I could stay here in New York for a while. Maybe we could go somewhere? Would you like that?"

My mind was going 50 miles an hour. I barely knew this guy and he had us going on trips together.    

"I think I know why you dislike me so intensely...." His eyes softened.

"Oh yeah, why?" I couldn't wait to hear this.

"Because you like me, A LOT and it scares the shit out of you. Much easier for you to be pissed at me, don't ya think?"

I knew he had hit a nerve, but I wasn't ready to give in yet. His thumb grazed my cheek. I could feel my eyes tear up and that irritated me once again. I would not let him see me this way, unraveling like yarn.

"Aha, I got you on that one, huh? I knew it."

"You know no such thing," I snapped back. 

He started sniffing the air. 

"Smells lovely, what is it? A cake?"

I had to smile.

"No, Rugalach. It's like a cookie. And I made a pot of coffee."

"May I join you?" He seemed humble and sincere. But I still wanted to hit with the rolling pin.  He made a move towards me and I backed away, slowly.

Gabe gave my little apartment the once over, thumbing through the books, nodding every once in a while. 

"You should read Siddhartha."

"I read it years ago, in the sixties, actually. You're a Hesse fan?"

"Well, I like Siddhartha. Can I get some coffee, mate?" His hands were dug deeply into his jean pockets.

I poured him a cup of my famous black, strong coffee. We sat and chatted amiably for about an hour, just innocuous stuff, and the weather, people on the set. He waxed poetic about my Rugalach, asking if he could please take some home. How could I refuse?

I was getting antsy and we both had to report to the set the next day. I stood up; my subtle way of letting him know the evening was over. Thankfully, he didn't come on to me, he just kissed my forehead and he was out the door within minutes.

I slumped on the couch, with my head in my hands. I knew somehow I was going to hurt, but I couldn't help myself. 

He was probably right; more than once my grief had manifested itself as rage, anything was possible. Wincing at the memory, I could recall a few occasions where I'd lost it, could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface and just attributed it to a bad day.  Gabe was not the only one taking it out on his "underlings". I was guilty of the same thing.

This was too much for my head to absorb, so I decided to head for my flannel sheets and furry cat. As usual, disturbing dreams kept awakening me and I snuggled closer to Ruby while she purred like a lawnmower.

 

*

 

Dark visions danced in my head and towards the end, there was a light. I didn't know its source, but it felt warm and inviting. 

I suddenly felt shy around him, as did he. I also felt needy, which disturbed me. I wanted him to embrace me and fuck me at the same time. I kept remembering his mouth and hands and how good they made me feel. I shuddered and turned away. 

Later, I felt Gabe tapping my shoulder, I knew it was he somehow. He smiled sweetly, asking if we could go to dinner. I thought I should decline, but didn't.

Two hours later, as we sat in a rustic Tuscan restaurant, swilling our wine, he poured his heart out to me. The king of unrequited love, he tagged himself.

I was surprised to see him drink wine, but he said it went better with the veal and pasta. I think we ordered everything on the menu from salads to baked clams to stuffed veal chop and lastly, pasta with a brandy-spiked cream sauce. I felt like a drunken beached whale. Gabe seemed just as tipsy.

"So tell me, how many men have you had?"

"Excuse me?" I almost belched in shock.

"Oh you know..." and he winked at me. I think he was testing me, to see if I would get pissed or just answer in a straightforward fashion. Being the open book I am, I rattled off a few sad stories.

"No one night stands?" He cocked his head at me, his eyes dancing.

"Of course, I grew up in the sixties."

"Ah, so you had your fun?"

I played with my napkin. "I don't know if you could call it that, but I did my share of stepping out."

"Well, if it wasn't fun, then why bother?" 

He was staring intently at me now, wanting to figure me out.

"Gabe, people do all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons. I was never very lucky with sex. I enjoyed it, but most of the time, the earth didn't move for me."

"That's sad." I was waiting to see if he would offer to help me in that department, but he was prudent this time.

I folded my arms across my chest. 

"I mean, it wasn't like I never enjoyed it and I do have a strong sex drive, but no one really..." I drifted off. I knew I was a little tipsy, but I didn't want to say anything I'd regret later. Gabe reached out to touch a curl that almost draped itself over my eye.

"And lately, you know. I just haven't..."

"Ya know," he was only slurring slightly," I do know how you feel. I lost my uncle a few years ago; we were so close, closer than I am to my Dad. And Richard Harris... I'm sure you heard about..."

I nodded mutely. He pushed his chair closer to mine and placed his arm over my shoulder. 

"You just get numb and get very comfortable being there."

I smiled. "Comfortably Numb?"

He smiled back.

"You look tired, love. Let me take you home."

 

He was such a gentlemen, dropping me off, making sure I got into my place all right, patted the cat. I got a very chaste kiss on cheek and he was gone. 

Shocked the hell out of me.  

This time, I slept easily and dreamt of pretty places.     

When I awoke, to a crisp fall day, my heart raced thinking about him. When had I fallen for him? Was I lost now? When I saw him, he looked excited, but kept his distance. Was he feeling a change too? Are we both crazy?

 

Gabe gestured to me later as I was perusing the catering truck. He gingerly tapped on my hand, as if to test me, would I balk at his touch? But I didn't, and fool that I sometimes am, I welcomed it, but hoped no one noticed. We stood behind the truck, eating inedible food, as he devoured me with his eyes. Not in a sexual way, just "drinking" me in, as if he were memorizing me. I could once again feel the tears close to the surface as if his admiration was overwhelming. But I knew I couldn't trust myself completely; my emotions were too close to the edge and could be summoned up easily.

I wanted to crush myself against his chest and smell his scent, feel his arms surround me. And I wanted to run away. Again, it was just small talk, as if we were both too uncomfortable to discuss anything else. There was a long silence and I looked up at him; he's quite a bit taller than I am. Gabe didn't want to do anything overt, but he made contact by pressing his hand against my arm as he drifted away. I didn't look back at him.

My cell phone rang; it was he.

"Can you meet me later, for dinner. ... or something?"

"Something? Is that like lunch or brunch?"

"Piss off, cheeky," he chuckled.   

"Um," I hesitated. I was still tired from being out the night before.

"Can we make this an early evening? I'm knackered."

And I giggled at my Aussie slang.  I knew a wonderful soul food place down in Soho. Unpretentious and out of the way. Comfort food sounded right somehow. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes...maybe some pie and strong chicory coffee.  

 

We dawdled over the heavy food, talking for hours about books and poetry. But I did notice both our demeanor had changed. Gabe was now sitting back in his chair, smiling as he talked animatedly about his love for the written word.

I found myself talking without hesitating and just listened to him. I actually ate most of what was my plate; a sure sign I was reasonably comfortable.

We recited poetry from memory to one another. A favorite of mine by Emily Dickinson, which elicited a dangerous tear or two and I had to turn my head. I still felt out of control, bordering on tears and exhilarated all at the same time.

I deliberately refrained from drinking. Gabe leaned over, mouth open as he reached for my lower lip, sucking on it gently. I knew I was going to wind up back in bed with him, probably that night. He leaned back, staring and making me uncomfortable.

"I feel so out of control," I slobbered. 

"It's okay, luv. I understand. If you'd rather go home alone, I understand." 

But I could hear the breath caught in his throat.   

I grabbed his shirt.

"No, I want you to take me home now."

I could hear him cackling as we climbed into his SUV and he gave the driver instructions. What had that come from? I wasn't quite sure, but at this point, I would've gladly collapsed on the floor, sucking him dry until he screamed. 

 

*

 

I'm not quite sure what came over me, but suddenly, I couldn't wait to attack Gabe. Do you blame me? Rosebud lips, massive chest and arms, even the tickly beard, which would soon be shaven off, unfortunately.

I pushed open the door and had barely slammed it when I grabbed at his shirt again. I couldn't stop myself. Maybe it was the indecision, the crying, lack of sleep, whatever, but I was his love slave. I sank to my knees, pulling his jeans off as fast as I could. As soon as I could get his luscious cock out, I was lapping away like a hungry kitten. Right there in the apartment hallway. My cat sat and stared. I felt much like the cocksmith, sucking, licking, kissing, and slurping, much to his delight.

"Maybe we should..."

"Nah, fuck that. I wanna do you right here, Gabe" Which elicited a low groan and laugh. I wrapped my hands around his thick base so I could shove as much of his fat cock in as I could without vomiting. Thank God, I didn't. Lickie, lickie, lap, lap, slurping as loud as I could, knowing he loved a noisy blow job from the first time we were together. I was so glad I had on jeans myself; otherwise, my knees would be all covered in scabs.

Ruby got bored and left. I got so hot I thought I might even come from doing him; I was panting and purring at the same time

"I'm... going...aaaaagh...to...ohhhhh...come." He continued to fuck my face with all the fervor of a born again preacher. 

I blurted out, "Do it baby, come in my mouth. I'll swallow it all." 

I just couldn't get enough of him, and believe me there was A LOT of him. I swallowed it all, gratefully, gazing adoringly up at him. His hooded eyes were even more so, hiding the unadulterated joy and lust in them.

I was no longer confused; at that precise moment I thought, if he hurts me, so be it. At least I haven't sold my soul and it seemed like much more than sex anyway.

He then picked me up and dumped me unceremoniously on the bed.  The next scene was almost comical as I tore at my clothes and his shirt went flying off into a corner.

Before I knew it, he was sucking on my pink nipples, and then nipping at them. I let out such a howl, I think I surprised him. We almost lapsed into hysteria, but soon went at it again. He insisted on sucking on me, moaning into my hot pussy as I gave up all semblance of decorum, writhing under his dexterous tongue. I soon found myself groaning, calling his name and using his ears as handles.

I came very loudly, squishing against his furry face. There was a light pool of sweat lying in my belly button. He raised himself up; licking it and making me guffaw out loud.

Gabe laid himself on top of me, his thick cock pressing against my clitoris, begging to be let in. I suppose I should have waited a bit more, but I was lying in a puddle and his dick was rock hard again. I placed him inside me and squirmed as he moved sideways, up and down and then for good measure, thrust my legs over his shoulders as he pumped into me. It was as good as chocolate, maybe better. As if someone had turned on a light switch, I closed my eyes and let my body take me wherever it wanted to go. I was heaving and panting and then I felt it. He had hit my G spot. Someone had finally found it! I could've jumped for joy.... or should I say, humped for joy. The first time ever. Something to remember. Involuntarily, my head banged into the headboard, but I barely noticed.

Thump, thump. I gave myself a good whack as I came for the first time ever with a cock inside of me. I could feel my eyes roll back into my head.

I came to. "Ouch..." as I laughed. Gabe kissed my poor battered head. He just kept saying, "Oh baby.." as I burst into tears. My face was soaked with tears; the sheets were damp and tangled. What a mess we were.

"Does this mean you trust me?" he whispered in my ear as I lay nearly dozing. He would think that way; he's so insecure, my Gabriel.

I lay nestled in his arms as we snoozed. His guttural snore awakened me. Neither of us had gotten up yet to refresh ourselves, so the room reeked of sex. Gabe's hand brushed a stray hair aside and I could smell myself on his fingers. You know, that smell of cunt and sweat and his balls and cum. I jumped up before he did, practically sprinting to the sink. Soaped myself down, brushed my teeth, peed; now I felt human again.

I took a look in my full-length mirror and I did not dislike what I saw. Large, full breasts, rounded belly, pretty face; just a touch of flab around the edges. Not bad for a woman past her prime.

Because of my intense modesty, I raced back to the bed, covering my privates. Which of course incensed Gabe even more.

"Take that shit off now," he barked. He then proceeded to give a raspberry to my tummy. Very loudly too. He liked to wrap his fingers around my pubic hair; making little braids.

"Gabe, you need a hobby."

"Hey, if you grew your underarm hair, I could braid that too." 

I rolled over to look at him. 

"You're incorrigible."

"But I'm cute. And you like me, you really, really like me..."

"I must be crazy. I'm just asking for trouble."

"And lots of fun. And we could travel..."

I felt the panic settling in again. This guy was a runaway train. I thought he just WANTED to be in love. He was clueless.

I flashed back to my friend and her fragile body. The rage that is cancer that devours you, then spits you out, rendering you unrecognizable. I thought about her and lifeless form in contrast to his taut, beefy one which pleasured me so well. And I thought of his demons, the devils that drove him to alienate people and harm himself in a myriad of ways. What had gnawed at him? You could never convince me he was not broken into pieces. But introspection was not his style; it was not the Aussie way.

He could see the light in my eyes, look beyond that and see my soul, I was convinced. There was something very old soul about Gabe, as if he had been here many times before. I did hope in my heart that we would not wound each other.

 He awoke at 4AM, hungry as a bear, he said. I looked at him with one open eye. 

"Yeah, and..." was my response.

"Woman, how about making me some brekkie?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

He came over to drag me out of the bed. I squealed as he wrenched me out of the warmth of my flannel sheets. He half carried me into my tiny kitchen. He plunked me down on the cold floor.

"Get me some pancakes," he ordered. I had to laugh; we were naked, sleepy and disheveled. I ran to pee and while I was there I noticed several love bites on my neck and shoulder.

"Marking your territory?" I asked as I stepped into the tiny room.

"Yes, you're mine now." He pulled at me. 

Oh shit, not again.

His chubby hands gripped my sore ass, pulling me in closer to his already semi erect cock. 

"Super cock" I whispered into his ear. I can't believe I actually made him pancakes, standing in the nude (which he insisted on) at 4AM. By the time he wolfed them down, it was 5AM and time to get ready for work. While he was devouring his "brekkie" I had showered and dressed.

"Get off your lazy ass and get to work," I teased him. He expressed his disapproval of my clothed body. 

"Should I go to work in the nude?" 

"Yaw, well, I would like that," he growled suggestively. In about 5 days, all this would end. My heart dropped once more. 

 

*

 

Over the next four days, he was way too busy to spend much time with me alone; promos, extra shots, etc. all kept him busy. But he never failed to call or leave a little gift for me; one day it was a massage at a fancy salon in New York, another, an expensive perfume.

