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Chapter Eleven: Further Complications

E. Marlowe Santia

I opened my eyes as Evan pulled away and the first thing I saw was Steve's face and his stunned, grey eyes. For the first time since I'd met him I felt like I had betrayed him somehow, and the euphoria and excitement of my first ever real kiss... died.

A nagging little voice, which sounded suspiciously like Lexi's, said that it should've been Steve, not Evan. But it was Evan who expressed interest from the start. It was Evan who made the first move.

Two cabs arrived and there was the general chaos that accompanies a large group of people travelling together. In the shuffle of sorting luggage and giving directions, it was a miracle that I even got in the cab. I got Jake settled and looked at my companion, the person I'd be sharing the cab with for the next ten minutes.

"Mornin', girlie," Steve said, rubbing at Jake's ears while the dog cuddled up to him. "Sleep well?"

I had no answer for that. He had seen Evan and me asleep in our little room, and then kissed... What must he think?

Why did it matter? It wasn't like Steve had made his interests known, if he had any, so technically I was free to make my own choices. I liked Evan, I always had, but I didn't know if I wanted to like him in a romantic sense. It was still a bit of a shock to see the limp-wristed, swishing fashionista-almost-gay man I had known transformed into a suave, stylish metrosexual straight guy. There wasn't even a hint of a swish! I'm not sure which was weirder, seeing Evan or knowing that it was Lexi who had taught him that...

It had been a long train ride. Evan and I had spent most of it talking, Jake sprawled out across my lap and getting equal attention from both of us. We talked about little things, what we'd been doing since February. He asked a lot about living with Steve and what he was like, and what I thought about him. Little stuff I should've paid more attention to and should've asked why was he interested in that?

Kissing him was not in the plan. The timing was not at all right, not like I'd imagined it would be, and was made even more wrong by Steve walking out of the train just as Evan shoved his tongue in my mouth. After that, well, I made it up as I went along, and I don't think I did too badly.

"Eh, if you want, I can get my own room," Steve said some time later.

"Huh? What? Oh, no, that's not necessary."

We had decided to share a double room simply to save some money; besides, it wasn't like we'd be sharing a bed or anything.

"I just thought... you might want some privacy, with Turner."

I am not an idiot. I am not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, however, and can only interpret so much. So from his body language and huge mood shift, I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know what.

I also didn't have time to wonder about it, since we arrived at the hotel and were met with the same general chaos we lived through at the train station. It took a fair bit of finagling, but finally everything was sorted out and we went to our respective rooms. Lexi and the other two Baumhaus representatives were on the other side of the hotel from us, thankfully, so there was a little bit of awkwardness gone.

That was a good thing, too, because a whole new kind of awkwardness took its place. Our double room, which I had reserved shortly after starting to work for Steve, which was supposed to have two beds and a bathroom... at least had a bathroom. There was only one bed, however, and even without looking I could tell Steve's eyebrows were getting intimate with his hairline.

"This isn't right! I'm going to call down to the desk and fix this."

Nope. The twit I talked to at the desk was incredibly sorry, but the hotel was booked solid for the next week on account of that little film festival thing we were in town for too. There wasn't even a trundle bed or cot to be had for love or money, so we were stuck.

"I am not sharing a bed with you," I said, setting the phone into the receiver with a bit too much force.

"You sleep with Jake every night, how is that different?"

I stared. "He's a dog, you dork! You are...not...a dog! Very much so not a dog. It would be inappropriate."

"You wouldn't mind curling up with Evan, though," he said. He dumped his bags on the bed and would not look at me. It took a great deal of restraint to not fly over the bed and slug him.

"You know what this means, right?"

"No more sleeping naked?"

I kicked his booted foot, too angry to gawk at the implications. "No. This means you get the floor."

"What?! No! I'm the one here on business. I need my beauty sleep."

"And I'm the one on vacation."

He looked at me with a baleful expression on that handsome face, but rolled over, landing on the floor with a heavy thump.

"No more Nutella for you," I grumbled. He whimpered.

Maybe I was a little harsh on him. I was fully repentant after a nap and a good breakfast, but Steve was no-where to be found. I considered looking for him and decided against it. Instead, I left the jar of Nutella on the sideboard with a knife and half a baguette and a note saying I was sorry for snapping at him.

The beach was a three minute walk from the hotel. I made it in about one and a half, not counting crosswalks. By some miracle I found a vacant lounge chair, spread out my Garfield beach towel and settled in with a good book, the first since I started working for Steve. He may say that he's been inundated with offers and scripts, but I'm the one that reads all of them first. I normally ready four or five a day in a busy week, and pass maybe one of them on to him.

Ah, peace and quiet. Yeah, right. I had been sitting for almost five minutes, at best, when I was approached.

"Hey, sweetheart," Evan said as he pulled up another chair. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're wasting away. You've lost so much weight since March!"

That much was true, I'd dropped another pants size at least since working for Steve.

"Yeah, stress does that."

"Are you sure you're okay? It's not good to be so stressed."

"Evan, I live on stress and peanut butter sandwiches. And really, it's not so bad. I get me time."

"Come on, be honest! He works you too much."

"No, he doesn't." I set my book down, resigned now to the fact that I wasn't going to get any reading done. "Evan, what do you want?"

He fidgeted, twisting a thick gold ring on his finger.

"I was thinking about what happened earlier. At the station." There was the tiniest hint of an Aussie drawl there, becoming more apparent with each passing word.

"Yeah?"

"I thought, maybe, we could give ‘us' a shot. There's something there, I know it."

It was a kiss... It didn't feel like there was something there, other than his tongue, but then, I didn't know what to look for.

"I don't know. This is a bit sudden."

"I guess so, but if you think about it, we've had this going on for a while. Everyone knows we've flirted outrageously at Smith Union."

"Everyone at Smith Union knows that. Nobody here does."

"But you and I do. I suppose you're still upset with my behaviour before you left for that interview. I'm sorry, I was a prat. Can we move beyond that, though? I'd like to start over."

I looked at him. Something just didn't feel right, some little hitch, some little wrinkle in the grand scheme of things. Of course, most of my life I'd felt that and I'd learned to ignore it.

"I'd like to take you to the screening tonight."

"I'm going with Steve."

"I thought he was going with Bella. She told me he asked her on the train down here."

"That's not possible. He asked me months ago. Actually, I asked him-"

"Then you can come with me. Please?"

Me and my memory. I know Steve pulled something like this on me when he needed a date for the Oscars.

In the end I said yes. Evan wheedled and whined and wore down my resistance and won. Something bothered me about that. Yeah, Steve had done that before, but it didn't bother me like Evan did. Maybe Steve just had a bit more panache.

"I really should ask Steve to make sure," I said, standing and brushing imaginary sand from my bottom. I had no more desire to read, or be on the beach.

Evan stood too, and stretched, before touching his lips to mine and lightly caressing my arm.

"Don't bother. He's out with Bella right now. I'll come by your room in a couple hours, right?"

Hmm. Well, that would explain why I hadn't seen him after I got out of the shower. And he had taken Jake, too. I had thought Bella didn't like him. Must've been wrong.

I walked back to the hotel, barely noticing that Lexi was walking beside me.

"So are you ready to look fabulous for the screening tonight?"

"I guess."

"You don't sound excited. This should have you either jumping for joy or wringing your hands. What gives?"

"Evan asked me to go with him to the screening and I said yes."

"But- You're going with Steve."

"Steve's going with Bella. He asked her on the train."

"Are you sure?"

"Evan wouldn't lie to me."

Lexi didn't have anything to say, which for Lexi was odd. It didn't register, since I was too wrapped up in myself to notice.

"You still need to look fabulous. Come on, step lively, we've got work to do. And this isn't even Steve's movie. I don't know what you're thinking, and I damn well sure don't want to."

Steve wasn't in the hotel room when we got back, but Jake was, sulking from his place on the bed.

"Have you seen Steve at all?"

"Yeah, a little while ago." He was holding back, hemming and hawing. "He went down to the beach and saw you with Evan. From there I don't know."

I went to my suitcase, where I had left it, laying open after my shower, and started digging through it. Lexi sat by Jake on the bed, carelessly scratching at his ears while I searched.

It didn't take long to realise something was very, very wrong. All my clothes were damp. And they smelled. They had been clean and dry when I packed them, and after I got out of the bath, so this was a new development. Steve wouldn't have done something so disgusting, but Jake would have. Probably showing his dislike of being away from home.

"The dog... peed... on my clothes," I said, trying with all my might to keep from screaming at the beast. All my clothes were soaked in dog pee, and I was going out in a few hours. There wasn't time to get everything cleaned.

"Looks like we'll have to go shopping." There was a decided gleam in his eyes; This would be fun.

"I have no money. Steve's got the credit cards."

And just like that, Steve showed up. Very, very fortunate.

"Your dog peed on my clothes," I said before he even stepped into the room.

"Looks like we'll have to go shopping, then," he said. Lexi snorted. "Come on, girlie. You too, Mr. Buchev. We'll make an outing of it. You, however, get to stay here, mongrel."

Jake hung his head, ears flopping back, eyes liquid. It tugged at my heartstrings, but I steeled myself and shut the lid on my suitcase. Steve hauled it downstairs and left instructions for everything in it to be cleaned and taken back to our room.

A store was found, much nicer stuff than I had thought to look for, but Steve insisted. I had to look good for my date tonight, didn't I? There was something that bothered me in his attitude, so flippant and easy. I couldn't place a reason for it and chalked it up to Steve being Steve, however much it bugged me.

Lexi lead the way through the shop, stopping only to rescue some hapless scrap of cloth from a rack and thrusting it at me. In the end I was ushered into a fitting room with an armload of clothing, with standing orders to try everything on and present myself to the panel for approval.

Two outfits, then three, were dismissed as being too out there, too funky for an outing at Cannes. The fourth was met with raised eyebrows and a whistle-from Lexi.

"Well, that'll certainly get Evan's attention," he said.

I looked in the mirror and gasped. There, for all to see, was my underwear, clearly visible through the sheer white skirt. It wouldn't have been too bad if I had been wearing something cute, but these were big, pink granny panties.

"I can't wear this!"

"Sure you can," Steve said, looking up and down. "You're a confident girl. You can pull off anything."

"Aww, thanks. I'm still not wearing it."

Finally the perfect outfit was found, a silky skirt in violet and pink with gorgeous embroidery all over. It was topped with a crisp white linen camp shirt, relaxed and still sophisticated. I loved how it flowed around my legs, cool and sexy, and I had to have it.

"I love this outfit!" I nearly ran out of the fitting room and twirled for them, the silky fabric swishing and falling back around my ankles.

"It's perfect."

"You look amazing," Steve said.

And he meant it! Again there was a weird feeling, and I did my best to shake it off.

"All for you, babe, all for you," I said.

As I ducked back into the fitting room I heard something, something that sounded an awful lot like Steve. "If only."

Whatever confusion I had was displaced as soon as I saw the price for the skirt; converting Euros to dollars made it nearly $300! I was crushed. There was no way I could get it. I wasn't about to spent that kind of money on something I might wear once or twice.

