Girl Act (4 page)

“Read the first story!” he said, like he was my teacher and I was his pupil.

“Yes, instructor,” I said.

“Justin!” He reminded me as he opened his book.

Justin, hmm, not a bad name. I told him mine, but he didn’t look up, that’s how cocky he was. The waitress had been instructed before I arrived. She put two Arnold Palmers and a plateful full of fresh fruit in front of us and left, but not before getting a wink from cocky Justin.

The first story was
Little Birds
from which Nin’s book took its title. I wouldn’t dare spoil it by giving away any details; it’s just a naughty story and it reminded me of how my college years really were all about being the most dominating sexual woman I could be. It wasn’t just ‘in-and-out’ fornication that my college friends and I were after—it was about the greatest orgasm, the longest head banging sex one could have. And I did.

It’s like Justin suddenly became a part of my Mr. Darcy plan. Jane Austen wasn’t just writing about ‘love’, she was explaining the attainable feeling when one finds her soul mate. Oh my. Had I found mine? I glanced up; Justin was eating a slice of apple. How Adam and Eve can you get? He was grinning at me, with wet lips and serious eyes.

“Bonus points on the book. Can I keep it?” he asked, as he put his sexy, cute, thin lips over his straw and sucked his drink down. I had plenty of other mementos from Kenneth the famed artist; the book didn’t matter.

“Sure,” I said.

“Thanks, and that’s for you, to get you restarted,” he said, as he filled his mouth with blueberries. Oh, so cocky. It’s not like I could roll my eyes and ask what the hell he meant by that, because I’d be admitting it. So I just nodded like a card player bluffing. When you’re an actress, so much of life is acting ‘as if’. Of course you try to figure out your next move, the right line to say, all the while not letting the other person steal your spotlight. Cocky guys, who are actors, are always jockeying for the lead role. The spotlight! He pushed the fruit plate at me, eyeing me in a forceful way, I ate some melon slices, so he could watch me chew. Eating can be so erotic.

“Come on, let’s take a walk,” he said as he got up, tossing two twenty dollar bills on the table and motioning for the waitress. He had his book in hand. I gulped a quick drink, dabbed my mouth with my napkin, and pulled my book off the table, covering the title with my hand (ever so possessive). He moved quickly out onto the street in the direction of Griffith Park. Walking without Shadow felt like an act of betrayal.

“My truck’s up the street. I was checking out a landscaping design I liked, so I parked in front of it,” he said.

I nodded like I understood, like it was typical. He stepped back so he was now beside me.

“I like your lips,” he said, which made me laugh.

Oh, had he planned that line, because it worked. He hooked his arm into mine and we walked toward his Chevy pickup truck, the kind a hunter or fisherman would own. He opened the passenger door first and, as I got in, he said, “Nice hips,” and again I laughed. Maybe he wasn’t cocky, just ‘weird,’ in an appealing and very sexy way. He got in and started the truck, and then looked at me.

“How about we make out at Zuma Beach?” he asked, like it was an everyday question between two strangers.

“Sure,” I said, not wanting to sound too excited or horny or both.

“I like your hips, because they swivel,” he said as he peeled out and headed onto Sunset Boulevard. I thought he would have asked the usual relationship interview questions, like, “are you single?” and “are you into an LTR?” (long-term relationship), but he didn’t.

He played Kid Rock’s
Only God Knows Why
. I’d never heard it before and so I said nothing, letting the lyrics fall over me. Justin rocked to it with his hands drumming on steering wheel, as if the song was personal. So odd, I was going to Malibu after all. And to the beach, how weird was that? Really weird, but how could I knock it? I was getting what I had wished for, only I wasn’t sure if Justin was really ‘genuine,’ or if I was going to like kissing him. Zuma is a really beautiful, stunning stretch of beach in Malibu. Since it was a weekday, it wasn’t crowded.

The great thing about an actor’s schedule is that you can end up with six days of work, followed by nothing. Of course, if you’re a bona fide working actor, you make good money and don’t care when you have free time.

I hopped out of the truck with Justin staring at my backside. Wow. He pulled out a blanket and a beat-up water proof tote bag and we left our books in the truck; we were done with the reading ‘test’ part of the date. I had a feeling kissing was ‘test’ number two.

