Bonnie is sitting at the bar counter when her eyes slide distractedly down towards the open purse on her lap, feeling a light bubbly excitation at the sight of the book she's been reading all day. On the space of a page she's the leading lady of a love story, the other half of someone.
She doesn't even notice the handsome boy approaching, nor the murderous grin Damon offers him, when he arrives and slides onto the stool next to hers.
The boy raises both hands like he's surrendering, "Sorry man, didn't know she was taken," he explains, taking a step back to turn on his heels.
"Mmm? What?" Bonnie raises her head to find Damon staring at a boy that's walking towards the table where his friends are sitting. "Did you say something?"
"I was asking if you're waiting for a call," he says, noticing her distraction. She's not one to go around with much, just her cellphone, wallet and keys, no lipstick or mirror to touch up her makeup.
"What? No," she answers with a shake of her head.
"Because if it's a guy, you shouldn't give him the time of the day," he continues, despite her denial, raising his hand to signal the bartender to fill their glasses.
"Why is that?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Because A," he starts, raising a finger to indicate a list, "After spending time with me we are both painfully aware that you can't just go and lower the bar." When she opens the mouth to contradict him, he uses the raised finger to put it against her lips and shuts her up. "I agree with you," he says, feigning sympathy, "You should at least hold on to hope, for however useless it is."
She rolls her eyes at him, accidentally catching a group of girls looking their way, staring at Damon's back like they are trying to burn a hole into him; and for a moment, she forgets to follow his vain reasoning. Has he arrived to C? She wonders, looking at his three raised fingers. "…Guys wants one thing only."
She turns to him, her eyes grow wide as she fakes surprise and horror. "And what's that?" she asks, cocking her head to the side.
Damon turns towards his drink to gulp it down while she chuckles, amused. "So, if there's no guy…" he concedes, believing his best friend would never lie to him — even though his reaction to that kind of revelation would be to try and make her desist from any attempt at a romantic relationship — "What did you do, today?"
"I've been reading," she replies, biting her lower lip and regretting it immediately.
"Something good?" Damon enjoys his reading a lot, he always did. Even on the other side, the only times he managed to leave her alone was when she'd put a book in his hands. He would push her towards the end of the sofa – between her protests for his manners – and use her thighs as pillow for his head as he laid down to read. At some point she had just given up and sat where he would want her, anyway.
"Books for my courses," she lies, with a shrug, closing her purse, knowing he won't ask to borrow some curricular manual.
"I'll pass." He grimaces at her answer, making her feel safe about her dirty, little secret. It's embarrassing enough to be so deep into a silly romance novel, but to tell him that she's half in love with the main lead which shares his name and his unbearable attitude would take the cake. What would he think? She wants to be free to enjoy a little romance without the Freudian psychoanalyzing and the second-guessing, and she does both very well on her own without Damon's support, thank you very much.
"This is your spring break, you should live it to the fullest, you know. Get drunk and get naked, steal a car and cross the border with the police at your heels," he explains, drink in one hand, looking all sage and wise. Bonnie raises an eyebrow, giving him a blank stare.
"I don't think living to the fullest strictly requires a criminal record."
Damon grimaces, looking as though he's considering her point
"And you just vetoed the male population for me less than five minutes ago."
"So we're left with getting drunk, which, I'll have you know, I'm a champion at!" he declares snapping his fingers at the barman, calling, "Alan!"
Her heartbeat goes frantic.
Bonnie's smile falls from her face in the fraction of a second, as she turns her eyes on the young man smiling Damon's way, as he says, "Fill them up," though her drink is still half full.
"Sure thing, handsome," and Bonnie doesn't need to go out of her way to know that Alan – with one L - would be more interested in Damon than herself, if he were to pick his company.
Bonnie blinks away the sudden, short paralysis that came over her muscles, and tries to enjoy the night.
Damon makes her laugh, quite a lot. Her mind, a couple of times, goes back to the story waiting silently in her purse but she enjoys herself so much it is easy to lose herself in his stupid jokes and the way he elbows her whenever he wants her eyes on him again, so that he can be more effective with his storytelling.
She enjoys the cutting taste of the drinks he buys for her, the envious stares from girls that imagine him being more than just her drinking buddy that make her feel like for once she has the leading role in this movie, slips in a few sassy remarks here and there, making him look at her with a mixture of surprise and pride.
"I'm rubbing off on you so well," he decides at one point.
"Well, actually, you're behaving," she answers, "So who's rubbing on who?" and he grins at her before she gives up at puts her head against his shoulders, tired and more than a little relaxed from her drinks.