"I can't get it." I stepped out, skirt in hand, pout on face. "It's too expensive."

"Nonsense," Steve said. "I'll buy it for you. It was my dog that ruined your clothes for tonight. You're in Cannes. You're my friend and I care about you."

If I had really been paying attention and read into what he was saying, it would've saved so much time and heartache.

Steven Knight

It was difficult for me to watch, Evan standing there with Marlowe, so I didn't. Jake pulled at the lead, whining and dancing in place, looking from me to a lamppost and back a few times. Lexi offered to find our luggage and I took the dog to relieve himself. By the time I had gotten back there were two taxis waiting and within moments we were herded into them and on our way to the hotel.

Marlowe should've been the one to orchestrate the whole deal, but it was her vacation, and Lexi seemed to have taken over her role, shepherding us around until we were all settled. It had to be his idea to put Marlowe and me in a taxi by ourselves, since I didn't plan it that way and I had the distinct feeling she hadn't either. I, for one, was hard-put to be normal, given what had just happened. It should've been me she was kissing, not that wanker Turner!

While Marlowe was in the shower, after having screamed at me for no good reason, I took Jake with me to see the city. It was my first time in Cannes to promote a movie. I'd been a couple times before as a guest, like Evan and Bella this time, but now I was actually there on business.

I was in luck; there was a coffee shop right down the street from the hotel. My insides twisted around a bit when I realised that Marlowe had probably picked that particular hotel because of the proximity to said coffee shop. One more reason to hate Evan Turner.

"Okay, so you've got your panties in a twist," Lexi said, striding beside me on impossibly high heels. "The best thing for you to do is-"

"Is what? I was all ready to tell her, and she's practically shagging that- that- Turner bloke right in front of me! Now she yells at me for making a joke and practically runs me out of the room."

"As I was saying," he said, glaring at me, "The best thing for you to do is sit back for a few days and cool your heels. Evan Turner, for all his...talent...has less depth than your average wading pool. You, while no Mariana Trench, have much more to offer."

"But if she doesn't know I'm interested in her-"

"That's not my point. What I mean is that after a few days she'll realise that he's the same old Evan that she knew and liked back in college. The same old Evan she thought was gay. Talk about not seeing what's in front of your face. Anyway, I think there might be something more behind his interest than meets the eye, but I can't be sure yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure yet, like I said. But I think he has less than noble intentions- he hit on every single female flight attendant from New York to Paris. I heard nothing about seeing Marlowe again after four months."

"So you think he's just using her?" I was livid! I was ready to rush back to the hotel and beat the bastard into a bloody pulp.

"Down, tiger," Lexi said, raising one groomed fuchsia eyebrow. "You can't rush off and be a Knight in Shining Armour- you lack the shining armour, and that's not the kind of metal I'm into. Let her figure this out on her own. Remember, she's a lot younger than you are and totally sheltered. She has to learn. Then, when all this crashes down around her feet, you can sweep in and be your sweet self and she'll fall. Boom. Just be patient."

Easier said than done, I'm afraid. Lexi kept me occupied for a while, chattering on about the itinerary Baumhaus had approved and how he had modified it, seeing how aside from the three actors he was the only one working on this trip. He avoided mentioning Marlowe but he was just wasting time with that. There were only five of us in Cannes, six counting Jake, so it was easy to figure out who he wasn't talking about.

I wanted to rush to Marlowe and tell her what I knew, about Evan and about what I felt for her. I wanted to find her and confess everything, hold her and hope for a rosy future; my line of work is uncertain at best, and thus far I'd been lucky. The Glory Days of Joe Walsh was a little film and one of my favourites to date, but if it didn't do well it wasn't a big deal. The Scarlet Pimpernel, by comparison, was set to be a summer blockbuster and was likewise an enormous gamble. It's been done and redone so many times, there was a chance it would flop worse than whatever King Arthur remake was most recent. I had nothing to offer her but what I had then, which, admittedly, was a lot.

But that didn't change the fact that she was the one out of reach! I was the celebrity with a fanbase of thousands and she was the one I couldn't touch. Something just didn't seem right.

"Will he never leave her alone?" Lexi muttered as we walked back toward the hotel. "No, don't look- I told you not to look."

It was too late anyway. Jake was pulling at the lead, eager to be near his ‘mum' even though he had spent the majority of the trip with her. There was Marlowe, sitting in a lounge chair on the beach, Evan leaning in and deep in conversation. He kissed her. I turned away, yanking Jake's leash and he followed without complaint.

I left him in the room while I took a short walk down to the concierge desk to ask if there was any possibility of getting another room and was told, yet again, that the hotel was completely booked for the week. When I got back Marlowe had returned, and was just about to launch herself at me with nothing but ill intent.

"Your dog peed on my clothes," she growled.

"Looks like we'll have to go shopping, then," I said. Lexi snorted. "Come on, girlie. You too, Mr. Buchev. We'll make an outing of it. You, however, get to stay here, mongrel."

I took the suitcase from her as she walked out the door, followed by Lexi, who raised an eyebrow in my direction.

"Good dog," I muttered to Jake. He wagged his rear, curled up and was a perfect angel the rest of the day.

I would be lying if I said I never looked at her arse. I'd have to hand in my subscription to the male gender-the straight male gender, let's put it that way. Lexi looked too, but for a different reason. Me, I was appreciative, he was critical.

"No, no, honey, it looks like you're smuggling illegal immigrants in there. Next!"

I had to bite my tongue when she walked out in a skirt that showed her panties. I have never found cotton briefs so appealing.

"I can't wear this!"

"Sure you can," I said, giving her a once (or twice) over. "You're a confident girl. You can pull off anything."

"Aww, thanks. I'm still not wearing it."

"Could you- Just- Turn for me, please? Just once?"

She punched my arm. It left a bruise.

And then she stepped out of the fitting room in a fantastic outfit. She was glowing, radiant. I had a hard time determining if it was because of the skirt, which was gorgeous, or the person she'd be wearing it for.

"You look amazing," I said, once I regained the ability.

"All for you, babe, all for you," she said.

As she ran back into the changing room, I couldn't hold back a plaintive sigh, "If only."

I bought her the skirt, even at an exorbitant $300, partly because she looked so good in it and partly because I usually had to beg, bribe, and blackmail her into wearing one in everyday life. Thankfully she didn't wear it that night, as when we returned to the hotel her clothes were cleaned, pressed, and folded, even put into drawers. Jake was curled up on the bed, snoozing.

He and I had to fend for ourselves that night, as she rushed about getting ready for her date and left before dinner.

I didn't see her much after that, save later at night when she would swan into the room and collapse onto the bed. Now it was my turn to take care of her and make sure she did her nightly routine: take out contacts, wash face, brush teeth and hair. I wouldn't have minded so much if it had been me she was spending all her time with.

With this new turn of events I had a lot of time to myself. Jake didn't like Evan any more than I did, but he could get away with showing his dislike. It was for his sake that I even left the hotel at all; as Marlowe had insisted, dogs needed to be walked, as they cannot use the toilet like humans. That's not to say I didn't try to teach him, but his legs are too short.

Marlowe. In four short months she had wreaked havoc on my life. It was because of her my hair was going grey, I swear. She had turned everything upside down, shaken it and put everything back how she liked it, and I knew that I was the better for it too. The last thing I wanted to do was lose her, especially to someone like Evan.

But what did I really want? Marlowe had asked me once why I didn't have a steady girlfriend or seem all that interested in having one.

"Well, I don't really have time for one," I said. This was before I had fallen for her. "I'm on the move so much-you know that."

"That doesn't seem right. If you really wanted to, you could make it work."

"But you see, I don't want to. I'm all for being in a relationship, don't get me wrong, but as I figure it, when I find the person I want to be with, I'll never want to be apart from her. I'd want her to have her own life. I'm not ready to settle down, I love my job too much."

That was then. I still wasn't ready to settle down, but I didn't want to be alone any more. I thought about Paula and Sonny, and how they were. Both engaged, both settled. They both had someone to go home to, someone they would share their lives with. I wanted that.

I had Marlowe. Correction, I had Marlowe as an assistant. One day she would find someone else and get married and move away from me. I wanted her to be with me, that's what I wanted. I wanted her to stay with me, as my assistant, my partner, my girlfriend. Dammit, I wanted her in my life.

Lexi seemed to think Evan had more motives under that calculating veneer, but he wasn't sharing with me. Given my mood it was probably a good thing. From what I gathered, he was making it his duty to chaperon Evan and Marlowe, and with respect for me was taking Bella with him. I couldn't handle her any more, her unsubtle insinuations about Marlowe.

"I don't know how you can deal with her," she had said one afternoon. "She's such a little hillbilly-all she does is talk about her brothers or her cousins. Who is this Brian guy, anyway? One of her dozen siblings?"

"He's married to her cousin Maggie."

"Then you'd better tell her that Little Miss Thang has a crush on her hubby."

"Maggie knows. Hell, I've almost got a crush on the man."

That had shut her up. After that she didn't so much avoid me as make it her business to be with me all the time, so Lexi interfering was welcome. The last thing I needed was the she-devil Bella had become.

The night before my movie's screening I had had enough.

"Marlowe, for the love of God, let me sleep with you."

"No!"

I hoisted myself up to look at her in the half-light. "Please! The couple in the room right under us must be on their honeymoon or something, and I can't sleep like this. Please. I promise. Nothing funny. I just need one good night's sleep. Please."

A sigh. "Fine."

Jake stationed himself between us as added insurance. He licked my face while Marlowe turned her back to me.

"Marlowe- Girlie, if Evan ever- makes you, or tries to make you do anything you don't want to do, or if he ever hurts you, let me know. Tell me."

"You want to be my Knight in Shining Armour?" she asked, sleepy. She was smiling.

"Yeah. I do. I just don't want to see you hurt."

"Thanks," she mumbled. She was gone, fast asleep.

She sat with me for the screening, which I greatly appreciated. She held my hand, knowing that this was a big moment for me, two hours of film representing my best work. This movie would determine the course of my career, or at least that's what the critics were saying. If it did well in the festival circuit and had an equally good showing in limited, then general release, I would never want for work. So far, so good.

The audience response was phenomenal. The Glory Days of Joe Walsh was a fiction through and through, though we had tried to make it look like a real story. Joe Walsh was a man who had made stupid choices and lived with the consequences without bitching about it. He ended up in a wheelchair, paralysed, because he was an arrogant asshole. Yeah, at first he bitched, but he learned to cope and made what could pass as a fresh start. Our film was uncompromising in content and worked to not be overly sentimental. There was no happy ending, nothing clear-cut or neatly tied. It was my best work.

"Come on, we're going to a club," I said, pulling at Marlowe's wrists.

"I don't want to," she said.

I pouted. "Please? This is my night and I want to spend it with you. You helped me get here."

Evan appeared from the crowd and slipped an arm around her waist.

"Congrats, Knight," he said. "Good work."

How could he say that? I'd been doing this longer than him- Film work, that is. It's a different beast than theatre, as I knew well enough. I allowed it to aggravate me, but I didn't show it.

