It threatened not to be the best birthday on record. Molly O'Rourke was turning forty and weathering the ugly end of a five-year relationship with a guy who turned out to be the man of her nightmares. The bruise under her right eye wasn't the first she'd gotten at Reggie's hands, but by God it would be the last. Her boss, TV producer James Komack, "lent" her the studio lawyer to help her negotiate the split-up of their apartment, which Reggie got to keep while she had to find a new place, while keeping herself out of the jerk's reach. Taping was tomorrow and she had some new pages to get copied out and make sure her charge, Freddie Prinze, had the dialogue down.
In the midst of her personal dramas Molly kept reminding herself she had a primo job on a rising TV show as personal assistant to its hot new star. But shit. All she wanted to do was go home and pull the covers over her head. Except she didn't have a new "home" yet; Jimmy was putting her up at a hotel until she could find a new place, and her stuff was in storage in the props warehouse. Freddie had gallantly offered the extra bedroom at this place but she didn't want to stay at the same place she worked. Her office was in the third bedroom in his bachelor apartment, and what with all of his ready-and-willing female companionship she would be supremely uncomfortable sharing the space on a full time basis, even temporarily. Oh, to be twenty-something and have the energy to pursue so many romantic entanglements; she didn't think she'd ever have the incentive to do it again.
But today her focus had to be the new dialogue pages. She dropped the paper in the copier feeder and set up the pages to copy, ten copies to be safe. As she pressed the button she heard the front door slam.
"Where are you, bonita?" Almost from the day Jimmy introduced her as his personal assistant Freddie had called her bonita (Spanish for "pretty"). Charm he had by the bucketful, and wasn't shy about turning it on. It didn't take long for Molly to realize he was genuinely a sweet soul, even if she found him a little wild. And a born con man. She wasn't shy about calling him on it.
"Can't bullshit you, boss," he'd say with a sheepish smile.
It as obvious to anyone who knew him well that Freddie Prinze was insecure about his talent and rapid success, which seemed to be a solid reason why he needed so much activity and people around him to reassure him of his talent and distract him from his doubts. Well if she had become a genuine overnight sensation Molly supposed she'd wonder how it all happened so soon, too, and how long it would last. She handled a volume of fan mail and photo requests that before now she'd only imagined Elvis could have received. Some of the stuff was pretty raw, but that went with the territory. Everyone (especially the girls) had fallen under the spell of the brand new Hottest Thing on TV.
"Molly, I know you're here, I can hear the copier, you hardworking wench," he called out as he swung into the office hiding one hand behind his back. "Whatchoo up to, boss?" It was a joke between them; she actually worked for Jimmy Komack but Freddie called her "boss" because she was always telling him where he had to go and what he had to do. It had been a match made in the Twilight Zone at first, but in time their personalities meshed and they'd actually gotten close in some ways, over the past two and a half years. They shared problems and questions with each other they seldom brought up with others, and in spite of the seventeen year age difference they communicated easily and understood each other pretty well.
At the moment he wore a sly smile, the kind that made his dimples stand out.
"Happy birthday, bonita," he told her, and brought his hidden hand in front to show her a white rose surrounded by baby's breath and tied with a white ribbon.
"Oh, it's gorgeous," she took it from him and kissed his cheek lightly before burying her nose in the flower. "You got something to put it in?"
He took off to the kitchen and came back with a tall champagne flute he'd stolen from some club or other.
As he left the room she turned back to the copier and saw she'd put the wrong color paper in the feeder. Yellow was for rehearsal changes, pink was for changes on the day of taping, which required more prep time before taping started. Oh, shit. She was halfway to one hundred and twenty pages on the wrong color. This was about all she could stand. Freddie returned to find her clutching the rose in one hand and hammering on the copier's "stop" button with the other.
"Shit, shit, shit!" she snapped.
"Here," he bent and pulled the plug from the wall, trying to be helpful.
"No!" she cried, "that's not gonna help, I got so much of this crap copied already." This was the final straw to break the back of a crappy day. She dropped into her chair, rose held in her lap, a miserable expression on her face. He looked so eager to make things right it made her feel worse. He knew what she'd been dealing with this week, had seen the bruise when it had been fresh and livid, had showered her with sympathy and made things as easy as he could so she could get the usual work done without the usual foolishness.
"I'm sorry! Don't panic, we'll get it fixed." He plugged the copier back in. "What was the problem?"
She told him about the wrong color pages. He rooted around in the file cabinet and pulled out a wad of pink paper to replace the yellow. He pulled the yellow pages out of the receiving tray and turned them upside down on her desk. "There, yellow scrap paper." He gathered the originals from the feeder and stared blankly at the buttons. He knew she printed them out on two sides, but didn't have a clue how.
"I think I can do this," he lied.
"Oh Carlito, you don't know how to run this stupid machine, that's why I'm here." She often called him by the Spanish diminutive of his middle name Karl, because so many people hollered "Freddie" at him, or worse, Chico. The world owned Freddie since his rise to fame, but 'Carlito' was his own real self.
He knelt down in front of her. "Tell me what to do, huh?"
