Alyx In Wonderland Chapter 8 free porn video

Thank you to everyone who has left comments for previous chapters. Your support mean a lot to us. If you feel too shy to leave a comment, or have questions you'd like to ask, or maybe you want to tell us about your own work. Any of the above you can contact us here: [email protected] Now for this week's episode... (Theme tune by Robertlouis) Chapter 8 Becca I hated waiting at the bar. I felt like the whole restaurant was watching me. My recent haircut didn't help. It was shorter than I had ever had, but the stylist said I 'could pull it off.' I rubbed the back of my neck, wondering how guys coped. I could feel every draft, every movement of air. KnicksForever1990, or Nick as he was known outside The Reporter's dating website (nauseatingly called 'Soul Dates'), had said he'd meet me here. Like a fool, I'd decided to get there ten minutes early. I was about a third of the way through my beer when he arrived. Exactly at eight, like we'd agreed. For once, he looked like his picture. I held my beer up to catch his attention; he seemed to do a double take on seeing me. "Hey, sorry." He came over, looking a little flustered. Nervously, I ran a hand through my hair. "It's the hair, isn't it? I knew I..." I still hadn't been brave enough to put up a picture on my profile. "It looks great. I was just surprised to see you here. All the dates I've met so far have been at least fifteen minutes late." "Oh." Was that what was expected? "I didn't mean to... I just hate those sort of girls... You know playing games. I'd rather be straightforward from the start." He seemed to like that answer. We were seated and spent the evening talking about sports. We went our separate ways, agreeing to go to a sports bar he recommended. Two days later, I was at work got an email from him, via the website. The offices were open plan so I ducked into the toilets. Only when I was in the stall did I read it. 'Hey Becs, had a grt time with you Wed. Didn't think there was a sprk, think you felt the same. Soz if not. But would like to hang. My friend Anthony bailed on Ranger game next week (whipped). Going with a few of the guys. You in?' I sat there for a while and then grinned. Not sure why, maybe just because I didn't have to be the one to say 'not interested.' And it was cool that he didn't think I was a total asshole. Date 2 Gus was Australian. He'd said he'd only been over here for six months, working for one of the big banks. His profile pic was good. His sandy hair being blown in the wind as he stood on some beach, probably back home. We met in a bar around the corner from work. I'd said I was happy to meet somewhere in the middle, but he'd insisted in coming to me. 'I've got to learn the city somehow.' This time, I arrived ten minutes late. I'd meant it to be fifteen, but it was raining and I got bored. I'm supposed to get wet for some dumb rule? He was waiting for me at the bar. I ran a hand through my hair. He was handsome. His surfer-dude body looked wrong, both in his suit and in these surroundings. The bar was crowded so I could watch him as I snaked my way to the bar. He must have set off early from work to get here on time. "Hi, I'm Becca," I said, putting my umbrella in the plastic bag they gave me at the front. "Hi, Becca," which sounded like 'Bicca,' "I'm Gus." He had a nice accent. Not Allie or Kelly, but friendly. "It's good to meet you." He stood up and went to kiss me on the cheek. I was used to Allie doing this, so I didn't feel as awkward as most Americans. I was a little startled when he went for the other one. Allie had once explained to me the standard number of cheek kisses expected in each European culture. "That was weird, right?" He sounded like the Crocodile Hunter and had a smile that filled his whole face. "It was awful," I laughed. There was a pause. "So what are you drinking?" I put a hand up to catch the eye of the bar staff. "No, let me get these." He sounded offended, so I bit my tongue and let him order for us both. When we had our beers, we went and found a table. "This is OK, right? I mean, the bar." I was surprised when he held out the chair for me. "Uh, thanks. The bar is fine, I mean it's good. I've only been on one other date since joining... 'the site.'" I whispered 'the site'. "That was at a restaurant and it felt wrong. Too much pressure, not enough to talk about." And I was talking too much probably. My mom would be having a stroke now if she could see me. He laughed. "I totally get that. To be honest, this is all crazy to me. So many rules. I'm from a small town. There, you just bump into someone until something happens. Or not." "I know what you mean. I'm from Seattle, so not really a small town but not here. I think sometimes there's too much choice here." He nodded his head in agreement. "Exactly, I feel like New Yorkers are always on the lookout for something slightly better. Like, 'he's, like, perfect but can I get one in brown hair?'" I laughed at they way he mimicked the accent. "Do we really sound like that? The upspeak?" "Kind of, not you though." He smiled nervously, which was endearing. --- We'd finished a day of filming out in Freeport. It had been gruelling and we'd both needed a drink. The poor woman was raising two kids, had a permanently bed bound husband and still she had to go to work. In a car that looked like it could barely get down the driveway. We stopped off at a bar just off the Meadowbrook, near Roosevelt Field. Rachel could only have a Coke and I felt sorry for her. "That was..." "Yeah." She just nodded her head. "Jesus. I hadn't thought... Not really." Again she shook her head. "People don't." "And we just go back to..." "Exactly." She was silent for a while. Then she looked up at me. "Don't forget, this is why we're doing this. For women like her." I just nodded. She wasn't in the mood to listen. Then, I felt my phone buzz. "Look, I know you didn't approve of me moving into producing." "I never said that." Her eyes never left the ring her glass left on the table. "You didn't have to. I know what it looks like. Like I sold out. For money. But what you said. That woman, she's why I do this." She took a sip of her drink, and then looked at me. Or through me. "Is it? Honestly?" "Yes," I answered, perhaps too quickly. "It honestly is. I don't know that I could have said it like that, not until just now. But I realized. I'm good. At making deals. And I think making deals, I can maybe make a difference, more than I could making movies." She got up off her stool and gave me a small smile. "Makes sense. That's a good answer," and she clinked my glass. "Remember it. Anyway, I'm off to the little girl's room." As soon as she was out of sight, I pulled out my phone. It was Gus, he wanted another date. I decided not to reply at first. Instead, I put my phone back in my jacket pocket and concentrated on the drive back to the city. "You're quiet." Rachel looked at me. We were getting off the BQE, not far from home. "The day took a lot out of me. It reminded me of Allie. I mean, she was really sick when she was young." The last bit I just blurted out. "Oh." She paused, then said, "Was it like today? Her mom doing everything?" Her voice always sounded softer when I brought up Allie. I shrugged. "I dunno. I mean they have universal health care there but it was still pretty hairy. And I'm pretty sure her mom did almost everything anyway..." When we got out, she smiled and said Trish would text soon to set up a dinner or something. "She has been on me to get together with you. She wants to make sure you're OK.." Before she could say, 'Since Allie,' I said, "Sounds great." I smiled, thinking of how Rachel never made plans, just Trish. I walked off towards my apartment, waving as she pulled away. I waited three days before I decided not to text