Not My Type (15 page)

That got a reaction. Joe sat up
straight in a sudden motion, his eyes wild. "Elsa? Is she back? Did
she come back to me?"

"No, man. Sorry. I just meant Spike. I
brought Spike back over."

Joe visibly deflated at the news Elsa
wasn't there but then looked interested. "Spike? Why, doesn't she
want him anymore either?" His tone was bitter.

"She left, Joe. She's
gone."

"What the fuck do you mean,
gone?"

"That agent of hers called. She got a
spot on 'Good Morning America' doing some cooking stuff. Then she
is planning on staying there, I guess. From what Claire heard,
she's moving down there to finish her cookbook and stuff." Jordan
felt a little guilty for lying to his buddy, but dammit, something
had to spur the big guy into action. Jordan was about sick of
carrying his not inconsiderable weight. Besides, seeing him suffer
like this was killing him and Claire both.

"Moving? To California? Elsa hates
California." He stared at Jordan, uncomprehending. Why on earth
would Elsa move someplace she hated. Slowly, it dawned on him. She
was running from him, once and for all. She was going beyond his
grasp, someplace she wouldn't be reminded of their life together.
She was erasing him.

He was pissed.

"Thinks she can get rid of me that
easy, huh? She's got another fucking thing coming."

"Well, you did stop calling
her..."

"She wouldn't take my calls! She
wouldn't see me when I came over. What was I supposed to do, beg?
Shower her with gifts? Throw myself across the threshold of your
house and refuse to leave until she spoke to me?" he
demanded.

"Yeah, man. You probably should have
begged."

Joe thought about it. Then his
shoulders slumped. He remained seated at the edge of his bed but
put his head in his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. Spike came
in the room, delighted to see Joe, jumping up on the bed and
licking him frantically until Joe picked him up and petted him,
crooning baby talk at him.

Finally, he looked at his old friend.
A slow smile crept across his face. "You're right. I should have
begged. Elsa means everything in the whole world to me and I let
her down. Think it's too late?"

"I have the address where they're
filming and where she's staying, if you wanna find out." Jordan
grinned back.

Chapter Seventeen: Into
the Limelight

As usual, Elsa hated the
traffic, noise, and pollution of Southern California. She arrived
late in the afternoon, where Martha picked her up from the train
station. They spent the next two hours fighting the L.A. traffic to
Martha's nice apartment in Santa Monica. By the time Martha ordered
takeout Chinese and ushered Elsa to the guest room, she was
exhausted. A turmoil of emotions writhed in her gut; she hated
being here. She missed the quiet of Elk Crossing. She missed Claire
and Jordan. She missed Spike. She felt empty when she thought of
Joe, numb with pain.
Odd
, she thought,
pain is supposed to hurt.
Maybe she was just beyond hurting for Joe and what they'd
lost. Why had she refused to talk to him? She'd give anything to
hear his voice now.

In a strange room in a strange city,
Elsa brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas. She climbed between
the crisp, cool sheets and tried to sleep. It was a long night; she
finally drifted off but dreamed of Joe's hands on her body, his
tongue tracing tracks on her skin, his body fusing with hers. In
one particularly intense dream, he grabbed both of her thighs in
his strong hands and plunged in and out of her. She lay on her back
on the bed in Martha's guest room, oddly, while he fucked her.
Simultaneously to gripping her thighs, he also pinched and tweaked
her nipples with strong fingers until she came hard, gasping and
moaning against the sheets. The force of her dream orgasm woke her
and she felt wetness between her legs, her body throbbing in the
aftermath of her pleasure. When she awoke and found it was just a
dream, she cried herself back to sleep.

She must have looked a little worse
for wear the next morning. After a hurried cup of coffee, Martha
commented, "Now dear, don't worry, the makeup artists at ABC
studios will cover those dark circles. Come on, they have great
catering on the GMA set, too." Elsa threw on a pair of jeans and a
t-shirt, now many sizes too big for her, as Martha hurried to
assure her the studio would provide tailored clothing, as well.
Nearly three hours later, they pulled into the Burbank studio lot,
where a valet took Martha's keys and gave her a ticket in
exchange.