She put a hand on his shoulder. "That's okay, you already did it," she raised the rose to her nose and inhaled deeply. "All this other stuff is just bullshit. I guess it's just been a long week."
He stood up and frowned. "I know. I'm sorry. You wanna hug?" He was generous with hugs, and dispensed them freely to people he liked.
She stood up and told him "Yeah, that's about all that will fix this mess." He took the rose from her and put it on the desk, then turned to put his arms around her. "There you go, bonita, all better," but she clung to his shoulder and shuddered. He was a little caught out, but hugged her tighter and told her in a quiet voice, "It sucks, I know, it all sucks so bad."
"No, not all of it." She stepped back, "I'm sorry Freddie, I'm such a mess and I'm on the clock, I'm supposed to be helping you get the new dialogue down."
He was still frowning a little, disturbed by her situation and distress. Without warning he bent and kissed her on the mouth. She didn't jump away, though she knew she should. His mouth and mustache were soft and warm, he kissed her so gently. She hadn't felt anything gentle in so long. Then his hand came up to her face and he pressed in a little more firmly, and she did pull away. She liked it too much, and that bothered her. He was a kid, for Godsake, just turned twenty-three last month.
He looked like he expected her to slap him. "Sorry, you just looked like you needed something."
"That's okay." she patted his cheek. "Thanks for wanting to help."
Molly sat down at the desk and organized the newly copied script changes while Freddie went out to the living room to call whichever of his girlfriends was available. Looking at her calendar, she realized the Emmy's were on Sunday. When the nominations came out she had planned to go with Reggie. That was before. Well maybe she'd go with Jimmy and his wife. Truth to tell, she didn't want to go at all, but she'd gotten an invitation and wanted to show some support for the show and for Freddie, who was up for best actor for a comedy. Shit. She hated her life.
"Ah crap," Freddie complained as he dragged into the office and slumped on the sofa. "I can't ask any of the girls I know if they'll come to the Emmy's because the others will kill me." Molly tried to hide her smile but he caught it. "Oh yeah, go ahead and laugh."
"Well I can write my date off, Casanova, because he did try to kill me." She felt sorry immediately as she saw his expression change. "I'm sorry, that was an awful thing to say. Look, you wanna go together? Your ladies can't complain because I work with you and because I'm so old, and I won't have to fifth-wheel it with Jimmy and his wife."
He was smiling. "You ain't so old, Molly. Sure it sounds like a plan. We'll kill 'em, we'll look so good."
"If you say it, I'll smack you!" She meant Chico's tag line "looking goooood!".
"Not unless you pay me," he deadpanned.
They ran the lines new lines, and as always Freddie was a quick study. He offered her a drink before she left but she declined.
"No thanks, I have a headache making already. I will take some aspirin, though." He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a glass of water and the aspirin. After she took them and returned the glass, he told her, "Sit down for a minute. Time for Dr. Freddie's special treatment."
He sat behind her on the sofa and went to work massaging her neck and shoulders. "Wow, you're as hard as a rock." His long fingers probed into the sore spots. She winced a little but in a few minutes he managed to unlock a lot of the tension. This wasn't the first time he'd done this for her.
"Jesus, where did you learn to do this?" she sighed. She'd never thought to ask before.
He laughed a little and told her "My mother taught me, she'd come home some nights from work, and almost couldn't move. Is that a little better?"
She rotated her head a bit and nodded. "Yeah. Think I'll be okay once I get home." She corrected herself. "I mean once I get to the hotel."
Freddie ran his hand down her back. "I wish you'd stay here until you find a place, it'd be more convenient and more like home for you."
She got up and repeated what she'd told him over and over. "Thanks, really, but I don't want to live at my office. Anyway, you should be free to entertain who you want with no extra guests around. Okay?"
He walked her to the door. "Okay, okay."
"Thanks again," she said to thin air as he bounded into the office to get the forgotten rose. "Here, don't forget this!" he handed it to her.
"Thanks, for everything Carlito. You're a sweetheart," and she kissed his cheek and gave him a hug. "Don't stay up too late, okay, long day tomorrow. Studio tomorrow, eight o'clock sharp"
He nodded dutifully. "Yes, boss."
She knew he was lying. He'd be out the door to his favorite club as soon as she was gone.
By Saturday Molly was a wreck. She sorted through some project proposals and treatments at the office, including something called "Money to Burn" which was a TV movie that looked, walked, and gobbled like a world class turkey. Freddie's agent was pushing it so he'd get some full-length film experience, so he said. What the jerk really wanted was ten percent of a television contract, turkey or not.
"Look, Carlito, I know I'm supposed to shut up and type but this sucks so bad it's creating a black hole."
Freddie just laughed his ass off. "Can I use that one?"
"I'm serious. Why make crap to get exposure? People die of exposure, honey." He liked that one too. But he was adamant, he'd make the TV movie to get the experience. "You want full length experience, do Shakespeare in the Park or something," she muttered.
"Thanks for the advice, but I got an agent to get me work, and a manager to advise me, and you to put the pieces together." He reached out and patted her head. Big mistake.