Gus back. ---------------- I didn't know why I was here. It had been a long day, at the end of an even longer week. I should have been at work, putting together the Power Point to the new potential investors in the new pilot, 'Inception' but as comedy. But I had promised Trish when she texted me to get together. Besides, I had been feeling miserable since the premiere. At least, I hadn't seen a Jallie picture in a while. Her name was Casey. I'd texted her and asked how I'd know it was her, "use your imagination," she'd replied. Oh great. She probably thought it was flirtatious. It was annoying. I liked cute, but I didn't like cutesy. But, I'd promised Trish that I'd keep an open mind. We met at a coffee place near Columbia which was way out of my way. It had seemed unfair to make her come down to me. She was in grad school and I could take a cab. Besides, she picked the place. I was dressed for work. I didn't have time to change and wouldn't have known what to wear if I did. I came in and looked around the room. OK, obviously not the girls with guys. And please not the 45 year old. Not only was she old but, if she was in grad school, it would mean that she was one of those women who had decided to change her life. She'd want to tell me all about her ex and 'how she woke up one day and decided to change.' I'd had enough of change lately, thanks. Then, I saw a woman, about 30, reading a book. An actual book. She had dark hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders, and light brown eyes. Sitting down, she looked to be about 10 pounds too heavy, but who was I to judge? She was wearing a white sweater, the kind you'd see girls reading Emily Dickinson wearing. I walked over. "Casey?" She smiled and stood up. "Becca?" She looked me up and down. "You figured it out. What gave me away?" I looked at her. She was short, maybe 5'3". She was wearing a long skirt, with some kind of Indian type print, and sandals. I couldn't decide. Was she dressed up for me? She looked OK, like a teacher after work. I smiled. "Well, I looked around the room and eliminated anyone with a guy..." She laughed. "You never know. Maybe she brought him as cover, like you walked in and she went, 'oh god' and told him to pretend like he was her boyfriend." I started to ask whether she wished she had a guy here, but stopped myself. "Then I wondered if it was that woman by the window..." She smiled. "I was totally thinking the same thing...like who did my brother set me up with?" Then, she looked at me, "Are you going to stand all night?" I felt silly and sat down. "So what are you reading?" "The Mars Room. By Rachel Kushner. It's about this woman in jail for murder and all the other people in the jail. It's just amazing, the way she captures the voices of all of these disparate people and their hopelessness and...what? Why are you smiling?" She started to blush, which was very cute. "You're very passionate about this book. It's great." "Now, I feel ridiculous." She started to pull down the sweater. I pictured her doing that on a cold day, with a cup of tea and a book of poetry. Or maybe grading papers, the red pen in her mouth. I smiled, "Don't." I wished I cared that much about something. "So, Casey, Trish tells me you're in grad school? For education? What grade?" "Elementary. Getting my masters. I teach second grade." "Wow. That has to be tough." I couldn't imagine dealing with all that whining. She smiled. "Not at all. They're such sponges at that age. And you can read to them, real stories, and you can just watch them soak it in. It's truly amazing." Her eyes shone. "So you're a movie producer?" "Yeah. I work for Louise Quinn. But it's not just movies. It's TV and commercials. Really, it's everything. I mean, yesterday I was reading treatments..." "Treatments?" "Um, they're synopses of scripts, ideas. They're 15-20 pages..." "So, someone pours their heart into something and you decide based on 20 pages?" I noticed her fidgeting with her sweater. And her nail was chipped. "Not exactly. Actually, it's more like there are hundreds, thousands of scripts out there and, to be fair, most kind of suck. And you can tell from a treatment which ones suck. If you read a treatment and it's good, you read the script..." She smiled, rolled her eyes and nodded. "If we read every script cover to cover, nothing would get made. So really I'm helping the good ones." The waitress came over and took our orders. I wanted cappuccino but was afraid I'd spill it on myself. So I ordered green tea. I hated green tea. She laughed. "Have you convinced yourself yet?" Then, she moved her hair off her neck. "Oh," and I picked up her book. "You just picked this up at random? Just walked in the store and saw this Nan Goldin picture and said I'll read" and I spun my finger around over the book then pointed, "this one!" She giggled. "No..." "So how did you decide, huh?" She mumbled, "I read a review." "Sorry, what was that?" She laughed and took a sip of her coffee, leaving a lip mark on the cup. "I said I read a review. Are you happy, Becca? Proud?" I felt embarrassed. And mean. "I was teasing." She smiled and touched my hand. She had soft hands. "So was I." Then, she looked at the book. "Isn't that Elisabeth Moss from Handmaid's Tale?" I looked at the book. "It looks like her, but it's not. Nan Goldin, she's the photographer, took it, I think in Berlin in the 1990s. Have you ever seen her work? It's amazing. It's all about gender and sexuality. Like in the 1970s, she took all these pictures of drag queens but it's like she respected them. They weren't freaks to her. She was part of them." I could feel her looking at me. "You're staring. What?" "Nothing," she smiled, looking down then up. "All that from the cover of a book." "Sorry, I talk too much sometimes." She started rubbing the top of my hand, and I felt my throat get dry. I needed to have sex badly. "You don't talk too much. My ex talks too much...shit." "What?" "My ex. I should not have brought up my ex. My mom always tells me to let it go." I smiled and put my hand on hers, playing with her ring, a butterfly. She had small hands and I had these slabs of beef. "It's funny. Mine won't shut up about mine. Maybe they could talk to each other." She had a gorgeous smile. "How about we leave our exes out of this? Let's start from the beginning. Where is this nosey mom of yours?" "Seattle. With my dad. You?" "Westchester. Harrison. She and my dad are divorced. He lives in White Plains with his girlfriend." "Sorry..." "Don't be. They're better this way. You ever wonder why we say sorry when someone says something like that?" I interrupted her. "I know, like, did I break up their marriage?" She kept smiling at me. "I said that once to my mom and she looked at me like what's wrong with you?" "Oh, in my house, you, that would be fine. We joke when someone says that they lost their father, 'did you look in the last place you had him' or 'well, if you can't keep track of your fathers, then we're not getting you a new one'?" She giggled, "That is just awful, Becca." Had I made a mistake? Not everyone found that funny. Someone told Steve he was sick. And not in a good way. "Sorry..." She laughed. "Now that's an appropriate use of it. But I know the next time someone says that she lost her mom, that's all I'm going to think about. Thanks!" She still hadn't moved her hand. "So is it just you?" "I wish. I have three brothers, Steve, Josh and Charlie. All older. You?" "Well, you know I have an older brother. Craig. He's a doctor. Obviously. He works with Trish. And I have an older sister, Annabelle. She's a lawyer in Chicago. So, we're both the babies." "I guess so. So what made you decide on teaching?" "I dunno. I just always wanted to do it. I had a second grade teacher, Ms. Kirsch, and she read to us from the Nate the Great