Wildest Dreams

18. Pierre

PIERRE

W hen I wake up, there’s a wet spot on my shirt where Kendall drooled on me during the night. The morning light is streaming through the massive front windows overlooking Main Street, highlighting flecks of dust floating in the air like feathers.

I pull Kendall closer and kiss her forehead. I hope she’s not embarrassed by the drool when she realizes it. Honestly, it’s cute. I’m glad she’s comfortable enough to sleep that hard with me sharing her bed, especially after how awkward last night became.

She moans a little and rubs her face, then sits up and looks at me with a sleepy expression. Her hair is completely swept over to one side of her head and last night’s makeup has smudged into dark circles under her eyes.

She’s never looked sexier.

“What time is it?” she asks, looking for her phone.

“Don’t know,” I say, kissing her forehead again. “Don’t care.”

“Don’t you have work to do today?”

“Just a meeting with the director this afternoon to go over more script changes.”

She gets up, last night’s dress completely wrinkled from being slept in, and treads across the old wooden floor on tiny bare feet to the bathroom. Once she’s done, I go in to do my business and search her cabinet for mouthwash. Waking up with her was too perfect to ruin my goodbye with stinky morning breath.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” she says when I come out. “I can’t believe I slept that late.”

“I haven’t slept that well in years,” I say. I put my arms around her, squeezing tight. She does the same.

“I haven’t either,” she says. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. I just feel safe with you. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“When is your meeting?”

“One o’clock. I should probably head back to the house and check my email. Belladonna loves sending me stuff in the middle of the night, then expects me to know what’s going on as soon as I wake up the next day. The woman is a machine.”

“Is that her real name?”

“Probably not. I think she wanted something that sounded scary.”

She smiles and nuzzles into my shoulder. “When will I see you again?”

I sigh, closing my eyes and visualizing this week’s filming schedule on my calendar. It’s completely blocked off. I barely have time to sleep.

“Probably next weekend. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says.

“Next time, I promise no Marina.”

“Yes, that would be great. You weren’t joking when you told me she was crazy.”

“She’s the worst. I only hope the movie comes out okay.”

“I’m sure it will.”

I hug her tighter and she looks up at me. I lean down and kiss her long and slow, holding her face in my hands. When we finally take a breath, I close my eyes and touch my forehead to hers.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You can’t miss your meeting.”

“You’re right.” I give her one last kiss, then leave her to drive back to the rental house.

* * *

W hen I get home, Bertha is waiting near the water. I get out of my car and run to the front door as quickly as possible, unlock it, and run inside before she can come around the house. When I walk to the back windows to look out, she’s patiently waiting by the steps. Luckily, I still have a few chickens left.

Once I feed Bertha, I check my email. Six from Belladonna since I left the set yesterday, and two from the studio’s publicist reminding me that she needs pictures with Marina to leak to the press. I delete those last two without responding. I also have a how-are-you-and-what-is-going-on-with-Kendall email from Harriett. I respond to that one immediately, telling her about our dates and how much I like her, then go through my emails from Belladonna as quickly as possible before driving to her rental house to meet.

The meeting takes forever and it’s dark by the time I get home. I don’t even bother pulling up the computer. If Belladonna sent an email in the five minutes it took for me to drive home, it can wait until tomorrow.

I take a cool shower and lay on the bed in my underwear. I pick up the phone to call Kendall, but before I have a chance to dial, it’s already ringing. Harriett’s photo flashes across the screen, so I answer it.

“I thought I answered your email,” I say as soon as I answer. We rarely begin with a customary greeting.

“Um, it’s not about that.” I can tell from her tone that she’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

“What’s going on?”

“Have you checked TMZ or your socials?”

“No, why?”

“You and Marina are all over it.”

“What?” My heart sinks. This is the last thing I wanted. Not only will it encourage Marina, but it will hurt and confuse Kendall.

“Yeah, looks like you’re at some kind of bar or something.”

“I went to a brewery with Kendall.”

“Yeah, she’s in a few pictures with a sulky expression. It looks like you’re just there with Marina.”

“Oh my God.” I sit up and run my hands through my hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Are you okay?”

“I need to call Kendall.”

As soon as I get off the phone, I dial Kendall’s number. It rings and rings and rings. I leave a voicemail but don’t mention the photos online. Hopefully she hasn’t seen them. I send her a text telling her she can call if she’s still up and, if not, I hope she has a good night. I lie back down. My mind races until about two in the morning, when I finally fall asleep.

Kendall never calls me back.