To his surprise she slapped his hand away. "Don't do that! I hate when you do that. I'm not some fucking pet."
"Hey, hey, you know I'd never disrespect you, it was just a lame joke," he apologized. "What's up with you? You feeling okay?"
"I'm feeling kinda worn out, actually. I'm gonna go back to the hotel and take a nap," Molly told him. "Then I'll come back and we can discuss what you might say if you win tomorrow, okay?"
Freddie nodded agreeably. "Whatever you want. But why go back to the hotel? Flop in the guest room, I don't care. I'm not expecting any," he leaned close and gave her a Groucho leer, "entertainment." When she laughed he observed, "That's nice to see, you haven't laughed in a while. So go lie down and I promise I won't blast the stereo."
She was too beat to argue. "Oh all right, you talked me into it." She stumbled up the hall and into the extra bedroom. The bed was covered with t shirt samples, because everybody wanted approval of this or that Chico design and figured he was the one with veto power, when it actually was the PR department's job.
"FREDdie!" she hollered. "This place is a mess!"
He rushed into the room and scooped the shirts off the bed and onto a chair. "Sorry, I forgot they were there." She stretched out on the bed, and he pulled a light afghan out of the closet. "Here," he spread it over her, pausing to pull off her sandals, and tucked it around her feet. He is such a sweetie pie, she thought.
"Okay? Sleep as long as you like and we can do that stuff you talked about later." He unplugged the phone. "Sweet dreams, bonita." He closed the door quietly behind him and she crashed into a deep sleep.
Some time later a light hand on her shoulder woke her. She struggled to focus in the dim room, and saw Freddie sitting next to her. "Molly? You okay?"
She didn't speak at first, then mumbled "Yeah, yeah. Just waking up. What's up?"
"Well you sounded like you were crying, I heard it in the hall so I came to check." He peered into her face, looking for clues. "Did you have a bad dream or something?" She sat up and shook her head.
"Not that I remember. I don't think so. What time is it?"
"Well you slept for a while. It's about seven-thirty. You were so wrecked I didn't wanna wake you."
She rubbed her eyes. "Maybe we can forget your acceptance speech. You're good at winging it. I'm gonna head back to the hotel and hit the sack. Funny how sometimes taking a nap makes me worse than before. I was never good at naps in kindergarten."
As he saw her to the door she told him, "I got a car from the studio tomorrow, a limo. How about you pick me up at the hotel at four? The whole mess starts at five and it'll give us time to get there and hook up with Jack and Jimmy and Scat and everybody. Sound good?"
"Yeah, perfect. 'night, Molly. Get some sleep."
Sunday afternoon she checked her look in the mirror. She was wearing a dress made from Indian sari silk. It was a deep blue green with burgundy borders at the hem and deep v neckline, decorated with silver medallion embroidery. The sleeves were long and full, coming down to cuffs of the same design as the borders. She turned in front of the full-length mirror, and smiled. Sure, she worked like a dog, but by God Komack paid her like a queen, and she wasn't afraid of spending a little on herself now and then. She twisted her hair up to the back of her head and fastened it with a silver barrette, then put on her favorite rings and bracelets. Finally she slipped the silver chain with the white jade pendant of Kuan Yin. For good luck as much as good feelings, she told herself. As a final touch she applied some perfume oil. It had been a present from Reggie to make up for one of his backhands, but she didn't care. She loved the fragrance and it smelled great on her.
Just as she had dropped her stuff into her silk purse, there was a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock; it was five to four. Freddie was nothing if not punctual… well sometimes. She knew he was nervous as hell about this, wanting to win but sure he wouldn't. When she opened the door both their mouths dropped open in shock. Freddie was wearing a black velvet tux with satin trim, a velvet cutaway vest, and silk bow tie.
She gasped, "Jesus, Carlito, you look like you're going to the prom."
"Good thing I brought this, then." He held up a corsage of tiny, deep red roses.
She took it from him because he was too nervous to put it on for her, then she stepped in front of the mirror and dragged him after her. "You were right, we are gonna kill 'em."
"Y'know maybe you were wrong," he said with mock unease, "those girls I know just might kill me. You look, well, foxy."
She threw her head back and laughed. "That's the nicest lie anyone's told me in a long time." She leaned close to the mirror. "The bruise doesn't show up too bad, does it?" She hadn't tried to cover it with makeup because that looked even worse.
"Nah. If anyone asks, just tell 'em you got it fighting off indecent proposals."
When they arrived at the Pavilion the red carpet was ready and there were hundreds of fans waiting. Freddie got out of the back of the limo to the screaming of countless teenage (and older) girls and the flashing of hundreds of cameras. He took Molly's hand and helped her out, then gallantly offered his arm. She took it and held tight, scared half to death by the crowds and noise. Even after more than two years she hadn't gotten used to the mob scenes. The barriers managed to keep back the more manageable of the fans but police had to grab some of the girls who broke through.
