Bliss (21 page)

Oh, for Christ's sake
. Did Demi look like a terrorist in her bike shorts and T-shirt? What was it about her that struck fear in the heart of low-level authority figures? She was a bona fide magnet for officious assholes.

Demi ignored the PA and knocked on the trailer door. That act made him hyperventilate into his walkie-talkie. Sophia answered the door twenty seconds later, just in time to see two beefy giants bearing down on Demi.

Sophia shook her head at Demi. “She's with me,” she told the security guys. To Demi: “What is it with you?”

“Pissing people off is my art,” said Demi.

They let her go. She smirked at the PA and climbed the short steps to go inside. The two friends giggled and hugged tight. It'd been so long since they'd touched each other, since Demi hugged anyone with unconflicted happiness, she almost cried with relief. She thought,
This is my friend! My friend is here!

When they broke apart, both of them had tears in their eyes. They took each other in. Skype was awesome, but it was no substitute for breathing the same oxygen, and laying hands and eyes on a person. Demi noticed subtle changes in Sophia. Her hair was parted in the middle, not on the side as usual. Her makeup was heavy. She was thinner, not alarmingly so, but noticeably. Instead of her usual flirty, girly style, she was hipstered out, with a beanie and flannel, even.

“What going on?” asked Demi.

“What's going on with
you
?” asked Sophia.

With a start, Demi realized that Sophia was examining her, too, and found her appearance … lacking? Okay, yes, Demi wasn't exactly shimmering from the inside out with joy lately. But she thought she looked okay.

“Something amiss?”

“You look great,” said Sophia. “Just different.”

“I've been replaced by my evil twin,” said Demi. “Actually, I'm a Stepford Daughter. My dad is the best boss ever! I love doing redundant website bullshit all day! Desk lunches on the clock are fun!”

Sophia laughed. “Your robot body got skinny.”

She had lost weight. The combination of not pounding shots and biking to work every day had done the trick. In the month since her arrest, Demi had dropped ten pounds. Her legs were rippling, and her ass had never been harder.

“It's excellent to see what's left of you!” said Sophia.

“You, too, TV star!”

They hugged again. The second time felt even more solid and grounding than the first.

“What's with the bike?” asked Sophia. “I thought we could drive to Rodneys for lunch.” Their favorite seafood spot in Yalestown.

What to say? The whole truth and nothing but? “I'm saving money on gas,” she said instead. “We could just grab sandwiches from the craft table and stay here.” Saving money was Demi's prime directive, along with staying sober.

“Okay. But I'll do it. You wait here or they'll arrest you for stealing food.”

Sophia was laughing and giving Demi a hard time. Little did she know that her friend had recently been arrested. After she left, Demi gave herself the five-second tour of the trailer. Not much to see. A chair and mirror with a makeup kit and products on the table nearby. A scratchy fabric couch with a couple of rips and stains. The floor was a dark gray weather carpet, also stained in a few places. A dressing screen with a rack of clothes behind it. The trailer had some miles on it, like it'd been used by a thousand other actors. And now, it was Sophia's. She was the star of a network pilot. Demi had known it would happen for Sophia, but she was still amazed that it did.

Sophia returned, and they spread out their lunch on the couch between them and started eating.

“What are the chances that the show will film in Vancouver for the whole year?” asked Demi.

“One step at a time. First, the pilot. Then we wait to hear if we get picked up for a half or full season. They want me to get a place in LA, though, as soon as possible. I'm just thanking God the pilot is shooting here, or I would have been fucked.”

“Do you have your work visa yet?”

“Not for another two weeks, which is almost to the day I'll have to be in LA.”

“Cutting it close.”

“After all this time, to lose my chance because I didn't have the right paperwork? If my visa doesn't come in time, we're going to have to forge the documents. Or you can drive me to California in the Audi's trunk.”

The Audi. Right now, it was in her dad's garage. She couldn't drive it. She could sell it, but then she'd be without wheels when she got her license back.