books..." I was just sitting there watching her talk, the way her lips formed the words. "So, how did you become a movie, sorry an 'everything', producer?" "Well, after Northwestern, I went to film school at NYU..." "Do they have a producing major? I don't think I've ever heard of that." "They do, but I was a cinematography major..." "So how did you end up producing then?" "I was working on a crew with Rachel, she's Trish's wife, and we were working on one of those anti-smoking commercials, the ones where they show the guy with the trach tube or the woman taking care of her husband, that was actually ours, and then we decided to make this documentary about how women are basically built into the system as unpaid caregivers and..." She smiled. "Slow down, Becca. I'm not going anywhere." I felt myself turn red and I took a deep breath. "Sorry. Anyway, we got this guy who made his money in industrial electric equipment to back us and we started on it...OK, I'm babbling." Why was I so nervous? "Well, anyway, Louise. Quinn. Louise Quinn, our boss..." She smiled and rubbed my hand. "I figured." "Invited us to this party at her apartment and next thing I know she tells me that I would be a great producer and well, here I am." "That's great. Do you ever miss the other side?" It didn't feel like an accusation. "Sometimes, but not really. I still work with Rachel on the documentary." OK, so I was fudging a little. I did, on weekends. When I wasn't traveling. "And I think I'm really good at this. Better than I was on the creative side...would you like to get something to eat, Casey? I mean I know you picked this place so if I was awful or a troll or something, you could get out of it early." She blushed, which made her adorable. "Stop..." "It's totally fine. If I had been that woman over there," and I nodded towards the big woman with coffee stains on her shirt, "I could see why you'd pick this place. But I don't think I am." I took a deep breath. "So, do you want to get something to eat?" She smiled. "I do have an early class..." Shit. I should not have said anything. Why did you give her the out Becca? She thinks you're a big pushy idiot. "But I do have to eat. Have you ever been to Tom's?" I shook my head. I had no idea what it was. "It's the diner from 'Seinfeld' and there's an '80 song about it." I asked how it went and she started singing it. Off-key. It was really cute. "Well, anyway, it has really good shakes and stuff. If you're interested." I took her hand. She didn't pull away, which was good. "Lead on." Alex I was having brunch with Tom and Chloe, Tom having made me leave my apartment. I hadn't left, except for auditions and meetings with Monica, since everything had happened. I had booked two more commercials, for an oil change place and a soft drink, which was good. And Monica had sent over an Off-Broadway play ('it's a short run. Six weeks. The star has to get back to her series.') about, surprise surprise, a family in crisis. I was auditioning for the younger daughter, who was into cutting, self-mutilation. The script hit a little too raw and close to me, but I thought about what Sadie said, about making sure I acted first. I wasn't feeling cute. I went through the motions of getting dressed, in a short skirt and sweater and light makeup. I combed my hair and went downstairs, where Tom and Chloe were waiting. I tried to joke, "I could have met you. I feel like when we'd pick up my great-grandmother for Sunday lunch..." Tom smiled, took my arm and yelled, "HI, NANA! HOW ARE YOU? ARE THEY TREATING YOU NICELY HERE IN THE HOME?" People on the street turned around. I looked at him. "I'm disinheriting you. Arsehole," I laughed. "But seriously, you didn't have to come here." Chloe looked at me somberly, "I wanted to make sure that you'd come. We've been worried about you." I kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you." Tom sniffed me. "What the hell are you doing?" He turned to Chloe. "Oh yeah. We got here just in time. She is starting to turn..." She looked at him. "You're an ass, Tom. So, where do you want to go? It's your choice," she said, way too brightly. Tom looked at me, then her. "Jesus, Chloe, she's not dying." I laughed. "You sound like the guy in a war movie, when he's next to his dying buddy..." Tom interrupted and took my hand. "That's right, Joe. Bangkok. You and me. We'll show that town what for..." We both started laughing and she looked at us. "You know what? Fuck both of you. I try to do something nice..." I gave her another kiss on the cheek. "I appreciate it, Chlo. I really do. Thank you for doing this." Tom made a talking motion with his hand, and rolled his eyes. "Wuss..." We sat at brunch and talked for an hour. Tom told me how they just closed another round of the app, which was now in final beta. I congratulated him, remembering the corn salad debacle. He took a picture of his coffee and pulled up a recipe for coffee cake. Chloe told me about the new commercial she was production coordinator on. "I saw that kid, Noah, the one from the movie. I mean, I think it was him. He's like five inches taller," she laughed. I felt nauseous, thinking of what Jacob said, and she looked at me. "Are you OK?" For a moment I was speechless. "I feel like such a piece of shit. I'm a fraud and a piece of shit..." "No you aren't," she said, holding me closely. "You are not a piece of shit." "But, I'm a fraud." I shook my head. "I'm a total fraud. He's right." "No, you aren't Allie. Stop that. Why would you even think that?" "Because...because...I...and I'm not...and I filmed them...and they didn't know...and for what?" I saw her look away for a second, at what I assumed was Tom. Then she continued, "Allie, honey, look at me." I did. "Allie, please. It's OK. You didn't do anything to them..." "He's right." I folded my arms, pulling back from Chloe. "I was playing a game. He's for real..." She looked at me. "Allie, honey. Stop it." She reached forward and squeezed my hand." "I'm OK..." I lied. She rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, you look really OK. I'm not leaving you alone until we talk." "I'll be fine," I felt even worse now, remembering everything. And putting them through this. "Bullshit. I'm serious. I'll call your mom if I have to." Before I could say anything, she said, "I got her number through Facebook. But, I am not leaving you alone." She looked at Tom and scribbled in the air. I saw him stop the waitress and give her his card. We left the restaurant, Chloe never taking her hand from mine. It felt like she was afraid I'd take the knife and stab myself, like I was crazy. While we were waiting to cross the road, she put an arm around me and squeezed me tight. "Get off," I mumbled, but I was smiling. We walked in Riverside Park, the three of us. It was cold and so the park was fairly empty, only the dog walkers and hard core runners were out. We sat on a bench, holding our cups of coffee as much for warmth as anything else. "I lost my shit back there. Sorry." Tom looked at me. "For what?" "Um, I just told you. I lost my shit." He looked at me, then Chloe. "Fine, apology accepted. What happened? I leave to take a leak and I come back and I don't even get to finish my coffee. You owe me coffee." I knew he was trying to make me laugh. "I'm serious. I want coffee, like good coffee, not this bodega shit. Like, fair trade coffee. I want to help the coffee farmers in Sumatra." Chloe looked at him. "I will blow you tonight if you can show me Sumatra on a map...didn't think so." Tom said, "Fine, but I still want to help the Sumatrans..." Chloe looked at us. "Enough. Allie, what happened? No jokes." I looked down. "I feel like shit. And when you mentioned Noah, it made me realise what kind of a piece of shit I am. I hurt him. And Jacob." Chloe took my hand. "You didn't do