Resist (9 page)

Chapter 8

Vie

I
couldn’t deny it was a strange phenomenon watching two people have sex. Yes, I understood that the film Blaine was shooting wasn’t porn. It wasn’t even commissioned. It was an art house movie that would do well overseas no doubt but would appear in very few U.S. theaters due to the NC-17 rating it would no doubt acquire from the Motion Picture Association of America—or MPAA as most lay people knew the prestigious film board.

The sex scene was shot in an arty way so that those who did see the film would always wonder—were they or weren’t they actually having sex? There were no up close shots of Zed fucking Brigitte, no “money shots,”—as they were referred to in the porn industry but still, it was explicit.

This was something completely and utterly brand new to me because I innately knew if I’d been asked to witness this even several months ago, my answer would have been “Absolutely fucking no! Do I look like a pervert to you?” But now, I could watch it and not noticeably squirm in my seat.

It was a much longer process than I thought it would be since Blaine had to often call “Cut and print.” He would make some suggestions about positions, modify the lighting and then continue where they left off. How either one of them found pleasure in an experience so mechanical was beyond me.

Or rather how Brigitte found much to satisfy herself I should say. Zed actually looked bored half the time during takes when he wasn’t looking in my direction like I’d actively betrayed him by agreeing to dinner at The Polo Lounge with Blaine.

Granted his brother probably made it seem more romantic than it was when in fact, it was a business dinner with two studio execs for the upcoming reality show,
WAGs
. The show was in pre-production and they wanted to meet with both of us since he was passing me off as his director-in-training. I would get co-Director credits while he would get all the glory under his real name of Blaine Pascal-Baasch.

The network didn’t want anything to do with his underground film name not to mention it would both fuck with his “street cred” and he’d be taken less seriously for the work that paid him the most money. What the network had offered him and he’d signed with his contract was a shit load of money and nothing to laugh at but he’d opened a business account with both our names on it afterwards. Basically, he handed me the checkbook, debit card and an American Express Business Platinum card, and told me they were free for me to use, as I desired.

At first I couldn’t believe it but then my degrees kicked in and I knew it was reverse psychology at play here. The only reason why he trusted me with all that money is because he knew I was the type to never spend it frugally. Hell, I’d bought my car with money from my personal savings account for Christ’s sake.

I shopped at Target for my toiletries and general household items, mid-level department stores or thrift shops for clothes, DSW for shoes and Victoria’s Secret for my undergarments and sleepers—I wasn’t the
type
of woman who wasted money on the trivial.

I still was a bit stunned about how the whole episode had played out but wasn’t that the original intent? Isn’t that what we’d discussed on the plane? Me, actually seeing him in action, and watching the way he worked changed everything.

He was a perfectionist of the highest order who wouldn’t stop until everything was exactly how he wanted it to be. It was grueling on the actors but I also knew he would give me hell when we began to work together.

I was dedicated and wanted to prove I was capable of getting the job done. Even if I’d initially come along to study pop culture—not to be an actual part of it—I was now and it was an opportunity I would fail to let go to waste.

I supposed the best way to study it was to actually do it but I couldn’t hide behind my nerves. I was scared to death of what might happen between the two of us, even if I was good at hiding it.

Part of it had to do with the way I felt about Blaine. I liked him. A lot. I knew he had a dark side I’d barely scratched the surface with discovering but that was part of the allure, wasn’t it? I hated that side of me that could also own to liking Zed but for different reasons.

Blaine wanted to possess me thoroughly and whole-heartedly. Although he should have seemed vulnerable, he didn’t.

At least not to me.

Zed had more of a “little boy lost” vibe going on. Yes, I was attracted to him but it mostly came out of a deep maternal instinct I had no idea I possessed. I just wanted to hold him and love him and maybe let him fuck me if that made him feel better but I wasn’t so sure about how I would feel afterwards. Probably not the same way I felt if I gave my body over to Blaine—I knew that much at the bare minimum.

Blaine suddenly called, “Cut and print. Okay, why don’t we all take a quick break? When we come back, we’ll move on to you strangling Brigitte and then we’ll wrap for the day.”

I forced myself out of my thoughts as he sat next to me and turned my way. “So, what do you think? Are you a nervous wreck or is everything all right?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled at him with genuine warmth. “What exactly did you tell your brother about our dinner at The Polo Lounge? He’s been glaring at me all day. Did you lead him to believe it was a date?”

He ran his perfect fingers through his dark hair. “So what if I did? It’s to get him off your back more than anything. He’s completely obsessed with you—”

“I’m sure you tell that to all the girls,” I said before a light laugh escaped from between my slightly parted lips.