“So, are you from Colorado, or Maine?” I asked, having studied him long enough. He inched closer to me as we hit the sand.

“Maine,” he said.

I glanced at him; he was cute and smart, though I guessed a college dropout, because he seemed to beat to his own drum. The kind of man that doesn’t want to blend in or do as other collegiates.

“College dropout, you’ve had sex with up to 18 women, and you prefer to eat meat over fish any day. Right?” I asked; as we neared the spot he had chosen.

“Applied, got accepted to an Ivy one, but only did a semester. As for women, 5 total, and I prefer cod or halibut over salmon and not meat unless it’s organic chicken. I can swallow mussels whole. I like seawater. Anything else?”

I shook my head. I mean, it was fun, and it’s not like I had ever just pitched my first impression before. I felt like my art model friend McKenna, who reads astrology charts, and understands people based on their astrological signs. I mean, wow, I was reading him. I suddenly knew that after I kissed him, I’d probably know more, maybe too much.

He spread out a navy cotton blanket and we sat down. He was fast! Like I guessed he would be. He had me pinned under him and was over me, our faces inches apart, just staring into each other’s eyes. I felt excited, scared, and a current of sadness rushing through—as if this wasn’t real or that it wouldn’t last. His lips descended on mine and we began a massive makeout scene. If only it had been filmed, I felt so picture perfect. He tasted like fruit and he had controlling, authoritative lips. His tongue explored my mouth; we were eating each other up, kiss after kiss. I felt his hands sliding under my top, and my lime green bra being pushed up and his hands on my tits, working my nipples. He moved his lips to my ears and began nibbling on them, while I giggled with delight. Then he traced my hips with his hands and we lay there looking at each other.

“You got great eggs,” he said.

“EGGS?” I laughed.

“Yeah, you got pretty eggs.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

He was quiet and so was I. He didn’t answer, but I knew, somehow, I would figure out what he meant on my own over time.

“Listen to that,” he said, and we listened to the ocean waves coming in inches from the blanket. We sprang up, and he grabbed the blanket and his water proof tote and we moved up and away from the waves. Once again, we settled onto the blanket. This time he managed to take my bra off, along with my top. We sat up and he put his arm around me. It was the quietest date I had ever been on. I stared at him, and he at me. Again we started making out and this time, his grey shirt came off and we were pressed against each other. He kissed my lips with full force and passion, and from there he went onto to kiss my breasts, tiny kisses, continual, over and over again, as I ran my hands over his ‘army’ style haircut. Then he stopped and pushed me back from him.

“Should we swap love stories?” he asked.

I was topless, my mouth mashed from kissing and the wetness between my legs had begun to tingle.

“Okay,” I said; it was all I could say.

That’s when he told me that, aside from acting, he had two other talents: one, growing organic pot and selling it for a hefty profit without ever smoking it, and two, making babies with beautiful women. He had made one son with his first and only wife, now the ex-wife, one boy and a girl with a now former ex-girlfriend. Three kids! And he wanted more. Oh, and he paid taxes and child support, so he wasn’t a bum, though it was clear that ‘his’ dream came first. He was a genuine ‘my way or the highway’ type guy. Drat!

“Wow, you’re not exactly, Mr. Darcy,” I said, not thinking that he’d know what the hell I meant.

“I want my fourth with you,” he said.

“Why me?” I asked.

“You’ve got baby-making potential. It’s the way your hips are built. Your breasts, they’re perfect for breast feeding.”

I laughed, I mean, he wasn’t joking. There I was, peering down at my own tits, because no other guy had said that about them.

“Perky nipples, which I like. Your breasts would swell up with milk over nine months,” he added, like I needed to hear that.

Still, I didn’t reach for my top or my bra. I just sat there on Zuma Beach with this eye-catching, cocky, sperm-filled man looking at me like I was a baby making machine.

“How many?” I asked.

“Three, most likely,” he said.

“Three?” I asked. He nodded.

Then he traced my face with his fingers and I let him. It felt good, and I knew deep down that I’d probably never see him again. After all, I wasn’t going to agree to three babies, let alone one, when there were already three Justin-made kids crawling around.

“Think about it, don’t tell me now,” he said. I nodded.