"Thanks. You coming too?" I couldn't not invite him. It would be rude, and what would Marlowe think?

There was a small club I'd found, a jazz club a ways off the beaten path. A hole in the wall, really, but that night it was packed. It seemed a few others had found it too, and were busy celebrating.

"Omigod, it's Gerry Butler!" Marlowe squealed.

My buzz from the screening was dying faster than if it had taken a gunshot to the head. First Turner, now Butler? The only consolation was now both Turner and myself were deprived of her company.

"You must be Marlowe Santia," Butler said. "I've heard about you. Keeping Stevie here in line?"

"Uhh, yeah," she stammered, ending with a giggle. At least she had managed complete, coherent sentences when she met me.

"Great. Good work tonight, Knight. Looks great."

"Thanks." From Gerard Butler it was all right. After all, didn't we have some things in common?

"Anyway, Marlowe, would you care to dance?"

"Sure!"

I had to laugh. Marlowe was no dancer, she never had been, even when Sonny, Paula and I had taken her out. However, even Marlowe's lack of skill looked good when paired with Gerry Butler. I turned my attention to the bar and asked for a gin and tonic minus the gin.

Down the length of the bar I saw something interesting. Evan Turner, hitting on a gorgeous black woman, clad in a red dress and a red... wig?

"What about that girl you came in with?" I heard her ask, a high, breathy voice coming from lacquered red lips. Something was wrong.

"Marlowe? She's just a friend, with benefits. A sweet kid, really, but nothing like you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. She's just a babe in arms, a little girl when compared to a woman like you. She's hardly worth my time."

"I don't know about that," the woman said, lifting her glass to her lips. She caught my eye-and winked. Suddenly everything made sense.

The song ended and Marlowe started to weave her way through the crowd to us.

"To tell you the truth," Evan said, leaning in and taking an uninvited look down the woman's front, "I'm being paid to take her out. Nothing I like more than being a bit of a distraction. It's easy with her, dangle a bit of shiny in her face, give her a few choice compliments and she's putty in my hands."

He never saw her, and she heard everything. Marlowe looked like she had been hit with a board. Me, I wanted to deck him, lay him out flat for this. Nevermind the slow burn I felt for the other admission, that he was being paid to do this. I had no doubt who was doing the paying.

"Hey, let's change the subject," he continued. "How's about you come with me and we'll take in the sights. I've got a great view of the Mediterranean from my room."

"Sorry, doll, but I'm not your type," she said.

"Aww, you're not giving me a chance. I think you are."

"No, really, I'm not." A change in tone, the breathless whisper gone and replaced with the flare and flash of Lexi Buchev, drag queen and image consultant.

I laughed openly at Evan's horrified face.

"What the-! What're you playing at?" he spluttered, setting his drink down with too much force. The liquor splashed onto the bar while everyone stopped to look.

"You'd better watch who you're calling names, honeybuns," Lexi retorted, taking Evan roughly by the ear and dragging him toward the door. "I think it's time you were taught some pretty manners to go with that pretty face, homeboy."

The whole club watched them leave, then broke up into excited chatter as to why and what happened. The music started again, with couples taking the dance floor. I turned to comfort Marlowe and found her gone. She was back with Butler, who was doing his best to dry her tears. Bad mood back with a vengeance.

"All right, so I've gotten that jerk out of the way for you," Lexi said upon his return. He reeked of bourbon. "For now, anyway. Why aren't you out there dancing with your girl?"

"Because she's dancing with someone else."

"That's why they invented this ingenious concept called ‘cutting in.' Try it."

"No, thanks. Not right now."

A moment or two passed in silence. I watched and tried to figure out what to do next.

"You know, I think you'd make a lovely woman," Lexi said after a time. He was drunk. "You should let me give you a makeover!"

"And that's my cue to get away from you."

"Good idea."

The dance floor was crowded, as I said. When the festival wasn't in town the place must dry up and blow away. I found Marlowe and Butler in one corner, too close for my comfort. When I spoke, I looked only at her.

"May I cut in?"

Gerry looked from me to her and stepped away.

"Let me know how you're doing, Marlowe. I'll be in touch."

"Thanks."

"I had nothing to do with this, kitten," I said once we were alone. "I was just as surprised as you were."

She didn't say anything but put her arms around my neck. It was a start.

For a while we didn't talk. I slid my own arms around her waist, enjoying the feel of her linen shirt and the warmth of her body as we swayed in time with the music.

The moment was right. She was so close I could breathe in her perfume. This was what I wanted. I wanted to be with her, close to her always.

I touched her cheek, guiding her chin up so she was looking at me. Before anything was said I leaned in and kissed her. It was great, for a second or two. She kissed back for just a moment and then everything went wrong. She slammed her hands against my chest, pushing away, fresh tears in her eyes as she ran out of the club.

I couldn't go after her. I knew I should have, but my feet wouldn't move. She had kissed back! She had kissed back. And then she ran.

"You are the biggest idiot in the world," Lexi hiccupped, wobbling over on high heels. "And I still think you would make a fabulous woman."

Chapter Twelve: Not So Confusing

Posted on Thursday, 18 August 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

"Oh, God, Maggie, what am I going to do?"

Brian had picked me up at the airport late that night. I went straight back to the hotel room after ... that ... and locked the door. My flight left the next morning anyway, around eleven. I could avoid Steve until then. I'd have to.

"What happened?"

"He kissed me."

"Who?"

"Steve."

"Oh, honey!" Maggie set down the knife she had been using to chop celery for the veggie platter.

I had hoped for some pity, but that's not what Maggie had meant. It was using an "I'm so sorry!" tone, but rather an "I'm so happy for you!"

"He's my boss!"

"So?"

This was not what I wanted. I had just spent ten hours obsessing over this whole thing. I find out that my first ever boyfriend was being paid to 'distract' me-why and from who I don't know-which makes him not my boyfriend, simply be default. Then I get to dance with the man I've been idolizing for, well, ever and who butts in but Steve! Not five seconds into that dance but he kisses me!

I didn't know what to do, so I ran. Stumbled and tripped a few times, par for the course, but I think I made it out of the club without attracting too much attention. The hotel wasn't as far as I thought it would be and I got there quickly, locking the door behind me. Let the ruddy bugger find his own place to sleep! He's caused me enough trouble so far.

"So? It'd be like you dating Mr. Marker!"

"For one thing, the both of us are married, so there wouldn't be anything happening anyway. For another, it's not completely the same. Bradley and Marker employs a couple hundred people. Steve employs one, maybe two if there's a housekeeper involved."

"There isn't."

"Fine, then, there's just you. There is absolutely no point in getting worked up about this whole thing. There is no favouritism, he's not treating you any differently than any other employee simply because there aren't any others."

"But-"

"What? Are you not interested in him? That's a viable reason."

Was I interested in him? Sure he was attractive, and a great guy most of the time, but did I want to be his girlfriend? There had to be a lot of baggage that went along with being the girlfriend of a major (or soon to be major) Hollywood star. Since I'd started working with him, he'd gone out on any number of dates, and I'd gone along as his assistant, to keep the fangirls at bay. I've seen the websites and rabid fangirls dissect each girl he's been out with. Most of them knew about me and had accepted that I was his friend and assistant, but nothing more. I had the distinct feeling that if I were to start dating Steve I'd be getting hate mail within days.

But then ... he had kissed me. I could still feel it, too. Like sandpaper. Low-grade sandpaper. Not wholly unpleasant, really, just scratchy. A longer, more intimate kiss might actually end up painful.

"I don't know," I whispered. "I just like being his friend. What if something were to happen and we broke up? I don't think I could work for him if- I like my job. We're friends. That's all."

Maggie looked at me over the counter. "I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but I said the same thing about Brian before we started dating."

"What?!"

"I kid you not. I was concerned. He's older than me, and I was just getting back in the dating scene. I had Dylan to worry about, too. Brian knew right from the start that Dylan was more important to me than starting anything. And he understood, and made a point of being a part of Dylan's life too."

"That's great. But you don't work with him."

"Fine. Look at James. He and Angie were business partners first, and now they're practically engaged. They fight."

"Not like Steve and I do!"

Boy, did we fight. Every day. Over stupid stuff. I'd walked out a few times, but ... he always came after me and talked me into staying.

My mind was in knots! First we're at each other's throats, then he's buying me flowers and making promises to be more thoughtful, fully repentant even if it was my fault. Men!

"If I didn't know any better," she said, "I'd think you two had been together for years."

"You're not helping."

"Marlowe. Why are you trying to talk yourself out of this? Yes, there is a risk in getting involved with someone you work with. There's a risk getting involved with anyone. But think. You obviously like him, and, well, if he kissed you- Do I need to say it? Trust me on this, denial is more than a river in Egypt and it's a pain to deal with on a grand scale. Don't fight it. You'll end up kicking yourself later for wasting time."

"That was one of the worst lines I've heard in a while."

"Hey, Brian's the poet, I'm just a secretary." She popped a wedge of tomato into her mouth and snapped the lid on the platter. "Come on, let's go. We're late as it is."

Brian and Dylan were all ready out at our aunt's house, so Maggie and I drove together with the crudités and paper plates. It wasn't wholly a family reunion, but close enough. And that night there was supposed to be a meteor shower too, and Aunt Jen's house is right in the middle of no-where. Perfect for seeing stars.

There was one star I didn't want to see and amazingly enough, he was there. I hadn't had enough time to fully get over or deal with his kissing me, and he was supposed to have spent a week or so back in London, relaxing before moving to Toronto.

"Loverboy's here," Maggie said as she parked her little purple PT Cruiser in the driveway. "Besides, you always said you wouldn't want to date an actor."

I glared at her.

They were all playing soccer, which surprised nobody. James was there, and Byron and Austen. Brian and Dylan. Aunt Jen and her brood, naturally, and the dogs. Everyone else.

One dog in particular broke away from the pack and zoomed toward me, short little legs obscured by thick fur. Jake launched himself at me from twenty feet away and I scrambled to catch him. He didn't seem to care, just licked my face with gusto. You'd think he hadn't seen me in a week when it had only been two days.

"Come on, Mom! Join in! You too, Marlowe!" Dylan shouted, waving.

Brian jogged over and took the vegetable tray from his wife, dropping a swift kiss on her lips and generally fussing over her.

"Brian, I'm pregnant, not made of glass. Go back to your game, I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine!" She kissed him again and pulled the tray out of his hands.

"Come along then, you'll be on our team," Brian said, reluctantly heading back to the group.

"Nah, then, Marlowe doesn't play football!"

Of course that would be Steve talking. He was a fan and I wasn't. It was one thing we fought over all the time. So it was time to show him a thing or two.

I dropped the dog, who stuck close by my heels, and broke into a trot. From there it was a lope, then a full out run. Steve had his back to me, laughing at something James had said. My brother pointed, Steve turned, and I showed him that I did play football. American football.

Damn, that ground is hard. I tackled Steve around the waist and we both hit the grass with heavy thuds. I never hit him, though I wanted to, but I wanted to hold him down and show that I was stronger. That didn't happen either. He fought back and it broke into a wrestling match, me against Steve. It ended when he pinned me, his hands on my shoulders.

