Disclaimer: I don't own
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Sikowitz sometimes found it fun to take a break and head out to his weekend place. It was more than just his other home, the place the chronically underpaid teacher could retreat to when he needed some space. It was, in truth, his refuge from the hippie lifestyle his acting career had embraced, and a hint to his other life. Erwin Sikowitz may have been a second rate actor and first rate acting teacher, but he had a history, much of which his students would never know. A history that included visiting Yerba while younger, even though he hardly remembered most of it. A history that involved driving across country with circus performers and freaks, as well as attending the kinds of parties that he had trouble separating from school functions, even though they were far different, and may well have resulted in a child or two. He honestly didn't know.
What he did know was his all too brief marriage to Katya had resulted in something different then expected. He'd wanted a family at the time, only she wasn't going to give him much more then a few memento's. Things like that small trust fund, and this home in Palm Springs. His weekend place.
The drive wasn't that long, and it always felt odd, driving out of the city. Los Angeles had been his home, his refuge, and his life for so long. He'd traveled, seen the world, but always found his way back to lala land. The movies, the creativity, and especially the people. Sikowitz had enjoyed them all, finally feeling human after his early life in the central valley, where he never felt he belonged.
Pulling into the house, the place he stayed on the weekends, he hesitated to just take it in. A mini-mansion, with four bedrooms and over three thousand square feet, this was the place he knew he'd retire too, once he'd given up on his life's work of making a difference in entertainment. Actors and singers and all those who work in stage and screen, he'd help train his share, and many would make one kind of mark or another on the industry. That thought once again brought a smile to his face. Sighing, he got out of his beat up old van, which looked so out of place in the driveway, and approached the front door. His key jingled in his hand as he readied himself for the life he'd avoided, living here and working doing who knows what. The door opened. "I'm home."
"Bull." The woman replied, sitting in the living room, working on her own art. Katya was a painter, who's work adorned a select set of walls across the nation. Her work wasn't what made her money, that was her family's connections to the criminal underworld. The child of a mover in the Russian mafia, she'd grown up with money, violence, and a thirst for power. All of which ended on that backpacking trip through Yerba, the one where she got to see suffering. The one where she was able to be someplace else when he cousin took over the family, leaving her one of the few of her generation left alive. "You never lived here."
"Katya, my sweet, how're you doing?" Sikowitz asked. She was technically dead, a new identity shielding her from her past. Her trust fund, the one her father had set up, paid for everything, including the ex husband she never really had.
"I was working on my latest piece, and I just couldn't stop thinking, when will my man come by?' The woman was around his age, with almost timeless looks, dark brown hair and bedroom hazel eyes, and a body that still impressed. "You didn't see him, did you?"
"You wound me." Erwin said as he made his way carefully into the house. He knew better then to knock over one of her haphazardly placed paintings. "So, where is he?"
Her eyes pierced. "Do we have to do this?" She sighed. "I know I started it. I keep doing it. No idea why, cause I never wanted to own you. I just, I need someone, sometimes. It's not like this is witness protections. No, I faked my death, and while we did need the governments help, I…"
"As you're husband, I got the place, and transferred it to the trust fund." He recalled. "The same one we put the new you in, so you could have the place, and all that goes with. I'm sorry you never got to be the respected artist you so richly deserve to be…"
"I have pieces in modern art museums all over the world." The woman noted. "I should be more than happy. Only, I'm exiled, and while I hated that life, I just, I wish I was free to go where I wanted, do whatever, even if all I'd really want to do is stay here, make my art, and on some weekends, enjoy the man who was my husband…"
"You should have found someone new, moved on." The good man in him said.
"I did." She chuckled. "Only, I found, I live for this open relationship. Plus, my lover, turned out his wife wasn't as into the whole open relationship deal."
The acting teacher chuckled. She had the most off the wall idea of fidelity, not believing in it for one moment. He never knew if, on any given visit, he'd be sleeping next to her, or in the guest room. "I broke up with my last girlfriend." He told her. "I don't think she appreciated you showing up like that."
"Yea, I should have called first." The artist said. "Maybe I will, some day… Only, you were my husband, the one man I wanted to hold that title. I never wanted children, so that the only permanent things I'd leave behind would be my art. I…" She stood up. "I don't suppose you brought someone with. I feel like sharing tonight, and Carol down the street, she's not so much into… Her husband would object if he knew about me, let alone if he were to find out she was with you…"
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Just something random and different. I know, it has potential. Only, this is as far as I'm taking this one.