The Paradise Box Set Page 4

  I’m definitely attracted, stronger than I’ve ever been. But I have little else to base anything on. What if I’ve misread her?

  Now she’s going to know when I’m here, and when I’m not. It’s too close, too soon.

  If it works out then none of these things are an issue. But if it doesn’t, I’m fucked.

  Bliss pulls her Mercedes into the second driveway. I continue on.

  And then there’s Caprice. She’s going to be around Caprice and her idiotic behavior. She’s learned to play the sexy movie star card expertly, and always to her advantage. Men, and occasionally women, are completely stupid around her Italian swagger. But what seems quirky and playful, soon turns to annoying. I’m not the only guy who fucked her once and didn’t come back for seconds.

  How’s Bliss going to deal with her? And how is Caprice going to deal with Bliss?

  I’m sure that limo in my rearview mirror is hers. They’ve stopped in front of cottage three. Shit. Right between Bliss in two, and me in four.

  I’m going to make sure I’m clear about boundaries with Caprice. That’s a laugh. I’ve been straightforward with her in the past, but she can’t believe a man just isn’t interested. It doesn’t compute.

  And I’ve already shot myself in the foot by offering to introduce Albie to Bliss and suggest he read her script. Now if she’s a bad writer he won’t be able to shake her. And Albie will rightfully blame me. BIG MOUTH STEVEN.

  I usually don’t let my cock do my thinking, but I did today. Now it’s coming back to possibly bite me in the ass. But I’ll handle it.

  My problems take a backseat as I navigate the narrowed two-lane road, which borders the drop-off into the wild Pacific Ocean. Neon purple ice plant and yellow Lantana cover the slope. It’s hard not to be distracted by the setting.

  The production company is leasing five of the cottages. I know who’s in two, three and four, and I can see Albie and Jack talking animatedly in front of cottage six. Albie’s waving his hands in the air per usual.

  There’s always something for the director and the lead to talk about. And these two have a history, which is three pictures, all money makers. Albie would love to fuck Jack if he’d let him. Unfortunately for Albie, Jack is a raging heterosexual. And even if he wasn’t, Albie wouldn’t be his type. Short, bald and pudgy wouldn’t do it for Jack.

  I pull into the driveway and grab my phone. I look through the glove compartment for my charger and wallet.

  That’s going to be another issue. Wait till Jack gets a look at Bliss. She’s his type. She’s every man’s type.

  But Jack is a good guy and a friend. He’s not a prick like some actors. He’d back off if he thought I was interested. The fact that I’m his double and have been for thirteen years has to count for something. We’ve had each other’s backs on set, and off.

  We both know where the bodies are buried.

  I get out of the car and go to the trunk to retrieve my car cover. There’s a carport for each cottage, but this baby needs protection.

  At least I’m here for a relatively short time. If it goes badly, I know I’ll be out in six months. And if it’s a disaster I could always move to the hotel where the rest of the crew is housed.

  But what if it doesn’t play out that way? What if she’s everything she seems to be? Well then this place, this spot, will be ours. And it won’t matter who misbehaves, who objects or who’s nearby.

  But right now that’s not the case, and I just want to get inside before Caprice spots me. She must be holding court with the driver. Now’s my chance.

  As I walk up the path, I can see cottage number seven to the far left. That’s Renee’s car in the driveway. There’re not a lot of female Directors of Photography, but she’s one of the best, male or female. She was on Albie’s first film, and he’s shown his loyalty and his good sense by using her on every film thereafter.

  I count her as a friend and someone I can trust. She’s almost old enough to be my mother, but I think of her more like a sister. She doesn’t take any crap from anybody. She’s a tiny woman, barely five feet, but people who mistake her size for delicacy have it wrong.

  I make it to my door without any interruptions. This time I didn’t get ‘Capriced.’ I’m in. I toss my cell and keys on the table in the entryway. My suitcases and personal stunt equipment were delivered this morning, and sit waiting for me to unpack.