anything to Noah. Except, as far as I can tell, be his friend. He remembered who I was because of you." "Yeah, well, I filmed him that day and didn't ask him...and I lied to him too." Tom looked at me and said, "How?" "How what?" "How did you lie to him? What did you say?" I sat mute and he continued, "From what you told me, all you guys did was hang out and play XBox and goof around with each other. I didn't hear any lies..." "He thinks I'm Allie." He looked at me. "Um..." "You know what I mean...I just feel like a total lying sack of shit. And Jacob." I hadn't told them about Jacob. I couldn't. They would never say anything. But they could meet him someday. If he'd ever speak to me again. "I mean, he's not wrong." I didn't lie to them. All I said was that I told him about me and the project and he freaked. Chloe surprised me with her next question. "Are you Allie?" I looked up, "Huh? What?" Tom stood behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and looking at me. Intently. "Are you Allie or Alex?" She kept running her fingers up and down the strap of her purse. I was gobsmacked. "Um..." Tom looked at me. "You know that, whoever you are or choose to be, we're here for you, right?" I nodded and started to tear up. Chloe held me again. "It's OK, sweetie. Just try and breathe...and not get snot on my jacket." I laughed. I needed to laugh. "But, are you Allie or Alex? I mean, you don't have to answer now if you don't want to..." "I know and I don't know. I mean I know I don't have to answer and I don't know if I know." Tom nodded and in an overly grave tone. "We know." I rolled my eyes. "Arse." Chloe half-yelled, "I'm being serious." I looked at her. "I know. And I love you. And I'm being serious too. I really just don't know. I know I wasn't Allie when I started this..." Chloe started to say something and Tom stopped her. "Keep going." "I mean you guys were there. You know I wasn't." They just looked at me, Chloe only saying, 'keep talking.' "I wasn't. I was Alex. And I was happy as Alex." And they kept staring. "What about you guys? What did you think?" Chloe rubbed my hand. "Nope. Not answering. We liked you, I mean like you. And liked. And that's all we're saying. Right, Tom? Right?" He smiled and put his hands in his pockets, "Yup. We like you...mostly." "You really won't say?" I ran my hands on my tights, needing the jolt from the static electricity. They just shrugged. "Shit. I mean my mum..." Tom looked at me. "Your mom and dad will love you no matter what, so cut that shit." "You didn't see how happy she looked that day, at the store, at the fitting..." "She was happy," Chloe said in a tone usually reserved for small children, "because you were happy. Which gets us back to the original question, sort of. What makes you happy, Alex or Allie?" I sat there quietly. "I...um...I'm scared." "Of?" Chloe asked. Tom looked legitimately concerned for me, which felt nice. "I don't...I think... I guess..." Tom smiled, "That clears it up." Then, he sat down next to me and put his arm around me. "We are here for you. 100 percent. No matter what you do. If you wanna be Alex, we're here. If you decide to be full Allie," and he reflexively covered his crotch, which made me smile, "we're here." "Thanks." I looked at Chloe. "I feel like I ruined things between you and Becca." It wasn't what we were talking about, but it was. She scoffed then got serious. "You didn't, Al..." I could tell she didn't want to finish that, to try and impact my decision. "Seriously, you didn't." Tom laughed. "You never heard what she said before this," which got her to reach over me to hit him in the back of the head. "Seriously. That was going to go bad sooner or later, whether you were Allie or Alex or not here. You're my friend, she isn't." I looked at Tom. "This," and I waved my hand up and down, "doesn't bother you at all?" "It did," and Chloe went to hit him and I stopped her. "It did. But because it felt like Becca made you. And, if we're being on the 100 here, I thought the project was kinda idiotic. Like I didn't know how you dressing up like a girl and getting your ass grabbed proved 'me too.' Like what did you bring to the table that was different. But, that's not really important anymore..." "It freaked out Jacob," I mumbled. Tom looked at me. "He didn't freak out because he didn't like the project. He freaked out because he thought," and again he covered his crotch, "and then he found out that you were doing this thing and he didn't know..." Chloe looked at him, then me. "Isn't he so articulate?" Tom laughed. "What I was saying was I don't care who you are. Allie crashed on my couch for three weeks. You think if that bothered me, that would have happened?" I shook my head. Chloe took over. "We're here for you, sweetie. This totally sucks, Jacob and Becca and all that shit. But, I mean, it's not about them or the movie and all that. The movies and the commercials will go, Sadie told you that. No one works forever. And who knows what will happen with Jacob or Becca? But, you should be happy. As Alex or Allie." "You guys will really support me no matter what?" I needed the affirmation, which came in the form of groaned 'yesses.' "I think I'm Allie." Chloe put her arm around me. "You can't think..." I thought about it for a minute. I thought about what it meant. About what it entailed. Was I Allie because it was fun and I was getting praise and roles? Because my mom seemed so happy? Or was it because I wanted to be with Jacob? I could be gay or bi, even if it wasn't with him. Who knows? I could've gone out with a few more times and hated him. I didn't have to be Allie. Except I was. When I was alone in the dark, I was. I was Alexandra Liddell. I hugged both of them. "I'm Allie. I'm Allie Liddell." ---- I was at rehearsals for the play, which had started badly enough. The male lead, Ron, would, at least once a day, point out how British actors kept coming over here, while he couldn't go over there, to work. "Have you been to the West End?" I finally asked, tired of his crap. "Have you seen a British movie? There are Americans everywhere," and then I paused and smiled. "Although the Old Vic will probably think twice after Kevin Spacey." After a while, I think he accepted that I wasn't going anywhere and his angry rants were replaced by a cold peace. We had taken a break and I was idly flicking through my phone, reading football news, when notice of a DM from @ZombieHunter7793 popped up. Noah. 'Hey Allie.' I grinned. 'Noah!!!' And three hearts and kiss emojis, just to make him sick. It did. I got three poop emojis. A toilet. And, for some reason, a school bus. 'we r in the city today. R U busy later?' 'I can always make time for my little bro.' Smiley emoji. I'd missed the little pain in the arse. 'Missed getting your arse kicked at FIFA' Middle finger. 'Haha. Anyway, where r u?' I gave him the address of the rehearsal space. 'Rehearsals over at 5. Short day :-). We can get dinner if ur mom OK w that.' 'Kewl. C U then :-)'. Then, 'should I ask Jacob too' Good luck with that, I thought. I had tried to reach out to him once but it was like the premiere, that day, had never happened. I responded, 'sure why not' I was waiting out front of building when I heard a cracking voice. 