Chapter Three
Carina
I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I hung up my phone and tried to look at my clock. My sight blurred and my eyes burned from the effort of trying to focus. I gave up the idea of brushing my teeth, choosing instead to turn out the lamp and fall into bed, dragging the covers across me as I closed my sticky eyelids and passed out.
My dreams were familiar, yet strange, colored with the stories Jackson had told me. In my technicolor imaginings he was my quintessential cowboy, and we rode the plains outside Tulsa, since I’d never been to Texas. The last thing I remembered before even my dream world went black, was a snow storm and a set of deep blue eyes staring into mine, and the sensation of strong, callused hands hot on my frigid skin.
When I woke up, the sun was streaming thin through the sheers over the hotel windows, and I was freezing cold. Somehow, I’d kicked off my covers and had been so exhausted that the air conditioning hadn’t woken me up, just blown over me, cold and steady, until I felt like I’d been asleep in a refrigerator all night. My fingers were icicles hanging off my hands and when looked in the mirror my lips were blue.
I cranked up the heat on the water for my shower, and glanced at my phone. I didn’t know what to expect, but my grin felt like it might split my frozen cheeks when I saw JD, the moniker I’d given Jackson, in my notifications. I fumbled with the phone, trying to unlock it and, on the third try, got it unlocked and read the two messages he’d sent. The first was a simple good morning, and in the second he wished a safe flight for me.
He thanked me for the great conversation, and not once did he tell me I was beautiful or comment on my appearance. It was a nice change, and knowing he’d woken up thinking about me was enough to start a fire low in my belly. I got in the shower and ran my hands over my naked body, wondering if he really was as rugged and hot as his profile picture. I imagined what the rough, callused hands of a working cowboy would feel like on my skin, and shuddered as the fire blew into hot need, that felt like shock inside my frigid skin.
I stayed in the shower long after I was clean and, by the time the water started to cool, I was warm enough to function again, and my libido had calmed a little. I started a pot of coffee and got dressed in the most comfortable clothes I had, pulled my hair up in a messy ponytail, and skipped makeup all together in the interest of time and because truthfully, I just didn’t care what I looked like. I knew I’d regret it later when some slag mag ran a story about my imagined drug habit, based on my lack of fashion and my refusal to be pretty “just because.” I left the being pretty part up to my photographers and their photoshop. It just didn’t matter that much to me.
I stuffed my dirty clothes in one suitcase, and carefully folded and packed my costumes, wigs, and the foam sniper rifle into their wardrobe case. While I secured my gear so that none of it would slide around and get wrinkled or torn, I smoothed my hand over the latex bodice. It was shiny and it squeaked when I rubbed it hard enough.
I loved my new life. I loved talking to people who loved comics and Lord of the Rings, and Marvel movies as much as I did. I’d left my home to escape who I was, and I was finally starting to know what happiness really was since I’d decided to stop putting so much energy into being what other people wanted me to be. I’d been propositioned by a lot of guys since I started streaming my game play, but Jackson had been the first guy I’d ever been interested in. It hadn’t hurt that when I googled him, not only had his picture matched the one on his profile, but he was a hot cowboy, and what proper Oklahoma girl wouldn’t want one of her own to play with?
I ordered breakfast to go with my coffee and considered what I was going to do when I got home. My LA apartment was small, dingy, and of course, overpriced. My bedroom had been converted into my workspace, which meant that half the room was now a sound booth with my computers, microphone, professional camera, and everything I needed to do a proper job of streaming. After all, my demographic was exactly the kind of people who would notice if I used the webcam on my laptop, or used a cheap mic.
The other half of the room was a dressing area, complete with three-way mirror and clothing racks. Everything I was given by a sponsor or for a shoot was kept in there, away from my cat, Stiles, and temperature and humidity controlled, which was required for a lot of my costume pieces, as well as my audio and video setup.
Instead of sleeping in my bedroom, I’d picked up a Murphy bed that, instead of folding into a cabinet on the wall, turned into a sofa with some shelving above it. Everything else in my home was either from Ikea, or a splurge item purchased in those rare moments when I forgot that I was a celebrity, but not a rich celebrity. I was barely old enough to drink, and I’d already done “Dancing with the Stars.” I hadn’t even won. So, I lived as frugally as I could while still rubbing elbows with the people who might help me make more money.
I scarfed down breakfast and called Jackson while I waited for my ride to the airport. He didn’t answer, so I left him a message thanking him for hanging out the night before and told him I hoped he hadn’t had too rough a recovery after being up until the early hours of the morning. The porter collected my bags and I made one last sweep of the room, and swiped the second bag of coffee on my way out the door. God knows someone had paid for it, there was no point in leaving it behind.
I made it through security and onto my plane with no real trouble, and even got to take a few pictures with some kids who had been at Gamercon and were excited to see me win the big prize. I admitted to them that I was more excited for the chance to work with Bob Mackie than for the money. At his age, and with the state of his fashion empire, he didn’t need to work, let alone give his time to someone like me. I was grateful for the opportunity to up my cosplay game. I’d been a model, I was fortunate enough now to make a living playing video games, but both of those things were going to peter out to sheer abject poverty with time.
I wanted to get into costume design. Jackson had even agreed that long-term, a better plan was needed than simply “looks good in clothes.” I had fought learning to sew when my grandmother had taught me. But, once I got to Los Angeles, and New York, and anywhere else there was work for me, I’d come to appreciate the value of that skill and earned a deep respect for the ins and outs of the fashion world you didn’t find on the runway.
I sat in my plane seat, grinning like an idiot, as I went over my conversation with Jackson the night before. He’d managed to make me feel intelligent and talented and, without once telling me so, beautiful. He didn’t ask me for pictures of my breasts, or send me any R-rated pictures of himself (thank God). I felt a frown start to pull at my mouth and schooled my face blank again. Just because he hadn’t gone through all the typical male responses, didn’t mean he thought I was ugly. Even if he did, I wasn’t about to start wearing my mother’s perpetual bitch face. She was stick thin and could wear anything, but she looked at least five years older than she was. If I was going to stay in the business, I needed to fight that part of my genetics and maintain youth and healthy living as long as possible.
The forty-minute flight was an eternity of having my phone in flight mode. The little commuter plane didn’t even have wifi, so I couldn’t check my emails or work while I was en route, and I was already flipping out a little about how to make my next paycheck, even before the prize money hit my account.
I had my phone out and turned back on before the plane finished taxiing to the gate, scrolling through emails and missed messages. Nothing from Jackson yet but, for all I knew, he was still sleeping off our late night, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. Upside, I had two casting calls for bit parts and had gotten a job in a music video. It wasn’t my favorite, but I appreciated every bit of work that came in, even if I had to struggle to find my gratitude. I replied to my agent while I was waiting for my bags, and got into my Uber app for a ride home.