I clear my throat and stare him down. "Walk away from me, Michael."
"Peter—"
"Do it. Right now. I've already made myself clear to you on the subject of me and Amber. We're not going to do it again."
He sighs. "Fine. I'll see you tonight."
"Yes."
And then he does what he's told, and walks towards the door to the lot—away from me.
Shit. If Clay is worried about it, that's not a good thing. He's a brilliant director, but also known for being one of Hollywood's biggest gossips. There's nothing Clay Markham doesn't know about anyone and everyone. I'll talk to him tonight, since he already left set. Do some damage control I suppose. But first, I need to talk to Amber. Give her a heads up about everything that's going to happen and be expected of us tonight.
She's still here on the set, and I walk up behind her. Gloria sees me first and taps Amber on the arm. When Amber finally turns, she hesitates for a second. "Gloria, will you give us a second?"
"Sure." She makes herself scarce, and even though I suspect that Gloria is like Clay, knowing everything about everyone, she's going places. She knows how to give space when it's needed. "What's up?" Amber asks.
"I'm sure Gloria has already told you about Fantasia?"
"Yeah," she laughs. "It's very Clay. But it should be fun for a little while."
I slide my hands in my pockets, because now that I'm this close to her, I have the urge to reach out and touch her, and I can't. "I know I said I'd let you pick the time and place, but it has to be tonight."
She frowns. "I'm fine with that, but why?"
"Michael wants to have the conversation with you about our creative partnership. I think it's important that we know first if we're going to have any other kind of partnership. That, and Clay is concerned about our kiss, and I'm sure you know why. I'll do damage control one way or another, but I need you to know how I'm spinning it."
She goes a little pale and sits down in her chair. "Yeah, that's my fault."
I take a step towards her so we're even closer. "Not entirely."
"I'm the director."
"You're used to saying cut not hearing it. I could have stopped kissing you. I didn't."
She looks up at me, painful hope in her eyes. "Why?"
"You know why." All the emotions that I've been pushing down are surfacing. I've tried to be distant, it didn't work. I tried to be angry, it didn't work. Devastated didn't work either. Fuck. I clear my throat. "I'll find you tonight," I say, and walk away. Because when we start this conversation, we're going to finish it, and this isn't the place.
My cock is rock hard again as I walk to wardrobe to change back into my own clothes. I'm going to have to figure out one hell of an image keep myself from getting in this state while filming, because no matter the outcome of our conversation tonight, I can't imagine a time where she's not going to turn me on.
I realize as I'm walking away that it doesn't matter what she says. Even if I have to just watch her from a distance on this set and then let her go. Amber is the one, and if that's all of herself that she'll give to me, then it will have to be enough.
11
Peter
Past
Mom went out to get some personal things at the store five hours ago. Obviously something is wrong, but I haven't been able to get a hold of her. I've been calling her phone obsessively, but no answer. She took my car, so I can't go looking for her. Shit. This feels way too familiar. But it's probably nothing, right? She'll be fine. She isn't the same. She's got her life back on track.
I call her phone again. Nothing. I should call Aunt Lily, but I don't. Not yet.
It's another hour of phone calls and nothing before I hear footsteps on the stairs. I open the door and she's there, hands with a couple of grocery bags and a big smile on her face. "Hi Peter!"
"Where have you been?" I ask as she pushes past me.
"Oh, you know, here and there."
I take the bags from her and put them on the kitchen counter. "It's been six hours. It doesn't take six hours to go to the grocery store."
"I was just taking my tiiiiiime, you know?" She flops down on the couch.
That's not the way she speaks. At least it's not the way she speaks when she's sober. There's a knot in my stomach and I turn back to the grocery bags. She said she was going to get tampons and make-up remover, and that she forgot a couple of other toiletries. But that's not what's in the bag. What's in the bag makes me dizzy, sending my mind flying backwards in time to the worst part of my life. In the bag are oranges, goldfish, some cheese sticks, and butterscotch candy. The other bag has a twelve-pack of beer.
Before I can think, I'm striding for the bathroom, making it only seconds before I'm retching over the toilet. Barely anything comes up, but it's enough. Enough to have me swirling in memories and anger. The urge to empty myself doesn't go away, my body trying to expel everything that has to do with this. I'm not sure how long it takes.
When I can finally keep myself from heaving, I flush and wash my face. And then I steady myself, because this is not going to be easy or fun. I walk back into the living room. "You're high?"
"I'm not high," my mother says dreamily, "I'm just really relaxed."
"Don't bullshit me, Mom. We've been here before. You don't think I recognize those groceries? Those are the things you bought every single day before you found whatever local dealer you could and snorted away the rest of the money." Only Amber knew that the smell of oranges still makes me nauseated.
Mom looks at me, and he eyes are glazed and bloodshot. I'm not sure how I missed it when she was coming up the stairs. "You know, Peter, for being my son you're way too uptight."
"Mom—"
"I'm so proud of everything you're doing, but you need to relax. You're too young to be so stressed out. You should be more like me. See? I'm not stressed out. I'm haaaaappyyyyyy."
I feel something inside me snap. "I should be more like you? Really? Thanks mom, but I'll pass."
"That's rude," she says.
"It's not rude. Not when I'm sure the rest of the money I gave you to buy the things you needed went to whatever you're on, and you still don't have the things you said you needed. I wasn't lying when I said I forgave you for what you did, but I didn't say that I was okay with you doing it again. You're going have to leave. I'm not going to be a flophouse for you to get high. You have a house in Virginia, and if you want to get high, go there."
"I don't have a house in Virginia."
I freeze. "What?"
"They kicked me out. Tony kicked me out. I don't have a job, or money. Please, you're my son. Just let me stay. I promise I'll be good."
It feels like an entire bucket of ice water has been dumped on my head. She lied. She lied about everything. "So you came here sober just so you would have a place to stay to do this again? I thought you were trying to get your life together. What about the salon?"