“You know, I can picture us having babies. Being happy together. You can still act,” he said, as he leaned in and kissed me on the tip of my nose, and then on my cheeks, and forehead. Oh, wow! We locked lips again and kissed for a long, long time.

The temperature changed, it wasn’t cold, but I was ready to have my top on, minus my bra, because he said “leave it off for me.”

He pulled out a small, fuzzy cream colored blanket—not a baby blanket or I would have screamed. He put it around me. Then he pulled out a cutting board along with provolone cheese, French bread, and black olives. He made a mini sandwich that we shared, then pulled out a bottle of sparking apple juice from Trader Joe’s—after all, we weren’t going to be drinking wine, what with my potential to produce ‘baby’ eggs.

The day faded into night and I was still out in Malibu; luckily I had called my faithful dog walker, Sam. Shadow loves Sam because he takes him for super long walks, always in his running gear. He said, “I’m on my way,” when I called him from the seafood restaurant on Pacific Coast Highway.

I sat side-by-side with Justin, who wanted my hips as close to him as possible. We shared a large lobster platter. Justin took extreme pleasure, dipping the lobster pieces into hot butter, and putting it in my mouth; everything he did was tender.

We sat in his truck outside my building complex, making out one last time, and then he said, “If you want to share your eggs with me, let me know. I’ll do right by you, all the way. I give you my word, and you can meet my ex-wife and ex-girlfriend and my kids, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Okay,” I said.

Then he held my chin, so my eyes were level with his serious, dark brown eyes. Wow! I couldn’t fault him for knowing what he wanted and asking for it. Ugh. I got out and, as I headed away, he whistled. My hips, I knew he was whistling at them like no guy had ever done before.

I looked up at my studio apartment, built over two garages, and noticed that the lights were on. Either Sam, the dog walker, had left them on, or the Tennis Actor was visiting Shadow. I went up, ready for anything, or for nothing but dog licks. There he was in my bed, under my blanket, with his shirt off. “Knock, knock,” I said, staring at him.

“I missed you. I sent Sam home, but don’t freak out, I paid him for running over here. He had to go see his new girlfriend about something, so it was meant to be.” I nodded and sat down in front in my Ikea desk, only a few feet from my bed. Shadow lay on the floor beside him, acting more like his dog then mine.

I checked my cell (I had muted it for the egg-man). Beth had left a ton of messages, wondering where I was and how many actors were coming to meet the ‘top rated’ reality TV casting director. The last one said thirteen new actors had showed and thanks, and that I have a free workshop any time. Incidentally I had called half the other actors before meeting the egg-man. I clicked my cell phone off, feeling the need for total silence, or no contact, or both. I kicked off my boots and slid out of my jeans and top as the Tennis Actor watched me.

“Hey, no bra.” he said. I nodded. Silence filled the room.

“Do you think I’d make great babies?” I asked.

His eyes bulged; I cut him off before he could ask.

“I’m on the pill! And you put the raincoat over your ‘Tonka truck’ before it goes into my tunnel, dummy,” I said, annoyed and suddenly peevish.

He was quiet for a few minutes, and then, as if he had heard it in a movie, “With me?” he asked, adding a slight grin. Which I didn’t believe. But on camera it would have appeared sincere.

“Nah, I know you’re a career guy; winning an Oscar, you want it, say next week. But do you think I have the potential?” I asked.

“You can do anything, Vivien,” he said, and with that, I took off my underpants and got into bed with him. We weren’t going to make babies together, but we could have fun practicing, and that’s just what we did.

Auditions are ‘it’ for actors. There is nothing more thrilling than getting the phone call that you have an audition at 9, or 2 or 5, or any damn time. The Tennis Actor only wanted film auditions, but he always ended up getting more for TV. For me, it was usually commercials, a few TV (small part) auditions and low, low-budget films, but I was fine with that. I just wanted to be seen and heard, any which way. When my landline rang, I was surprised; I was still half asleep. It had been a long night of ‘fake’ baby making sex (as actors, we really acted ‘as if’). Also, I had dreamed that I was having baby-making intercourse with the egg man.

Luckily it was Ray, my Italian-American agent, saying, “Kid, you got a big movie audition. This could make you! Call me back in one minute.” Only Ray talked like that; only he had told me that if I was patient, the ‘right’ role would come for me, and I believed him.