by
Reagan Kavanagh
Thomas
I
was worried about him,
and that’s a comparatively rare occurrence.
It wasn’t the
temper tantrum that followed the call from
Denise; I was
accustomed to that, and ignored it. What
surprised me was his resignation to reality, and his rapid and
subsequent
decision that he wasn’t in love with Denise, else he would
have
married her long
since.
It wasn’t that
he’d not
had the
opportunity many times over.
Frankly, I
was glad he’d come to that realisation. I
was convinced that the only thing about Derek that Denise seriously
wanted – or
loved – was his money, and the fact that having access to it
meant she’d never
have to work again as long as she lived …not that
she’d
ever seriously worked
at anything longer than a few months anyway.
Additionally, and in all
honesty, while I do like the woman,
I’m not
particularly charitable where she’s concerned.
The simple fact is that some
women are “good” for
some men; Denise was
not “good” for Derek, just as some men are not
"good" for
some women.
While
Derek had slept the following day, I’d gone online and
searched
out hospitals that specialised in treatment of clientele under severe
stress
and dealt routinely with celebrity patients.
The last thing he needed at
that point in his life was having
the media
on his arse reporting that he’d had a meltdown, and it was
clear
he wasn’t
far from just that.
I’d located
several
places that looked promising and, after speaking with their medical
directors,
settled on The Priory in
Derek
was quiet on the
drive out of
I’d
already done the preadmission work, and Derek was whisked
through the check-in process and up the back stairs to his suite. The
only indication of identity was a
nameplate already on the door, “Marcus
Hamilton,” with
a “No Visitors/Medical
Staff Only”
placard beneath it.
The nurse who had shown us to
the suite took Derek’s
temperature and
blood pressure, and was clearly displeased with the blood pressure
reading.
She wouldn’t tell
Derek
what it
was, which irritated the piss out of him, but while she was checking
the suite
to make sure everything was in order, I cadged a glance at the notes
she’d left
on the front of his chart …175/115. Not
good; hopefully it would drop of its own accord before the bloke
stroked out on
me. If
it didn’t, I felt sure the
doctor
would address it medically.
Derek
found the suite’s data port and e-mailed his olds, letting
them
know where he was and why and saying they were to contact me if they
had any
concerns, then headed for the bathroom and started filling the
whirlpool.
He’d been soaking
for
about half-an-hour when
the doctor arrived.
Shock number one
–
she was female and number two, quite the looker into the bargain. I
went to roust Derek out of the tub and
found him asleep.
He managed to haul
himself up, toweled off, and pulled on one of the terry robes that was
hanging
on the door before following me into the lounge room.
The look on his face when he
saw the doctor
was priceless and I knew that if he hadn’t been so fucking
exhausted, he’d have
been sniffing her trail in a heartbeat.
They
went through what was in Derek’s chart – mostly
what
I’d told the
chief of staff when I pre-admitted him – then she –
Mrs.
Malloy – began asking
questions and making notations of her own.
He told her about the pub
brawl the preceding week, and she said
she
would schedule skull x-rays and an MRI before proceeding with the
planned
induced sleep.
She gave him a pager and
told him to have a walk about the grounds if he liked, and that she
would have
him paged when she got his tests set up.
We watched her walk down the
corridor – that woman had a
truly fine arse
and pair of tits on her – and Derek shrugged, and went into
his
room to dress.
He came back, picked up the
pager, and went
for a walk outdoors. He
returned about
45 minutes later; we’d paged him, as the chef had brought the
dinner menu up,
and was waiting to see if what was on it would suffice or if Derek
wanted
something else.
Derek glanced over the
menu and seemed satisfied, so we ordered dinner. When
it arrived, I popped in a DVD and we
watched that while we had dinner until a nurse brought him a sedative,
which he
took with no argument.
Placid and
agreeable were not behaviours I’d come to expect from Derek,
particularly over
the last year, and I realised again how wrung out he had to have been
to be so
compliant.
He was yawning by the time
the late news came on, and went to bed before the newscast was done. He
slept the night through, as nearly as I
could tell – I’d decided to stay with him that
first night,
rather than going
to my hotel – and had apparently only just wakened when I
went in
the next
morning to tell him the orderly was there to take him for his tests.
Chapter
Two
Derek
The
x-rays and MRI
of my skull were
“non-remarkable,” to use Mrs. Malloy’s
term, which I
interpreted to mean that I
still had at least two neurons firing, and that the induced sleep they
were
about to begin wasn’t likely to cause any “further
brain
trauma.”
I interpreted that last to
mean that although
I’d probably burned out more than a few billion brain cells
as a
function of my
alcohol consumption and admitted brawling over the years, I still had
enough to
get on with my life and in a meaningful fashion. Getting
on with my life was one thing …at the
moment, that meaningful part seemed a bit elusive.
Nonetheless, they scheduled
me to start the
sleep bit at noon, so I went for a last hot soak in the whirlpool
…might as
well be nice and clean if I was going down for a long sleep, right? Ten
minutes before the doctor arrived to begin
the IV that would keep me hydrated and fed while I was asleep, I went
for a
piss and, as I was standing there, I realised that I’d have
to be
catheterised
while I was unconscious.
That was not
something I looked forward to, and prayed they’d wait until I
was
unconscious before they did that. It
also occurred to me the other necessary bodily function probably
wouldn’t take
a holiday either, and I definitely didn’t want to think on
that
…some things
you’d just prefer leaving to someone else to sort out.
I
pulled on a pair of
briefs and a bathrobe, and
went into the lounge to sit with Thomas until the medical crew arrived
to get
things started.
I’d barely sat when
there was a knock on the door, and in walked Mrs. Malloy and a nurse,
without
having waited for either Thomas or me to respond. Now
I appreciate health care institutions as
much as the next bloke, but it always pisses me off that they tap on
the
fucking door and then walk in without so much as a bye-your-leave. For
all they knew, I could have been sitting
there having myself a bit of a good time, and they’d have
walked
in and caught
me in mid-wank.