Still, she's not drunk. Or that's what she repeats when he mocks her, and when he drags her to the car crouching down so that her arm circles his shoulders, and later, when he scoops her up and brings her up the stairs to take her to her room.
The walls spin a couple of times, and she closes her eyes, relying on the steady firmness of Damon's chest to find a secure place. In the dark she can barely realize when he stumbles and they both fall on her bed. She lands softly on her mattress, against her pillows, and he stops his own fall with both hands, effectively trapping her in the cage of his arms.
Bonnie opens her eyes lazily, can feel the warmth of his husky voice slipping through her clothes when he says, "This could be dangerous," and the breath of him tickles her lips, igniting something in the bottom of her stomach. His blue eyes look like mercury in the in the moonlight, so tender, volatile, electric. Bonnie's mind is numbed and yet her muscles feel like they are going to twitch on their own accord from all the tension that flows through her skin at the vague contact of his wrist against the skin of her waist, where the camisole she wore rode up.
"This is why I tell you to tidy up your room," he adds, pulling away from her.
"Yes, Mrs. Stewart," she replies, smiling indolently up at him before closing her eyes to enjoy the softness of her bed. She can feel herself drifting off with his towering presence above her and delicate fingertips pushing her hair away from her forehead.
Bonnie wakes up hours later, because she needs to use the restroom. She finds herself cocooned between soft sheets, shoes neatly paired next to the foot of the bed and she's still wearing her clothes. In the fog of her restless sleep she has a strange recollection of feeling Damon's hands around her feet and ankles.
Drinking never helped her sleep well, on the contrary, it usually brings her a few hours of restless sleep, a loud need to pee and then she's left staring at her ceiling for a couple of hours before she can manage to knock herself out again. This time though, when she comes out of her private bathroom she knows how she's going to entertain herself.
She takes off her make up with less care then her usual, and is really quick washing her hands of any residue to go hunt down her purse and the object of her desire. Luckily for her Damon is so neat she doesn't even need to rummage around before she finds it, slipping in between the sheets and turning on her nightstand lamp to look at the printed words awaiting her.
His agenda was perfectly full with commitments for the next four months, with filming, photo shoots, interviews, etc., and there was more she needed to squeeze in, which made her feel a little guilty. It was his job, and he was a professional, but wasn't he supposed to rest at some point?
"Your next free day is in three weeks," she mumbled, hoping he would contradict her statement.
"I know. Great, isn't it?" he replied, instead. "This is my moment. I've been working really hard for this," he finished, before stepping in position in front of the camera.
She looked at him with admiration. Damon was made for the spotlight, and he did everything in his power to make sure he could be proud of his job. It was something easy to respect for her. Having being subjected to his attractiveness from up close it was easy to think that his looks were the key to his success, but that could only bring him so far. What Damon Spada had, he had earned it with commitment and sweat.
She observed the makeup artist, dusting his face with a light layer of powder to avoid the shine from the set lightening. He made a joke, making the girl smile. His eyes were made vivid by the inner energy he seemed to nurse for the scene only, making it impossible for her to turn her eyes away.
Because she could understand him, he was more real than ever. And painfully distant.
Bonnie's heart aches a little. The more she reads the girl's thoughts the more she can understand, can see what she means. The fact that their lives move at a different speed, in different directions. He's a star, and his legacy will make him live forever. She's a mere assistant, and at some point he'll probably forget she even existed.
"Today, it's been the first time you weren't here when I arrived," Allan said, walking up to her though she's been avoiding his eyes most of the time as he sat in the chair next to the director.
"That felt wrong," he added, offering a gentle smile, and she blinked, because now it was so easy to see the emptiness behind it. She genuinely wondered how it was possible he could get hired to act.
"My job description has changed," she informed him, keeping her tone neutral. She still felt nervous in his presence, but now she wasn't supposed to jump at every command he gave and this made her feel more in control. She still needed to be on his good side, though, to avoid future problems, but she was out of reach for now.
"You got a promotion?"
"You could say that," Damon said, behind her. She struggled to not jump and keep her façade as she observed Allan's reaction. "I'm the Gold Update of mankind. The Hollywood Prime Membership," he added before winking down at her.
Bonnie shot him a look, like she was asking him, 'seriously?' and he chuckled at that. Her heart trembled a little – she probably needed a coffee. She only had half cup that morning. Yes, it was surely that.
Bonnie yawns, and pulls the blanket up to her chin. It would be the perfect moment to go back to sleep. She feels a bit drowsy. She could try and rest now. Her arms and hands are numb from holding up the book for so long but just one more page, she bargained with herself for the umpteenth time. Just one.