"Just keep walking, chica," he told her calmly. He'd gotten used to the chaos of public events. He smiled charmingly at the people lining the sides of the entrance, and laughed politely at those who shouted "Looking gooood!" When finally they were inside the reception hall he looked around for Jimmy and the rest of the "Chico" crowd.
"There's Jimmy." Freddie pointed to someplace in the middle of the crowd of people. Molly couldn't see him anywhere, so she just hung onto Freddie as he led the way. Finally she saw Jimmy and his wife, and Jack and his wife Annette, and Scat and his daughter. All of them regarded Freddie and Molly with something approaching awe.
Jack whistled. "Well don't you two clean up nice!"
"Hey, I don't always look like a bag lady," Molly cracked. When she released Freddie's arm he made a big show of checking for fingernail marks in his sleeve. They socialized with various people, most of whom Molly knew in passing from the business.
"Hey Freddie, who's the hot date? Never seen her before!" shouted one of the reporters from People.
"Molly O'Rourke, my personal assistant."
"Oh yeah, sure! Well it looks like you're picking up some class, anyway."
She laughed and told Freddie, "Either I've been complimented, or you've been insulted!" They found their seats in the huge auditorium and settled in for what would be a long night. Molly sat between Jimmy and Freddie, and whiled away the time poring over the program and scanning the crowd for notables. Finally, finally Best Actor in a Comedy was announced. She barely paid attention to the other nominees, gripping Jimmy's arm with one hand and Freddie's with the other.
When Freddie was announced as the winner, everyone jumped but him. He didn't move at all for what seemed like an eternity. When finally Jack gave him a shove and barked, "Look alive, kid, you won!" he jumped up, kissed Molly's cheek in passing, hugged Jack and Jimmy and the rest of the group and bounded up to the podium.
"Well we were supposed to rehearse my speech last night but somebody clocked out early," he said, confusing the audience as Molly hid behind her hand. Then he thanked his parents, the cast and crew and everyone connected with "Chico", and finally, "my assistant, baby-sitter, and slave driver Molly O'Rourke… gracias bonita, for keeping my freaky boat floating." This time she didn't hide behind her hand, preferring to bask in his smile. A little warning voice echoed in her head, "Careful, you are forgetting who's who and what's what."
When the ceremony was over, Jimmy and Jack and Scat and their families were ready to call it a day.
"Not us," Freddie informed Molly, "we are gonna party!"
As they walked to the limo he grabbed both of her hands and yelled up to the sky, "I won! Can you believe it?"
The fans howled their approval.
Molly was more than a little reluctant to go to the after party, but she changed her mind when Freddie stuck a glass of champagne in her hand and took one for himself.
"Here's to the impossible!" he toasted, and they drank in unison.
"It wasn't impossible, why won't you believe you were good enough to win?" He just squeezed her hand and put another glass of champagne in it. She drank that one too, and chided Freddie again. "Why won't you ever believe you're good enough?"
"You believe for both of us, okay?" Then he dragged her onto the dance floor. The band was playing some funky number, but she couldn't seem to get the rhythm. She never was much of a dancer.
"No, bonita," Freddie instructed, "you're trying to follow the beat. Follow the groove." He demonstrated the difference, and she gradually caught on.
After a couple more champagnes she was hanging on with one arm draped around his neck as he bent over her, her other hand holding onto the arm he had around her waist, doing a slow grind to a dirty blues number. He's a little tall for this, she was thinking, but I love hanging on. At the same time, she knew she shouldn't love it quite so much.
Freddie was laughing, looking at her like she was a whole new creature. "Molly O'Rourke, once you loosen up you are too much!" He reached behind her head to unclip her barrette, slipped it in his pocket, and ran long slender fingers through her hair. She shook her head back to let it fall.
When the band switched to a slow number, she wanted to leave the floor. She really did. But she let Freddie pull her closer, let him press her head to his shoulder, didn't argue when he took her hands and lifted them to his shoulders so he could wrap his arms around her. She shut her eyes and held on tighter than she intended to, rubbing her cheek against the soft velvet of his jacket. It's really not so bad, he's such a sweet kid, he just wants me to have a good time…
"Just relax, Molly, just relax and have a good time," he told her. "You need to have a good time, for once."
Though something inside her told her this wasn't very wise, she breathed deeply and relaxed in his arms.
Christ, he's a kid, she reminded herself for the millionth time. That she'd had to remind herself of this so many times should have stopped her then and there. But he was kind, and warm, and was helping her have a good time. For once. Finally. The lights had been dimmed, and the floor was full of actors and production types and nobody much cared who was with who because reporters had been banned from this party.
Finally Molly lifted her head from Freddie's shoulder and, dizzy from champagne, looked him in the eye. He was smiling at her, a smile that was sweet and honest and shone with its own light.
"Happy birthday," he told her.
"But it's not my birthday anymore, goofy," she argued.
He shook his head firmly and made a silly face, mimicking, "'Goofy'! You deserve some extra birthday this year," he insisted. "You've earned it the hard way."
She couldn't argue with that. "You're so sweet, Carlito, thank you for taking such good care of me." She stretched up and kissed his cheek.
