Perfect Alli: June 10, 2013

Alli: June 10, 2013

A cockroach. Yesterday, I saw my very first cockroach. I didn’t even know what it was. It scampered across the adobe wall of the café where we were eating lunch, like it owned the place, while I screamed as if a shark had clamped onto my leg. The restaurant looked clean when we wandered off the beach in search of food, but after Thor identified the giant bug I completely lost my appetite. It didn’t seem to bother him though. He scarfed down his sandwich and then tried to convince me that cockroaches were a part of life down here and it didn’t mean the eatery was unsanitary. “Have you seen them before?” I questioned him. He said that in college he worked in a big electronics store and when people brought in their DVD players and TVs because they had suddenly stopped working, half the time he would crack them open to find the insides caked with cockroach carcasses.

“Apparently they like eating electronics.”

I didn’t even know they existed in the Midwest. As I pictured what he described my stomach started to heave. I swallowed trying to imagine a distraction—shopping at the Mall of America, the beach’s white sand under my feet. It helped settle my stomach a little, but cockroaches kept crawling into the scenes I visualized and I saw myself stomping on them in my designer sandals. I realized at that moment that I wouldn’t be ingesting much on this trip.

The rest of the day breezed by. Thor and I bummed around the beach and slept most of the day. I should say he slept most of the day. Fictional cockroaches kept me from closing my eyes. We waded in the gorgeous blue water and he tried to coax me deeper. I wouldn’t go. I was already in up to my thighs. I’m sure he envisioned nothing more than a Twilight-esk make-out session, but I got spooked. I don’t know what was wrong with me. Being from the land of ten thousand lakes, I know how to swim. I started swim lessons at the age of two. I’ve been swimming in the ocean before, but I still couldn’t let myself go. I’m not sure if it was the threat of aquatic wildlife, the surf’s undertow or just the desire in Thor’s eyes that hindered me. It’s not like he was going to take me right there in the water in front of everyone. For being so smart, I’m really stupid sometimes. He backed off a bit after that and I regretted denying him.
 
As the nightlife set in, we headed to a bar not far from the hotel. Neither of us was in the mood for the big clubs that were advertised EVERYWHERE. I was exhausted, not having any good sleep since Friday night, but Thor seemed energized. The bar had a DJ, with a small lit dance floor, and we started with an Adele song—my hands around his neck, and his grasping my hips. His dancing wasn’t great but decent enough to keep me in his firm hold. His touch felt so good and we continued to slow dance even after the beat picked up on the next song. After what seemed like an hour on our feet, we retreated to a table, where we shared a bottle of chardonnay. We talked and laughed and laughed some more. I really liked his sense of humor—intelligent and not crude. We stayed out late and by the time we made it back to the hotel, I was practically asleep. Thor helped me out of my dress and I crumpled onto the bed, without even brushing my teeth. I was out before he returned.

It’s morning now, and the room darkening shades are the only barrier keeping that fact from glaring in our faces. I’ve showered and brushed my teeth (finally). Thor is still sleeping. I know I should wake him to get us back on the same schedule, but he looks so peaceful. He tries putting up a front to tell the world that Nora didn’t hurt him. I can see it though when he reaches for me and then catches himself as if he forgot I wasn’t her. It doesn’t bother me that he forgets. He was with her a long time and habits are hard to break. I knew what this was when I agreed to come on the trip, but still part of me wants him fully aware of me. I want to be the one he reaches, for not her.  
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Perfect Alli: June 9, 2013

Alli: June 9, 2013

When Sarah dropped me at Thor’s apartment yesterday, I had already passed all the tests with my parents. They wanted an agenda for the trip with hotels and flights, but that was easy enough to fake and they seemed satisfied with what I had worked up. I told them that Megan was taking care of all the costs and I was just going as a favor to her. By the time I was done, they were completely convinced that Megan and I were flying into Los Angeles and renting a car so we could visit graduate schools. They even gave me spending money—$300 and I had my credit card (which they pay) just in case. I wondered if they would notice when the charges came from Mexico instead of California.

Sarah’s pep talk, in the car, helped me get centered. She reminded me that I was in charge and that I should always stay in my comfort zone.

“Thor is a guy and will push for what he can get, but that doesn’t mean anything. Just have fun,” she said.

I laughed because since Sarah’s breakup with her high school boyfriend she rarely dated. And for Sarah, love was required to give into the male determination. Maybe that’s why Internet dating worked for her—no pressure. I’m not Sarah though. Love just complicates life. Not that I would know. I’ve never been in love—never taken the time to see if it was even possible. I don’t think my parents love each other. At least not in the passionate way depicted in the movies. They tolerate one another and coexist in a symbiotic lifestyle that benefits them both. They’ve spent twenty-one years molding me into their likeness. Am I destined to settle for comfortable?