It was an intense moment, his face close to mine, pure shock in his eyes. And more.

But I was having none of it. I was still angry at him for kissing me and putting me in that awkward situation, then for showing up at my family's house not two days later! I brought my knee up between his legs and he rolled off.

My brothers and cousins gave me a wide berth as I stormed off the lawn and up the hill into the trees. I needed time to cool off, and hopefully Steve would take the hint and hightail it to his hotel.

Yeah, right. I had five minutes before Jake found me. Not far behind was Steve-I had seen Jake sniffing around and Steve walking straight for me. I patted Jake's head and stroked his ears, sighing as I waited for Steve to show up. It was pointless to hide further on in the woods. He'd still come after me.

"We have to talk," he puffed, leaning against a tree while he caught his breath. It was a hike up the hill, and after playing soccer all afternoon, I couldn't blame him.

"I don't want to."

"You owe me a chance to explain myself."

"I don't owe you anything."

"Sure you do. You ran away before I could say anything." He swallowed and, groaning, sat down on a stump. It disintegrated beneath him, so he settled himself on the ground.

"And what would you have said?"

I didn't want to know. My mind was in such turmoil all ready I didn't want to know his side of things, it would only make things worse. Steve picked up a fallen leaf and twirled it around.

"I love you," he said without looking at me.

I stared. He could not have said what I thought he did, but no, he did.

"I hope you don't expect me to jump for joy."

"No, not really. I gathered you aren't too pleased to see me."

"Wow, cute and smart, a lethal combination. When did you figure that out?"

"Somewhere between hitting the ground and the groin kick."

"Good. Why are you here?"

It was his turn to stare. "I just said 'I love you.' Isn't that a good enough reason?"

"That's not an answer."

"Dammit, Marlowe! What do you want me to do? Bow and scrape and kiss your feet, offer profuse apologies? I kissed you, for Pete's sake, and frankly I enjoyed it, at least the two seconds where you kissed back. You ran away before I could do or say anything and you wouldn't let me into the room. I couldn't let you think I'm some sick opportunist that's going to jump you whenever you're down-I know that sounded wrong, but just listen to me. I'm sorry Evan turned out to be such a wanker. If I'd known sooner I would've done more to help you see that."

I didn't have anything to say. Seconds dragged into minutes and neither of us spoke.

"Marlowe- I don't know what's going on in your head or what you want in a- a mate. All I know is that I love you and I want to have a go at being a couple. I think we'd get on great together. I want the chance."

"Yeah, and what if things don't work out? I don't think I could work for you any more if- I'm new to this, remember. I'm still getting over Evan, okay? I thought things might work between us then, and you saw how that turned out. I don't want to risk it."

"Don't think like that. You'll make a self-fulfilling prophecy, and that's not the way to do it. Think of the possibilities. You'll be with someone who loves you for who you are and what you do, and who wants you to be happy." He came and knelt at my feet. "I love you. Give me a chance. Please."

"You've been out with twelve girls in as many weeks. How can you say you love me?"

I regretted saying it the second the words left my mouth. The look on his face- There are no words to describe it. He looked away for a minute, then back to me.

"I'm not perfect," he said. "I'm not James. I'm not Brian. I flirt. Part of my job requires that I show up at events with any number of women. I've dated a few of them. I've been in like before, and in lust. Never in love. I know this is different. It's stronger. For the last month all I could think about was getting home to you, even if it meant getting yelled at for being out so late on a show night. Yeah, the possibility things won't work is there. Whatever relationship you get into, it's there. You have to love someone, though. It's who you are. I know you're scared. I won't push you to make any sort of decision right now. But- I can't explain this, kitten. I know, way down in my soul that I love you. I won't lie to you. I never have."

And he wasn't.

He kissed me again. This time I expected it and didn't resist. I didn't encourage, either, but- whoa. What a change. My heart did a little flip and danced a jig. I could enjoy this one more, since my mouth wasn't being rubbed raw.

"You put conditioner in your beard."

"Yeah," he whispered.

He gave me that lopsided grin, the one that I could never resist. I smiled back.

"I'm going back to the house. Let me know what you decide."

I nodded and he walked away, Jake close by. I stood and watched him go. The sun came out as he reached the bottom of the hill, and I was amazed to realise that his hair wasn't brown, as half the world thought. No, when the sun caught in it, his hair shone a dark auburn, deep red.

A rather off-colour joke Maggie had once made came to mind, along the lines of 'How do you know a redhead is satisfied? He unties you.' I felt my face turn five shades of red and had to suddenly fight the urge to run down the hill and into his arms and kiss him smack on the lips. And rub his head. Buzzcuts make me want to do that.

Steven Knight

She had locked me out of the hotel room and I couldn't blame her. I'd been a jerk and knew I had to set things right, but when would be an issue. Marlowe was leaving for home the next morning.

Lexi let me take the couch in his room. I couldn't sleep, not with his drunken snoring and knowing that Marlowe had to hate me. I was miserable. She would probably tender her resignation within days, and I couldn't in my right mind refuse her. If she asked me to roll on broken glass and take a dip in the Dead Sea I would, just to make her happy.

What was I going to do? She'd kill me if I tried to go after her right away but- I could go take care of one reason why she hated me. Evan had been taken care of by an angry drag queen. I didn't have to go after him. The man who paid him, however, was still at large and free to strike again.

I'd have to be careful about it, though. I owed Ryan Treyvant three quarters of my career, but the way he was treating Marlowe negated all of it. Part of me wanted to give him the axe straightaway and find a different agent. No one was going to mess with Marlowe again. Not while I'm around.

I collected Jake in the morning and half-heartedly made the rounds at the festival. Later I packed and found a flight to New York, sorely lamenting the loss of Marlowe. I had never realised how dependent I had become on her for things like this. She always had things ready for me, sometimes before I even knew I wanted them.

Carlotta Carmela took Jake's leash from me as I stormed through to Ryan's office, not even bothering to ask if he was available. He would be for me.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" I snarled as the doors closed behind me.

"I'll call you right back. One of my clients is having a temper tantrum." Ryan took off the headset and placed it calmly on his desk. "Now. To what do I owe this honour?"

"You know damn well what!"

"If you're referring to Evan Turner, I have nothing to say. I sent him to Cannes to help promote the Scarlet Pimpernel. Whatever he did was not my fault."

"Don't give me that bull! He admitted that you paid him! The man was drunk, and I think I'm qualified to say that it's really hard to lie on that scale when you're drunk. Why in the bleeding world would you do something like that? You hurt her, and that's ticked me off!"

"You don't say," he said dryly. "These are serious accusations, Steven. Have you thought this out? Why indeed would I do something like that?"

"You've had it in for Marlowe since I hired her. She's proven a capable assistant and one of the best friends I've ever had. She's smart and funny and a caring individual, and she deserves the best treatment. Pull something like this and you're fired. I'll find new management."

Ryan was completely unfazed by all of this. He sat there behind his desk, hands folded, and watched me.

"You do realise that you wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for me. I made your career."

"What, are you going to threaten to ruin me too? Fine. I expect it. But you won't because you like your fat paycheck."

"Steven, you are one of a hundred that I manage. What makes you think that my financial stability rests on you? Go ahead, find new management. You'll become a laughingstock. You got an Oscar nod for Severing Ties this year and you'll get one for Joe Walsh. Do you think you could've gotten those parts with someone else?"

I shook my head. "I don't care about that. You're evading the issue. You've interfered with my life and that of my assistant. I hired you to manage my career, yes, but not my life. I've got Marlowe for that. You leave her the hell alone. Pull any more crap like that and you're done."

He said nothing. I was disgusted, with him and myself, and left the office. Carlotta gave me a sympathetic smile and handed Jake back.

I didn't linger in the city. A convenient Starbucks yielded life-giving coffee and an understanding cabbie deposited man and dog at James' house in New Jersey. His girlfriend Angie opened the door.

"Oh, hi, Steve! Wasn't expecting to see you here! Come on in."

Jake was on his best behaviour as we walked through the house to the kitchen, the nerve centre of any house, in my opinion.

"Wasn't expecting to be here. James around?"

"No, you just missed him. Left this morning for Detroit."

"Ah, crap." I needed advice and he was gone. I could call him, but-I would just go out there.

"If you're looking for a place to stay, you're welcome to crash here. I know the place is a mess, but there's a room free. And there's an open flight tomorrow morning, if you're looking to catch it. I have a feeling James isn't really the one you want to see."

"I'm that transparent, huh?"

"I've just lived with James too long."

James picked me up at the airport and he was not too impressed.

"Care to tell me your side of things?"

"How long do I have?"

"It's an hour out to Jen's."

"That should work."

So I told him everything. Everything.

"You're almost a jerk," he said.

"Yeah," I replied. Then, "Almost?"

"Your intentions were good, but your timing sucks. You don't even know if she likes you."

"You're taking this awfully well. I know that if you said you were interested in dating Paula, I'd have you skinned."

James took a few minutes before answering.

"I met Evan a few times. I thought he was an okay guy, but what he pulled- Man, I hope I never meet him again. You, I know. You're not going to hurt her."

"Never."

"But you'd have me skinned?" I now have proof that the Santia eyebrow-raise was hereditary.

"Only because you'd be cheating on Angie."

"Good answer."

I never made it into the house once we arrived. Marlowe's cousins were outside, kicking around a football in a makeshift game and Dylan immediately barrelled over.

"Hi Steve! Hi James! Wanna play? My team's winning!"

"Sure," I said. It would be a nice distraction for a while.

There were no goal posts, no definite out of bounds. Perfect for a pick-up game, friendly and non competitive. Sure. Marlowe's brothers play dirty.

More people arrived and the teams grew. It seemed that the only people absent were Maggie and Marlowe. Not that I noticed.

"Come on, Steve!" Dylan shouted, "That was an easy goal! Pay a-bloody-tention!" That reprimand was followed by a string of something generally known to be unintelligible gibberish.

Which was answered by Brian in a similar gibberish. Dylan's shoulders slumped and he muttered an apology.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Gaelic," James said. "I think my little cousin just chewed you out."

"Won't be the last time." I bent over double, hands on knees, trying to catch my breath. For the dozenth time I looked to the driveway, but no Marlowe.

Finally! A rumble of engine on dirt road and Maggie's car pulled into the drive, and two ladies stepped out. Brian ran to his wife straightaway. Some small conversation went on, a bit of a quarrel between the two which was resolved with Maggie kissing her husband and taking something out of his hands.

"Come on, Mom! Join in! You too, Marlowe!" Dylan shouted, waving.

"Nah, then, Marlowe doesn't play football," I said. She had told me before that she didn't play football. Not well, anyway. She wasn't even interested in the sport.

The next thing I knew, however, I was being tackled around the waist by a flying woman. While normally that wouldn't be a bad thing, it hadn't rained in Michigan for a few weeks and the ground was exceptionally dry and hard.

She was playing dirty too, and before I could even react I was being pummelled by a girl who was self-professed non-violent by nature. Non-violent my arse. She enjoyed slapping the back of my head.