"Well you take such good care of me," he told her, "now it's payback time."
She kissed his other cheek, and rested her face under his chin, careful not to get lipstick on his shirt front. He smelled so good…
"Hey, Molly, look at me," he whispered in her ear.
She raised her head again, reluctantly, because she was so comfortable where she was. "Yeah, what?"
"Kiss me, bonita," he invited, his eyes locked into hers.
"What?"
"Kiss me, Pretty." He said it in English this time, and it didn't sound so much like a nickname.
"Are you crazy?" She had just enough of a grip on herself to question him. "I'm old enough to be your…"
"Sister?" His whisper grew more intense. "But you're not my sister, I'm an only child, remember?" and now he spoke against her cheek, "Kiss me, pretty Molly, you know me, you trust me." His lips barely touched her ear. He was so warm and so persuasive, finally she raised her face to his and did what he asked. Which was also what she wanted, but at the moment she wasn't honest enough to admit it.
How bad could it be? She touched her lips to his and planned to keep it light and friendly but found herself deepening and opening and reaching one hand into his hair to keep him from pulling away, her other hand clutching his shoulder. He tightened one arm around her waist, ran the other hand loosely up her arm to surround her wrist, and he stopped dancing, holding them still. His tongue felt like velvet, his mouth amazingly soft. He was gentle, but insistent.
She exhaled slowly into his mouth, "Freddie…" and felt him shiver. At last she backed off and looked at him in amazement, as if she'd just realized what she'd been doing. He was still holding her wrist and was rubbing his thumb gently into her palm.
"You're crazy," she declared. "I'm crazy. This is so not sane."
Freddie laughed and challenged, "So what? Life is crazy. It's crazy that I won this thing. What's wrong with crazy?" He slid his free hand up to the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his again, not forceful but not permitting much argument.
Molly felt like she was losing control of everything, and there was so little left in her life she had control of. She pried herself away, shaking her head to clear it. "Carlito… Freddie…" she muttered. "I'm dizzy, I need to sit down."
He led her to a some chairs in a corner of the room, and sat with his arm around her as if she were a prom date not feeling well. He pressed her head down over her knees, rubbing her back, massaging the back of her neck.
"Better?" he asked, leaning down next to her. He flagged down a waiter and got her some water.
"Here, Molly, drink some of this," helping her sweep her hair aside. She did, and leaned her head against his arm.
"I'm not much of a party girl," she moaned. "I wanna go home." She knew she must sound like a little kid. She wasn't so very drunk, but she felt over-stimulated and burnt out and needed some quiet.
"I wanna go home," she repeated and added in a sad voice, "but I don't have one yet." She looked Freddie in the eye, not afraid for him to know how she felt. "That asshole, he drove me out of my home. He beat me up and now I'm the one with no place to live."
"I know, it sucks," and he put his arms around her and hugged. "It sucks, it hurts, I'm sorry, I wish I could make it better."
"Take me back to the hotel, okay? I need to get away from here." She could have done it by herself, but she didn't want to be alone.
Freddie dismissed the limo driver when they got to her hotel.
"What the hell?" Molly asked him. "You gonna walk home?"
He calmed her down, "Taxi, I'll call a taxi. Those limo drivers don't work all night, for Christsake, give him a break."
She frowned. "Sorry... I'm sorry I'm such a bitch." When they reached her door he took her key from her.
"You're not a bitch, you're tired and had a shitty week. The shittiest. Come on." When they got in the door she locked it behind her and turned to take another look at him. He looked like he was waiting for a cue, wondering what he should do now that he was here. Maybe he was waiting for her to say goodnight or something. She didn't know.
The room was dim. He looked so beautiful in the half-light, with that questioning smile. So warm.
"Freddie," she began, and pulled on his lapels. She looked at him quizzically, as if she weren't sure who he was or why he was here.
"What is it, chica?"
Suddenly he didn't seem so young to her. She liked it when he called her chica.
"I don't know what's wrong with me." She dropped her head forward and stepped back, but still held onto him.
"There's nothing wrong with you. You're all bruised up inside and out, and it hurts." He peered at the jade pendant. "Who's that? I've been wondering all night."
"Kuan Yin. The goddess of compassion."
He touched it lightly with a long index finger. "Maybe she can spare some for you."
Possessed by something too strong and confusing to name, Molly pulled him closer so their faces were inches apart.
"You wouldn't hurt me, would you?"
His brow furrowed and he looked as if it disturbed him to suggest it.
"Never. I'd never," he insisted, and would have continued, but she stopped him with a kiss that she clung to as he held onto her with gentle hands.
"Stay with me, just tonight," she whispered, "pretend you want to be here if you have to, but don't leave me alone right now, okay?"
"I don't have to pretend," he answered.
Then he smiled the sweet dimpled smile, and it ruined her for reason.
She led him into the bedroom and when he held her she felt his long fingers undo the zipper on her dress, felt his hands slip inside to stroke her skin. She'd always loved his beautiful hands.
"I'd never hurt you, I'd never," he repeated.
She fastened her mouth to his and didn't let go as she pulled off his jacket and vest, as he helped her with the rest of her clothes. His mouth on hers, on her skin, against her neck as they slid into bed. She lost herself in his touch, his expressive hands, long fingers stroking and caressing. He was exuberant as she knew a young man would be, but so much more careful than just any young man might be. He asked her, over and over, "Is this okay, is this okay, talk to me pretty, tell me…"
She held on tightly to him, wanting to run her fingers lightly over his smooth skin to feel the muscle run underneath, but found she was unable to loosen her grip, as if she feared he'd disappear. You know me, she said silently, you understand… what had happened to her and how it had bent her connection to life… she thought he might be the only one other than her best friend Wendy who understood.
"Carlito, I, I'm…"
"Sshhh," he soothed as he moved on her, in her, making her whimper and cry his name, the name only she used, not his famous name that everyone knew.
He was as big as she'd teased him about in his tight jeans, but so gentle. He moved deep, angling up when he could reach no more, and she made small cries when he gave his hips a little jerk at the end of each stroke. He lasted such a long time, he felt so good. She'd all but forgotten what it could be like when somebody cared about you.
"Ah, bonita, bonita," he moaned in her ears, kissing and biting softly, "pretty, so pretty, it's okay, you'll be okay," until finally he was beyond words and he gasped and groaned as he brought her over the edge but continued moaning "Yeah, yeah, oh yeah," velvet tongue in her mouth as she swallowed his last groans of pleasure. He slowed and finally lay still on her, sliding off then so he wouldn't press her too hard. I'd never.
He was lying on his side, stroking her face with one hand. He leaned close and kissed her cheek where he knew the bruise was. I want to make it better, chica.
"Okay?" he asked. But she didn't answer.
He was so warm, so kind, so gentle. So young.
What the hell have I done?
"You don't have to stay all night," she told him at last in an awkward voice when she'd regained her breath. She was staring at the ceiling, feeling like she had violated something. No, she knew she had.
"Oh, so that's it, huh? You've had your way with me and now it's get dressed and get out?" He was joking but didn't hear her laugh. He didn't hear her breathe. He raised up on an elbow and pressed two long fingers against her chin, turning her to face him. "Hey, I'm over here. What do you mean I don't have to stay? You think I got another date or something?"
"Well I don't want you to think you have to, I dunno…" she trailed off, not certain of what to say.
He sighed. "Okay, I know, I see a lot of girls."
"You don't just 'see' them."
"Okay I screw them. But this is different." Her silence said a bundle. "I didn't screw you. I don't know how well I did, but I tried to make love to you. This is different. You know me, you know who I am, and I know you. We're not strangers. So this is different, okay?" He reached for her and when she didn't come to him he leaned closer and traced his fingers along her brow and nose and mouth. "I want to stay. If you didn't want me here, you shouldn't have asked me to come in."
"Jimmy'll fire me."
"Why? I'm over twenty-one for Christsake."
"Barely." She was trembling.
"Molly, relax will you? It's gonna be okay, I promise."
"Shit, Freddie, what do you know?
He ignored her dismissive tone. "I know I wanna be here, is that a start? Come here and relax, and go to sleep. I'll keep away the dreams you don't remember."
And God help her, she believed him. She believed everything he told her and she couldn't explain why. Giving up, she rolled over and laid her face against his chest where she was soothed back to sleep by his heartbeat.
When Molly woke up in the early light she was lying on her stomach, facing the windows. Someone was beside her, and she knew who it was.
Oh, God.
She turned her head and saw him there, on his back, head turned, sleeping like an angel. Like a very young angel. He looked even younger than usual. She had ruined something, she was sure of it. Their working relationship, their easy interaction… something.
She turned to face the windows again. Jimmy would fire her for sure, they'd all think she was some calculating slut taking advantage… of what? Freddie was right, he was over twenty one, but she took advantage of her… position. Her access. His eagerness to make her feel better. Something. With all that had come apart in her life, she'd just ruined the last remaining intact part.
Molly fell apart as she lay there, all the fear and pain and uncertainty that had built up for so long escaping in long-held tears. She pressed her face into the pillow and cried and cried, desperate not to have done this, but of course it was too late. She felt Freddie stir next to her, and she kept herself still as a stone and tried to be silent, but he wouldn't be fooled. She felt his hand on her back where the covers had slipped away, his quiet voice next to her ear as he came close.
"What's the matter? What's wrong?" She didn't answer, still wishing it all would go away. He planted a soft kiss on her shoulder. "Tell me, Molly. Look at me, will you?"
She turned her head on the pillow. "I was different and now I'm just like the other groupies, aren't I? You were here for me when I needed a friend, and I did it all wrong. I'm just like them."
His smile was touched by a bitter edge. "Do you know what they're like, those girls? They want a piece of Freddie, or they just want Chico. They want to be next to what they see on TV. They want me to talk in that fucking accent, at least half of them call me Chico. 'Oh, Chico, do me.' They want autographed pictures in the morning, so they can prove where they've been. 'Con amor, Freddie.' Or Chico. They all want a piece. But you don't call me Chico, and when you call me Freddie you know who I am, you don't want what those others want. Last night you wanted Carlito, who I really am. You didn't want a piece, you shared my big night with all of me, not a piece of me."
She didn't get it. "Then why do you do it, go with all those girls? Why do you want them?"
He shrugged with a cynical smirk. "They wanna piece, I wanna piece. Everybody gets what they want. But you, this, you're not like them, this is different. But there's gotta be more to this to upset you so much, I know there is. Tell me. You trust me, you can tell me everything. Tell me." He pulled the covers up over her shoulders, as if to prove he wanted more than her body.
He was right, she could tell him everything. Even the things she thought he was too young to really process, stuff he hadn't experienced yet, or so she thought. He always sympathized and gave her hugs and flowers and those simple gestures made things feel better, at least for a while. But now, more tears came.
"He's gonna fire me, he will. You don't understand, Freddie, he hired me, partly because of my age. Jimmy figured I wouldn't… you know, try to take advantage, he figured I was safe."
Freddie wasn't convinced. "Jimmy won't fire you, not after this long. He cares about you. Every day I saw you, sad and hurt and trapped, and now you're crawling out of that hell hole but you hurt so bad. I see that light in your eyes go dim, I see you sad and hurt and I want to make it go away so the light can come back. Okay, I'm young, I'm a kid, I know you call me that. But I'm not so stupid, am I?" She shook her head. "Okay, then, let me be good to you. I'm old enough to do that."
"But I did something terrible, this is so wrong."
"No it's not. It wasn't terrible, it was sweet and felt so good. You feel so good to me, Molly. Last night, dancing felt so good, I wanted to feel more. Whose idea was it to kiss me? Mine, not yours. I wanted to taste you, to see how you felt closer to me. I was so glad when you wanted me to stay because I didn't know how to tell you that's what I wanted too. You're the only one who wants more than a piece of me. I wanted to feel that, I needed to."
She wasn't convinced. "But I'm so messed up. I don't know what end is up, I'm so confused. I'm scared. I don't want to ruin the only good things I have left, you know, my job and friends, I don't want them to think I'm some slut who wanted in on the hot new star, you know?" She rolled away and buried her face in the pillow.
"We're still friends, you didn't ruin that. And nobody has to know, if you don't want them to. But if you do, you just be honest and say 'Freddie filled me full of champagne and seduced me because he's hot for older women.'" He pulled at her pillow and peered into her face; she could tell he was looking for a smile. She stared into his eyes, the deep brown liquid eyes that were sympathetic and teasing and caring all at once.
"I'm gonna smack you, Pruetzel." His real surname was saved for the most serious expressions of displeasure.
"Ooh, I might like that." He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with a smile that was very nearly shy as he crept closer to her. "Can I have a kiss? Or have I overstayed my welcome?" She couldn't possibly have resisted that face.
"Carlito," she began, but couldn't think what to say so she turned her face up to his and shut her eyes as he kissed her, losing herself in his warm mouth and mustache and velvet tongue.
"Are you really hot for older women?" she asked him when he released her.
"Nah. Just one," he chuckled against her cheek, and she laughed and buried her face in the side of his neck.
"Mmm, I love when you do that," he growled.
She reared up and stared at him. "This is crazy. We've established that, right?"
He nodded patiently. "Yeah. But crazy don't scare me. We're good at crazy. It's all a matter of confidence. And I am confident," he rose up so that they were nose-to-nose, "that this is a good thing." She tried to wriggle away.
"I'd love to lounge all day but I have to get to the office, I got things to do!"
"How about we get to the office and you do me," he goosed her with a suggestive leer.
"Okay, hot stuff, let's get something straight. This doesn't mess with work, okay? Never. And another thing," he was nibbling her ear and neck, "Freddie, you're not listening!"
"Sure I am," he muttered, moving on to her shoulder.
She shoved him away. "Dammit, listen to me!" He wiped the smile off his face, seeing she was dead serious. "I was saying, this does not mess with work. And another thing is that I will never stay at your place, not like this. And we will never get kissy-face there, ever. It may be your place but in another way it's Freddie's place, TV Freddie, because it's my office. And my office is Chico's house, understand? Not our playground. Like you said, I don't wanna piece of Freddie. And I don't want any of Chico."
"So if your office is Chico's house, and my apartment is TV Freddie's place, when is it Carlito's turn?" It was his turn to look serious.
"Whenever there's time left. That's the way it's gotta be. Unless this is gonna be a one night-thing." She looked at him closely, searching.
"Well I don't know about you, but I don't want this to be no kind of one night thing."
She thought for a minute, then repeated, "Then that's the way it's gotta be, the way I said."
"And why do you get to make the rules?" He was looking a little petulant.
"Because," she said simply as she touched his face, "I have the most to lose. If I get the door, you get another assistant. Nothing much changes at Chico's house. But if it gets out that I'm banging my client, nobody will take me seriously again. Nobody winks and nods when the forty-year old assistant hooks up with the twenty three year old star, but everyone will wink and nod at you. And no matter how we see it, the world will see Molly O'Rourke banging Freddie Prinze, and will call me old and desperate and foolish, a middle aged groupie, and I will find it very hard to find another job like the one I have now. It's what I do for a living, and I don't wanna screw it up. And if and when this show is over, I don't want my next client to think he's got extra perks, if you know what I mean."
"You make it sound so dangerous."
She sighed. "It is. I don't want to make believe it isn't. So if you want something simple and safe, quit now and call one of your girlfriends."
Freddie looked hard at her, then pulled her into his arms again and kissed her hair. "Don't be scared, Molly. I won't let this hurt you, I promise. You've had enough hurt and I won't let it happen. We're still friends, we'll still work together, and we can be together like this. But we'll be together, whatever. Okay?"
"Okay." Finally she relaxed against him, head under his chin. He stroked her hair over and over. Shit, this kid could read her mind. She was terrified, and not just for her job. "My god, Carlito, it's been so long since anyone was sweet to me like you are. I forgot anyone could be."
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers one at a time. It was the hand he knew Reggie had broken some time ago. "That's all you'll ever get from me, I swear."
Suddenly she needed the security of work. "Well what I need from you today is signatures on lots of photos. So we're gonna get up, get dressed, and get out to the office. After I get a shower."
"Don't I get one too? I got at least as sweaty as you did. In fact, I did most of the work." She sneered at him in reply. "Ooh your face is gonna get stuck that way," he warned, "didn't your mother ever tell you that? Then instead of bonita I'll have to call you 'Fea'!"
She stopped after slipping on her kimono. "Fea? What's that?"
He wrapped the sheet around his waist as he got out of bed, and leaned into her face. "UUUGly!" He followed her into the posh bathroom. "Wow! I didn't get a good look last night. Just took a leak and stumbled back to bed. Check this out!" He was gaping at the Jacuzzi.
"What, you've never seen one of these before?"
"Well yeah, but it was never mine, you know?" She gave him a jaundiced look when he said "mine," but he ignored it.
"Never mind the shower, let's get in the Jacuzzi and bubble our asses clean!" She tried to say no, and meant to toss him out of the room, but before she could do it he was running the water and turning on the motor.
"Carlito, no," she really tried to say no again, forcefully. But then he was smiling that dimpled smile, part sweet and mostly seductive, and asking "pleeeeease, bonita, can we?" And then his arms were around her waist and his mouth at the back of her neck burrowing through her hair, and she wanted to say no, and wanted even more to mean it, but he changed her mind as he was nibbling her ears and undoing the tie on her kimono. He dropped the sheet and lifted her bodily into the tub.
"Come on, Molly, it feels so good, you feel so good," and they were devouring each other mouths and hands and he did feel so good, so wild she couldn't resist and didn't want to. After he drove her to wailing his name as he moaned against her shoulder, lasting longer than she did, finally crying out softly, "Yeah, yeah, oh yeah," after all that she collapsed in his arms gasping against his neck. "I love when you do that," he told her, "I love it."
"Crazy, we're crazy," she told him again and again.
Then they were like two childish friends, washing each other's backs and arms and shoulders; he massaged her back and she washed his face as he kissed her, wet mustache leaving trails on her skin. They dried each other off and she went to get into her jeans and t shirt while he climbed back into last night's tux. Collar and vest open, tie hanging from the pocket of the velvet jacket he held in his hand, damp hair curling around his face, he looked so good to her she almost wanted to pull him back into bed and stay there all day. No, she told herself, this will not interfere with work, not ever.
He seemed to be searching the floor in the bedroom for something. "Hey, I lost one of my, you know, these white pearly button things on my shirt..."
"Stud," she told him.
He stood up with a punch-line smile on his face. "Why thank you." He'd set her up again. He did that a lot.
She growled and heaved a pillow at him. "You go down the rear stairs, smartass, and meet me at my car in the garage."
At the door he told her, "I think I like this, it feels very naughty. I've always liked being naughty…" and he indulged in one more tongue-deep kiss before backing to the door. "See you downstairs, baby."
Abruptly Molly grabbed his shirt and yanked him to a halt. "Don't you ever call me that. Don't you ever."
He was about to crack a joke but saw the fire in her eyes. "Okay, okay," he grumbled, "you got a lotta rules, don't you?"
The words rushed out of her, "'Baby' is a Freddie-TV star word, a Chico word, it's a groupie word, it's something I know you call every chippie who follows you home. It goes right after 'I'll call you' and right before 'here's my number' when you hand her my card. It is not me, you get it?"
He was shocked by her sudden rage, but had to admit she was right. "I'm sorry. You're right. How about…" he thought for a second then ventured, "Besita?"
Her eyes still blazed. "And what the hell does besita mean?"
He smiled sweetly and leaned down close. "Little kiss," and he pecked the end of her nose. "See ya downstairs, besita!" He disappeared out the door, but not before casting dramatic looks up and down the hallway like James Bond eluding the bad guys.
When he was gone Molly leaned back against the closed door and asked herself yet again... what the hell am I doing?