'Hey Allie!' I smiled and turned to face him. I gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush. "Hey!" I looked him up and down, and then gave his mum a kiss. "Hello, Shari. How in hell has he grown since the premiere?" He was now just a shade taller than me. She smiled, which was rare for her. "It happens. He's almost as tall as me, Allie." "So, what brings you two in, not that I mind?" I put my arm around Noah. She smiled, the old smile again. "Well, Noah was in for his interview at PCS." "PCS?" "Professional Children's School." I guess I had a blank stare on my face, because she continued, in a condescending tone. "It's a school that was designed for working child actors. To allow them to get an education while accommodating work schedules..." Noah had a sour look on his face. "Oh. Interesting. I guess I was an amateur child," which made him laugh. "What made you decide to apply?" "Well, as Noah gets older, he needs to be in the city more, for easy access to auditions. The kids from the suburbs, unless you're a series regular, are at a disadvantage. And Noah and I want to keep his advantage, right, sweetie," and she ruffled his hair. Which ruffled my stomach. He mumbled, "Yeah, sure." "So where are you two going to go tonight?" I shouldn't have been surprised. I was the babysitter after all. Noah looked at me and shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure we can find something," I smiled. I didn't even ask her what she was doing. "Right, Noah?" I put my hand on his and he turned bright red. She handed me $40, "For whatever," and left us, saying she'd pick him up at my place at "9, 9:30." I hugged him. "I am so happy to see you." He squirmed away but smiled. "Can we go to the Microsoft store first? My mom promised but y'know the audition and then phone calls..." "Sure. Of course. Whatever you want." From the look on his face, I figured no one ever said that to him. We started walking east to the store. "So, how was the interview?" "Fine," he grumbled. "Is it like an audition?" The only time I had ever interviewed for a school was drama school and that had been in the form of an audition. "No." He looked down. I stopped and looked at him. "Noah, it's me. If something is bothering you, you can tell me. Kids club oath of secrecy..." He looked at me, "Uh huh..." "Or don't. But, if you want to, I'll keep it secret." "Thanks, Allie." We walked a few more blocks, as he asked me about the play. "How are you preparing?" "I've been doing a lot of reading on it. On how girls internalize cruelty and boys externalize it." I stopped, wondering if I was talking above his level. He was so focused as an actor that sometimes I forgot he was 13. "I've been thinking about the character, about the pain she's feeling and the hopelessness, and how she feels like this is how she can...not that it's the right thing." He smiled, then got serious. "I know, Allie. I'm not going to hurt myself. My friend Andrew's sister did it. She was in a hospital for a while and now she wears long sleeves all the time." "Wow," I felt awful. "Is she...ok now?" He shrugged. We walked along some more, talking about auditions and his classes. I could tell there was something he wasn't telling me, even though he wanted to. But I was going to pry, not yet at least. We went to the Microsoft store where we played FIFA and I, as to be expected, beat him like he stole something. "You know Noah," I grinned at him, "this is really getting boring, constantly beating you." He gave me the middle finger. "Oh, is that how many goals you hope to score one day?" He tried to look serious. And failed. "Now, we're playing Madden. Real football. Not soccer." He proceeded to absolutely destroy me. Tom had tried to explain it a few times, but it was a foreign language to me. "45 to nothing," he crowed as we left. "In one half. No wonder you lost the empire." Cheeky little shit. We went for burgers. This time I let him get the shake, "So, what else is going on? What's up at school?" He started to say something then stopped. "What?" "Nothing," he mumbled, clearly hiding something. "What? You can tell me," I said. "I won't tell her." "Uh huh. It's nothing," he said, looking away. "I'm not on a set with you for a few months and your acting skills turn to shite," I laughed. Then, more seriously, "It's not them picking on you again, is it?" He had told Jacob and me how sometimes the other kids called him 'pussy' because he was an actor and wore makeup. The delineation between screen makeup and regular being lost on them. He looked intently at his straw wrapper. "Seriously, Noah. You can't keep it inside..." "I don't want to change schools. Kid actors are weird." I laughed and started to say something about him being Exhibit A but didn't. There was something in his face that said don't. "Have you said something to her, your mum?" "She doesn't care. She never cares." "That's not so." Yes, it was. It completely was. "You should say something." He looked at me and rolled his eyes. "It won't make a difference. She doesn't care about me, just me working..." He looked sad and I moved my chair, to put my arm around him. "I...You know I care. And if you lived here, we could see each other more." "Uh huh," he mumbled. I laughed and mock-indignantly said, "Well, thank you." He smiled, apologized but then clearly didn't say something. It clicked. "Is it a girl?" He mumbled about needing the bathroom. "It is, isn't it?" He tried to get up but I blocked him and started tickling him. He was already big enough to stop me if he'd wanted to. "Stop," he laughed, mostly involuntarily. "Stop it," he gasped, as people looked at us. Which made him turn red. Good. I did. I had made my point. "Fine. So tell me." "You can't tell anyone." His face was flush. "Of course." Before he could ask, I promised that I wouldn't. "Her name is Nia. She's in my Spanish class." I smiled and he glared at me. "Sorry." I was sorry that I got caught. "So, Nia." "She just moved here. For her Dad's job. And she's really cute and she plays soccer." I laughed. "A footballer, eh? Must have good legs." "Soccer." He smiled and I stuck my tongue out. "Shall we go to the Microsoft store again? So, tell me about Nia...." It was the old he liked her, but he didn't know if she liked him and his friend asked her friend but her friend wouldn't answer. Or maybe she did but his friend was 'being a dick about it.' ---- Becca It was just after 11am before I remembered that I'd done it. Shit. Rachel had taken me out for a drink the night before. It was supposed to be just a quick one. A debrief after the big meeting on 'Danelaw'. But then Trish had texted to say she had to work late. So one became I don't know how many. It'd been past 2 AM when I'd got home. And I'd opened my laptop. A big mistake. The Internet is a bad place. Especially when you're drunk. And horny, And lonely. I have no memory of where I learned about the site. Probably another lonely night when I was left to my own devices. FMmates. Internet dating for people who want something...a little different. Originally, I'd registered only to see the profiles. I hated to admit it, but I still looked at old pics of Allie to help me fall asleep. I wanted something to obliterate that memory. Then I saw his profile. If he wasn't in the 'male wanting to be female' category, I wouldn't have known he was a 'he.' He was very small and very pretty. I clicked on his profile but it only had one picture. If you saw him on the street, you would never have known. Why the fuck not, I thought. I was at home, there was thirty day free trial and the form was easy to fill out, other than the gender choice. In the end, I put 'labels are for clothes' and put up a picture I took after a workout. No one would know. I was at work when I remembered. I couldn't check my computer. We had a relaxed policy on social media. Nothing racist or sexist and do your work first. But this was definitely NSFW. Would you want to explain it? After a few minutes trying, and failing, to focus on work, I found myself in a stall in the women's room. I navigated to the site and searched my memory for my password. 'SpankAllie97.' How fucking horny was I? I had 57 profile views. And two messages. The first was a standard, welcome to our site, here are our community rules disclaimer. The second was from BobbieXWhy... him. Her. The cute one. I stared at it. Finger hovering over open. 