  Everything I will need is already here. I just have to stock the refrigerator. These are fully furnished accommodations, up to the standard of the stars and the director. I’m just damned lucky both Jack and Albie want me close. Otherwise, I’d be at the hotel with the rest of the stunt crew.

  Fortunately for me this is an action film. My stunt people will be working every day, and my budget is huge. The success of this project relies as much on the action as it does on the drama, as much on the stunt crew as the actors.

  I’m always grateful for the well-oiled machine it takes to have a successful film production. Behind the creativity of movie making is a web of details. And a location shoot has ten times the trouble. This one may have much more.

  There’s lodging to be arranged, equipment to be prepared and delivered, daily schedules to be drawn and distributed. And that’s just a handful of the logistics. Then you throw in the egos and the big personalities, and it really gets interesting. It’s a clusterfuck that somehow comes together.

  But the payoff is, it’s the most fun you’ll ever have. There’s a bond, a quick camaraderie. And within a three-month span, there’ll be hookups and breakups, fights and accord, and sometimes even births and deaths. And the sexual tension, it’s there every day. It’s as if you squeezed an entire lifetime of events down to a three-month span.

  I’m not here two minutes when my cell rings.

  “Hello.”

  I hear the purr of our Italian diva.

  “Ciao, neighbor.”

  “Hi, Caprice.”

  “Darling, why don’t you come over for a drink? Let’s toast to the start of another wonderful adventure. I’ve got Bellini.”

  No. Not remotely interested.

  “I don’t think so. I’m really bushed, and I haven’t even unpacked.” She tries on her sexy pouting face, as if we’re in the same room. I can hear it in her delivery.

  “But Stefan, we can be tired together. Look at the beautiful sea and hear the passion of the waves. It could lull us right to sleep.”

  I. Am. Not. Interested.

  But she’s the star, and I don’t want to piss her off. This is just day one of production, I’ve got eighty-nine more to go. She could make things really uncomfortable for me and my stunt people. I have to handle this skillfully.

  “We’ll definitely get to that drink soon, but not tonight. I need my sleep. We’re not all as young and beautiful as you,” I say.

  The fact that I’m actually a year younger than her escapes her notice.

  She heard the words young and beautiful, and that’s enough for her.

  She lets loose a laugh.

  “Alright I’m going to hold you to that. You know I never have to pursue ANY man. You are making me work for your attention. Stefan. That’s very clever of you.”

  I don’t respond to that thought, but simply ignore it.

  “Talk to you tomorrow, Caprice. Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight, darling.”

  I dodged a deceptively beautiful bullet.

  I can hardly wait to hit the shower then bed. Oh yeah, and think of Bliss sitting on top of me.

  * * *

  My vision clears as I wake up from the best dream of my life. Bliss, blowjob, boobs, the trifecta of my Never Never Land, and something extraordinary. I could feel her bottom lip as it moved upward following her tongue.

  My hand goes to the erection that makes a pup tent in my bed. I start to stroke it, trying to hold onto the dream world.

  Fuck! My cell’s already going off. There’s no ignoring calls now.

  “Hello.” I try not to s
ound like I was in the middle of whacking off.

  “Get your ass up, let’s grab a coffee.” I recognize Jack's voice, and his ability to cut out any unnecessary dialogue.

  “Come over. I’ve got coffee here. But give me five.”

  We disconnect without another word, and I dismiss my saluting pecker.

  Where the hell are my pants? I open a suitcase and pull out a grey cashmere loose pant, with a low-hanging waist, and a white hooded long-sleeved T. Ninety-five percent of the men I know would never buy a pair of cashmere pants, or spend the money that I do on clothes. But this is my thing. Classic, streamlined, good-quality clothes. I’ve liked them since I was a kid. Sue me.

  That’s one of my jobs today. I’ve got to get unpacked. There’s only two days till the first day of shooting, and from then on my time off is limited.