Once, when I was in high school, I walked in on Sarah’s parents making out in their kitchen—David’s hand on his wife’s ass, pulling her up into the kiss. Lust burned in their eyes even after I disturbed them. I was sixteen. I didn’t know passion existed inside a marriage. I stared wide-eyed at them as they laughed off my interruption. I’d never seen it at home. My parents’ idea of affection was a peck on the cheek or coming home at the end of a long workday and sharing a meal.

I think about Thor, and wonder if he and his ex had been together for so long that their hunger dissolved into coexistence? Unlike my parents Thor seems very passionate and why else would Nora cheat? From the little I’ve seen of him I can’t imagine a need to stray, but then again, I’ve never met his brother Harry. He must be amazing.

Thor didn’t talk much on the flight. We mostly slept. If I ever get married (which I doubt I will), I will not be spending my wedding night on an airplane. The idea is completely asinine. Exhausted from planning and executing the “most important day of your life,” you get on a plane—where you breathe air that has already been through three other people’s lungs—and then you spend a week in a foreign country popping vitamin C tabs trying to boost your immune system enough so that your exhausted body doesn’t cecum to whatever disease you were exposed to on your flight. Luckily Thor and I didn’t have the stress of a wedding. I did bring my vitamin C, though.

We’re lying on the beach right now, after getting into the hotel a couple of hours ago. Thor is sleeping on a lounge chair next to me, which allows me to examine his body more carefully. It really is quite beautiful. He definitely lifts weights…and does crunches, possibly in preparation for his honeymoon, but maybe more long term. He’s started a beard this week, but it’s perfectly groomed, like his hair. His hair. How does it stay flawlessly in place even while he sleeps? It makes me want to run my fingers through it just to mess it up. He would be the perfect picture of a man if not for his swim trunks. Big red hibiscus flowers on a turquoise background—yuck. The length alone dates his shorts, but the pattern is at least three seasons past its prime. I will have to find him something more current. Fashion is the one thing I can fix.

The sun threatens to sneak under the giant umbrella shading the two of us. Even though I have slathered on the sunscreen, I know I can’t sit here much longer without altering the shadow-maker. OK. I got up and fixed it. Thor didn’t even move. We should have another hour before I have to readjust. The view from our cover is unbelievable—white sand, crystal clear water and blue sky for as far as I can see. I forgot how loud the ocean is. The noise from the constant battering of the waves is like Melatonin on my brain, pushing me to sleep. I’m too anxious to give in though—worried about the sleeping arrangements or more accurately, the non-sleeping arrangements for the evening. I figure it will go one of two ways. Either Thor will be thinking about her and be too depressed to try anything with me or he’ll want to completely wrap his mind (or whatever) around me to forget her. I hate not knowing what to expect. I guess I’ll just have to plan for both. I’m in charge, right?
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Blonde Chicks Preferred: June 5, 2013

Liam Nordstrom: June 5, 2013

When would the nightmare end? The press was relentless the last five days, following me everywhere I went and I was tempted to just sleep on a couch at the studio so that I wouldn’t have to deal with them. If it weren’t for Kelsey I would have done it. She and her roommate had a falling out and she needed a place to crash until they worked out their problems. Nak left for Toronto on Sunday and sending Kelsey back to the house alone to deal with the vultures would be kind of douchey.

The ordeal with the underage girl hadn’t been all bad, though. I was definitely getting my brand out there. Six different publicists had contacted me, over the last couple days, asking if I needed representation. I never really needed one before now. It’s not like I made millions of dollars or anything, and sharing what I did make wasn’t a priority for me. But I could see where it would be helpful to have someone to deal with the media.

Today, I met with the producers of my show for lunch. They said that Monday’s ratings were the highest ever, and they attributed it to all the publicity that I’d been getting. They told me to play it up as long as I could. The script was being reworked so that my character would get more screen time. They were patting me on the back and they didn’t seem to care if I was guilty or not as long as jail time didn’t conflict with filming. I guess it was all about the ratings.

Kelsey, on the other hand, questioned me about the candid shot of the girl in front of my motorcycle. She saw it the night I was grilled by the police. She thought it was odd that I had never met the girl and yet there she was next to my bike. I didn’t know how to explain it, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

“Anyone could have followed me somewhere and snapped a picture while I was in a restaurant or a store,” I said. “She’s a stalker.” I pushed Kelsey back on the bed and crawled up her until I was straddling her hips. “And really who wouldn’t want this?” I said unbuttoning my shirt and shrugging it off. But when I bent down to kiss her, her hand shot up, pushing against my chest. “What?” I asked.