Now, though, she was trying to beat the snot out of me. I had to fight back without hurting her, which meant grasping her wrists and trying to stop her feet from kicking my shins to pieces. It ended when I managed to flip her onto her back and plant my hands on her shoulders.

We stared at each other for an intense moment, both of us completely shocked at what had happened. I was kneeling over her, astride her hips, our faces inches apart. I could have kissed her.

Instead pain burst through my tender bits as her knee crashed into my groin. I rolled away and lay on the ground while she ran off. Oh, the pain.

James and Co. surrounded me, expressions of awe on each and every face.

"Dude, nobody's ever pinned Marlowe before."

"Thanks for telling me," I managed while Dylan ran for ice. Oh, hell but that hurt!

When I had recovered enough to walk I followed Jake up to where Marlowe was hiding. He's the luckiest dog in the world. No matter how she feels about me, he always gets preferential treatment.

There she was, sitting on a log like she belonged there, a little wood nymph among all the green and brown. She managed a smile when the stump I sat down upon splintered beneath my arse.

"I love you," I said. I couldn't look at her. If I did I'd end up doing something foolish.

"I hope you don't expect me to jump for joy."

I hadn't. The rest of the conversation was predictable, given her reaction. For all I was prepared I still lost my temper a bit.

"Dammit, Marlowe! What do you want me to do?"

I rambled on for quite some time, speaking from my heart-sounds hokey but it's true. I had to tell her what was there. It was hard for me to remember that she was completely naïve and innocent, and had been burned by someone she had trusted. I wanted everything to be perfect for her and it wasn't.

"I won't lie to you," I said as I took her hands in mine. "I never have."

I kissed her a second time, and my hopes rose when she didn't fight it. Again, the moment felt right, and this time I had been a little more considerate.

"You put conditioner in your beard," she whispered.

"Yeah," I said, smiling. She smiled back.

"I need time," she said.

I nodded. "I'm going back to the house. Let me know what you decide."

Every fibre of my body resisted the walk down the hill. On one hand, I was tired and sore from the game and hike, and the other had me remembering that kiss. I didn't want to wait for an answer.

She didn't necessarily avoid me after that, but she didn't seek me out, either. Dylan engaged me in a debate over football teams, claiming loyalty to Manchester United and taking offence when I told him I supported Arsenal.

Whatever speculation was going on was kept to a minimum. Marlowe and I were able to sit in the same room without either combusting, and neither was struck by lightning. There were some awkward moments, but they were short and few. Jake followed her around all evening, finally joining the family pack of dogs and fighting over a scrap of leftover steak.

Most everyone was outside, scattered around doing whatever they liked. Dylan and the older kids were still playing football while some of the older ones lounged around, watching the skies. James and his brothers were dancing like fiends to Billy Idol around a bonfire. Maggie and Brian were sitting together, talking and cooing. That's what I wanted.

Part of the hill was bare enough of trees to give a good view. There was a meteor shower going on, and if I wasn't going to be with Marlowe I might as well take advantage of clear skies and a spectacular show. Time passed as I lay stretched out on the hill, hands behind my head and ankles crossed, trying not to think about Marlowe and there she was.

My heart stopped for a moment as she lay down beside me, not a foot away, close enough for me to hear her breathing.

"Make a wish," I said, looking at her and making a grand gesture towards the falling stars.

She didn't say anything and I put my hand back under my head. A minute passed, then two, and she rolled over and kissed me. Took me by surprise, but hell, I'm not going to pass up an opportunity like that and I returned the favour.

When it was over she rolled back as if nothing had happened.

"Mine just came true," I muttered, grinning.

She shook her head and met my grin with one of hers. "You're such a dork."

"But I'm your dork, and that's all that matters."

She half snorted, half sighed, but moved closer. I wrapped an arm around her as she lay her head on my chest, and together we watched the stars on that perfect night.

Chapter Thirteen: Very Satisfactory

Posted on Monday, 5 December 2005

E. Marlowe Santia

That was probably the most forward thing I've ever done, kissing him like that, but it was worth it. Each kiss just got better and better. The first one wasn't horrible, the second much better, and the third- the third. He may be a dork, and my dork, but damn he's one hell of a kisser!

Which requires the story behind getting to that moonlight and meteor-showered kiss. After he left I had plenty of time to think, but I really didn't need to. He loved me! And meant it! And that kiss- Even then I wanted more. I felt myself go bright red and I had to sit down again. All the Fangirl Moments, all the talk and I was still just a naïve little girl suddenly playing a big girl's game. If only I didn't have to do this at all, if I could just stay an innocent little girl all my life, things wouldn't be so bad.

It was way too late for that. I didn't really want to stay that innocent anyway. There was no fun in that, no growth. I'd be 14 forever, just on the brink of puberty. Sure, getting into a relationship, a real relationship with someone who genuinely cared for and wanted to be with me, would be scary. Steve said he wouldn't push me and I knew he wouldn't try to make me do anything I wasn't ready for-sex came to mind right away-and I could trust him. I could. I would. And besides, hadn't I already shown him I could take care of myself if he forgot that?

My biggest worry was that if things didn't work out that I wouldn't be able to work for him any more. He had been right, though, that I shouldn't think like that. We could cross that bridge when or if we came to it, no sense in sabotaging a perfectly good romance with negative thoughts and plans. Plan B could be concocted later. And wasn't I always best under pressure?

So it wasn't pure torture being in the same room with him. Not really. It was deathly uncomfortable, since I still wanted to tackle him and kiss him. Things were happening that I couldn't quite explain. I wanted- What did I want? I suddenly had a boyfriend, which I'd wanted for a while, but what to do with him now that I had him? One thing came to mind right away, and for all the dirty jokes and lewd comments, I went red.

"Okay, what gives?" Maggie asked. "That's the fifth shade of red I've seen tonight. Penny for your thoughts."

There went a sixth shade. "I'm trying to decide if I like the beard or not."

That was all she needed. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I wish Brian would grow his out again. I miss it."

"Maggie!"

"What? I mean it! You'll see. It adds a certain element that makes things so much... better. At least for me."

"I'll take your word for it." Shade number seven! "Don't say anything. I haven't told him yet."

"No wonder he's been so quiet! I'm not sure how to deal with a quiet Steve."

"Me either. But I've got an idea, so things should be resolved tonight."

"Good! I've got a good feeling about this!"

So later that night I walked up the hill to where Steve was lounging, watching the meteor shower. Make a wish, he said. And I kissed him.

"Mine just came true," he said. He's my dork. Just want to state that for the record. Mine.

I love being next to him, with his arm around me. He's so much like his dog in that he likes to cuddle. Thankfully Steve's potty trained.

"So then, we're a couple?" He opened the car door for me and waited.

"I think so."

"Good. I'd hate to think you're the kind of girl who'd kiss just anybody."

I called for Jake, who scurried over and leapt into the car, before I turned back to Steve and kissed him. I like doing that.

Then the awkwardness set in. I had never been in that situation. Evan would walk me back to the hotel room, kiss my cheek and head off to his room. That had been a mild flirtation, even if I'd hoped for more (I had liked the New And Improved Evan, before I was made to see him for what he was) and now this. Steve was real, not pretending to like me for whatever nefarious reason.

"Where are you staying?" Maggie had lent me her car, and I used the occasion to stare out at the dark scenery. I didn't want to look at him quite yet.

"I don't rightly know. Hadn't thought that far ahead."

"I think James is staying with Gramma. There's always a room there. I'm staying with Maggie."

"D'you think-"

"Steve!"

"Hear me out, kitten. Have I ever tried to take advantage of you? Not counting Cannes."

No, he hadn't. Ever. Save Cannes, but that couldn't really count either, since all he'd done was kiss me.

"I really do sleep better with you. I don't know why, it just is. I promise, nothing more than sleeping will happen."

"I don't know if Maggie would approve. Dylan's only twelve." Yeah, right. Maggie wouldn't care. Brian might, but at that point in time he was more concerned about Maggie.

"Marlowe, if you're truly uncomfortable with sharing your bed with me, tell me. I just want to be sure that it's that, and not just you think it's inappropriate. You know I'm not going to try anything. I'm not going to risk this between us with something as stupid as sleeping arrangements."

The thing was, I liked having his arms wrapped around me. The two times that I was aware of had been ... not bad. Comforting, actually. Like I belonged to someone. And it was important that he got a good night's sleep.

"It is stupid, isn't it?"

He grinned. "I won't ever ask you to do anything you're not ready to, kitten. I won't. If you offer, however, all bets are off."

"Is sex really that important?"

"Marlowe, I'm a thirty-something year old male. Yes, sex is important. Not as much as you think, but it's never far from my mind. More so now that I've hired you."

"What do you mean?" There were a few shades of red what passed over my face. I had a good idea.

"What I mean is- Well, to be blunt- Ahh." It was his turn to blush. I'd never seen it happen before. "Since I met you there's been times when- I know we said we'd be friends, but there were moments when I- When you'd've killed me if you knew what I was thinking. I can't even say it."

That was a fair bit to digest. I understood what he was saying. It was just... More than I'd thought.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. These past few months I've learned a lot about how much I can take. I can control myself."

"Good," I muttered. I'd never really suspected anything like that from him. There had been moments when I sensed something just below the surface, but he wanted to have sex with me? More confusion.

"Kitten, don't think the less of me. I said I wouldn't lie to you. You want to wait. I'm fine with that. I am. Until you're ready I'm content to wrap my arms around you at night and listen to you breathe."

"You'll have to."

"As long as it takes, girlie. I'm in this, long term."

The very words I'd wanted to hear for God knows how long! One thing that had held me back was the fact that I didn't want a fling or a relationship that would only last a week or two. Being friends with someone first helped that, and wasn't that what Steve and I had started out as?

I couldn't hide the smile that curled up the corners of my mouth. A thrill went through me- I had never liked the notion of playing games and wanted the opportunity to have a crack at a real relationship. No games, no funny business. Steve had offered me honesty, which I liked, even if it wasn't what I expected to hear. This would work. This wasn't a bad thing. I could relax. I could enjoy ... Him.

It was well past midnight when I pulled into Brian's driveway. The house was dark, save for a flicker of light from the kitchen. I put the car in park next to Brian's Escape and oozed out. It had been a long, draining day and all I wanted to do was fall into bed. There was a warm fuzzy feeling knowing that I'd be falling in bed next to Steven Knight, actor and regular guy. My boyfriend.

We supported each other into the house, leaning against one another and both amazed that Jake still had energy after the day's activities. Keller was barking like mad, loud enough to wake the world, but he let us in once he recognised me. From there it was a stumble up the stairs and into the guest room, which would be converted into a nursery once we left.

"God, I hate flying," Steve muttered. "Jet lag's a pain."

"I'm the one that has to fly back to London in two weeks. You at least get to stay in this time zone for a few months together. You don't plan on sleeping in your clothes, do you?"

"All my stuff's with James."

"I draw the line at sleeping naked. You got boxers on?"

"Maybe."

His roguish smile was intended for something else, but I shook my head.

"I'm not going to check. If you aren't, keep them pants on. If you're not, go ahead and drop trou. I have no intention of meeting Roxanne any time soon." Still I placed a hand on his left hip and matched his grin with my own.

"Eh, you're just lucky I'm too tired to try anything tonight."

I turned around to fish out my pyjamas and when I looked back I had to sit down right away. Somehow in fifteen seconds he'd managed to divest himself of his tee and jeans and stood there in the half-light in nothing but a pair of dark boxers and white sweat socks. Huge Fangirl Moment there. Have I mentioned how deliciously fuzzy he is?

He pulled me to him for a kiss as I passed on my way to the bathroom, and I almost forgot that I wanted to change clothes.

"Maybe I should sleep on the couch," he murmured even as his hands found my waist.

My heart beat faster and I could feel his fingers twitch a little, like they wanted to move further south. It was a fine show of control on his part, keeping them still, like he promised.

"If you want."

Neither of us let go for a moment. Then, with a huge, absolutely huge sigh, he removed his arms from around me and I was able to step away, down the hall and into the bathroom.

I checked my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, eyes were bright, only the slightest evidence of whisker burn around my mouth. And there, right there plain for anybody to see, was the goofiest grin ever to grace the features of this "good little Catholic girl." There was a man, a very attractive, talented, sweet man not fifteen feet away, who wanted to be a part of my life. He was willing to wait until I was ready to have sex, willing to take things slowly for my sake, even though I knew for a fact that he wanted things to be very much different. Now for me to decide how long until I was ready.

Steven Knight

I'd meant it. I could wait until she was ready. It would mean a lot of cold showers and the like until then, but she was worth it. At least I'd be able to sleep next to her, cuddle a bit. I knew she liked that, and I did too. I just ... I wanted to touch her. Every bit of her.

That night was a start. She was able to relax and even giggled when I kissed her neck. Just laying there was good.

Sometime around dawn, or a little after judging from the shadows on the wall, there was a loud knock.

Whoever was there was too impatient to wait for an answer and opened the door.

A small, wet nose was shoved in my face at the same time whoever was on the other side of the door gasped as if she, because it was a she, had been burned by hellfire.

"Marlowe Renee Santia, what do you think you're doing?!" her mother snarled, or shrieked, or yelled very loudly. I was still trying to get Jake's nose out of mine.

"Sleeping, Mother," Marlowe said, her eyes still closed. Screwed shut with annoyance, more like.

"I'd like to talk to you downstairs, missy," her mother said. She was under control again. "Now."

I stayed upstairs while Marlowe and her mother "talked," and I heard just about everything. Maggie, Brian, and Dylan seemed to be gone. Or they were hiding too.

Marlowe stomped back up to our room and began digging through her suitcase.

"Everything all right?" I knew it wasn't, but it helped to ask.

"Fine," she snarled. "Mom's taking me and the boys out for breakfast. You are now invited."

I knew Ms. Mitchell had done no such thing.

"Is that a good idea?"

"I want you there," she said. End of conversation.

I showered and dressed, meeting Marlowe and her mother at the door. The less said about the breakfast the better. The food was good, the service excellent, but the atmosphere was lacking. Marlowe and her mother barely spoke to each other. I listened while James tried talking Byron into staying in New York. The second eldest Santia, twin of either Scott or Austen (I don't remember which, they all look alike), had taken a partnership with a development firm in Chicago.

Later, after things calmed down enough, Marlowe suggested taking her younger cousins to a movie. Her aunts agreed and soon I fond myself shepherding half a dozen youngsters through a crowded theatre, trying to find the right one.

"Here, now," I said, "Pick up any ticket stubs you find."

A couple of them looked at me strange, but Dylan immediately started and the rest followed suit.

"Why?" Marlowe asked.

"Just in case."

As I feared, the undesirable happened. It was a lovely afternoon, easy-going and beautiful, much too nice to be spent indoors at a movie theatre. Someone pulled the fire alarm.

Right there, two thirds of the way through the film, sirens started blaring, the lights came up and Marlowe and I were again herding children around. It took five minutes to get outside. We all could have died.

"That stinks!" one child said. Everyone agreed.

"Now, this is why I had you pick up those ticket stubs," I said. "Hand them over."

Marlowe raised an eyebrow as I checked the time on each and handed two or three to each of the older kids.

"If this theatre is worth what we paid for those tickets, they'll dish out some comps for the appropriate stubs. I learned this trick while I was in school," I said. "Got into a lot of movies this way."

"It's fraud," Marlowe pointed out.

"Not exactly. These tickets were paid for. It's not our fault the original owners threw them away. We are ... taking advantage of an opportunity."

She just rolled her eyes and turned away. A few minutes later a crowd began forming, and we all headed over. Lemmings, all of us. But we got our tickets.

"What's wrong, kitten?" I asked that night. "It's not still those tickets, is it?"

"No," she said. She picked at a thread on the coverlet, sitting crosslegged on the bed.

"Come on, tell me."

I sat beside her and joined in picking at the blanket. Our fingers fought over a red thread, the pettiness of it escalating until she laughed and fell backward.

"Mom's not happy with me."

"So I gathered. I suppose it has to do with her finding us in bed together?"

"Something like that," she said, grinning. "It's all that good, strong Catholic upbringing. Men and women are not supposed to share a bed until they are married. According to her and the dogma."

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with it myself." I'd been the one taking Marlowe to Mass for the last few months.

"Yeah, well, I don't agree with it. Maybe the ban on premarital sex, a little, but I think a lot of it's bogus. And you do to, apparently."

"Some of it is," I said. "But times have changed now. Society's rules have changed. What was unacceptable when she was your age is the norm now."

She nodded. "And I'm growing up, too. I told her, 'I'm 23 years old, Ma. I can make my own choices.' I think she's just feeling her own mortality now."

"You are the baby."

Another nod. "And it's not like anything happened. We were both fully dressed. Well, me anyway. I love my mom, but I can't stand to be around her right now."

"It'll only be a few more days. Then we're gone and life goes back to normal."

"What is 'normal'?" she asked, a wry smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I doubt anything that you're involved in is 'normal'."

"That deserves a retaliation, I think." I played at being offended.

She rolled her eyes again, dismissing my declaration. I continued, then attacked; I tickled her until she was gasping with laughter, stopping only to kiss her mouth.

"Why do you keep calling me 'Kitten'?" she asked and settled her glasses back on her nose. "You're allergic."

"I'm not allergic to you," I said. I sprawled across the bed and reached for my overnight bag and the small packet inside. "Remember that day in Paris? We were walking around the back streets and you saw that fat tabby in the window. You didn't say anything, but I knew you wanted to go up and pet it. And I thought, it's my fault she can't have a cat, which I know she'd like better than a dog."

"So you call me kitten because I can't have one? And I wouldn't trade Jake for a million cats."

"I know. But no, that's not it. Not totally, anyway. One day in Cannes I came across this little shop, and I stopped in to get you something because you can't have a cat."

She blinked and shook her head, but took the little parcel I gave her. I wished I had a camera, the look on her face was priceless. On a delicate gold chain was a small crystal cat, sitting up and washing itself. It wasn't very big, or very detailed, just the basic form and suggestion of feline anatomy, but it was elegant and beautiful.

"Steve!"

"You're my kitten. The only one I'm not allergic to."

She stared at it for minutes, then looked up and uttered the most off-colour comment! I won't repeat it, and she hasn't made it since, but how it made me laugh! That's one reason I love her: the most dirty, unexpected things that she says at the most inappropriate times. And the fact that red looks so good on her.

Chapter Fourteen: Oh, the Drama

Posted on Wednesday, 12 April 2006

E. Marlowe Santia

The day would never end.

I had spent another few days in the company of my family, which was not horrible, just awkward when I was around Mom. It was awfully nice waking up next to Steve every morning. Made things so much easier, especially knowing that he was there.

Monday came. I put Steve on a train for Toronto, creating a bit of a scene as we stood there on the platform kissing like the world was ending. I had to board a plane back for London to tie up loose ends and get the apartment clean. We wouldn't be going back there for six months at least. It was going to be a long week.

To begin with, my flight was delayed. Not long enough to go back to Gramma's for a few hours, but long enough to get me bored out of my skull. I didn't want to shop, since I'd have to carry everything with me onto the plane and my carry-on was all ready filled to bursting; Gramma had stuffed both me and Steve to the gills with breakfast, so I wasn't hungry; and the terminal for Detroit Metro Airport is over a mile long. No walking for me. I'm too lazy for that.

So I sat down to read. Half the contents of my duffel ended up spilling onto the floor before I could find the book I wanted. I only got a few pages into it, the words as familiar to me as my own fingerprints, when I was distracted. A toddler, maybe two years old, was digging through my bag. She was so cute! Dark hair in little pigtails right on the top of her head, shining black eyes focused on her mission, little brow furrowed in concentration. Pink little overalls and a pink little tee shirt. Oh, just adorable.

"Hello." I put down my book.

The little girl looked up at me, eyes huge and glistening.

"Whatcha lookin' for?" I couldn't be mad at such a sweet little kid.

She babbled something in a foreign language and went back to digging.

Now, I know better than to just touch or pick up a random kid, especially in an airport. Something bad would happen. Right on cue, it did.

Before I could register what was going on, nearly a dozen security personnel were swarming around. The girl was being cradled in her mother's arms and there was shrieking and crying and more commotion than I thought was necessary.

"Come with me, please," the leader of the pack said.

"But I didn't do anything!" I protested and complied. No way in hell was I going to make this worse than it all ready was.

I found it very prudent to keep my mouth shut after that. This was not good! I was taken back into an interrogation room and asked the usual questions.

"Look, sir, officers, I was just sitting there reading. The little girl came up to me and started going through my bag. I never touched her. I did not coerce her. I'm sure that if you look at your surveillance tapes you'll see that I'm telling the truth."

An hour later they let me go, none the worse for wear, and with an apology from the head of security. The whole matter was taken care of and was just a huge misunderstanding. Sure I was miffed, but it killed an hour of waiting time and gave me a good story to tell.

I got to London and battled my way through the airport, hailed a cab and was homeward bound. The first wave of loneliness hit and I nearly lost it there in the taxi. The apartment was going to be cold and empty and way too quiet. There was no Jake to greet me and no Steve to cuddle with. I had a week. Steve could take care of himself for a week.

Oh did he. I had managed to get the vast majority of everything packed up and ready to move in less than three days. Regan and Davy helped in the evenings, and soon I was taking one long last look at the apartment. At least I would be back with Steve a few days sooner than planned. But not without the obligatory delay.

See, I had learned that Ryan was going to take every moment he could find to keep my away from Steve. This time my cell rang as soon as the plane touched down. I knew it was him; I'd found a dirge ringtone, oddly enough, and used it for Ryan Treyvant exclusively.

"Yes, Mr. Treyvant?"

"Get in here, now."

"Yes, sir."

Under normal circumstances my stomach would have relocated to my big toe, but that day I was fine. That alone was enough to freak me out. I should have been a nervous wreck, being called on the carpet by an authority figure. I wasn't. I was a nervous wreck because I wasn't a nervous wreck.