“Okay, seriously, what's going on with you?” asked Sophia. “You have this insane look on your face right now.”

“Forget it,” said Demi. “Let's talk about how famous and rich you're going to get, and how you're going to thank me when you win your first major award. I wrote your speech already, if you'd like to hear it. ‘I'd like to thank the Academy, and Demi Michaels…'”

“Quit stalling. Just tell me. I know there's something you're dying to get out.”

“Oh, believe me, there isn't.”

“You
are
keeping something from me! Out with it! You didn't fuck James, did you?” She laughed at the very idea.

It was laughable. Only a self-destructive schmuck would get back into bed with a liar and a cheater, no matter how hot he looked that day at the food festival.

“Do I look like a self-destructive schmuck to you?”

*   *   *

Two weeks earlier …

James ushered her into the apartment that used to be hers. She thought it would look different now. Dirtier. Smellier. But the apartment looked pretty much the same. Obviously he couldn't do anything on his own, so he must have hired someone to do his laundry and clean.

“I've got a box of your stuff in the bedroom,” he said.

Like she'd follow him in there?
“I'll wait here,” she said, sitting on the couch.

He brought the box out and dropped it on the coffee table. There wasn't much in it. A few pairs of socks, a few books, a nail clipper, a mug. If it'd been his stuff, she would have thrown it in the garbage weeks ago.

“Thanks,” she said. “I've been looking everywhere for this clipper. I haven't trimmed my nails since we broke up.”

He actually looked at her hands. “I didn't ask you here just to give you this,” he said, sitting next to her.

“You're going to kill me?”

“I owe you an apology. I really am sorry how it worked out.”

“Are you begging my forgiveness?” Finally! She'd been waiting for this. In her fantasies, he sniveled and groveled at her feet. In reality, he was a bit detached, like testifying in court. Did the defendant show adequate remorse?

James said, “You can forgive me or not. That's up to you. I hope you do. I don't like the idea of someone out there hating me.”

Someone out there?
Okay, now it made sense. The impromptu closure session had a purpose—to absolve him of his guilt.

“I accept your apology,” she said. “But I'm not going to forgive you. I love grudges. They're like golden nuggets I can hold in my hand and rub for good luck. It gives me joy to hate you. I'm sorry, but it's true.”

He smiled (huh?). “I can live with that. I guess there's a thin line between love and hate. If you hate me, you still love me.”

“So you don't mind the idea of someone out there
loving
you?”

“What?”

Jesus, was he always so slow on the uptake? Without sex to distract her, Demi could see James more plainly. “I'm going to go,” she said.

“Okay, yeah, good idea.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We don't want anything to happen,” he said.

She scoffed. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“Right. Because you're leaving. Otherwise, it'd be only too easy to just…” He touched her hair, twirling a lock around his finger like he used to. She would have pushed him away, but it felt good, familiar. “I haven't been with anyone since you left,” he said.

The door was now wide open. Demi had the choice: Leave now with her pride and dignity intact, with memories of self-control to last a lifetime, or take him up on his sad offer of hollow sex, erode her self-esteem, and regret it forever.

How would she choose?

It had been an awfully long time since a man touched her.

His hand moved from her hair to her shoulder, rubbing. When he used to give her massages, she would say, “You knead me. You really knead me.” He knew exactly how to do it, good and hard. If nothing more, she knew exactly what she'd get out of a libidinous encounter—and, more important, what she wouldn't get. Sex with James would not be a reconciliation. There was no going back to living a lie.

Demi leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. She realized that sensation was enough. She didn't want any more from him emotionally or romantically. But sexually? She could have him, and then leave without a backward glance.