"Okay, hon, now before we go in here,
let's have a little talk."

"I'm ready, Martha, let's get going,
we don't want to be late..."

"Now dear, just one thing: get your
fucking head in the game here, m'kay?"

Elsa was shocked to hear sweet
matronly Martha use such language. She'd never cursed in Elsa's
presence before. She gaped at her in shock and awe.

"I'm serious, Elsa. I know you miss
Joe. And there will be time for that later. Martha will help, even,
though I think Joe is a big handsome oaf who needs his ass kicked
for being a dumbass. But right now, you have a shot, an
opportunity, to make it in the field you chose. Remember? Being a
chef? You have that, too. You're not defined by Joe. You have shit
going for you. Now, don't fucking blow it, you hear
Martha?"

Elsa nodded, still bemused by this new
facet of Martha she'd never seen before. But she was right. Now was
not the time to mope around, missing Joe. Now was the time to
shine.

After that, it was smooth sailing. She
chatted politely but nervously with the set producer and makeup
artist, trying on clothes until just the right skirt and shirt was
found for her. Size twelve, she was astonished to note. A far cry
from the size 24 of nearly a year ago. The makeup artist commented
on so many facets of her appearance that Elsa soon found herself
blushing.

"No blushing for me, honey, I'm gay as
they come, but I would KILL for those cheekbones!" the tall lanky
man gushed. Simon was his name, makeup was his game, he told her,
but he also played a mean game of poker. "I distract them with my
sexy ass and then take their money," he hooted. He talked nonstop
as he made her over, using tools on her hair she'd never dreamed
of. Soon, he pronounced her a completed work of art.

Without warning, she burst into tears
at the sight of herself in the full length mirror.

"I'm no Picasso, true, but that's a
little extreme."

"No Simon, you did a great job. I
just...I wish Joe could see..."

"Tsk tsk. Okay. Tell Uncle Simon all
about this Joe while I fix your makeup."

She told this stranger the whole
story. It was a relief to have it off her chest. Simon was the soul
of kindness. Soon, it was impossible to think of anything other
than Simon's chatter and before she knew it, her time on stage had
come.

Robin Roberts was there in the Burbank
studio to tape her segment with her. Robin. Roberts. Elsa couldn't
believe it. The slender black woman greeted her warmly, as if they
were old friends, and reassured her, telling her not to be nervous
since it was being taped. "They'll tape us, edit out our mess ups,
and then splice us in with the taping from New York. No problem!"
Robin said with a snap of her fingers. "You just cook something
fabulous and don't pay any attention to the cameras."

"Ok-aaaay, that's easier said than
done!" Elsa replied. Though it was being taped, there were a
multitude of people on the set, including representatives from her
publisher and a crowd in the audience. "For applause authenticity,"
Robin winked.

The bright studio lights beat down
harshly on her head and she wished Simon had put her hair up. She
began to sweat a little, from nerves and the hot lights. Soon, she
felt the familiar dizzines steal up on her and she pushed down the
rising tide of panic. She couldn't pass out, not here, not now. She
fanned herself with the script the producer thrust into her
hands--"Just a guideline"--and prayed this would be over
soon.

Chapter Eighteen: Not My
Type

Joe mashed the gas pedal to the floor
of the Rover and made it to Burbank studios in record time. Spike
rode in the passenger seat in the manner of all dogs on car rides:
with a wide open mouth grinning into the wind of the slipstream
from the window. He appeared to be enjoying a grand adventure and
Joe could only smile at his doggie enthusiasm.

"We're going to get momma, Spike my
boy!" he told the little guy, who just grinned wider at him as if
he understood. Joe felt powerful again for the first time in weeks;
he was taking control of his destiny and he'd be damned if he could
see a future without Elsa in it.