'Hi BigBadBec!" God, what had I been thinking? 'I saw you looking. You look big and tough.' We met a week later in a Chevy's near Time Square. I guessed he'd picked it because it was mostly tourists and bridge and tunnel people. Its location told me nothing about him, just in case I turned out to be a psychopath. It took me a while to spot him. He was small and huddled in a the corner of a booth at the back. "Hi, erm, Bobbie." I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. Over the week I'd become addicted to getting messages from him. I'd dashed to the toilet so often I think everyone thought I had an infection. "Hi." His voice was soft and feminine. He had dyed red hair - not crimson, closer to a soft auburn, a home dye job - that, although short, looked feminine. He was wearing a pale green t shirt under a jacket and skinny jeans, almost jeggings. You couldn't be sure if he was male or female. "Becca?" He even upspoke. "It's so nice to finally meet you in person," he smiled. "You too," I said, offering my hand. He limply shook, and then I sat down. "I've never been here. What's good?" Bobbie laughed, a weirdly gentle laugh. "Not much. Tortilla chips and margaritas mostly. I'd ask if you had trouble finding it, but it's basically visible from space." He fidgeted with his hands, making pyramids of his fingers, pulling them apart and then making them again. His eyes darted around the room. "Are you ok? You seem nervous." "No." He paused, "a little." "You don't need to be," I smiled. "I clicked on your profile, remember?" I watched his hands, still making their pyramids. I couldn't tell, but I thought I saw a light pink polish on his fingers. "So, tell me about you. Where are you from?" He looked down, then up, then down again. "I'm originally from Oregon." I kept smiling, trying to put him at ease. In a slightly too happy voice, I said, "Where? I'm from Seattle." "Pendleton," he mumbled, the tears forming in his eyes. Oh shit, I thought. This poor guy. This poor little thing trying to survive out in cowboy country. No wonder he's here. I put my hand on his. "It's OK, Bobbie. I didn't mean..." I signaled for the waitress. She came over. "Hi, welcome to Chevy's!" She reminded me of the girl in Allie's first commercial. I smiled to myself, imagining prom season with Bobbie and me. "Where the party's on us!" I could see her on the phone to her parents, telling them how well the auditions were going, how she was thiiis close. She looked at the two of us, clearly trying to figure out who was who. "How about one of our world famous Cadillac Margaritas?" Bobbie spoke up. "I'll just have a Diet Coke, thank you." He turned to me, "But, please have a drink, if you want." The waitress looked at him and I wondered what she was going to tell the bartender about us. "And for you?" I didn't want a margarita. Honestly, I don't like margaritas. Too sweet. "Pacifico, please." I turned to Bobbie. "Do you want to get someone chicken flautas? Quesadillas?" He looked down and quietly, "quesadillas, please." The waitress gave us the once over a second time and left. He turned to me, looking ashamed. "I don't drink, really." In that light, he looked more like a him. He moved his arm and I could see was wearing those bracelets, the ones with the studs on. Nothing that unusual, just emo. But I could tell he wanted me to see them. The waitress brought over our drinks and he kept looking like he wanted to run, but he never did. He took a sip of his Diet Coke. "Cheers," he said quietly. I noticed he was wearing a choker. "Nice choker," I smiled. "It suits you." "Thanks." He took another sip. "Does it come with a lead?" He turned pale. "Sorry, sorry. That was a joke. A stupid joke. A stupid, stupid joke." He just kept looking at me. "Let me try again. So, what do you do for a living?" He fingered the choker and told me that he worked in IT, but wanted to do something else, he just didn't know what. He asked me about the movie business and about being a producer. He laughed at my jokes, but eventually we lapsed into silence, broken only when the quesadillas came. After about two hours he got up. "Um, is everything OK?" I asked. "Um, no. Yes. But I think I probably need to go now." His small voice was swallowed up by the room noise. "I...I..I didn't offend you or anything, did I?" I didn't think I had, at least not after the choker. He looked down, then up. Then he stood there. "No. I just need to go before it gets too late. I had a good time, thank you." "Can I call you?" "I'll message you on the site," he stammered. And then he left. I watched him leave. As did several guys. --- Over the next few days, I kept an eye on FMmates. You could tell when someone had last been on, by looking at their profile. Unfortunately, they could do the same to you, so I only looked once a day. So, I knew he had been on. And that he hadn't messaged me. In the meantime, Casey and I made plans to go for dinner. We had parted that first night as friends. She said that she liked me, but that friendship was what she was after. That it would be good for us. Anyway, between Casey and Bobbie, I was getting increasingly frustrated and couldn't concentrate at work. You can only go to the bathroom so many times before people talk. So instead, that Friday, I brought my MacBook Air to work under cover of unspecified IT issues. It was supposed to be quiet, with Becca away and the crews out filming. I figured I could check if I got bored. My plan had been to make it to lunch. I lasted until 11 AM. I figured, if I needed to respond, I could wait until 11:30 and say I was taking an early lunch. There was one message from a guy I had no interest in, and then a message from another 'labels are for clothes,' with whom I'd struck up a friendly conversation. But, no Bobbie. I checked his profile and saw that he was on at 9:27 AM. With no real expectation, I went back to my own profile and looked at the upper right hand corner. I had had five views. Number three - Bobbie! I felt an adrenaline rush, then wondered whether I was supposed to make the next move. "Um, hello Becca." I looked up to see Amit, one of the interns, slamming my MacBook closed as I did. "Uh, hi Amit." A long pause. "What's up?" She smiled sweetly. When she talked, she always sounded slightly out of breath. Like she was giddy on life. "There's a Mr. Taracinska here to see you," I just looked at her dumbly. "from FilmLab. He says you two have a meeting." The last part sounded like a reproach. Shit. "Oh, yeah. Thanks Amit. That's right." I got up quickly. "Only, it's not on the system. There's no room booked." "I arranged it when I was out of the office." Which was true. "You're supposed to put in the system. Otherwise, there can be conflicts. Do you need to download the meetings app?" "No, I have it." I just forgot to use it. "I was headed onto the train when he called and must've forgot to put it in. It won't happen again. Don't report me," I grinned. "Well, there's no conference room booked," she sniffed. I looked around and saw three empty ones. "Understood." Officious bitch. "I'll take him downstairs for coffee," I smiled. She pouted. We went to a coffee shop around the corner. All soft couches and mood lighting, like it was from the 1990s. Taracinska had darting eyes and an untamed beard. Below the face was calmer, with a t shirt from a Jarmusch movie and jeans. He and I discussed distribution of movies in small markets. I hoped he didn't realize how much I wanted to get back to the office. To my computer. To Bobbie. Who had probably been waiting for me to make the first move. If Taracinska realized how anxious I was, it didn't matter. The meeting lasted two hours. As soon as he left, I all but sprinted back to the offices. Amit and the other interns were hanging around my desk, talking about some club they all wanted to hit. It took forever - and a phone ringing - for them to leave. As soon as they were gone, I went back online. My hands trembled as I went back to the page. I got even more nervous when I saw a message from him. 