Not that I’d ever
do
that in the lounge, but how the fuck did they know I wouldn’t? In
all truth, it wouldn’t have
embarrassed me
that much, but I suspect it would have near done them in.
Mrs.
Malloy directed me into the bedroom and told me to get into bed;
I did, leaving my bathrobe at the foot of the bed, as I always do. She
picked it up and handed it to Thomas who
returned it to the hook on the bathroom door …obviously I
wouldn’t need it for
a while, and I suppose she didn’t want it getting in the way. She
checked my blood pressure and temperature
and commented that the former had “returned to normal
limits.”
That surprised me, as
I’d already spotted the
catheter apparatus on the tray that the nurse wheeled in and was
getting dodgy
about that.
Fortunately, I
didn’t
have
long to worry about it, as Malloy looked at the nurse and told her to
get the
IV started.
I’m
always skeptical of women that look like the back end of one of my
cows, which this one assuredly did, but I had to give her credit. She
asked if I was right- or left-handed, and
I told her right.
She picked up my left
hand, lightly tapped the back of it until the veins stood up, then
swabbed it
with alcohol and, Bob’s your uncle, she had the needle in and
taped in place
before I even realised what she was doing.
Never felt so much as a
pinprick.
She rolled an IV stand over
next to me and hung the bag of fluid
– Lactated
Ringer’s, whatever the fuck that was – and opened
the
stopcock on the tube and
whatever it was started flowing into my vein.
I looked at the doc.
“Am
I supposed to be getting sleepy?
If so, we’re in
trouble, because I’m not.” She
laughed.
“Give
me a moment, and then tell me that.” Well,
then.
I can - on occasion - be a
patient man, and this was clearly a
good time
to practice that skill.
Malloy walked
round
and picked up a syringe off the cart and held it up to the light,
flicked it a couple
of times with her fingers, making sure there were no bubbles when the
clear
liquid shot out the needle.
She slid the
needle into the port on the IV and looked up at me.
“Ready
for a nap?”
I
nodded.
“Good. Count
backwards from 100 for me.” The
last
thing I recall is managing to get to
97 before the veil descended.
The next
minute I was blinking awake and thinking that the damned sedative
hadn’t
worked, whilst also realising that I had to piss like a race horse. There
was no IV in my hand, only a tiny
band-aid where it had been, and I sat up …wrong move. If
Thomas hadn’t been sitting right
beside
the bed, I’d have done a header straight to the floor. Fortunately,
he caught me and pulled me back
into a more or less sitting position.
“I
gotta piss,” I said, surprised to hear how badly I was
slurring
the
words and how hoarse and rough my voice sounded. Thomas
snorted at me.
“I
would think so …they removed the catheter over five hours
ago,” already
dragging me to my feet and propelling me into the loo with his arm
about my
waist.
I started fumbling for my fly
and
realised my briefs were gone.
Okay,
guess that made sense.
It was certainly
one less obstacle for me to overcome and at that point, I
wasn’t
dealing too
well with obstacles.
I was praying that
I could see well enough to aim without pissing all over the room and
finally
got it centered and let go …and started to curse.
Removing the catheter after
its having been
in place for 36 or so hours had left me raw, and it burnt like a
bastard.
I looked at Thomas and came
out
with what I
considered a very astute observation, given my condition.
“Remind
to always wear a franger, Mate, because if this is what the
clap feels like, I’m not interested in trying it.” He
gave me a look …well, fuck. I’d
thought it was pretty funny.
He got me back to the bed and
sort of rolled
me into it, with me telling him I wanted to go sit in the lounge.
“Not
yet, Mate.
Doc says you’ll
need at least an hour for your head to clear before you try anything
other than
taking a piss.
And you know I’ll
keep
you here, if necessary.” Yeah,
I
knew
that well enough, so I just lay back and let my mind wander. And
started thinking about Kelsey, and that I
really needed to see her again.
She was
probably the only person I knew who had the knack for making me see
reality for
what it was and helping me get my head on straight again.
Not to put too fine a point
on the matter,
she’d tell me to piss off and get over myself in a heartbeat.
Kelsey
Brannigan …probably the best female mate I’d ever
had and
someone that Denise had never known existed.
Yes, I am very good at
keeping secrets when it suits my purpose
…on
occasion, I might tell a lie, but I can
keep a secret.
Kelsey was both a former
and current lover,
though the actual romantic affair had been a short-term thing. We’d
cut that short when we’d both
realised
that being anything other than mates having a good root when time and
circumstance permitted would have probably resulted in murder or mayhem
– or
both - given time.
Still, we’d kept
in
touch over the years, and right now I really needed a woman I could
just be
with, a woman who wouldn’t judge me,
and who truly loved me for who – rather than what –
I was,
as I loved her.
We’d never really
been in love in the way I’d
always dreamt about, but honestly did love each other deeply. And
yes, to answer your question before
it’s
asked, Kelsey is the best fuck-buddy about …better even than
Denise had been, because
with Denise, there was always a payback waiting just round the corner. Knowing
that in advance tends to take a bit
of the charm out of the occasion, don’t you think?
Chapter
Three
I’d
met her almost eight years earlier, on my first trip to the
States.
My first role in American
films
had been in a western, and Kelsey was the technical consultant for the
historical
period we were portraying.
I hadn’t
liked her at first; she was brash and outspoken, not at all intimidated
by my
blustering, and had told me I was full of shit when it came to
historical
accuracy regarding the American West. I
was fucking furious at her until she told the film’s director
the
same thing,
and offered to walk then and there if they didn’t intend
taking
her advice,
saying she wasn’t interested in having her name and
reputation
attached to a
piece of crap.
She’d turned and
walked
off the set, and I’d watched what was a truly lovely bum as
she
retreated.