Carmela let me right into Mr. Treyvant's office without so much as a preamble. He was on the phone so I sat down without waiting for an invitation. That was the last place I wanted to be. One guess as to my preferred location.

So I sat and waited for Ryan Treyvant to finish his conversation. Minutes passed like they were walking thought cement, and there was only so much I could do to occupy myself. In the end I spent five minutes twiddling my thumbs in both counter and clockwise. This was after I determined that there were no less than 5 windows in his office, each one measuring at least four feet wide and ten feet tall. And after that I figured out that the carpet was in those square things that make replacing damaged areas easy. And counting the number of posters, photographs, awards and diplomas on the walls... 37.

He had to know that all that waiting was driving me bonkers. Why else would he keep talking and ignoring me? I did my best to stay calm and unaffected, but I wanted nothing more than to tweak his nose and make a dash for the airport. I missed my puppy... both the canine and human versions.

Finally.

"Goodbye, Mother," Ryan said. He turned off his headset and set it on the desk. "Everything under control?"

I didn't like his smirk. "Ye-es."

More of that smirk. He didn't have to say anything else to get me further keyed up, all he had to do was slide a magazine across his desk, turning it to face me as it slid.

I maintained my composure. This had to have been some kind of deliberate ploy to royally tick me off and maybe leave Steve's employ. Ryan couldn't know we were a couple, could he?

A major gossip magazine sat in front of me, the usual glossy shots of trashy celebs in poses that could only elicit pity and tongue-clucking. There, right in the middle of the page, was Steve, arms around two lovely women wearing what appeared to be strategically placed sequins and a few feathers. They looked right cozy.

I'd kill him.

The entire plane ride was spent trying to talk myself out of that anger. Of course Ryan Treyvant would know about Steve and me. That club in Cannes was full of people and photographers. In fact, I'd seen several tabloids running stories about us for a day or so after we got back. And he'd been trying to split us up from the start. But that picture was so damn convincing, and technology was to a point where I couldn't tell what was fake or not.

More than a week of being away from him had done something horrid to me. I was cranky, irritable, and most likely PMSing. I wanted to cuddle with my boys, but at that point I also didn't want anything to do with the human one. I didn't know what was true any more, and I was too scared to find out.

"Don't even think about ripping into that man!" Lexi said, a little static on the line. "I worked too hard getting you two together, and I'll be damned if I let you let some slimeball ruin it."

"But the picture-"

"Darling, you know as well as I the power computers have over digital imaging. I'll bet you dollars to donuts that it's a fake. It's probably Colin Farrell or someone- in fact, I wouldn't doubt if it was Colin Farrell. It's just like him, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I just- I know how Steve is. He likes to party and he likes to flirt."

"And it might be nothing. So what if it is? It was a snapshot, Marlowe. A moment. You can't know if he actually took one of those bimbettes home until you ask. Just don't make a huge scene about it. Nothing puts a man off like a show of dramatics."

"And you would know."

"I'll write that off as stress talking. Hold off on your homicidal urges for a few hours longer and talk to him about it. Everything will be fine."

"Thanks, Lexi."

He didn't help at all! Well, not as much as I'd hoped. The only advice I'd really gotten was to avoid making a scene. Fine. I could do that. I'd been doing it all my life, hadn't I? Not making a scene, staying out of the social radar, being unnoticed. Calm. In control. Slowly giving myself an ulcer from all this swallowing anger and crap.

There was a car waiting for me at the airport, which Steve must've arranged since I had planned to rent something and drive myself. That gave me another four hours or so of meditation and planning for the night. What would I say? "Hi, honey, who were those two floozies you were photographed with on such-and-such a night?"

The sun was setting as the car pulled into a driveway in a nondescript neighbourhood. The house Mr. Treyvant had procured for us was a cute little thing, two stories, set on a small hill thing. A yapping dog was making a ruckus on the screened-in porch, which resulted in the door opening and a familiar figure looking out.

Steve vaulted over the stairs and ran to the car as I stepped out. The driver unloaded my bags while I stretched.

"Hey, girlie," he murmured. "I missed you."

"Mm."

I'll give him credit: the happy grin he'd been sporting fell away like nothing. He knew something was wrong.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm just tired," I managed. It wasn't a lie. I looked up at him and the concern he was showing, and I couldn't be mad at him. Not right then.

I leaned forward enough and hugged him. It was enough for me to almost fall asleep right then and there. With his arms around me, holding me close, I could almost forget the last 24 hours. Almost.

"Come on inside, then," he said, leading me toward the house. "I've actually cooked. And I've done what I can, decorating wise, but I figure you'll want to add some stuff."

"I just wanna sleep right now, honey."

Oh, how I was hurting him! He was so confused. He'd made dinner, cleaned the house, tried to decorate, tried to make it a home, and here I was, oozing in like an ogre and brushing all of it aside.

"All right. I'll just clean up then, and be up in a little while. Goodnight, Kitten."

He tried to kiss me but I wouldn't let him. It was not going to be a good night.

Steven Knight

What had I done? The girl'd been gone only a week, and we'd parted on a good note. We'd talked every day. It must've been the last day or so that her mood had soured. Her cycle wasn't due to start for another two weeks, so it wasn't that. Had she had a bad flight? Was the car late picking her up? Had ... had Ryan pulled another stunt?

She didn't let me kiss her. I could tell she was tired, but she didn't even let me near her enough to kiss her cheek! I cleaned the kitchen, trying to be quiet when all I wanted to do was slam doors and crash plates together. It was bad enough that I'd had to spend the week away from the woman I loved, but her behaviour only added to that frustration. She wasn't asleep when I went into the bedroom, but she may as well have been, for all the welcome she gave me. I lay down beside her, hoping that she might curl up against me, but no. It was quite possibly one of the longest nights of my life.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong. If she'd only been tired, she would've cuddled up right away- Damn, she would've kissed me.

"Tell me what's wrong." I cornered her at breakfast while she was orienting herself to the kitchen.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Bull honky. What did I do?"

I had hoped that it wasn't my fault, but the look on her face- it was all me.

"Been to any parties lately?"

"I don't like your tone!" She was in full witch mode. "Yeah. Monday night. Last day of freedom kind of thing before filming started."

"Were there girls there?"

"Naturally. If you're thinking I got friendly with any of them, you're wrong! Why would I want to? I've got you. Don't I?"

She got a magazine from her knapsack and held it out to me.

"Marlowe! I don't know those women. Where did you find this?"

"Ryan Treyvant called me in on my layover in New York-"

"You know better than to trust him! Hell, I only trust him to get me good parts, nothing more. The whole scheme to hire me an assistant was his idea and he didn't consult me on it. That worked out well, didn't it? Come on, who are you going to believe, him or me?"

She's never been a morning person, and she wasn't recovered from jet lag. In the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by everything alien and unfamiliar, she broke down and bawled.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed. "I should've trusted you more! Please, forgive me! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Aww, Kitten. Shh, shh." I pulled her close and let her cry. "This is all Ryan's fault. You won't have to deal with him much longer, I promise."

"You gonna fire his rear?" she mumbled.

"I can't yet. I'd like to find a new one before I do anything else, and from the looks of this project I won't have time to look."

"That's what you have me for."

"Duly noted. You want to start searching for me?"

"Mm-hmm."

We stood there for a few minutes, the both of us relieved beyond belief.

"I'm giving you the day off," I said some time later. I was late for shooting. "You need it. We can talk more when I get back and I can show you just how much I've missed you."

I kissed her, finally, enjoying the lovely shade of red she was sporting. It was good to know her mind was still as dirty as it had been, no matter how short the separation was.

Our first major conflict as a couple was over. I hoped it would be the last, but I knew better. Hopefully this would be the last one Ryan caused. At the very least I had some control over that.

I waited until Marlowe had gone back to sleep before calling.

"One more stunt like that, Treyvant, and you're fired!"

"I thought you said that last time."

His smugness was infuriating. I had.

"Why are you doing this? Why is it so important for you to split us up? Because it's one more thing you don't have control over? Leave us alone, all right? Call me for anything important. If she mentions talking to you again, I'll not be responsible for my actions."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Knight?"

"Just leave her alone, Ryan! She didn't ask for any of this. It just happened, all right? Leave her alone, please."

He didn't say anything. Disconnected. Hung up. Gone. Without a promise or any kind of reassurance. I'd tell Marlowe when I got home to tell me if he called. I wanted her to get back to herself before piling any more stress. This was going to be an experience for her, and me.

I didn't actually film anything that day. Instead I worked with the fight captain, fine tuning a few of the fights and stunts, then had a four hour riding lesson. More stunts. Chauvelin, in this version, was a very active bloke. He'd have to be to keep up with the Scarlet Pimpernel. Unfortunately it left me stinking of horse and sweat at the end of the day, and that day I wanted to be a little more presentable when I got home.

It was home, now that Marlowe was back. It had just been a house. A nice enough house, but just a house. I don't think I'd ever looked forward to going home more than that day. First, a shower. Then ... just hanging out with her for the night. That would be enough for me.

But first, the shower. That was an experience. I dragged myself up the stairs to the master suite, stinking to high heaven, and didn't pay attention to who was where in the room. I heard the shower running and automatically assumed it was Marlowe, and in my state of mind I could completely justify taking a shower with her. It was quite the idea, that. Perfect.

I pulled the shower curtain aside, stepped in, and screamed like a schoolgirl. Marlowe was not the one taking a shower! I was out of the shower and had a towel around my waist faster than if a naked electrical wire had been put in there.

"Lexi! What in the world are you doing here!?"

"Marlowe invited me."

"Fine!"

The woman herself appeared in the doorway, fresh as a daisy, with Jake on her heels.

"What's going on?"

"What the heck's he doing in our bathroom?" I shrieked. It was a rude surprise, finding a drag queen in the nude! Showering! "There's one downstairs!"

"It's not working, and his place wasn't ready yet. I didn't think you'd be home for another half hour, so I thought it would be okay if he used our shower."

"Okay, yeah, fine. Just, finish quick, all right? I'm tired, I hurt, and I stink. All I want to do is get clean and fall into bed."

While I exploded, Lexi had miraculously finished and dressed. He stepped out of the tub, light blue shower cap dripping, and sauntered out of the room.

"Sorry, ducky," he muttered to Marlowe. "It it'd been you in there, he'd be in a much better mood. Sleep would be the last thing on his mind."

She went red, a nice tomato colour.

"It's not as high on the list as you think!" I shouted after him, making Marlowe go a darker cherry. "I'm sorry for being such a weirdo. It's just-"

"It's okay. I understand. You reek. Fix it."

"Wanna help?"

Her face should've ignited. "I'll take a rain check. If you can make it, I'll be downstairs."

"I don't think I will. Stay up here. I'll only be a few minutes."

"I hope that phrase doesn't cover everything," she said, grinning.

"With some things. Other things I prefer to take my time on."

Ten minutes later I nearly crawled into bed and curled up next to Marlowe.

"Feel better?"

