One More Time(11)

Had he known me that well? Or was he just familiar with the same self-doubt? Or had the moment our bodies joined for the first time carried so much power that the words he’d spoken had life? A prophecy made real by emotion.

The last thing I remember thinking that night was how secure I felt in his arms. The knowledge that I was loved, and cherished, even worshiped. It gave me a sense of home I’d not had in three trips around the globe.

But all of that’s a memory now. One that I’d be better off forgetting. Just because Tanner encouraged me to get where I am today doesn’t mean anything. Just because I once called him home doesn’t mean there’s any place for me in his life anymore.

I’ll respect his personal space. We’re adults. We’re professional. We’re good.

I seem to have convinced Tanner. If I say it enough times, maybe I’ll believe it, too.





Tanner





In some parts of the world, rain on an important day is usually considered bad luck. Since we’re in Los Angeles, where drought is part of everyday life, the mood is a combination of cheer and wariness. Every time thunder booms and lightning brightens the sky, everyone on set jumps. We need the moisture, but we aren’t used to the accompanying show.

It’s three hours into what is scheduled to be a twelve-hour day and we’re already two scenes behind. It’s raining hard enough that the camera operators have to cover their gear and their bodies in special tech ponchos, but I’m still holding out hope that the clouds will close so we can finally get to the scene we’ve been delaying for the past hour.

Right now I’m starting to think I’m not going to get my way.

Hurry up and wait. Again.

I usually handle the on set stop-and-go with a good amount of patience. Today, not so much. It’s taking all the energy in my body not to bite every nail off my fingers. People are huddled in the craft services tent, sipping steaming cups of coffee and chatting while I just want to scream at them to move the entire set to a soundstage so we can get moving already.

Today has to go perfectly.

It’s the day that Jenna and I are shooting our first scene together. Or, it’s supposed to be the day. For the past sixty minutes we’ve been standing three feet from each other, not speaking, as the powers that be – in this case both Mother Nature and our director - decide our fate. Time spent not shooting costs money. I know this is as annoying to Polly as it is to me, if not more so, but I’m self-absorbed in my anxiety and can’t believe that anyone is as worked up about this delay as I am.

As producers call studios who call execs and watch the weather reports, Jenna whispers into her phone. Yeah, I’m watching her. I pretend to play Backgammon on mine, while sneaking sidelong glances and wondering if it’s her new boyfriend she’s whispering to. Wondering, if so, what he’s like. Does he know about us? About our past? He must. Everyone does. I wonder if he’s as jealous of me as I suddenly am of him.

Finally, she hangs up. And now we’re just standing here, ignoring each other and waiting.

I take a deep breath and turn to talk to her, but think better of it. If she were interested in conversation, she’d at least have looked at me. My breath whooshes out, enough to cause her to glance my way. When our eyes meet, I feel a jolt of electricity and I could swear I see some softness there before the disinterest slides in.

She’s quick to look back down at her phone, but I stare just a little longer. Long enough to fix her in my head to enjoy later—probably while jerking off in my trailer.

That should take the edge off.

The kelly green sundress she’s wearing is cut short, allowing those famous mile-long legs to take center stage. As I gaze at her, a gust of wind billows through, lifting her dress just enough for me to see a peek of the lacy panties beneath, just enough to tease me. She still likes to match her underwear to her outfit, I see. I look forward again just before she catches me looking, and I see her smoothing the fabric back down out of the corner of my eye.

It takes every skill I’ve ever learned to keep my pants from tenting like a primary school boy in front of the cheer squad. Do not think about Jenna in a cheer uniform, I scold myself, and it’s only the next crash of thunder that knocks the idea out of my mind just in time. When Jenna startles at it, I actually take a step in her direction, the action so natural that it takes a second before I remember that she doesn’t want me to hold her. That I’m not her comfort anymore.

It’s fucking torture.

Being in such close proximity to her has my head messed up, and the past bleeds into the present. Was it really all that long ago that we were so easy together? We would have huddled to watch this storm in each other’s arms, maybe snuck off to fool around behind the fake post office while everyone was busy deciding what to do next.

“Everyone listen up!” Polly yells as she jogs over. “We’re postponing this for weather, moving onto the next scene. You know what to do!”

There is an audible groan across the lawn where a couple dozen people have spent several long hours setting a picnic scene, and then shielding it from the rain. If I’m frustrated with the pace today, I can’t imagine how the crew feels.

I turn to Jenna, hoping for the chance to turn this into a conversation, but the set of her shoulders tells me she’s upset. My mouth opens again to break our silence, then, almost as if she anticipates it, her jaw tightens. It hits me that maybe she isn’t ready for the next scene. It wasn’t on the schedule, and she’s new to all this. She might not know that on set, you have to be ready for anything.