19. SERIOUS EFFORT
“Where are we?” I can’t raise my voice when it’s this dark. I barely make out the contour of the mountain above us, but Ciro’s hand feels safe around mine. We’re alone out here in coyote country. It’s the middle of the night. What if a pack of them needs food and they smell us?
“We’re almost at Point Tukem, one of the peaks you’ve passed by a thousand times and never thought about.”
“How do you know?”
“Have you?”
I don’t have a lot of cleverness in me right now.
“Cool. Where are we going?” I puff a little as we walk. Ciro stops and turns, eyes gleaming under a mild moon and a sky that never goes fully asleep.
“I’ve got stuff to show you once we get there.”
I’m not used to the way his hand squeezes mine. It tightens, lets go. Tightens and lets go. His stress sieves into my body as if I wasn’t already worried.
“How far?”
“Not very. It’s right there.”
Back home, we’d trek far although never at night. You’re not supposed to trek at night.
There are flickers above us on the mountainside. Small, but many, they’re low and reflected by some oddly bright surface. I squint for a better view because it doesn’t fit in with the surroundings. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”
“Yes. Come on, baby girl.” He tugs on my hand and lets out a phew. I think that if his noise was mine, I would have emitted it for courage. “Coming?”
“Uh-huh, coming.”
The flickering are candles glowing in the darkness. We narrow the distance, and as the dozens of flames grow, I find myself way out of civil territory. There’s a rock with a tablecloth draped over it and flamingo lilies and hibiscus carpeting the base of it like splotches of desire, and I say—
“What the holy shit!” I drop his hand to cover my mouth, but he takes it again, and his lips are hot on my knuckles. I shiver.
“It’s for you.”
“But how—who?” Because how could it be him?
“Mrs. Brandt.”
“No way.”
“And her husband. He needed to get out of the house.”
My laughter chokes. Whatever he means by this, I can’t support it.
“Sit.”
“Sit where?”
Ciro wants me on a sheepskin. In the wilderness. He senses my hesitation and says, “Just go with it, baby girl.”
His nerves diminish at the influx of mine. He finds my temple, pecks it with a mouth that’s so much warmer than the mountain air.
“I’ve told you already. I only came with you to—”
“Sit?”
How seductive he is. Goddamn, and I slump to my butt on the soft white chunk of fur.
I make him out easier in this light, the Malibu moon illuminating his features as if he’s blue. Sharp cheekbones, the softness of a smile lifting plump lips into a smile I’d love to touch. I don’t think he’s blue. With that smile, he’s can’t be blue.
“Girls love surprises.” He says it like a fact, but he kneads my neck in a way that isn’t as smooth as when he takes me to bed.
“Yes, we love good surprises.”
“I... Yes.” He’s next to me, sunk down, shoulder meeting mine and nudging so muscular ribs touch my thinner ones. It makes me swallow when he turns his head above me. He might be nervous, but I’m at his mercy in this wilderness where mountain lions pounce and coyotes tear their prey apart.
“Savannah.” He lowers his head. His profile of unruly just-fucked hair quavers in the breeze. “I’m a fool. Okay? I’m just— Shit, I’m going to be honest with you.”
I don’t say anything. I wait for his honesty to hit me face-first.
“The internet has a lot of suggestions on what can make a girl like you remember a guy like me.”
I swallow.
“Tonight needs to be special. I’m leaving, and you already know how I feel about you.”
“It’s pretty here,” I interrupt. “I... What’s with the candles?”
He groans. Then he laughs and pulls me into his arms, and I’ve never felt smaller with him than I do now. I’m Shorty, soft under a hard arm that’s gentle for me. It makes me feel—
I need to not think of how that makes me feel. But all that strength treating me like I’m made of glass?
“Ah. I’m just going to do it.”
There’s food here too, I notice. Little dishes with lids on them. Goblet-looking glasses which could hold wine and small plates. Utensils and napkins, everything needed.
The brain is a wondrous thing. Here I am, scanning the surroundings instead of steeling myself for his I’m-just-going-to-do-it.
Quietly, he eases away, just far enough to fumble inside a pocket and stare into my eyes. I stare back, unable to procrastinate his attention any longer.
Deer-eyed and innocent
Ignorant beauty queen
You, thief of hearts
Flooder of brains
You everything
Filler of souls
Let me fight to be
Your everything too
Molten, his voice tapers off on the last syllable. My mouth opens and closes. Inwardly, I shake my head, because, No, no, no, no, no.
“All the advice online says to leave it out there in the open and give it all. If a man wants his woman, he’s got to be honest, it says. I know this isn’t the best situation for me to ask what I’m about to ask, but I hope the setting softens the blow.”
Ciro gets up on a knee.
Ciro opens a box, a black velvet box, and inside something chunky absorbs the moonshine and shoots it back with a crazy sparkle.
“Jesus Christ? No!” I shout and slam a hand over my mouth.
“Savannah, please be my wife.”
“Are you high?”
“Think about it?”
“You want to go from zero to nothing in one second? We’re not even together anymore, and you want to get married?” There’s a stupid little girl inside me crumping with glee. Did you see that rock? It was yellow! That wasn’t just the moon. Omigod, a big, yellow diamond. Those are rare and freaking expensive and so beautiful. You can have it, Savannah!