"Much."

"Good."

"Kiss me. I can't move."

"Aren't you demanding?" Whatever her tone, she complied, and then some.

"Careful there, love. I'm starting to get my energy back."

"I'll take my chances."

And that's why I love her.

Chapter Fifteen: Be Careful...

Posted on Thursday, 14 June 2007

E. Marlowe Clarke

For the first time since I'd known him, Steve was awake before me. I could smell coffee brewing, and bacon cooking, and toast... burning! He had never really cooked before, nothing more than boiling water for pasta or eggs or tea.

A furbomb landed on the bed next to me and began washing my face. Ooh, I had missed that one as badly if not more than the human! By then I knew that Jake was just the canine version of Steve. Jake, however, couldn't do for me what Steve could, and for that I was glad.

The man himself sauntered in, fully-loaded plate in one hand and big ole' glass of orange juice in the other, grinning his beautiful cock-eyed grin and almost whistling.

"Have I told you lately, that I love you?" He sang quite well but was not Rod Stewart. The plate was handed to me as he settled onto the bed.

"Yes, you have, but I don't mind hearing it again."

"Duly noted. I'll tell you every morning for as long as you want me to."

A wonderful idea. I wished the morning would never end, but unfortunately, the thing what brought us together in the first place was now separating us, if temporarily. His career.

"Don't you have to be on set soon?"

"Yeah, but I can be a little late. More stunt practice today. Fine tuning and all that. You, however, need to start making calls. The sooner Ryan Treyvant is out of our lives, the better."

So my morning was spent with my address book, a binder the size of a phone book for the greater New York area with the names and numbers of every person I could ever hope to need to know in the film, television, and theatre industries, making phone call after phone call as well as two dozen or so emails. All my leads turned up dry.

"Nobody's going to touch you until this is in the can." It was later that afternoon, after I hunted him down on set. The dire news helped quench the raging hormones excited by seeing him all hot and sweaty and half-naked, with a practice rapier in hand. "The bigger agencies are waiting to see how the Pimple turns out, saying that you're still too much of a gamble. The smaller ones are scared witless of Ryan."

He drained the water bottle I gave him and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. "I guess we're stuck then, aren't we? Think you'll be all right?"

"Oh, I'll be fine. I've got you, and my brothers, and my cousins. Between all of us, Treyvant doesn't stand a chance."

"That's my girl. It's looking like it'll be a long day here again. I don't think I'll be needing you too much right now, so you can go back home if you want, get some housework done, maybe scribble a bit. Or you can stay here and watch while I get the snot kicked out of me."

Ooh, that was tempting. I've always loved stage combat, and the opportunity to watch pros in action was rare, to say the very least. It also didn't hurt that my boyfriend was an insanely handsome young man with a great body and the ability to swing a sword like an almost pro. Very sexy, that.

In the end, however, I went back to the house. I'd have plenty of time to watch him be a swashbuckling baddie in the next few weeks and only so much time to get the house sorted. I figured that once filming began in earnest there would be little time for anything... and publicity dealies for The Glory Days of Joe Walsh, as well as auditions for three or four films. Those last ones might be put on hold, though, if he switched agents.

One of the production gurus had the brilliant idea of giving camcorders to key cast members to get true-life behind-the-scenes footage for the inevitable DVD release. It was not a new idea, from what I understood, and much of the footage taped would end up in the garbage. For a while I resisted, but Steve embraced the concept and when Steve gets all gung-ho for something, his enthusiasm is infectious. That, and I got sick of seeing his fights from only one angle, as he would set the camera down during his rehearsals. There were enough bloopers there for a whole DVD, but nothing fantastic and nothing that would interest his fangirls, to whom I had an obligation, naturally, to provide droolworthy material.

So I got the camera. In the meantime, Mom sent nice big bags of dried fruit, mainly cherries, for our gastronomic enjoyment. They were portable and practical on our strange schedules.

One day I was on set. Steve had sent me to get more water, but when I got back he was nowhere to be seen. The guys with the stunt crew didn't know where he'd gone. The stand-ins hadn't seen him. Nobody in the vicinity knew where he was, so I was forced to go on a Steve hunt all over the lot.

"Lost something?" Trina, one of the other assistants, walked by at mach 3.

"I can't find Steve..."

"Oh, I wish I could lose Mr. Turner like that! He's got me running all over the set for the stupidest things! Not that I mind, it's not every day you get plucked from obscurity and get to work so close with such a dreamy guy!"

She stopped and managed to blather on for about five minutes, so it seemed. It was an enticing idea to introduce her to the sleazier side of her employer, but she was still starry-eyed and wouldn't have heard me. The frantic ring of her cell cut off her monologue and she was jolted back to the moment and Evan's obviously outrageous demands.

All leads found me back at the set where Steve was supposed to be filming. By his chair I found one of Mom's bags, one that had maybe half a pound of dried tart cherries. It had been full when we left that morning, and at one it was now half empty. Beside the chair were three or four empty water bottles, and I started laughing. Rather cruel of me, but only Steve would do something so stupid.

The row of bright green port-a-potties was a cinch to find, if not by sight than by smell. A few noises of agony could be heard coming from the third from the last, and I found Steve.

"Steve? Honey?"

He moaned.

"You know, dried cherries expand in water."

Another moan.

"How many did you have?"

"Handful, maybe..."

"You're going to be in there for a while. You want I should tell someone, get something?"

"Wanna go home," he groaned.

"Sure, honey. Just hold on a little more."

All of it ended up on tape. Just because we were boyfriend/girlfriend didn't mean that he was immune to taunting.

Steven Knight

What more could I ask for? I had a challenging career that I loved and that happened to provide me with a phenomenal income and some form of freedom; friends who cared about me; and best of all, a girlfriend who loved me and wanted the best for me, even if it meant a bit of goading and bribing. And I loved her as much in return. I'd walk through fire for her, heck, I'd eat fire for her.

The stunt with the dried cherries didn't manage to put me off them, once I realised that eating too many would make me sick. Some things have to be learned the hard way, I know. Just going to chalk that one up to experience.

What a time to start something as big as us! The Scarlet Pimpernel was going to be the biggest film of my career, as so many people had said. It was important enough that new agents wouldn't touch me until it was released. A fine time for my hormones to kick in with this kind of strength. It was all I could do to not lop someone's hand off!

I had enough composure to kick myself into shape for this, and confined the preferred pastimes to the weekends. We maintained a professional relationship on set, but somehow word got back to Ryan about the off-set romance, most likely from Evan Turner. That pantywaist watched me like a hawk the whole damned time, going far enough to follow me to different sets and even back home. It wasn't a difficult thing to figure out he was reporting back to Treyvant.

"News from Toronto says you're slipping, Steven."

"Yeah, and what source are you quoting? The Turner Newsline? Stay out of my life."

"You signed over your life when you decided to become an actor. The public doesn't want to see Steve Knight settling down with a mouse like Marlowe Clarke." Obviously you don't know Marlowe Clarke, I thought. "They want to see him having flings with leggy blondes, going to wild parties. In order to make this movie a success it has to be talked about, and what better way to garner press and controversy than have one of the leads embroiled in a scandal?"

"I don't want that."

"If you want to be a success and considered a bankable box-office draw you'll change your mind."

"I don't want to."

"Then you're signing your own death certificate as a film actor."

"I'll survive."

"When are you going to believe that she's bad for you?"

I closed the phone rather than argue with him further. It was pointless. He was never going to chance his mind on the matter, and it was a waste of energy on my part, energy that could be better spent with other things. Like rehearsals.

Production got underway and Marlowe and I had less time to spend together, in private. Even our sleep schedule changed, with only a few hours between meetings, fittings, shoots and reshoots. She ended up spending more time with Evan Turner, who had repented and nearly begged for forgiveness for his behaviour in Cannes. I didn't trust him, and I know Marlowe didn't, but there were few other people on that set that she felt comfortable hanging out with. Lexi, bless his fairy heart, was busy with his multiple projects and didn't have much time to chaperone, either.

A month in and I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, Ryan had a point. My involvement with Marlowe was affecting my work. Luckily for me it was a good thing at this point: I was cross because I couldn't be with her as much as I wanted and jealous that she was spending so much time with Turner. It worked well with my character. I just didn't like not being able to turn it off when I went home, like I could on other projects. Would this continue onto the next film? In an hour of free time Marlowe made an audition tape for me for a remake of Cabaret, another depressing part since I was going for the Emcee. I didn't think I could handle the psychological isolation if Marlowe wasn't with me.

The fights hadn't changed. Still over everything and anything, nothing serious. She hadn't walked out or threatened to walk out since we left London and we'd settled into a nice little domestic routine in Canada, even though our schedules didn't always mesh. Funny, that, seeing as she was my assistant. You'd think she'd be following my schedule a bit more.

Every once in a while we'd fight about money. Since we started dating, as I'll call it, Marlowe's fears about money and spending had gone away for the most part. My own savings were substantial and her wages came out of my net payment per project, so there wasn't much to worry about. There were times that I had to talk her into buying something that she loved, or needed, and not skimp on. She had access to all my accounts, so there was no need to worry. One thing I knew, though, was that she hated being dependent on me, even indirectly.

I didn't know how badly she hated it until later. Ryan Treyvant had arrived for a few days to check on how things were going with myself and Evan, as well as a few of the supporting cast members. This was something he did all the time and one reason I had liked him, his hands-on approach. Needless to say, he didn't have much of a personal life.

I was on my way back from the set, worn out and ready to crash, and I was not a little surprised to see Ryan's rental sedan in the drive. The sun had long since set and he liked to be in the comfort of his hotel by then, running his empire from a makeshift office. Jake greeted me at the screened in porch, shifting from paw to paw as I trudged up the steps. Ryan and Marlowe were inside, talking in surprisingly civil tones, with the front door open. They didn't know I was there.

"You cannot presume to be ignorant of why I'm here." So he'd only just arrived.

"I've got a good idea," she muttered.

He just steamrolled on ahead. "I'm sure you've noticed a change in Steven's performance. I've gotten calls from the director and producers with complaints that he's been absent-minded and preoccupied on set. Any idea why?"

"No, not really. Aside from it being a tough role for someone as cheerful as Steve, I don't know why that would be happening. Everyone I've talked to loves him and what he's done so far."

"You know what I'm referring to. You're insulting yourself if you keep prevaricating this way."

"I'm sorry?"

"I can make you an offer that you would be foolish to refuse. We at Baumhaus feel it is in the best interest of our client to separate you from him."

"I beg your pardon!?"

"Miss Clarke, I detest being this blunt. It gives me no pleasure. I have been authorised to offer you a substantial amount, upwards of one million dollars, to sever all ties, personal and professional, with Steven Knight."

My heart stopped beating. It damn well ceased to exist! Marlowe took her time in answering, which only made it worse. Was she actually thinking this preposterous proposition over? Did she think so little of me that she would take him up on that offer?

Blood rushed through my ears, making it difficult to hear her reply. I know that after she said those words that I didn't hear anything else.

"That's an excellent offer, Mr. Treyvant."

Continued In Next Section