  Then there’s figuring out where I’m taking Bliss tonight. I’ll ask Jack if he’s up on restaurants here. And I’ve got to call her. Probably best to do that by noon.

  I throw my pants on and cross barefoot to the picture window in the living room. I like the look of this place. It’s simple and lived in, without looking worn. The couch looks big enough for every possible use. I think it’s going to be my friend.

  A large flat screen takes up most of one wall. I’m glad they didn’t skimp on that. And the bed was firm and king sized. I’m not sure if all the cottages are alike, but if not I’m glad I got this one.

  I open the shutters and fold them back to reveal the day. It’s foggy and by the look of the patio, misty too. The ocean roars a little quieter than last night, but it’s still a constant background song. There’s something mystic about fog along the beach. Fitting for the last thirty-six hours which felt mystifying in a fortunate way.

  I hear Jack’s knock and go to the door. When I open it I see every female’s fantasy fuck, and more than a few men’s. Jack Alden’s been a film star for twenty-five years now, ever since he was in his late twenties. Time and age don’t seem to diminish his draw. His face is weathered, his thick blonde hair looks like it’s never combed, and he looks every bit his fifty-two years. But it somehow works for him. And he’s lean and in good shape. I think women still see the young guy he was when they first saw him on the big screen.

  He’s stayed remarkably down-to-earth, despite enormous amounts of attention for all these years. That’s no small thing. I’ve seen people ruined by half as much.

  “Come in. I’ve got to put my shoes on. Want to go for a run? Looks like this is a private beach,” I say.

  “Yeah. That’ll work. No cameras or paparazzi.”

  He’s thinking out loud.

  I find my running shoes and more appropriate pants. Jack crosses to the refrigerator and looks inside.

  “No food? Come on man, chop chop. I need my protein in the morning.”

  “I didn’t have a chance yesterday to shop.”

  “What the hell did you do all day?” His eyebrow lifts.

  I pause just long enough for him to grow suspect.

  “You met someone already?” He is not surprised.

  “Well yes, but that’s not it. I was just really busy getting the lay of the place and settling in.”

  He looks around at all my unpacked suitcases.

  “Oh yeah, that’s it. Who is she?”

  “She’s someone I met at the gym. And by some strange chance event, she’s the occupant of cottage two.”

  Jack starts laughing. “What?! That’s not good, brother.”

  I’m ready for our run, and want to change the subject.

  “No, I don’t think so. But time will tell. Come on, let’s get going.”

  “Ok, but I’ve got your back if she turns into a psycho bitch. It happens you know. Remember that film we did in the nineties, “You’re Mine,” that’s exactly what happened after my character let his new girlfriend into his life without really knowing who she was.”

  “That was a fucking movie. Give me a little credit.”

  “I’m just saying.” He can hardly contain his laughter.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  I head for the door and a release from this conversation.

  “I want to meet her,” he says as we exit the cottage.

  I don’t respond.

  Once outside, the cool air completely charges me. I’m ready for a run along the water. We start toward the stairs leading down to the sand.

  When we’re in front of cottage two and only a few steps from the stairs, I hear the door open and see Bliss walk out.

  Jack sees her too. She’s wearing a black trench coat tied at the waist. A white starched shirt collar peaks out at the top. Her legs look great in heels. She looks sexy without showing too many of her assets.

  Now she sees us too. A look of surprise passes over her face for just a split second. Then she smiles.

  Jack whispers under his breath. “Fuck, Steven. You’re completely screwed.”

  We meet in the road, and I can’t deny I feel that same pull I felt yesterday.

  “Jack, this is Bliss.”

  They both smile widely and extend their hands. I watch her reaction to the fact that she’s meeting one of the most famous actors of our time. But she’s exactly as she was before, collected and at ease.

  “Hello. Nice to meet you,” she says.

  “And you.”

  “We’re going for a run, but I’m glad I saw you first. I haven’t made tonight’s reservations yet, I’ve got to do a little restaurant research first. Should I be mindful of any absolute no’s as far as food goes?”