“Your cockiness is exactly why everyone believes what that girl said about you.”

“Flaunt what ya got, I always say.” I leaned down again, but her hand stopped me a second time. “What?” Why did she want to talk? I wasn’t really in the mood to talk.

“My roommate told my dad that I was seeing you and he called me today. He thinks you’re a punk.”

“He doesn’t even know me.” I started unbuttoning her shirt. All I could think about was what her bright green bra was covering.

“My point exactly. I told him we’d have brunch with him on Sunday.”

I groaned and rolled onto the bed next to her. Way to ruin the mood. I wasn’t ready to meet her father. I barely accepted the fact that I couldn’t date other women and now I was meeting her family? “I told Will that I would meet him on Sunday. He’s going to help me strategize against the press.” I knew she could hear the lie in my voice.

“Call him. I’m sure he will understand. Daddy’s only going to be in town for the day.” Her voice made a sexy southern twang when she said “daddy” and I couldn’t help the smile that crept onto my face. I loved accents. It didn’t matter what they were. I once dated a girl who didn’t speak a hint of English, just because of how my name rolled off her tongue.

“You’ll go, right?” she asked.

“No.” I shook my head to emphasize my point.

She started buttoning her shirt. “It’s important to me, Liam.”

“Why would you want him to meet me? He’s not going to like me.” I propped my head up with my elbow against the bed and met her blue eyes. “I’m screwing his daughter. He’s going to hate me.”

“You won’t be screwing his daughter if you don’t go.”

“And women claim that they don’t use sex as a weapon.”

“I just want to show Daddy that you’re not like your character Ashton Post.” There was that twang again.

“So he’s a fan?”

“I wouldn’t call him a fan, but he does watch the show.”

“OK, who do you want me to be? The detached jerk, the doting boyfriend or the intellectual jock? Just pick one. I am an actor.”

“Just be Liam.” She touched my face and dragged her thumb across my lower lip. “I’m sure he would like you best. I do.”

It was easier to be a character than to be me, especially for “daddy.” I stared into her eyes for a full minute until the doorbell rang. I groaned again, realizing what I wanted wasn’t going to happen, and left the bedroom to answer the door. Still shirtless, I peeked out the side window to verify it wasn’t paparazzi and saw the two detectives from the other night on my doorstep. I instinctively looked around the room to make sure there wasn’t anything illegal sitting out in the open. Not that I had illicit drugs or firearms laying around, it was more of a reaction, like automatically braking when I spotted the CHP, just in case I was speeding. Convinced I was safe, I opened the door.

“Mr. Nordstrom, may we come in. We have additional questions from the other night,” the male detective stated. I remembered his name was Rodrigues.

I stepped aside and they filed in. As I led them to the living room the female detective said, “You have a nice place here. Do you rent or own?”

I was sure she already knew the answer. Why people played these games was beyond me. “A friend of mine owns it,” I said and they sat down on the leather sofa. “I’m pretty sure I can’t talk to you without my lawyer present.”

Rodrigues raised an eyebrow at my comment but didn’t respond until Kelsey settled by my side on the oversized chair. “We’re not here to talk to you. We’re here to talk to Mrs. Adams,” he stated.

I took out my phone and called my father. Of course, it went to voicemail, so I sent him a text instead. Being the lawyer he was, he avoided texting if possible. Texts could be subpoenaed so he frowned on them, but it was an emergency.

“It’s Ms. Adams,” said Kelsey.

“Oh, my mistake,” stated the officer. “We were just wondering, Ms. Adams, if you could identify Mr. Nordstrom’s motorcycle in this photo.” He held out a photo printed on plain white paper—the same as the one on the Internet.

“I can’t say whether it is his or not. Lots of bikes look alike.”

“Well, is that his license?” asked the female.

“I don’t know. Don’t you have the ability to look that up?” questioned Kelsey. The plate was pretty clear in the picture. I’m sure the girl made sure the angle was just right. And the detectives knew it was my bike. They saw it on the driveway and could have verified it there. They just wanted Kelsey to see the pic and have doubts so they could get her to change her story.

“The plate is mine and you know it. You walked right by it on your way in. That doesn’t mean I know the girl. I think we’re done here,” I said.

The detectives both rose and Rodrigues handed Kelsey his card, saying, “If you can think of anything else that you remember about that night give us a call, Ms. Adams.

I knew then that this wasn’t over. As the detectives left I started to wonder what connections the sixteen-year-old girl had. She had to be important for the police to pursue the case with my flawless alibi. Was she the police chief’s or a studio head’s daughter, or had I piss someone else off?
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler