15. PLEASE THINK
He drives me back to his house. His car is familiar. It’s just ours, no balloon-boobed womens’. The souvenir cup he bought for me at the pier in Santa Monica lies partly unwrapped at the bottom of my feet. This is where I forgot it. I was wondering about that. Ciro + Savannah = Forever. So naive.
We don’t talk on the way there. People say you need closure when something monumental happens, and he won’t let me leave without it.
The worst part is over, isn’t it? To see him do that with another girl was the worst. To see him first thing when the pain bled fresh was the worst. I exhausted energy and ashes down there at the Mintrer’s parking lot. I feel weak.
We round the last curve to the top of the hill, and I say, “There’s no use, you know. You could never have convinced me to be okay with your lifestyle. No level of brainwashing could make me pat you on the back, like, ‘Bye honey, have a nice day at work! Stay safe, okay, as in don’t get AIDS.’”
He shoots me a glance. It’s not surprised or wounded. All I see is sadness and acceptance. Fuck, I hate the way he looks like he’s the victim.
“Listen, I get that you’ve been through this before with your ‘fifty former girlfriends’”—I make quotation marks—“but no matter what you think, you’re the asshole here. Not me. You’re the one using women for your own winning, whether it’s money or entertainment. You did it with me.”
“You’re wrong, Savannah. You were never entertainment to me,” he growls, and anger finally clenches his jaw. “I don’t expect you to understand how I live, the good and the bad, but I wanted a chance to explain myself. Even if you saw a sliver of what I see, I’d feel better about watching you leave. I have no illusion that you’ll stay with me. I don’t know what I was thinking when I dove into this again.” He shakes his head. Parks the car.
Princess’ single muffled bark from the second floor welcomes us, and it jabs at my heart. He reaches for my hand, wants to lead me inside the way he always does, but I snatch my hand back. My chest tightens when he cups his hands in front of him, unconsciously squeezing the one I didn’t accept.
I drop to the floor upstairs needing Princess’ love more than I ever have. I let her kiss me, roll over me with her big, heavy torso, and I almost laugh at how loud her happy-snorts are against my ear. Yeah, I wasn’t here this morning. You missed me. You’ll miss me more soon.
I tear up. Again and again and again. Fuck this.
“Come with me to the sunroom?” Ciro’s crisscrossed on the floor next to us, eyes welling with sadness too. I’ve never seen them brighter. I clench mine shut while I pull myself together.
“I don’t think this is a good idea after all. I’ll Uber it home. You don’t have to drive me.”
“Savannah, please. Just give me an hour. I’ve thought about this since our first date, and I haven’t been able to get it right. I... want the chance to explain to you.”
“That you’re leaving the business?” I mock.
“Come here. Please?” He pulls me to my feet, and I let him lead me there. Thick red cushions against white walls. He lowers me to them, and I sit up straight so that I don’t invite his nearness. Princess comes too. I pat the space between Ciro and me, but she lies down by his feet instead.
I fold my arms. Force myself to stare into his eyes. “Speak.”
“I haven’t had this much time with one since Silk, not this long, not this much. We’ve had some good times together you and I.” He peers up from Princess to me. “I loved waking up to you. I loved getting up and making the coffee too weak to be considered coffee and mixing in that gross French vanilla for you.”
He thumps his back against the backrest, his touch leaving Princess. She moans sadly, and her pain is mine. “I loved walking in to Mintrer’s and getting the boyfriend-of-Savannah treatment from that little hostess girl. There was nothing like your smile when you noticed me in the doorway, and nothing like the way you shyly turned the side of your mouth to me so your supervisor couldn’t see you kiss me.”
He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them again, there’s a tear resting at the root of his eyelashes.
“I loved that you had no qualms with leaving your car at Mintrer’s when I picked you up in mine, how sometimes you were so tired after work that you rested your head on my shoulder like I was some hero. You made me better. You made me feel good about myself. You made me feel like I had a future.”
“Stop it. You’re just making things worse,” I choke out. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but this is just bad.”
He lifts his head and peers at me. “Does it make things worse that you’re my home?”
Knife. In the heart.
“Is it bad that you’re my sanctuary? My love? That it’s fucking painful as shit to go out there and chase what you know you want and need, your happiness, and get shot down like you’re scum every time because you are? Fuck, Savannah, I know I am. It’s not new to me. I’ve been scum my whole life.”
He breathes hard, a ragged breath calming himself down. “But that’s irrelevant.”
My fingers stretch on the backrest. He’s near enough for me to touch his shoulder. A flicker in his gaze tells me he notices, but he doesn’t acknowledge my closeness.
“Are you... in this business against your will?” My voice has softened at the thought. America is rough. It’s hard to make a living and survive. Maybe he has medical bills for those old parents of his that he needs to pay. Maybe he’s a saint with a dirty halo.
He closes his eyes, shaking his head wearily, and I know it’s another question he has heard before. “No, Savannah, I’m not.” His voice cracks through his truth like he knows my fingers won’t be on his shoulder anymore after it.
“You know about my life when I was younger. I’ve always been an extremely sexual person. At seventeen, I branched out from just sleeping with bartenders and daughters at my parents’ country club. I started dancing for a strip club. I got all the girls I wanted after those shows, and it didn’t take long before I was discovered by the owner of Lucid.”
He finds my arm on the seat between us and caresses it. Tingles warm the skin where he touches me, and I’m outside myself, listening to him recounting a story that doesn’t pertain to me. It’s an interesting, strange story of someone so different from anyone I know. What pertains to me, though, is the soothing circles his fingertips make on the inside of my arm.
“Lucid is a film studio? I met Ana, a girl you... saved. And slept with.”
“Worked with.”
“At seventeen! How old were you when you had sex with a seventeen-year-old?”
He frowns, mouth pursing into a small, regretful heart. “Twenty-one.”
“And you slept with a seventeen-year-old!”
“It was work, Savannah.” He withdraws from my arm and slaps his thighs. “God, Henry’s right. Why do I even try anymore? It’s bullshit. Why do I fall in love outside work?”
“Ha, you should stick to porn stars,” I say bitterly.
“They’re not attractive to me.”
“Why do you sleep with them then?”
He turns, staring at me full-on again. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t like having sex with them. As I said, I’ve always been hyper-sexual. You could probably drop any old bag in my lap and I’d get hard and fuck her if she wanted it. I’ve done gay porn. I’ve done BDSM, female-friendly erotic movies. You name it, babe, and my cock enjoys it. There’s something delicious about all of it.”
His gaze has gone dark with heat and righteousness, how dare you cast me out, how dare you limit your beliefs to your own little straight square world.
My brain is so angry at him. My chest sputters fractures of my heart into a bloody storm in there. But my most private area warms at his insistence and at the force of his virility.
“You tear me apart!” I shout, and then he’s on me, pressing me into the pillows, sobbing against my lips. My brain shuts down. My skin decides, and then I am kissing him back.
“I wish I’d never met you,” he hisses as he sucks on my lips and presses his tongue inside my mouth, and I arch, arch the way I always do with this man, everyone’s baby—my baby—oh god!
“I’d have been fine if I hadn’t met you.” He finds my panties between us and pushes inside me. I moan, trying to say no, but I quake around his fingers—right away, I quake, and he whispers my name over and over, Savannah, Savannah, Savannah.
Just one more time, just us, only us, forget everyone else and everything he does. My pain dissipates with him watching me, touching me, with the love in his eyes and the despair on his lips. We rip my clothes off—his—
I don’t want to think.
I’m senseless wanting more of him than anyone else has ever had, feel him coat me and keep him for later when I am sad again.
I want him inside me, just this last time, but he breaks to pull out a condom.
“No condom,” I moan. I’m on the pill.
“No, baby. I won’t do that to you.”
“But why? Please,” I whimper.
“I’d never risk your health.”
He works me like a dancer, hips swaying and massaging, milking every sigh I own. I jut into him. He threads his fingers through mine, white-knuckling me into the mattress, and when he comes too, my heart is whole and full and it’s hard to believe it was ever shattered. “I love you.”
He doesn’t let me go once we’re sated. Moist with sweat, he twists us so he’s on his back with me draped over him. He removes the rubber, ties it, and deposits it in the windowsill. I wonder how many times he’s done that before.
How many times? How many women?
I let out my anguish, a small puff while my endorphin high sinks.
“Why didn’t you want to do it without a condom? Where you afraid I was going to trap you by getting pregnant?”
I don’t know why I say this. It’s messed up. All we did was indulge in a last fuck. I’m out of here as soon as he lets go of me.
Again that tenderness in his eyes when he looks at me. “There’s nothing I’d like more than you trapping me. I’d get you a ring so fast you wouldn’t even have time for a pregnancy test.”
When your chest constricts enough, it pushes tears up your throat in the form of a small ball. I have one teasing my esophagus now, and I swallow to keep it from taking over.
“Be serious. You guys always wear condoms at work, right? Don’t you people sleep with your wives and stuff without a latex barrier between you?”
He kisses my temple. I turn my head so that I look at Princess, not him, and he breathes against my hair. “I can’t speak for everyone else. The most expensive scenes are the ones shot without rubber so the audience can see it all. The actresses have to be certified clean for me to work with them, but I still worry about you. I’d never want to jeopardize you.”
We’re not together anymore, and I see the irony in my anger right now. It doesn’t stop me from bursting out, “You have bare sex with them and refuse to do it with me? Ha, that makes me wonder who you’re protecting, all of your sidekicks or your girlfriend.”
“Shit,” he mutters, and I get the feeling he hasn’t heard this one before. He’s been there, done that, but I’ve finally surprised him. I want to feel proud, but all I feel is a scratching in my lungs, like I’ve got some ragged tool grinding against delicate tissue in there.
“What do you want me to do, Savannah? Not give a damn about you?”
He wants to fight like we’re still together?
Oh I’ll do it!
“How about—oh I don’t know—wearing protection with the women who supposedly mean nothing to you, and sleep bare with your girlfriend? You know, just one of those crazy suggestions.” I set the heels of my hands against the cushion and try to press up and away from him. He doesn’t let me. Instead, he pulls me down and kisses my ear, travels down my neck to the base where my collarbone dips in the middle.
“Okay.”
“Whatever. And that stuff doesn’t even matter anymore, Ciro. We’re not together. I’m not— Ah I can’t do this with you.”
“Savannah, I’ll tell Sharon I’m not doing a single scene without a condom anymore. I’ll tell them I have a girlfriend and that I intend to marry her and have babies with her as soon as she’s ready. Now, tomorrow, in fifteen fucking years, I don’t care. I’m telling Sharon now so she knows how to book my next gigs from here on until forever.”
“Please don’t.”
“Please think! Give me a chance, Savannah. Have you ever been loved the way I love you?”
Never!
I wring out of his arms. I can’t lie here and allow him to contort my sense of right into something it can’t be. “The human race is monogamous. We’re supposed to be a twosome. Both parts are supposed to agree to this.”
“And I do.”
“Oh yeah, by wearing a condom?”
“And never being unfaithful to your mind and your heart.”
“Ha!” I stalk to the window and stare out at the balcony beyond. I slide my hands upward, letting the glass cool my cheek. “I get it now. I asked you once if your marriage broke apart because you were unfaithful to Silk. You said you weren’t.”
I don’t hear him move, so I jump when his arms fold around my middle and his stomach presses against my back. “Yeah. She was the only person in my heart and in my head. I never even looked at another woman in the years Silk and I were together.”
“But you were ‘working.’” I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Of course. We were both working for a living.”
I side-eye him. “And you weren’t jealous of her having sex with other guys?”
His chin lowers to my shoulder. “No. I knew she loved me. We’re performers. Just like the actors you know from mainstream movies, we summon feelings and pour them into our moves. I don’t do guys often anymore, but the last time I had to for a contract, I thought of you and your response to me in bed.”
“You’ve even been with guys since we got together?”
“For work, yes.”
“Do you let them... on you?”
“I did when I was younger, but I’m in a position to not have to do the few things that turn me off anymore.” He laughs softly. “The director doesn’t like me turned off either, so win-win.”
“Do you feel sad when you have to do ‘a job’ and think of a girlfriend to make you perform?”
He tips my head back so I have to meet his eyes. “Do you ever fantasize while having sex?”
My face ignites the way it did during our first weeks together. It triggers a small smile from him. “I take that as a yes. Do you ever fantasize while you’re with me?”
My face is on fire, and I feel like I cheated on him in my thoughts. Why did I do that anyway? Sometimes, I cheated with memories of one of our earlier trysts.
I guess that’s not cheating.
He interrupts my chain of thoughts. “It’s natural, you know. We feel so good, and we want it even better. So we think of other wonderful things. I guess my answer is, ‘no.’ I’ve never felt sad over adding my imagination into the mix to finish a scene to the satisfaction of the director.”
I break out of his hold and cup my neck with my elbows around my ears. I don’t want to see him. I need a shield against how he makes me feel, how he’s making me understand more and more about what he does.
I leave the couch and plod toward the kitchen. Pick up a throw blanket from a chair and drape it around me so I’m covered when I reach the fridge. I open it, needing something to drink. I’m too scattered to select something.
“Let me.” His voice is gentle. A carafe of chilled water is removed from the second shelf and a dewy bottle of rosé from the door. His arm circles me again when I trip on the too-long throw blanket. I wasn’t about to fall. He guides me to the nearest barstools and accommodates me on it like I’m a child.
“Wine?”
I nod.
He pulls down two long-stemmed crystal glasses. The wine clucks as is tints the bottom of my glass pink. I keep my eyes on it, taking a break from his presence. He scoots the drink over and sits down next to me. I’m too aware of his bare torso, black boxer briefs the only fabric covering him.
“You shouldn’t even be home yet,” I say. My nose tips inside the glass as I pull in a taste. It’s too delicious for our occasion. I take another gulp, because it seems to calm my stomach on impact.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Were you done shooting early?”
“Nah.” He pulls in air through his nostrils, and I turn to look at him anyway. He doesn’t meet my stare when he continues, “I needed to get home to you. Needed to see if I could save us.”
“Stupid move. It wouldn’t have made a difference if you waited and finished it up.”
“You wish that I’d stayed?”
He still owns my body even though he’s lost me. I can’t stop staring at his thumb, how it caresses circles on the glass the way it did me. My nipples pebble at the sight.
“No,” I admit. “I needed us to talk. I’m glad you came home. But what about your big break? What about Malcolm Jax? Are they going to reschedule for you now or something?”
A soft chuckle shudders out through his nose. “No. Markus Antonovich never reschedules. He has so many performers wanting a chance he doesn’t have to. He’s probably already hired my replacement.”
“Geez. And your retirement fund...?”
“Doesn’t matter anymore.”
What if I had worked instead of walking in on Sam and Lin’s porn party? What if I had waited another day or two with finding out?
I actually feel guilty for pulling bread out of his mouth and throwing it away. What was I supposed to do though? It’s pretty fucking huge to learn that your boyfriend is a fucking porn star!
“Savannah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. It’s frustration, subtle and silent. “Listen. I’ve already paid for the boat trip. I’d love to have the chance to talk more with you. I won’t insist on anything you don’t want to do. We can just be friends if you’d rather.”
“I can’t be a part of your lifestyle.”
“I’m not a part of the lifestyle either. I just work, Savannah, and then I go home to my girlfriend and my dog like everyone else. I’ve got my charities, my hobbies, and I save for the future. That’s it.”
“So what do you guys do after you’re finished fucking for the day, then?” I say it louder than I should and accidentally clink my wineglass against the water glass with a zingggg. Ciro’s hand shoots out, steadying them.
“Come here.”
There’s that pain again. I shake my head, lips bowing down. We were alone, the two of us, but when past and reality return like this, we’re not anymore. My posture doesn’t scream rejection though. How can I fake it when I’m torn on the inside?
He latches around the leg of my stool and pulls me in between his thighs. I don’t get up. I don’t leave. No, I’m still here with him, wineglass at my mouth and eyes on the rosy promise inside of it.
“Come.” I’m drawn into a gentle embrace, his arm high enough to angle my body against him. I let him. I close my eyes against harsh reality one more time, just like I did when he made love to me. I am the procrastinator of realities.
“When you travel. What do you do after... work.” I pull the word out. “Be honest with me, Ciro. I can’t take any more lies from you.”
“I’m happy if you can take my truths. Let me walk you through a day at work,” he whispers against my hair, then he inhales me like I’m clean and beautiful and all he needs. I think that it’s late. I think that the sun will rise soon outside. I think a blood red desert sun will fade into a bleaker version of Easter-yellow, and I should be leaving before this happens.
“I wake up to you.”
“I know.”
“I eat breakfast with my PA or some of the actors I consider friends.”
How often do you do it with people you don’t consider friends?
“We shoot the breeze. Talk about yesterday’s events.”
Who got to do which girls in how many holes? Do you talk about who double-did the same girl at the same time?
“For instance, the weather was rough on the second day in London, and we had an outdoor scene that had to be re-scripted for a nighttime shoot. So I rented a motorcycle with my friend, Alicia, and we visited a few historic sights, like Canterbury, the Battlefield of Hastings, and then we had lunch at an old village pub.”
Who’s Alicia? Has she ever been your girlfriend? Did you sleep with her on-camera? Do you see her often?
Fingers spread, he fans a soothing caress down my spine as if he hears my questions. He doesn’t address them.
“It’s makeup next, then we start shooting. We have a few breaks throughout, for lube, water, more makeup and such. Usually, the director likes to finish the scene before we break for food, but if stomachs are rumbling, that’s not happening.”
That’s all too normal. Except the lube.
“What about after? Do you all go hang out for some leisurely sex?” I won’t hold that back.
He squeezes me closer. Pushes his lips against my hair and exhales. It gives me chills.
“Do you guys sleep in one big orgy room, and just—just...”
I’m doing this to myself. My stomach hurts again, the calming effect of the wine evaporating with my imagination.
“No, baby girl. We don’t share rooms. Everyone has their own, and yes, the single guys and girls might hook up, maybe have a relaxed after-work fuck before bed, or they might go clubbing. It’s pretty common to meet someone they like in a club too and end up with a one-night stand.”
He notices when my breath catches and guesses my thoughts before they’re fully formulated in my head. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a colleague do that when they’re in a relationship. I know I don’t.
“When I was younger, I never looked for a steady girl, so it was free-for-all across the board. I can’t say I ever got tired of pussy. But I turned twenty-eight in May, and I don’t crave every minute of the day to be about sex now. Leisurely sex isn’t my scene anymore. Heck the only times I even go out to dance it’s for my fans.”
Great. Of course he has a following.
I press my hands against his stomach to free myself of his embrace. He lets me, gaze trained on me and gauging my reaction. His eyes are so light—sincere—too damn honest to doubt. “Savannah?”
“Yeah. I should get going.”
“Sleep over.”
“How can you say that now, after all of this?”
“Because you’re the only one I want to sleep with. When I finish my day at work. When I shower and clean up and eat my dinner. I head to my hotel room—alone—and I call you. Because I love you.”