And that single page became six, and it isn't that interesting because they are talking about work and scripts and details, and Bonnie spent two of those pages on the phone with Damon's agent. A woman, because of course he'd have a woman as an agent. And Bonnie is about to put down the book when Damon enters the scene again and she just can't leave him hanging.
Okay, she'll stop reading the moment Damon is out of the scene again. Scout's honor.
"She said she's pushing for a more romantic shooting, and she hopes you'll prepare accordingly."
Damon moved the neck of the juice's bottle away from his pinkish lips before he could take a sip, made an annoyed face as his hands carefully closed the cap, and threw it at his back. The bottle fell easily into a bin that was a couple of steps away from his chair. "I need coffee," he said, "Black. And skittles." he added, grimacing.
"I don't understand, you said you had to detox and—"
"I will draw a picture for you, innocent soul," he interrupted her sternly. "By romantic, she means half-naked. And I'm putting in the half because I'm an optimistic fella," he sighed.
"What does that have to do with your diet?" she asked curelessly, hoping he wouldn't make fun of her ignorance. He seemed too busy hating the new turn the photo shoot had taken to do that.
"I'll tell you what that means," he decided, "I'm very much into thriller movies at moment, I have my fair share of action, and the only vaguely romantic thing I've ever played was a gay boy in a cynical depiction of the young American society a few years ago, so you see… I get cast for a certain type of role for which I eat the right stuff, do the right exercises—you know, pull ups and press ups and dips and all that jazz—so basically I'm fine for a shirtless scene anytime the director asks me for one," he explained. "Theoretically. Because then you have to dehydrate yourself, so you'll lose liquids and your skin will shrink and wrap up around your muscles fiber," he added with an almost comical rhythm "Enters coffee and skittles. My sole aliments for the next foreseeable future. "
"Well, you add the diet of a child with an attention deficit disorder to the personality of one," she deadpanned, and though it seemed a bit mean to rub salt into his wounds it seemed to make him look at it from a different perspective, because he grinned at her.
"Thank you very much," he offered, sarcastically.
"My pleasure," she replied.
"I don't doubt it."
They have such a rhythm in their interaction, it's like they click, like they belong, not in the forced, predictable way two leads sometime do, and Bonnie is elated with the bubbling emotion that she feels moving in the pit of her stomach, like it happens when your secret crush accidentally touches you.
The back seat was covered in scripts he needed to check to choose his next project, but from the moment Damon had donned the dark sunglasses he had ignored the mess he had made to rest his head. Filming had gone beyond the predicted hour – like sometimes happened – and he was taking every chance he got to have a little sleep. His palm rested over his stomach, and she knew he was probably having cramps because of the caffeine. His stomach had protested a couple of times in her presence, and he had ignored it in favor of work.
Now there wasn't much distracting him, and she saw his hand giving a hard rub over the band of his jeans.
"You'll pick a romantic movie, next?" she asked, hoping she was doing the right thing engaging him in conversation.
"Probably," he answered curtly.
"You don't like them?"
"I'm quite pretty," he said with no humility, rubbing her the wrong way. "Blood and soil help disguise that," he added, "I want people to look at me a see a good actor, not a pretty face." His own recognition of his good looks suddenly seemed to make much more sense.
"You can be good in a romantic movie, too."
"I suppose. Sharon says that if I pick one more thriller I'll never get out of this typecast and that could be detrimental for my career. Fleshing out the female fantasy could be a real boost."
"So go with romance," she suggested, emphatically. "No one accused Leonardo Di Caprio of being too pretty to be a good actor."
"Leonardo Di Caprio lucked out. He made Romeo + Juliet, and Titanic," he protested "I need to find the right role. The movie needs to be the right one. The female lead needs to be the right one. I don't think Kate Winslet has a free slot," he joked, "God knows if you pick two people with no chemistry, no soundtrack or lighting can save you, and people will remember you as the cardboard cutout of a human being pretending to be an actual human being who liked another human being, supposedly because she has tits."
Bonnie grimaced at the crudeness, but she could see his point. And when the morning after she watched him steal looks at his counterpart she guessed his thoughts. Though, a small part of her was wandering if he was in awe at her milky beauty.
Her skin was so candid, so white, she could disappear inside the plain bathrobe.
The first pictures were expressionless. She was half reclined into a tub, wearing jewels and bubble bath, and Damon looked like the hot plumber every woman dreamed to find at her door, and at her service. What kind of service they were implying when they made him kneel at her side as she looked away, she didn't want to know.
All in all, the pictures were beautiful, she realized as she stole glances at the camera every time the photographer stepped away to give them new directions. The poses were plastic and sexy.
The shooting was going well and Damon was dressed, though a little disheveled. Bonnie sat in a corner, answering messages, reading e-mails and confirming his updated filming schedule until they didn't call a break to change the setting.