'Hi Becca. I had a good time. Do u wanna meet again? Theres a club you might like.' ------- Alex I was at rehearsals for the play, We had just finished running through blocking, when Emily, the director, said, "OK, everyone, take 5." Everyone shuffled off stage, grateful for the break. I was headed to get a drink of water when I stopped in my dressing room. I saw a text from Min, Monica's assistant 'call Monica.' I ignored it, figuring it was nothing. Then, I saw the second one. 'Call Monica ASAP.' And the third. 'Call me.' Monica never texted me. Min did. Monica would call occasionally but even then it was usually Min who called and gave Monica the phone. I felt my pulse race. I had visions of something wrong with my parents. That's the only reason that Monica would text directly. I slumped in my chair, unable to talk. Or stand. After an eternity, I picked up the phone. I was so agitated and scared that I didn't notice the ten voicemails. Or the texts. Or the Twitter alerts. I called Monica and she picked up. Not her assistant. Her. "Where are you?" "Rehearsal," I wheezed. "What's wrong? Did something happen to my mum? My dad? Is everything OK?" All she said was, "the shit has hit the fan, Allie." "Monica! Why? What the hell is going on? Are my parents OK? TELL ME!" She paused. "They are fine, Allie. It's not that. I'm guessing you haven't looked at Twitter." "You know I'm in rehearsals. I haven't looked since early this morning." I checked my voice mail log. Chloe. My mum. My dad. Chloe again. Tom. My mum. My dad. And three unidentified numbers. "OK, Monica, what's going on? Why is everyone calling me?" She sighed, "Check Twitter." I had turned off notifications, except for private messages. #Jallie had thankfully slowed down to be replaced by volleys of inanity and hate between people I had barely heard of. I needed to focus on my work. "Are you looking?" I started checking mentions of @AlyxL. Well, now I knew why she had called. "Oh, fuck," I mumbled. 'Holy shit. She's a guy?!!!' read one. 'He/she freak,' read another. 'I think it's cool.' And various much worse tweets. All of which came off a tweet from a gossip site. Which said, 'Scream queen Allie Liddell is a dude,' and it linked to a picture from my drama school graduation play. I felt like throwing up. And crying. And screaming. All I could come up with was a whimpered, 'fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.' "Fuck indeed," Monica said. "Fuck fucking fuck. This has been quite a shitty morning. You have kept us extremely fucking busy." Monica knew. About me. I had told her after the first audition, figuring it was better if she knew the truth. She had laughed and said, 'well, fuck me,' and, laughing, 'I didn't think I could feel worse about my looks...' And we never spoke about it again. Until now. "So what happened?" That was a stupid question on my part. She laughed, a mirthless snicker, "who the fuck knows? Someone decided to figure out who you were. Probably some jackoff who's been jerking off to you since the necklace." I got nauseous. "Anyway, he puts two and two together...". While she was talking, I checked Jacob's feed and breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing. Except, '#Jallies two guys. Oh fuck. Poor @JCFoster.' "So, what have you heard?" That was a stupid question. "Sorry. Has anyone, y'know, called you?" I could hear her eyes rolling. "Why yes. Yes, they have. I've heard from everyone. Everyone who matters." I took a deep breath. "And?" I steeled myself for the worst. She sighed. "Your All-American girl days are over." "I don't understand." "McDonald's pulled the offer." I could picture her, twirling her pen in her hand, the way she did when she was annoyed. "They didn't feel like..." "I get it." I felt sick and like I wanted to cry. "And?" "Star is, quote, thinking about the direction they want to go, close quote." I had been getting tired of it. The next commercial was going to be me getting married which was a little too weird, even after everything. But, you always want to be the one who breaks up. I took a deep breath. "Do I have any future, Mon?" She sighed again, not a good sign. "You're a talented actress, Allie." "That's not an answer, Monica. Or is it? I don't, do I?" Now, I felt nauseous. And I threw up in my rubbish bin. While I was throwing up, I could hear her ask if I was OK. I got back on. "Sorry, I had to..." "Allie, you are a very talented actress. And if this was five, ten years ago, you'd have reason to puke. But, I think...and I'm going to do everything I can...you're going to need to be patient. Very patient." ---------- My life was turning to shit. In drama school, they told us that if you want a friend, get a dog. Well, I was about to start searching the ASPCA website. It had been three days and, other than Monica telling me to be patient that first day, no one from my professional life had reached out to me. Professional life? That was a laugh. I had no professional life to speak of, not anymore. Rehearsals had been awkward, to say the least. It was like we were rehearsing underwater. Every day I'd leave and wait for the phone to ring, to find out I was fired. Saturday morning, Tom and I made plans to get lunch and go vinyl shopping. I was still afraid to go out, especially downtown where I thought people would know me. I met him on McDougal. We were going to Mamoun's for falafel.. He was standing outside playing with his phone, when I came up. He looked at me, "The rooster crows at midnight..." "What?" "Oh sorry. Fly away crow to where the wind blows cold?" "What the fuck are you talking about, you wanker?" "You look like you're handing off microfilm, you tosser." Tom liked British curses. He always said 'wanker' sounded classy. I told him that proved he was a wanker. Then, he looked at me. "Seriously, Allie, what the fuck are you wearing? You look like a wanted poster." I was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over my face and sunglasses. Did I mention it was cloudy? "I didn't want anyone to notice me." He laughed. "Interesting choice of outfit then. Seriously Allie, you look ridiculous." He reached over and pulled off the cap. "Fix your hair. I have standards, you know." I looked in the window of a store and fluffed my hair. "Is this better?" He smiled. "I'm glad we're doing this. Thanks for coming up with this." He looked me up and down. "Ah, shut up. You would do the same for me." "The next time you decide to go undercover as a girl. Fall for your co star. Cheat on your girlfriend. Then get outed on social media, I'll be there for you. Pinkie promise." "That's my Allie," he laughed. "So, how are you doing, for real?" I shrugged. "It sucks. I told you guys yesterday. I should've known how stupid this was. But, whatever. Here I am. It is what it is." "You know we're here, no matter what, right?" I smiled. "Yeah. I know. But come on. We're supposed to shop for records and make fun of people..." He looked across at a couple holding hands. They kept moving closer then farther away. "Look at them. It's like they don't want to hold hands anymore, but they're like OK we committed to this..." I laughed. "she's thinking, I can't let go first. If I let go before him, it'll get all weird..." "And he's thinking, if I let go, she will never shut up about it." He adopted his standard nagging singsong. 