“No, I
don’t
.” His crystal blue eyes glanced into mine with an almost desperate look of contrition. “I don’t know what’s so special about you, Vie. It’s not just the whole ‘virgin’ thing but I worry about his . . . state of mind. If he doesn’t get any better, I will have to call Mom and Dad. They’ll keep it quiet while they slip him into The Ranch again. It’s where he always goes when he kinda just slides off the edge, you know what I mean?”

“Actually, I don’t,” I said in a measured tone. “I mean . . . would he be going for drug addiction?”

“No.” Blaine laughed in an off-handed manner. “He’s not addicted to drugs. He uses them but they hold no sway over him what so ever. I . . . thought you knew. All those late night texts you two traded back and forth and he never told you he suffered from sex addiction?”

It was my turn to be taken aback. “I’m sorry?
What
does he suffer from? Your parents told me it was agoraphobia.”

“Well, he suffers from that too but not to the extent he did when we were kids. His real issue now is clinically termed as hypersexual disorder with obvious signs of love addiction. He fixates on a person and becomes . . . obsessive and manipulative. Most of the time, he gets over it and moves on to someone else but he hasn’t been with you yet and that’s what concerns me. I’m not sure how far the depths of his so-called devotion go for you but I cannot allow him to hurt you or . . . himself. It’s too dangerous, too risky,” he explained in a quiet voice.

“Do you really think he would hurt me?” I wondered out loud before I bit my bottom lip.

“I can’t say for certain. That’s the whole reason why Zavi and I are both concerned about his behavior. I don’t even know if he should be acting right now. Is it just me or was he particularly brutal with Brigitte at certain times?”

I smiled though there was little mirth. “I can’t honestly answer that question because I’ve never seen two people have sex before in real life and . . . she looked like she enjoyed whatever he did to her. I suppose it depends on the person? If he was brutal then perhaps she likes pain and craves it when she’s experiencing sexual intercourse. Maybe it makes her orgasms that much more intense?”

Blaine leaned over and cradled my face with his hands before his right thumb traced my bottom lip. “I forgot I’m talking to a young woman who craves the violence of sex but is too frightened to actually go through with it. Perhaps today may . . . change your mind about what you are missing? Are you ready to explore your own dark desires or is it easier to live vicariously through others? I can tell you for certain that watching two people have sex is nothing like being a participant.”

How was I supposed to answer a question like that?

Of course I wanted to explore my own dark desires but what would happen if I did? Who should I explore them with? What would transpire between the brothers once I chose a lover? These were all relevant questions and yet I couldn’t bring myself to answer them let alone speak them out loud.

My mouth threatened to spill open with words I’d left unsaid but Zed and Brigitte appeared looking both angry yet anxious to finish up the day’s work.

“Look, I get it—you’re trying to woo your little virgin into sleeping with you but some of us have places to be,” Zed announced callously. “Would it be
possible
to finish up this scene sometime today?”

Blaine glared at his brother and probably had an equally cruel retort ready and willing to be fired off but I grabbed his shoulder with my hand before he could say anything.

“Finish up here, all right? I’ve seen all I need to see and I seem to be an unnecessary distraction. I’m going to take a run on the beach, all right?”

I ignored the pleading of his eyes for me to stay. It simply wasn’t possible. I needed to get out of here.

Now.

Before I fell for Zed even more and displaced feelings he wasn’t clearly worthy of. If anything, I should have been emotionally saving in Blaine. If anyone would save me from myself, it was him.

M
y run on the beach proved to be therapeutic and seemed to purge me of all sexual thoughts. As I ran in the sand, my Nikes often barely making purchase, I felt purified and cleansed of all lustful thoughts. I didn’t have to think about the ways Zed made Brigitte come and I could focus solely on myself.

I ran until I couldn’t run anymore and collapsed on a patch of sand with my ear buds still planted in my ear, “Little Bad Girl” taunting me as it continued to play as I rested on the beach. Shutting off my iPod Touch, I slipped the buds out of my ears and gazed at the waves as they claimed parts of the beach before receding.

L.A. always reminded me of a Lana Del Rey song, no matter how hard I tried for my vision to be different. I loved the singer-songwriter like no other because of her retro-glamour, cigarette-and-alcohol soaked voice and her penchant for the uncomfortable yet fascinating topics she chose to write about.

Rebel lovers.

Drugs.

Alcohol.

Pain.

The miserable beauty of life
and
death.

In short, everything I gladly suffered from yet refused to acknowledge because it would tear my perfectly neat world apart.

I flipped through one of my playlists and played “Ultraviolence” as I watched the waves.

Was I really beauty and filled with a quiet rage while being poisonous to everyone who dared to touch me or get close to me?