But I wasn't kidding myself, the night sweats, the nightmares were still there to haunt me. Every once in a while, when I saw how he treated me, treated us, I would become alarmed. He saw us as a couple already. We barely knew each other, a week at the most. His need to be involved was as disconcerting as my need to run. I literally had to force myself to stand rooted to the ground at times when the anxiety would hit. Or he would look at me with his puppy-eyed look and I'd start to cry.

We were still being discreet on the set but I knew eventually, he'd want me to meet his friends...he spoke of it often. I felt I had no place in his life, not an ordinary person like myself with virtually no career and a wardrobe you could fit into a thimble. Everyone, everywhere treated him with deference, sometimes with downright reverence and he reveled in it. It got him the best seats in restaurants, free tickets to anything and the greater majority of the women on the planet genuflecting in his presence. I suppose I couldn't blame him for loving it, even needing it after a while. And I saw how it could easily turn heads and I know it altered his life.

Finally, the last day of shooting arrived and my stomach felt like I had a bowling ball in it. I could even feel my left eye twitching. Good God, I thought, is that noticeable? The party was arranged in a little bistro that the studio had taken over for the evening, but all were dressed casually and seeking an outlet before we closed up shop for good.

Gabe was as buoyant, silly and drunk as he ever was and that endeared him to everyone. He handed out photo albums with pictures from the set, gift certificates to local restaurants, cases of wine and boundless hugs for every person.  I hear he bought his co-star, some lovely young thing, an antique car; lucky girl.

He tilted his head at me, as if I were being summoned. In my slightly drunken state, I virtually skipped over to him. I reasoned that if this were our last moment together, I wanted to make it as light hearted as I could. I still didn't trust him.

Gabe pulled at me, as if I were a doorknob, rattling me. 

"Listen," he whispered conspiratorially, "Let's go somewhere, you and me," his eyes dancing. 

I lost my voice. 

"Do you mean to the bathroom, or..."

He snickered. "No luvie, a place. Go away, as in get on a plane," he was giggling now. "And be with each other, ya know."

I was confused. 

"What about your home and family?"

"Are they going somewhere?"

"No, I thought we were."

He looked baffled now.

"We're going away," I was giggling now too. "And your parents."

"They're coming with us?" Gabe looked horrified. 

"No silly," I tickled his tummy. "Aren't they going away?"

"Fucked if I know mate, they never said anything to me. And why would they be going with us anyway? Don't you want some privacy?"

He wasn't getting it. 

I was in near hysterics at this point.

"Well, didn't you call and invite them? Isn't that what you told me?" I knew my face was purple by now. I was tipsy, but he was gone...

"When did I say that?" He was now bobbing and weaving. Irritated.  "You're giving me the irrits, mate. You're having at me, aren't you?" Another giggle. He was so damned cute sometimes. I resisted the impulse to kiss him.

Please God, don't let him hurt me. I couldn't stand that now. 

I was on the verge of tears again. I thought maybe I should just go home; I certainly didn't want him to see me in my vulnerable state. Just then, he grabbed for my wrist, tugging me closer to his over heated chest. He smelled of beer, sweat and hunger.

"So," he whispered again in my ear, "what do you think? Let's go away somewhere, someplace warm, get a tan, and fuck all day. How does that grab you?"

I stopped breathing.........I hated the heat. He saw the hesitation. 

I turned my forlorn face to his, but said nothing. 

"What is it, luv? Prefer something different?" 

"I hate the heat." My bottom lip curled.

"What? He bellowed. "That can't be. Who doesn't like the sun?"

I remained petulant. 

"I don't. Sweating is not fun and besides getting a tan, what else is there to do on the beach?"

His eyebrows waggled at me suggestively. 

"All right luvie, I'll find something you like. You want snow and mountains?"

Suddenly I felt foolish. 

"No, please, don't change the plans because of a silly quirk"............

His temper was showing again. 

"Don't do this to me, woman. If you want snow, we'll do snow. Just don't fuck around with my head."

Patience personified.

I bobbed my head until I was dizzy. I had visions of Aspen in my head. Or even Wyoming. I had no intentions of skiing; I was just aching to get away, anywhere. Quiet, few people. Sit in front of a fire; watch the snow as it pinged against the window. Listen to each other breathe in the

"Leave it all to me, mate. I'll get us something posh."

Still not quite believing his garbled announcement, I pulled back. Remembering the fervor and how it tied me to him, I was reluctant to relinquish that bond, but my heart heard more than his words.

Gabe's eyes grew dark, darker than the room we stood in. 

"Please luvie, come away with me." It was more of a plea this time. His expression suggested affection, caring, and the things that would change me forever. Change this moment forever. I stared at his chest curls that peeked out of his flannel shirt.

I nodded slowly. "Sure, let's go somewhere."  

 

To Part Two

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