She made her move, locking lips before he knew what was happening. Their bodies fell on the couch, Demi taking off her clothes and his unhurried, not caring about being seductive. She was wearing old panties and she didn't care what he thought of them, or her leg stubble. She was amazed that he didn't seem turned off by it—not that she cared what he thought anyway. Instead of letting him lead, Demi took control. Freed from caring how she looked, Demi could concentrate on her own bliss only. At the finish, she released it all: the doubt, stress, resentment, everything she'd kept corked since the breakup. It was a revelation. All that time, she had thought their sex life was about her pleasure. But now she realized, it had been about feeding his ego.

Demi looked at James, a bit surprised he was there. Her experience was so inwardly focused, she'd nearly forgotten about him. But he looked up at her, enthralled, amazed, a bit afraid.

“Why weren't you like this when we were together?” he asked, gasping for breath.

“Would you have been faithful?”

He knew not to answer that. She got off him. “Thanks again for the stuff”—a phrase that had new meaning. She dressed quickly, picked up the box, and headed for the door.

*   *   *

In the trailer, Sophia said, “I didn't say you were a self-destructive…”

“It was empowering!” said Demi. “If I hadn't slept with him, I might still care about him. I'm telling you, just FYI, the best way to stop obsessing about your ex is to have sex with him and not care.”

Demi told Sophia the whole story. “The only problem was that I had to bike home with the box balanced on the handle bars,” she said. “I'm lucky I wasn't arrested again … oh, yeah. So. A few other things happened.”

Sophia didn't seem to breathe while Demi updated her on recent events—getting fired, the arrest, the verdict. “I know I should have told you, but I had to lay low, and then you got the part and I didn't want to bring you down. I know it sounds bad, but I've got my bike. I'm over James. It sucks working for my dad, but I'm making money. It's all good.”

Sophia shook her head. “It's not good. It's awful. DUI? Sex with James? If you said you did it because you were horny, or lonely, or wanted to screw him for screwing you,
that
I'd believe. But to empower yourself? Here's an orgasm, James, thanks for the dose of girl power? He'd have to
pay
a hooker to fuck and leave. You did it for free. What's next? Having James's baby to prove you're over him? And I don't trust Sarah. She did a nice thing that one day, but she's got a mean streak. You're right back under your dad's thumb. I love him like my own, but Richard is a control freak. You have
got
to get out of Vancouver, and away from all these people! If the show gets picked up, you're coming to LA with me. We've been talking about living together since we were fourteen years old. This is our chance. You could get a driver's license, too, and start over with a clean slate.”

Demi had dual citizenship. Her parents had been living in Seattle when they had her. Unlike Sophia, she didn't need a work visa or any paperwork to move to California. All she had to do was pack up and go—and find the cash to do it.

“If we move in together, are you going to be as blunt as you are right now? Because forget it,” said Demi.

“Did you tell Sarah you slept with James?”

“No.” But she had, and Sarah thought the story was hilarious.

A knock on the trailer door. Sophia opened it. It was the flannel-shirted PA. “Ready on set,” he said, and glared at Demi.

“I'm mad at you,” said Sophia. “And I'm probably going to stay mad for the next hour. But after that, we're going to talk about this move so I can keep an eye on you.”

She left, and Demi sat for a few minutes thinking about it. She had to admit, it felt pretty sweet to be yelled at by Sophia. Like old times.

*   *   *

“So what do you think?” Demi asked Catherine that night.

Catherine tried Demi's stew, just out of the oven. “Too hot,” she said.

“I meant California,” said Demi. “I don't think I could leave the only place I've ever known. Saying adios to my parents and siblings? I'm happy for Sophia, and it'd be fun to have a front-row seat when she becomes a star. But that's
her
life. What am I going to do in LA? Mope around an empty apartment while she's off being fabulous? I could look for a job, but my résumé is as thin as a mint. I'll get bored and start drinking again, I know it.”

Catherine nodded as Demi explained her rationale. “Why do you think Vancouver is safe and secure for you? I've only known you for a couple of months, and you've been in quite a lot of trouble. I understand why you're afraid to let it go. But if you stay, you won't grow. If I were you, I'd be packing already.”