She
was tall, taller than the women that usually got my attention, and
what I’d have to call a handsome woman rather than beautiful. Throughout
the filming process, I never saw
her in anything other than stovepipe jeans, a vest with a
man’s
shirt
over it unless it was unusually warm that day, and a very well battered
pair of
cowboy boots.
I remember the first time
I saw her peel off the shirt and toss it away, and stride onto the set
in that
vest.
It was hot that day, and all
of us
were sweating bullets.
What got my
attention was the fact that in spite of the heat, her nipples were
clearly
visible – hard and upright – in spite of her bra. I
knew she was wearing a bra, because I could
see the straps just under the strap of her vest. I’d
not have expected that physiological
reaction unless it was cold outdoors ...maybe anger made her nips stand
at
attention, because she was angry as all hell.
She’d spent ten
minutes chewing the director’s arse,
then started on
mine, and I realised that the angrier she became, the harder her
nipples pushed
against the fabric of her bra and that fucking vest.
She’d finally
turned on her heel and strode
offset, anger rippling off her in waves; patience isn’t
Kelsey’s long suite any
more than it’s mine.
Battered cowboy
boots, stovepipe jeans, white vest, and a lion’s mane of
taffy-coloured hair
flying back from her face.
Now that may
not sound like a good combination to you, but it fucking got to me. I
was so hard that I could barely walk for
the better part of an hour …shocked the shit out of me, as
I’d never really
thought of her that way but, there you go.
I was
off set early that day, and stopped by her caravan with a couple
of questions …no, not what you think. I
really did have a couple of technical questions, because if
I’m
going to do a
role, I’m fucking well going to do it properly and to the
best of
my
ability.
I have a bit too much
professional integrity to do anything less, and I have to live with
myself.
I’d knocked on the
door and
she
threw it open a few tics later and leant against the door frame,
looking at me as if she
were sizing me up …and for what, I wasn’t sure I
wanted to
know.
All in all, she was an
intimidating
woman,
whether she intended that or not, and it was my intention to respond
politely
to anything she might say.
I was in no
hurry to have my bollocks ripped off with her teeth, and she looked
ready to do
just that.
“Yeah? Something
on your
mind?”
I nodded and pulled the pages
of
the next day’s script out of my hip pocket, and got just the
response I’d
anticipated …caustic. “Okay,
you can
read …score one for the Aussies. Can
you
also talk when you’re not in front of a camera?
If not, this is going to be a
very tedious consultation.”
I
looked at her, developing a major case of the irrits at her attitude,
and my
polite intentions went straight to hell.
“Yeah,
I can fucking talk, and I have a couple of questions about some
of the details in tomorrow’s script …if you
don’t
object to earning your
crust.”
I was fighting mad by that
time,
and didn’t realise that part of what was driving my anger was
lust.
She was still wearing that
fucking
vest,
nipples still straining hard against it, still angry enough to chew
nails, and
with the desert wind whipping that mane of hair round her face, she was
probably the sexiest thing I’d seen in months.
And then she laughed.
“Well,
Cowboy, come on in.
I do
prefer earning my crust, as you put it, and have been trying to do that
ever
since this fucking film started.” She
stood aside as I stomped into the caravan and she closed the door
behind
me.
She must have had the
air-conditioning set somewhere close to 50, because I felt like
I’d just stepped onto the Southern Polar cap.
“Sit.” She
motioned me
to the sofa and walked into
the kitchen.
“You
want a beer?”
I nodded,
and she returned with two.
“Okay,
what
do you want to know?”
I
told her what my concerns were and she answered succinctly then,
before I could ask for more information, she clarified the points in
detail.
She knew her discipline, no
doubt about that, and I appreciated her expertise.
I was also becoming painfully
aware that I
wanted her.
The woman was fucking sex on
legs, if you know what I mean, but if she was aware of that fact, she
certainly
didn’t let on.
Nonetheless, she
absolutely radiated sex and sitting in that closed caravan with her was
almost
more than any man with a pair hanging should be expected to endure. She
wasn’t beautiful in the popular
sense
…too tall, too angular, too slender, high cheekbones that
looked
like they’d
been sculpted in marble, huge eyes and full lips; she was a classical
beauty.
I could almost see her
profile on
the face of
an ancient Roman coin, or as an ancient Celtic warrior queen, astride a
charging horse and leading her tribe into battle. What
I couldn’t imagine was seeing her
vanquished in any sense of the word, and I’d realised in a
heartbeat that
knowing her in the Biblical sense of the word would be the experience
of a
lifetime.
Turned out, I’d
never been
more right in my life.
We’d
got to talking about how each of us got to where we were.
I told her my struggling
actor story (hell, I
was still struggling at that point, and praying to Christ that this
film would give
me the gateway into American films that I’d worked so hard to
attain).
She’d told me hers
…putting herself through
university and then graduate school (she had two Masters degrees
– one in
ancient world history and the second in the history of the American
West), her
marriage and divorce, then moving to Southern California and answering
an ad in one of the
trade journals seeking a historian for a film about the Civil War. She
said she’d worked her arse off on
that
first film, as the American Civil War wasn’t her forte, but
she’d spent every
night doing research and had pulled it off.
She’d worked
steadily ever since, and this was the tenth
film she’d
collaborated on about the American West.
By
the time we stopped talking, it was dark, and we’d missed the
last
call for rides back into town, which meant we were stuck there for the
night.
She’d looked me up
and down
before she spoke.
“Well,
you don’t look like a rapist, which is good since
you’re
obviously spending the night here. You
get the sofa; the bed is mine.
You
hungry?”
I was ravenous, and not
just
for food, but only admitted to the latter.
“I
keep enough food here to survive for a couple of days.
I often get absorbed and
don’t hear the last
call for rides.
Steak and baked potatoes
okay?
I think I have salad stuff,
too.
That do you?”
I told her it would, because
by that time, I
could have eaten the arse end of a racehorse and chased the jockey. She
pulled steaks from the ‘fridge,
whipped
up some sort of marinade and tossed them into it, and told me that if I
wanted
to eat, I’d best get a fire going and pointed me to the grill
behind her caravan.
I got the fire started
and went back
inside.
She was scrubbing a couple of
potatoes at the sink, and announced that she was out of beer
…would bourbon or
scotch work?
Bourbon was fine, I said,
and she pointed me to the bookcase where a bottle each of bourbon and
scotch
stood against more history books than I’d ever seen outside a
library.
“Scotch
for me …straight up, with two ice cubes.”
I poured for both of us and
sipped my drink
as I leant against the counter, watching as she sliced tomatoes (she
was wicked
with that chef’s knife) and tore lettuce into a bowl. That
went into the ‘fridge and the
potatoes
into the oven to bake while we waited for the fire to burn down enough
to cook
the steaks.
When she’d done
with
that,
she turned and looked at me, ran her fingers through that tumble of
hair, and
put her hands on her hips before she spoke.
“So,
when are you going to get up your courage?” I’d
looked at her, having no idea what she
was talking about, but I suppose the look on my face answered her
question
without my having said anything.
“You’ve
wanted to kiss me for at least the last two hours
…don’t
think
I’ve bitten any man lately who tried it, so what’s
stopping
you?”
And, mate, that was all I
needed to
hear.
I was on her like dirt on a
dingo,
pulling her hard into me, and doing a free tonsillectomy in nothing
flat.
Her hands were on my ass,
nails
digging in,
and by that time, I was hoping that fucking fire would take at least
two hours
to burn down to coals.
When I let her
go, we were both panting, and we looked at each other with lust-glazed
eyes.
“You
wanna fuck now or later …or both?”
“Both,”
I said and pulled her back into me hard and fast. Our
hands were everywhere, hers at the
buttons on my shirt while I was tugging her vest out of the waist of
her jeans,
then we were in the floor, pulling off boots and socks and wriggling
out of our
jeans.
She stopped me then, but only
for
a tic.
“You
got rubbers?”
I shook my
head; I really hadn’t figured on getting laid on this shoot
and
hadn’t bothered
to buy any.
She was on her feet in an
instant, into her bedroom, and back with a strip before I had time to
react,
tossing them at me as she reached back to unhook her bra.
When she did and stripped it
off, my mouth
went totally dry.
I’d seen some
gorgeous
tits in my life, but hers were truly exceptional. I
had one of the frangers torn loose and the
pack open and about to put it on when she took it from my hand and what
she did
then totally blew me away.
She fucking
put the thing on me with her mouth. It’s
a miracle I didn’t shoot my load right then.
I had her on her back on the
carpet and was inside her before
either of
us could think.
She
was as tight and hot and wet as her body was long and lean, and I
thought I’d found the fucking Pearly Gates when I hilted
myself
into her.
Those long legs came up, and
not
just to wrap
round my waist, but over my arms and onto my shoulders.
Christ!
The woman was a fucking
contortionist, and I doubted life could
get any better.
She was the first woman
I’d ever
known who apparently enjoyed fucking as much as a man, and she met me
thrust
for thrust, groaning as I slammed into her.
She came first, and then
again before I did, and met me with her
third
climax when I hit mine.
I swear to God,
I think my eyes rolled back in my head; that was abso-fucking-lutely
the best
fuck I’d ever had in my life, no contest and from the look on
her
face, I
think it was pretty damned good for her, too.
We just lay there in a sweaty
tangle of arms and legs, panting,
and
wearing silly self-satisfied grins and started laughing.
By the time we’d
managed to haul ourselves
off the floor, the coals had long since died, and potatoes were beyond
hope; we
ate the salad and headed for her bed. We
had the steaks the following night.
Chapter
Four
Needless
to say, when I awoke from the aftermath of the sedatives an
hour or so later and having been dreaming about Kelsey, I had a raging
hard-on,
and had decided that it was time to call her and head to Texas for a
visit
before I had to return to Baja for the retakes.
She answered the phone on the
third ring.
“Hey,
Baby, it’s Derek.” That
earned
me a snort
from her.
“Like
you think I don’t know your voice after all these years? What’s
the matter?
Not
getting laid these days?
How’s the
loaf, Honey?”
I had to laugh. That
was Kelsey.
Our
reunions always started with fucking
ourselves silly, but it wasn’t always me that called her. It
was about a 50/50 split.
Seemed we could only go so
long without a
mutual reality check and fuck festival before we just had to see each
other
again.
Of course, we talked on the
phone
and through e-mail on a regular basis, usually a couple of times a
month, but
only saw each other every six months or so.
That’s probably why
we still got on so well …never
spent enough time
together to get bored or out of sorts with each other, and that seemed
to work
well for both of us.
Her comment about
the loaf told me she’d seen the reports on my incident at the
pub
the preceding
week, and I knew when I got to her house, she’d chew on my
arse
about it for a
good while.
That was one of the things I
so loved about the woman.
She just was
not fucking impressed with me, and never missed an opportunity to jerk
me off
whatever pedestal I’d planted myself on most recently.
“The
loaf is fine …but I’m way fucking overdue for a
reality
check.
Okay if I come crash at your
place for a week …maybe ten days?” I
was
hoping to Christ she wasn’t on her way out the door to start
another film.
“Sure,
Baby.
Let me know your
flight number and ETA and I’ll pick you up at the
airport.”
“You
don’t need to do that …it’s a long drive
and I can
cab it.”
“And
miss seeing you trying to sneak through the airport without being
recognised?
No fucking way.
E-mail or call me
…see you in what?
Twenty-four
hours?”
“More
or less.
I’ll be in touch
as soon as I get the schedule set. Love
you, Honey.”
“You,
too.
Kisses to Thomas,”
and she hung up.
And that was what I
loved about the woman.
No demands, no
restrictions, just the best female mate any bloke could ever hope to
find.
The only problem was that I
wished
to hell we
were actually in love with each other, rather than just loving each
other
damned near to death.
I think marrying
Kelsey would have worked fine for me, but I’d asked her to
marry
me on a number
of occasions and she’d said flat-footed that she’d
never
marry again unless she
was in love …and love me though she did and I her, we
weren’t “in” love, and
that was that.
I just prayed that when
…if …I ever did fall in love and have the woman
fall in
love with me that she
would understand that my relationship with Kelsey would continue
unimpeded.
I know that’s
asking a
lot,
but that’s just how it is, or so I thought at the time.
I
hauled my ass up and sat on the side of the bed long enough to make
sure I wouldn’t do another header toward the floor, stood and
walked to the
bureau, pulling out underwear and socks, then got into a shirt and
jeans and
pulled on my boots just as Thomas walked in the door.
“Thought
I heard you up and about.
Feeling a bit steadier
now?”
I
nodded.
“Just talked to
Kelsey, and I’m heading to her place for a week or ten days. Would
you see how soon you can book me on a
flight to
“Want
me to come, or meet you in Baja?”
“Baja. You
staying here or
what?”
“Don’t
know …I may go home for a few …I’ll let
you
know.”
That was fine with me. The
man needed a break from me, and deserved
it.
He returned to the lounge,
and I
heard him on the phone to American Airlines as I threw shit into my
grip.
By the time I’d
finished he
was back.
“Got
you booked out in three hours.
Limo’s waiting when
you’re ready.
You’re on AA 079,
leaving Gatwick at two this afternoon;
ETA Dallas is six-thirty
tomorrow morning.
You want to call
Kelsey or shall I?”
“I’ll
call her …and Thomas?
Thanks, Mate. I
know I don’t
often tell you how much I appreciate all you do for me …but
I’d be totally
fucked without you.”
I meant that
sincerely,
because I honestly don’t know how I got along before he came
to
work with
me.
We’d been friends
before that,
but
the man’s ability to tolerate my shit was beyond
comprehension
and, once the
retakes were done and before the promo tour started, I was sending him
on a two-month
run to wherever the fuck he wanted to go, and having him take along any
and
everyone he liked.
There wasn’t much
I
could do for him, but I could give him two months away from me and my
shit, and
he deserved that.
He laughed and so did
I …a cover-up for our mutual affection.
“I
know you would …but my life would probably bore me to death
if I
wasn’t dealing with your shit, so I guess we’re
even.”
I
e-mailed my olds, telling them where I’d be if they needed
me,
then
called Kelsey, and told her I’d should be in about six-thirty
the
next morning,
reiterating that I’d cab it. Her
response was totally predictable.
“Fuck
that.
I have to be up by
four to take care of the horses at Suzanne’s (I’d
no clue
what that was about,
but figured I’d find out when I got there), and
I’ll head
to the airport once
I’m done with them.
I’ll see
you then,
Baby.
Have a good flight.” Thomas
had already checked me out of hospital
– against medical advice, of course – and I hung up
and we
headed for the limo
and
Chapter
Five
I
made the flight with half-an-hour to spare, and managed to get
through the airport without being obviously recognised.
Of course, Thomas had to make
the reservation
in my real name, which meant a ramp agent was waiting for me at the
ticket
counter.
I was whisked off to the
First
Class lounge while they checked my bag after clearing me through
security,
having checked my laptop for explosives devices (found none), thus
allowing me
to carry it on board, and I nursed a VB while I waited for them to call
the
flight.
The ramp agent came and got
me
about five minutes before they began boarding everyone else; I was
settled into
my seat when the rest of the passengers straggled on board. Thomas
always booked two seats for me, which
meant I didn’t have to sit next to some fuckwit who would be
nattering in my
ear the entire flight, and I was grateful for that.
Even though I’d
just come off 36-hours plus
of sleep, I was still pretty foggy from the sedatives, and was asleep
again
before we put wheels up.
I
must have slept halfway to
“Mr.
MacMurray?
We’ll be
serving breakfast in about twenty minutes …do you wish to
eat,
or would you
prefer being left alone and allowed to rest until we’re
half-an-hour out of
Dallas?”
I
stretched and thanked her for waking me, and said I could eat. As
I looked round I realised there were only
half a dozen other passengers in the first class cabin, which was nice. I
dug out my wallet, got my AmEx card and ran
it through the card link beside the data port, plugged in my laptop and
waited
for it to boot, then dialed up and started sorting through the e-mail
that had
accumulated while I’d been sleeping for the previous
day-and-a-half. There
was one from my Mum,
saying Thomas had
called them and told them I was on my way to Kelsey’s and
that
Denise had
issued a statement to the press that our relationship was over, and
publicly
giving me the flick.
Fuck! Just
what I needed, and
if I could have got my hands on Denise at that point, I’d
probably have
strangled her.
Nothing I could do about
it now, and e-mailed Mum back, telling her I’d call when I
got to
Kelsey’s and
assuring her that Thomas would take care of any damage control that
might be
needed in the wake of Denise’s bombshell.
I scrolled through the
incoming mailbox and saw there was one
from Denise,
with an attachment, which I felt sure was a copy of her statement to
the
press.
Her message was brief and to
the
point; she would be out of my house within 48 hours (the removalists
were there
when she sent the message), taking only what she’d brought
with
her when she’d
moved in.
She said she had called the Herald
and issued a “brief” statement advising that we
were over
…well at least she’d
talked to the Herald
rather than calling one of the fucking
tabloids.
I supposed I could thank her
for exercising at least that much judgment, as the Herald
was a
legitimate newspaper.
Still, I’d
have
appreciated it immensely if she’d just kept her mouth shut
and
let Thomas and
my publicist deal with it.
I opened the
attachment and it seemed innocuous, but I also felt sure that the tabs
would
manage to turn it into something suitably sordid for their purposes.
There
was one message from the record company, and I held my breath as
I opened it.
It was from the operations
director, advising me that Thomas had contacted them saying that we had
to
cancel the tour because of my “medical crisis,” and
had
sent them a copy of
Mrs. Malloy’s letter written at my discharge.
Apparently, the letter did
the trick, as the bloke said he would
expect
to hear from me within 30 days regarding rescheduling the tour for
later in the
year.
Thank Christ. I
e-mailed him back, thanking him for his
understanding and assuring him that as soon as I’d finished
the
film retakes,
I’d be back in touch about the tour. The
next message that looked significant was from Thomas, saying
he’d
spoken with
the record company, and attaching a copy of Malloy’s letter. It
was a good one I had to admit, though I
sincerely hoped I wasn’t in as bad a condition as her letter
made
out.
Malloy
stated that I had checked into the Priory for treatment of
exhaustion and extreme stress resulting from making the back-to-back
films
followed by promotional tours and awards ceremonies, in addition to
recording
sessions and touring with the band. She
went on to say that my blood pressure was at a “dangerously
high
level” when I
checked into hospital, and had not come down until after I had been
sedated for
more than 36 hours.
The letter continued,
indicating that in addition to stress, I was in a state of complete
physical
and emotional (at least she said emotional rather then mental)
exhaustion.
I had to give her credit; the
woman knew how
to rally the troops and generate sympathy.
According to her letter, I
had been discharged with instructions
for
various stress management and reduction techniques (that was probably
what was
in the packet of documents I’d been given when I checked out,
but
which I’d not
yet opened), and strongly encouraged to take at least three months
totally off
work once my retakes on the current film were completed.
She concluded by saying that
I would be going
into seclusion immediately on my return to Australia – which
I
fully intended
doing – and that I would be in constant contact with her as
well
as my own
physician at home.
It was obvious that
she was accustomed to bailing people out of precarious professional
situations
and if she’d been handy at the moment, I’d have
kissed the
woman.
I
decided the rest of the mail could wait until I got to
Kelsey’s
and,
after sending a short note to Kelsey telling her again that there was
no need
for her to meet me at the airport, I shut the laptop down and unplugged
it,
stowing it in my grip in the overhead bin.
By the time I’d
done all that, breakfast was being served
and the flight
attendant was asking if I wanted coffee or tea with my meal. There
were only two other people in the cabin
awake, and we ate our meals in silence. When
I’d done, I rummaged in my grip again and located my CD
player
and headset,
found something soothing to listen to, and settled in for the rest of
the
flight.
I looked at my watch and
realised
that I’d be in
Chapter
Six
The
flight attendant woke me when we were 15 minutes out of
By
the time I returned to my seat, the “fasten seat
belts”
sign was
on, and I buckled in and looked out the window.
The sun was just visible on
the horizon and I could see the flat
We
landed and taxied to the gate, and I was off the plane and into the
jet-way in nothing flat, heading for the Customs Hall and baggage claim
at a
trot.
After almost 12 hours in the
air,
I was more than ready to be done with flying for a while.
When I’d cleared
Customs and stepped out into
the main terminal, I saw her walking toward me.
She hadn’t changed
in the least, thank Christ …same
long stride, still
wearing jeans, those same fucking battered cowboy boots, flannel shirt
under a
short coat, and that taffy-coloured lion’s main of hair
tumbling
over her
shoulders.
I needed something stable in
my life aside from my family, and for the last eight years, Kelsey had
been the
anchor I’d counted on and she’d never let me down. Strange
that as many years as I’d known
Denise
and we’d been together, that this woman I’d met on
a set in
Arizona years ago
had provided me with something Denise had never been able to approach
…a friendship
and degree of comfort that was unshakable.
As I walked toward her, I
thought about asking her again to
marry me
…perhaps if I kept asking her, I’d eventually wear
her
down.
Then she was in my arms, the
feel of
her body
so warm and familiar, and comforting when I kissed her hello. Same
old Kelsey and my same old response to
her …one kiss and my hormones were ramped up at least ten
levels, and they were
always pretty high.
She chuckled as she
tilted her head back and looked into my eyes, and slipped her hand down
between
us, grabbing the bolt in my jeans and massaging it before returning
both hands
demurely to hold my face as she assessed me.
“Been
a while, huh, Baby?
And
you look like hammered shit.” I
looked
at her and raised my eyebrows.
“Yeah,
thanks very much …and you look good enough to eat.”
“Careful,
Baby, I’ll hold you to that, if you think you’ve
got the
strength for it.”
“I
think I can manage,” I said and pulled her body back into
mine,
grinding my hips into hers.
“Let’s
get
the fuck out of here,” and I was dragging her with me toward
the
exit.
We got to the car park and
located
her Ford
Explorer, tossed my grip and carryon into the rear deck, climbed in and
headed
for her house after a quick snogging session that ramped my hormones up
even
higher.
She wheeled the Explorer out
of
the parking space and up to the tollbooth, then sped off the airport
grounds,
heading for the Interstate highway that would take us home. Home. I
guess I really did consider Kelsey’s place home almost as
much as
I did my
farm.
In all the years
I’d been
going
there, we’d never once been followed by the media, never been
discovered
together, and I knew it was due to her discretion …another
reason she was so
important to me.
Kelsey valued her
privacy as much as I did mine, and the fact that she lived in what I
referred
to as East Bum Fuck helped keep the press off our tails.
“Beer’s
in the cooler in the floor behind me,” she said as she drove,
and I turned and reached behind her, opened it, and snagged one along
with a
Diet Coke for her.
“So,” she
continued
as she drove, “I saw the news all over the front of one of
the
tabs when I cruised
by the stop-and-rob for beer …you and Denise really calling
it
quits this
time?”
I nodded.
“’Bout
time.
Baby, you need to find a
woman who isn’t using you and
settle
down.”
I nodded again before I spoke.
“I’ve
found her, Luv, but she keeps turning me down.”
She glanced over at me.
“Don’t
start with the marriage crap again, Derek. It
wouldn’t work and you know that as well as
I do.
Best way I know of to fuck up
a
great friendship is to get married.” She
was probably right about that, but I still had no intention of giving
up on it
unless and until I really did find a woman that I fell desperately in
love
with, and I didn’t think that was likely to happen any time
soon,
particularly
given my vagabond lifestyle.
“Can’t
kill me for asking though, can you?” She
laughed and shook her head.
“No,
but I can still slap the crap out of you, and from the looks of
you just now, I don’t think you’re in any condition
to
fight back.”
She had me there, as I
was just realising
that I was totally drained.
All I wanted
at that moment was to get to her place, climb into her whirlpool for
half-an-hour,
and fall into her bed with her wrapped round me.
“Point
taken, so just drive, Kelsey.
I hear your whirlpool and bed
calling me already.”
I finished my beer and leaned
back against
the headrest, and slept the rest of the way to her house.
I woke up as she pulled into
her garage and
cut the engine.
I could hear her dogs
barking as we unloaded the rear deck and when we walked into the
kitchen, they
were all over me.
She had four
Rottweilers, for security purposes she said, but I knew that all four
of the
big bastards slept on the bed with her unless she had a man spending
the
night.
I often wondered how there
was
enough room for her in her bed with all the dogs there, but she seemed
to
manage.
I also knew from experience
that
while I was there, two of them would be on either side of the bed at
night,
which didn’t bother me at all. They
were
great dogs, and always seemed to remember me, regardless of how
infrequent my
visits were.
She took my bags and headed
toward her bedroom, as I sat in the floor and loved the mutts for a few
minutes
before hauling my arse up and following her.
She
had the whirlpool filling and had just tossed in bath salts as I
walked into the bathroom; the scent of sandalwood filled the air as I
stripped
off my shirt.
“You
going to join me, or do you just plan on washing my back?” I
got my answer when she started unbuttoning
her shirt and sat to pull off her boots.
We sat in her huge whirlpool,
and I looked out the window at the
snow on
the field behind her house.
Please note
that Kelsey lives in the country, miles from fucking anywhere, and
having a
window overlooking her whirlpool in no way indicated any lack of
modesty on her
part (though she was certainly capable of immodesty on occasion
…one of her
traits that I’ve always found particularly endearing) and she
had
no neighbors
closer than five miles.
The window had
shutters that she could close if she wanted – which she
rarely
did – but they
were open this day, and I was enjoying the view; it was peaceful, and
so far
from what I’d had to look at for the last few months, that it
seemed I was on
another planet.
“When
did it start snowing?
I
didn’t think you got snow here until January or
February.”
“About
an hour after you called yesterday, and usually we don’t. Front
started moving in yesterday morning;
they’re calling this one the Glacier Express.
Just think, Baby,
it’s in your honor …I know how
much you love cold
weather.”
For that remark, I
splashed
water in her face, because I fucking hate cold weather and she knew it. I’d
damned near frozen my bollocks off
making
a film in
“Turn
around and I’ll do your back.”
That was an offer
I’d never turn down, because she
didn’t just wash your
back, you got a massage into the bargain.
I scooted about,
repositioning myself with my back to her and
she
lathered up her bath sponge and went to work …broad
scrubbing
strokes from my
neck to the base of my spine, the slight roughness of the sponge adding
to the
luxury.
She dropped the sponge in the
water and started to work with her hands.
Kelsey
has long, slender hands, delicate-looking really, and you’d
never imagine the amount of strength in them.
Firm, strong fingers began
kneading my shoulders, moving out to
the
biceps in my upper arms, working the muscle groups as she went. She’d
told me a couple of years into our
relationship that she’d gone to school to be a massage
therapist,
but dropped
that as a career option when she’d realised that most of
so-called massage
parlours in Texas were little more than a front for prostitution. I
still recalled her comment when she’d
told
me about that time in her life.
“I
may
fuck around, but it’s with whom I want and when I want
…not on command.” Fair
enough.
That certainly
didn’t stop me from appreciating her
particular talent in
that area.
Her
hands moved down my back, kneading away the tension and I finally
began to relax, to the point that I had slumped so far forward my face
was
almost in the water.
She retrieved the
sponge and rinsed off the lather and I groaned.
“Enough,”
she said, and I groaned again.
“Get
your ass out of here and dry off. I’ve
got massage oil by the bed; I’ll give
you a rub-down and you can get a nap.” I
didn’t think I was capable of moving that fast, but given the
proper incentive,
I can amaze myself at times.
I was out
of the tub, dried off, and sprawled face down in her bed almost before
she got
out of the tub, and her laughter followed me as I burrowed into the
warmth of
her waterbed.
By the time she’d
finished
massaging my back, my legs, and my arms, I was almost comatose with
pleasure.
She slapped me on the arse
and
rolled off the bed.
I roused myself
enough to thank her, and rolled on my side and watched her as she
pulled on her
clothes.
“Aren’t
you going to cuddle with me?”
I was more than a bit
disappointed, because she gave the best
cuddles
going.
“In
a bit.
I need to get
something out of the freezer for lunch.
You nap, and I’ll
be back soon.”
She leaned down and kissed me
softly, and turned toward the door. I
think I was asleep before she closed it
behind her.
Chapter
Seven
I
didn’t sleep long and was awakened by the warmth of
Kelsey’s body as
she curled up behind me in the bed, one arm going over my shoulders as
she
tugged the covers up over me.
I
wasn’t
really cold, but definitely would have liked being warmer, and the
warmth
radiating from her body was working a treat.
Of course, it was also
working another treat pretty nicely as
well, and
I rolled over pulling her on top of me as I did. It
had been months since I’d been physically
close to a woman, much less made love or even fucked anyone, and I knew
it was
going to be fast and hard this time.
What always made it so good
with Kelsey when we’d not seen
each other
for a while was the simple fact that the first time, we both wanted it
fast and
hard.
We’d slow down and
go through
all
the foreplay later on, but the first time back together, it always
seemed that
what both of us wanted was to fuck the other’s brains out the
first time in an
effort to satisfy our own needs.
I’d
never met a woman like Kelsey before, and haven’t met another
like
her since either.
She is also the most
androgynous woman I’ve ever met, which is to say that she is
as
outspoken about
sex – and apparently enjoys it as much – as any man
I’ve ever known …possibly
more, given that she’s also multiply orgasmic simply because
she’s female,
which is a damned good reason to really enjoy sex.
She enjoys fucking for the
simple pleasure of
fucking, no strings, no expectations of declarations of love, just a
let’s-fuck-because-it-feels-so-damned-good attitude.
She’s damned good
at it, too, at all aspects
of sex, which makes it one hell of a lot more fun for me and, I would
think,
for any man who’s ever been lucky enough to be invited into
her
bed.
I also knew that she was
damned picky
about
who she invited into her bed, and truth be known, I felt damned
fortunate to
have been extended an open invitation.
She
just lay there on top of me for a tic and that slow smile spread
across her face.
“Seems
like you’re waking up,” and she was right.
I wasn’t just
waking up, and I was
up and
ready to go, and groaned when
her mouth went to my chest and her tongue started flicking my nipples. Groaned
a lot more when she moved south,
taking
little nips down my body to my legs, and started up the inside of my
left
thigh, and I felt her hot breath in my groin.
She tried to take me in her
mouth and I stopped her, pulling her
up my
body.
“Baby,
you do that and it’s going to be over before we even get
started …it’s been fucking months.”
She
nodded and raised her hips into position and slid over me, taking me to
the
hilt and then stopped, not moving a muscle, letting me catch my breath. I’d
almost forgotten how good she felt
…soft
and hot and tight, and so fucking wet.
Then she started to move,
slowly, drawing me out until I grabbed
her by
the waist and started moving her up and down in time with my thrusts,
both of
us coming up so rapidly that we were struggling just to breathe. And
then I was cumming, so hard and so fast,
and so fucking good that it was almost painful, and she was right there
with
me.
I could tell by the look on
her face;
with Kelsey I’ve always been able to tell exactly where she
was,
just from
watching her.
She doesn’t hide
anything,
doesn’t try to hold anything back, but just goes with the
pure
sensation, and
watching her face is almost as good as cumming myself.
A few tics later she just
laid forward, her
body against mine, and buried her face in my shoulder.
I moved one hand up her back,
stroking her
gently, and brushing her hair away from her face with the other. Why
was it always so good with Kelsey
…and
why the fuck couldn’t I convince her to marry me?
The
last time we’d been together, I’d asked her that,
the why I
couldn’t convince her to marry me bit, because we were just
so
unbelievably
sexually compatible.
She’d rolled
over
on her side and lay there looking at me for a bit before she said
anything.
When she did, I felt like a
total fucking fool.
“First,
I won’t marry you because we’d have to get out of
bed
eventually,
and second, because you’ve never asked me when we weren’t
in bed. Finally,
and most importantly,
I don’t want
to fuck up the best friendship I’ve ever had.
Now, will that do
you?”
She’d
rolled over – and got out of bed at
that
point - and I just lay there for a while, thinking that if there was a
way to
fuck up something, I sure knew how to suss it out.
I lay beside her now,
thinking back over that
conversation, and she was right. I
hadn’t ever asked her when we weren’t in bed.
Okay, I’d change
that.
Maybe
if I
asked her in another setting, she’d say yes, and the fact
that I
thought that
tells you quite a lot about me.
When I
want something, I’m totally fucking convinced that
I’m
right and that I can
force it to work, and more often than not, I’m totally
fucking
wrong.
Still, I wasn’t
ready to give
up on Kelsey,
and decided that before I left this time, I’d ask her again
…it might work.
God knows, stranger
things have happened.
Kelsey
I
don’t know why the fuck I
can’t convince Derek that marriage between
us wouldn’t work.
It wasn’t
that I
didn’t love him, or that he didn’t love me, because
we did
love each other …but
I also knew that we weren’t in love with each other, and
there
was a major
difference between loving and being in love.
I’d made that
mistake once, and would never, ever, make it
again.
The other thing is that
within two
or three
weeks of being together, we’d start getting on each
other’s
nerves every
fucking time.
Fortunately, because of
our respective schedules and careers, one or the other of us always had
to
leave by that time, which is probably the only thing that had prevented
our
ever having one of those God-awful screaming-and-throwing-things type
of fights
that would have ended our relationship forever.
Both of us were just too
independent and hardheaded, and too
determined
to have things our own way for a relationship that had to be sustained
on a
day-to-day basis to work.
Even as much
as I wished that weren’t the case, I could see clearly that
it
was, and I think
he saw it too …he just wanted to be in love so much that he
kept
telling
himself it could work, that he could make it work.
To use his own term, Derek is
such a romantic
cunt.
I
think women are much more realistic and pragmatic about
relationships than men are, or will ever be.
Men are incurable romantics
…at least every man
I’ve ever been involved
with has been, and Derek was certainly no exception to that observation
on my
part.
He was also incredibly
persuasive,
and I always had this little niggling fear that one of these days, he
would catch
me in a moment of weakness and I’d make the biggest mistake
of my
life and say
yes to his ongoing proposals.
Christ
knows, it got harder to tell him no every time he asked me to marry him
and I
knew why.
He’d been asking me
for
almost
eight years, and each time he did, he managed to successfully refute
another of
my carefully planned arguments as to why it wouldn’t work. After
he’d called me from