'Why did you let go? Tell me why you let go. Why won't you just admit that you want to break up? I can't believe you said that...' And then she'll storm off and he'll have to apologize all because he lost feeling in his hand...." Tom and I spent a couple of hours together, before he said that he had to go back home and work. No one looked at me or said anything, which felt good. I mean I knew it was there, it was the monster on the bed, not under, but at least I relaxed for a while. I was at home when my phone rang. I jumped, no one called anymore. It must be something bad. The screen said Jacob. I debated what to do. Only when I feared it was about to go to voicemail did I answer. "Hello." I could hear the tone of my voice wavering. There was a brief pause. "Um, I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now." Yes, no, I didn't know. "Why are you calling?" "How are you doing?" He sounded tentative. I mock cheerfully said. "Like shit, thanks for asking." He swallowed. "That was a stupid question. I'm sorry about everything." I almost said what everything, then stopped. "Thanks?" It took a lot for him to call. "I can't believe that they're doing this to you." For what felt like a long time I just listened to him breathing. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all this." There had been a lot of very crude tweets imagining what we'd been up to. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror, running a hand through my hair. "I wasn't dragged into anything. I was a willing part of it." "Yeah, well, then you left." I stood on tiptoes, making myself look bigger in the mirror. "Look, about that....I'm sorry I lost my shit. But it's like I was totally scared of what you'd say when you found out and then I found out that you were OK with it and that you were trans and then you weren't trans and it was part of some weird movie..." I interrupted him. "Just so you know, I am trans, I think. I know that I'm Allie. Not Alex, Allie." "Oh." "I told you I'm Allie and all I get is 'oh?'" I laughed. "I think I deserve more than 'oh." He paused. "Good?" "Better." "Is there some way I can help?" "Thanks. Not really." I heard silence. "I didn't mean it like that." "Yeah, I guess. Maybe this is really weird, but can I come over?" "Excuse me?" I wasn't being a bitch. I wasn't sure that I heard correctly. "Never mind," he mumbled. "I get it." I thought about him, about everything we had done together. The party. The premiere. The date. I could hear Chloe yelling about how I shouldn't do this, about how I should ignore him. But, it wasn't like anyone else was calling me. Other than her and my parents. "It's OK. If you want to come over." Ten minutes later, my buzzer rang. He came up. He was wearing jeans and a t shirt. "Um, how did you get here from Queens so fast?" "I've been at the coffee shop for a while. I had like three cups so I may have to pee soon." I looked at him. "Noah was really hurt that you didn't come." "I know. It was a total dick move." He looked at me with those damn blue eyes. "It was. Why did you do it? He was really hurt." I remembered the look on his face when he showed me the text. Like he was upset with both of us. "I couldn't face you." I looked at him. "But you can now? I'd think it'd be harder now, with everything." He looked annoyed, "Everything what?" Again, with those eyes. I stared at him. "Everything everything. If you hang around me, they'll start looking at you, you know." "So?" He looked defiant, like he did in Shortest Root, when he got arrested. "So? You've worked really hard. Don't throw it away for me." "I'm not. I wanna help. If you'll let me." He put his hand on mine. I felt my throat go dry. My pulse raced. And I hated myself. "Um, thanks," I croaked. I got up to get some water, as much to give myself time to think as anything. He looked at me. "Please let me help. Whatever it is." I came back over, tucked my legs under me and faced him. "Jacob, I appreciate the offer. But please think about it. I'll do what I have to, but there's no need for both of us to suffer." "I have thought about it," he said putting his hands on my thighs. I didn't move. "And you can do something if you want. Or nothing. But you don't want to do nothing." I swallowed then leaned forward... Becca Rachel had been trying to get me to one of her Sunday brunches for a while. I always came up with some excuse, because I didn't want to be seen as another 'gay woman in the industry.' Honestly, I didn't know how I saw myself and wasn't interested in a label. Y'know, they're for clothes and all that. But, I couldn't keep begging off without being a bitch. And I had nothing to do besides. So there I was, standing outside their apartment door, clutching a bottle of champagne and some OJ. I rang the bell and took a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. I still hadn't gotten used to it. Trish answered. "Hey Becca, how are you?" She hugged me. I had the feeling that she was using the voice she used on her patients. "I like the hair," she said, a little too enthusiastically. "Uh, thanks." I handed over the champagne and OJ. "Mimosa?" I grinned. Like an idiot. She led me into their apartment. It wasn't big but it was the ground floor of a brownstone and so they had a garden. I could see Rachel and a big woman outside at the grill. I mean she wasn't fat. Just big. Trish brought me into the living room. "Everyone," she announced, "this is Becca. She works at Louise with Rachel. She's a producer." The three women on the couch, and the couple standing by the counter, smiled and muttered their greetings. I nodded stiffly, feeling their eyes darting up and down. Like middle school. I introduced myself to them, immediately forgetting their names. I just smiled as they asked me the standard questions. What I did, where I was from, that kind of thing. I noticed Trish disappearing into the kitchen, feeling the panic rising as she left. One woman, a beautiful blonde, came over. "So, how long have you been working with Rachel?" She reminded me of my mom. Not that she was old. Or looked like her. Just that she was perfectly made up for a brunch. I could feel my palms getting sweaty and was acutely aware of every stain on my clothes. Before I could answer she continued, "I'm Danielle, call me Danny. I work with Ken Lazer, casting..." Then she went into a long description of her job. I tried to keep smiling as she talked about people I'd never met. About ten minutes later, Trish came back in, carrying a tray of vegetable kebabs. "Hey, Bec, can you take these to Rach." I did, grateful for the escape. Trish whispered. "Tell her to use the right utensils, that we don't want a repeat of last time." I nodded, noticing that Danny had turned around and seamlessly started a conversation with one of the other women. I was jealous of the backyard. It was kind of crazy. For what I assume they paid, back home you would have a view of Mt. Rainier or Lake Union. Even in Jersey, you'd get a view of the city. Here, they had...dirt. And a Japanese maple tree. And I wanted dirt and a tree. I stood awkwardly to one side, not wanting to interrupt what appeared to be an intense conversation. "Hey Rachel." I put the kebabs on the table next to the grill then stood awkwardly to one side, not wanting to disturb what looked like an intense conversation. After an uncomfortable minute or two, Rachel looked up at me. "Oh hey Bec. Settle an argument for us. Anna Karina or Anne Wiazemsky?" I shifted from foot to foot. "Anna Karina...yeah, Anna Karina." I saw the big woman smile and Rachel thrown, "although I saw Stacy Martin play Anne Wiazemsky in that new movie and could be swayed." Rachel laughed. "I should have known. Bec has a thing for an English accent. Even when speaking French apparently." We then went into a discussion about if Stacy Martin counted as English or French. Halfway through, the big woman introduced herself as Syd. "Beer?" She had a cooler next to her. I nodded, keeping quiet as the conversation veered off into another