In the candlelight, my face must be an uproar of shock, nerves, and amusement. Ciro’s features are tender as he is with me.
“That’s me, baby girl. You should know by now.”
‘What about that saying, ‘If you love something, set it free?’”
“That’s an old bullshit saying. Whoever came up with it didn’t like to fight for what he wanted. He just leaned back and tapped the seat next to him.” Ciro smirks when he sees that I’m struggling to remain serious.
“Weakly,” I say.
“Right. He tapped the seat next to him with a single weak finger.”
That does it. I crack up. Lean over my lap and cough out my laugh. It’s not just his description, but the night, him leaving tomorrow, the freaking gigantic rock he’s still holding outstretched as if it’s a matter of seconds before I grab it.
“Oh that’s funny to you?” His pitch has lowered into that dangerously intimate tone.
“A little.”
I’m not engaged-to-be-married. I am sore though, and my non-boyfriend holds me tight in my driveway at four fifteen in the morning.
“Be good, okay?” he tells me.
“Funny coming from you. I’m not even going to ask you to be that,” I mutter.
“I’ll be good. Work and hotel rooms, maybe some sightseeing.”
“Who are you... working with?”
He frames my face with his hands and tips my head up so he can peck my forehead. I melt.
“It’s a South African branch of Lucid. We’re shooting a few jungle-themed scenes, and it’ll be with girls I haven’t worked with before. I’m the only one flown in.”
Pang.
“Fuck them.”
He raises his eyebrows as if saying, “Yeah?”
“I mean, I was cussing them out.” I shake my head. It’s late. Nothing makes sense anymore. I still finish my wayward cussing spree. “They should go hang themselves, all of them.”
He doesn’t laugh. Instead he hooks me into the crook of his arm and pulls me against him. He rocks me quietly, like we really are together and he wants me to feel safe. “Don’t forget, Savannah. They’re not you. No one is you to me. You’ve lodged yourself inside me so hard I don’t think I could rip you out if I wanted to. I’ll be back in two weeks. Can we pick up where we left off then?”
“On a mountaintop with an engagement ring?” I fib, “or hugging in a driveway?”
He lifts me, and I clamp my legs around his waist as he kisses me, a position I’ve been in too often lately. At a different axis. “Leave that to me, baby girl.”
This is an excellent opportunity to forget there was ever a porn star boyfriend. He’s all way down there in South Africa, doing god-knows-what—or more like, I-know-what, and all I have to do is turn off my phone.
I need my phone though. It’s where everybody gets a hold of me, you see. And also, it turns out that Drake Constantine has a Facebook page. A Tumblr page. An Instagram page, a Snap page—and Twitter!
So this isn’t the way to get over him and move on. It’s the way to obsess the shit out of him, because he has a-hundred-and-fifty-four thousand followers on Twitter. Two-hundred-and-thirteen-thousand five hundred and two on Instagram, and that’s how I notice that most of them are women.
@DrakeC You’re so dreamy! Next time you’re in NY, big guy, come find me! Kissy-face
@DrakeC Damn good DP on @RyderXXX’s Ibiza film. U pro!
@DrakeC Heart you! I’ll have your babies!
@DrakeC Miss working with you love Mwah.
To the latest post, there’s an explicit gif of his... yeah. It’s going in and out of someone else, and by the looks of it, he was pretty happy seconds earlier.
I jump when Charlotte touches my shoulder. Mintrer’s just opened for lunch, and we have no customers yet. I blacken the screen of my phone, but I can’t get rid of my face.
“You okay?”
“Will be.”
“Ciro?”
“More like Drake.”
“Ah.” Her eyes go to my phone. “You were checking out his social media.”
I nod, ashamed of how I can’t move on. She should berate me, tell me I need stop being an idiot and get on with my life, but she rubs my shoulder.
“I’ve seen it. That stuff’s gotta be tough for you.”
“He has all these followers everywhere. Crazy stalker women and guys who think he’s awesome.”
“People like to tag him in videos too,” she adds. “I was surprised, though. He doesn’t seem to post any himself. Your ex posts a lot of pictures of his dog.” She smiles. “And nature. A lot from his travels, maybe? Like a lot of cool churches and foreign-looking streets.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Guess I didn’t really look at that. I saw all the comments about digging him and a video someone posted saying they missed him.” And that right there makes me nauseous. “You know the worst part?”
She juts her lip out considering, but I don’t give her time to guess.
“It wasn’t the video itself. That could’ve been any porn-dude’s penis. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it if it weren’t for the chick tagging him. The worst part was that she said she missed working with him. She missed him.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you.”
I chew on my lip. “She missed working with him.” I open my phone and force myself to look again. His dick at a leisurely pace, slowing down after a big moment. I look away, to her comment. Miss working with you.
“I’d miss working with you if you left Mintrer’s,” I tell Charlotte.
Her mouth twists as she catches on. “You love me that much?”
“I do love you. As a friend and a colleague.” I lift a tentative smile too.
“I’d hate it if you left Mintrer’s.”
I study Charlotte’s expression, the red lock falling into her eye and blinking with her eyelashes. My smile grows a little.