He slammed through the security guard
gates at the filming lot, the Rover reducing the flimsy wooden arms
to splinters. The guard in the small wooden house gaped at him
through the windows. Spike yipped and jumped down to the
floorboards where it was safer. "Studio B, Studio B," Joe repeated
Jordan's instructions to himself as he sped through the closed
streets. He could see faces etched in surprise peeking from behind
studio doors and people gathered in the lane behind him, clustered
like ants in his rearview mirror. He finally spotted a large black
letter "B" painted on a white background, the sign sticking out
from the side of a building that looked like all the rest: boxes
with garage doors attached. He put the car in park and grabbed the
dog from the floor of the Rover.

He emerged from the driver's seat, a
wild man, clad in tight jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. The
people gathered in the street assumed he was an actor, some spoiled
movie star who didn't feel the need to follow rules or security
gates and didn't stop him. He strode through Studio B like a
rampaging god, seeking his goddess. A tall lanky man with round
glasses and an impossible scarf wound around his skinny neck
stepped in his path. "Lemme guess. You're Joe."

"Who the fuck are you?" Joe
growled.

"Easy, hot stuff. I'm about to make
your day. Come on. I'll take you to Elsa."

"You know Elsa?"

"Honey, I just spent three hours
making her look like Angelina Jolie's younger sister. Now come on.
I have a feeling she might be needing you right now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the couch of the 'Good Morning
America' set, Elsa was seated next to Robin Roberts, breathing in
and out of a paper bag. In between breaths, she kept apologizing
profusely to Robin. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Roberts, I truly
am..."

"Nonsense! I told you, this is taped.
Don't worry about it. All this stuff will get edited out. Why
didn't you tell anyone you were hungry?"

"I haven't been hungry in days..." she
said faintly. She trailed off, certain she heard barking. It
sounded like...no way. That was impossible! She left Spike with
Jordan, and he'd promised to take him to...

"Joe," she breathed. The sight of him
hit her hard. She jumped to her feet as he approached. He looked as
amazing as ever, but she knew him, better than anyone. There was a
hollow look to his eyes, and his jaw was clenched tightly as he
tried to control his emotions. She took in every detail. His
chocolate eyes bored into her. She couldn't bear to see him. She
couldn't bear to look away.

Spike leapt from Joe's arms and ran
toward his mistress, dancing about her feet and then, forgetting
all propriety and manners, he jumped onto the couch next to Robin
and tried to climb up Elsa's side. She scooped him up, the spell
broken. She kissed the top of his sleek head, her tears wetting his
fur as he tried maniacally to lick her face and bark in delight at
the same time.

"Elsa," Joe's soft baritone filled her
ears, filled her senses, flooding the cracks of her broken heart.
"Sweetheart. Please look at me." She couldn't do it. He hadn't
wanted her, he left...or had he? Who had left whom? It was all a
blur.

His strong fingers pulled her chin up
so she had no choice but to look at him. She let Spike slide slowly
from her arms to the couch, where, unnoticed, Robin scooped up the
little dog and kept him out of the way. The entire set was silent,
holding their breath at the scene before them. The two dynamic
figures faced each other, electricity arcing between them with an
intensity no one present had seen before.

But Elsa and Joe saw no one else. They
only saw each other, and the hurts they had inflicted on one
another. Elsa's tears sped down her cheeks but she was
expressionless otherwise, keeping her emotions as hard under
control as possible. Whatever Joe was about to say could not
possibly hurt any worse than what she'd endured the last few weeks,
or seeing another woman with her hands on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe noticed the hollowness of her
cheeks, saw the tendons standing in stark relief at her throat as
she struggled to contain her grief. She had lost so much weight! He
feared for her then, knowing how dangerous this kind of extreme
weight loss could be to her health. He suffered then, knowing he'd
caused this pain, knowing her broken heart hurt worse than any
bruises she'd sustained in their bedroom games.