Bonnie stood from Damon's chair but he just used one hand to press down on her shoulder and made her sit back again. The warm skin of his hand burned thought the fabric of her blouse.
"I need to brush up the scenes for tomorrow," was all he said, bending his neck a little to read over her organizer.
"Damon," a guy called, as he came over, "You need to get changed," he said, handing him a pair of blue jeans and nothing else.
"Yeah, sure," he turned towards Bonnie to wave the clothing item in front of her, "Romantic," he said, walking away.
Five minutes later Damon was in front of the lens, holding his co-worker with one arm across her back.—pale skin against pale skin in a soft embrace that lost shape against the white at their backs.
Both followed every instruction, to the letter, but the photographer seemed to want to push more and more, though in what direction she couldn't even guess. At some point he started to look satisfied enough, giving encouragement, and praising the models work, so Bonnie guessed they were about to be done for the day. And it wasn't even four in the afternoon, so maybe they could have the rest of the day off.
She and Damon were workaholics in their own fashion, but she was set on having him take any chance he got to rest, from now until his next free day. She was hopping around, impatient to go, as Damon studied the pictures from the screen of the camera, discussing the shots with the photographer.
"She won't like them," Damon simply stated.
The man hardened his face at that, before conceding, "I know."
"Good. Because this stuff falls flat," he added, crossing his arms over his naked chest, "I mean, I like the handyman thing. Candice was stunning, and just bitch enough," he said, like he was paying her a compliment. He probably was, considering the concept of the shooting. "We can sell that. But the lover's stuff completely lacks energy, sexual or otherwise."
"I thought the idea was simple enough to build on it, but maybe we needed different scenery—"
"Or a different color," Damon suggested, massaging the base of his neck.
"You mean the lightening—"
"No," he cut him off, "I mean a different color," he insisted, walking towards Bonnie, grabbing her wrists and practically dragging her along in front of the camera. He pulled with force, making her chest slam against his own, and held her tight, before turning his face towards the photographer, to clarify. "Look at this now," he said, cupping her face with a large hand, to show the stark contrast of his marble skin against her caramel one.
The man rubbed his chin, and looked thought his lens, studying the picture the two made together.
Bonnie's eyes were wide open as her heart started beating madly behind her small ribcage. She tore her green eyes away from Damon's profile, away from the hard angle of his sculpted jaw, and counted the seconds he would decide he could let her go.
She saw the photographer nodding his way and she thought it was done. The point was made. She would have her space and her breath back.
"I need to take a couple of shots to make them see we need to go for a recast," he explained, euphoric, "This will look splendid," he declared, thrilled, "Please, someone help the girl take off that horrid blouse!"
"What?" Bonnie half shrieked, going stiff like she was trying to go unnoticed by the predator that was hunting her down. "I don't think this is necessary" she said, as she slipped from Damon's hold.
"Oh, it's essential. Indispensable. Imperative—"
"Yeah, yeah, we got the point, Francois," Damon interrupted, "She's an assistant, not a model. She'd rather dig herself a tunnel like a mole, then be noticed by a human being, and you're asking her to take pictures in front of a bunch of strangers while she's half naked," he explained, making her feel like she was naked already. "Just let's take five, okay?" he asked, trying to not give away his annoyance before sighing.
"Listen up, Bonnie. I know you didn't sign up for this," he said, lowering his tone, and trying to look her in the eyes though she escaped them like the plague, "But they are just a couple of shots. We'll be the only ones to see them," he added, holding her chin between two fingers to guide it up and make her look at him "Well. Us and Anna Wintour."
"Oh my God," she was about to hyperventilate.
"Nope, calm down," he insisted, lowering his face towards hers. "Breathe. It's okay. I'm here. Breathe," he said, unaware of the way he smelled. Of the way she would feel if she breathed deep enough. "I promise I'll guide you through it. Leaving your shell for a little while won't be so bad." He whispered, "Take a chance, Bon. Huh? What do you say?" he asked. "Can you do this for me?"
And what if she could do anything for him? She thought to herself, scared.
When she falls asleep, curled on her side, her cheek resting over the page, crumpling it, Bonnie dreams of a husky voice. Take a chance, Bon. Huh? He asks, pinkish lips brushing against the flesh of her earlobe as they speak to her, commanding the attention of something inside, like the Pied Piper. The feeling warm and liquid, dripping down into her.
#
Note: I usually witch fiction after every update but lately I'm just into this story. Maybe I just need to let go of my angst for a bit. I hope you don't mind. Please try to support me, thought your reviews and/or with coffee (link in my bio). I hope you enjoy.