  “No, I’m a foodie, and really I like it all. You make the choice.”

  “Ok good. I’ll call you in a few hours.”

  “Great. I’m afraid I’m a little pressed for time right now, but it was good meeting you, Jack. Hope to see you again. Steven, I’ll talk to you this afternoon.”

  We come together in a friendly embrace, and she gives me a peck on the cheek.

  “Ok. Have a good day,” I say.

  We part, and she gets in her car.

  As we walk away toward the stairs, Jack snickers under his breath. “Should I be mindful of any food allergies?” he paraphrases.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Chapter Five

  BLISS

  I hate funerals.

  I hardly register the thick traffic on the 101 as my mind goes to memories of the woman I’m about to say good-bye to.

  Mary Kennedy was the only mother figure I’ve ever known, and the first adult who treated me with tenderness and complete kindness. She was a merciful woman. She listened to me. Maybe she was the first person who actually saw me in a deep and meaningful way. Before her, I couldn’t even see myself.

  She changed everything.

  The fact that she became my mother-in-law was just my lucky break. It tied me to her influence for nine years, and completely altered the direction of my life. More than that, it shaped me into a woman who understands her own voice and the power of self-direction.

  That’s why I decided to write her story. Hers was a remarkable life. One that has the making of a good screenplay. Some would think it was a little life, filled with average events and average adventures. It wasn’t.

  She knew how to give love and how to receive it. And she created that wherever she was. There’s nothing small or ordinary about that.

  Mary was a hippie, born in the right place, in the right moment in time. She actually lived in Haight Ashbury, and met Finn’s artist father Carl at a Led Zeppelin concert. They moved to a commune in Ireland, had their child, and raised him there.

  By the time I met her, they had re-established themselves in San Francisco, their commune days long over. And by way of Carl’s artistic success, they had in a way joined the establishment.

  But for Mary that girlish free spirit remained.

  Even closing on eighty, it was obvious she had kept her youthfulness.

  The screenplay is almost finished and I know it’s good. Now I
have my ending, but it isn’t the one I wanted.

  Oh, Mary.

  I’ve come to believe people are placed in our lives for a reason. Each a teacher or a student. You either have something to learn from them, or they from you. Many times I find it’s both. But Mary was the teacher in this equation, no doubt.

  Of course, I had to marry her son Finn first.

  I was out of foster care for six months when we met. I was a wounded bird, and Finn was the one who fixed my broken spirit, and saved me from my loneliness. He brought me into his family, and I saw that not every home is a danger zone, not every home a minefield.

  I fell completely in love with him, and with his family. What a new feeling it was to be safe. I let down my guard for the first time since I was a little child.

  And now that we’re eight years past our divorce, I can see it with clear eyes. I don’t think of his cheating or the pain it caused. I forgave that long ago.

  I think of all that I gained, from knowing deep true love really did exist. Not in my marriage, but in his parents.’ I saw it so clearly there.

  I was eighteen and Finn was twenty, both too young to make that kind of decision. He’s too much of a free spirit to keep the promise to be faithful. We had absolutely no idea what that took.

  I thought he was the sexiest, most worldly man I’d ever met. And he was an actor. How much cooler could he have been? In reality, he was a guy who knew how to charm women into believing the lie. But I have to give it to him, it worked ninety percent of the time.

  For the most part his dream of acting played out in bit roles and random readings. A movie in the nineties that turned into a cult classic was his biggest role. He played Colin, a fireman with an Irish brogue.

  People still occasionally quote his famous line of dialogue to him. As he was saving the ingénue from the raging fire, he said, “Give me your hand, darlin’, I’ll take it from there.” Women everywhere creamed their jeans.

  But it took years for that film to build a following. And by that time he was deep into his drug haze.

  He never really wanted to do the work to make that career happen. He just wanted to get noticed and discovered, like Lana Turner at Schwab’s Pharmacy soda counter.