The LAYOVER {Work In Progress}

                                             
                                   

The Layover...

         "Uhm, excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

         Great, Emily thought thumbing through her magazine, a talker.  He had been glancing at her for the past half-hour--- discreetly, yes, but he had still been looking.  While he had watched her, she had kept an eye on him.  He was tan but not tanning bed and bronzer tan, more that mellowed tan you only achieved by being outside in the weather, under the real sun.  Nice shoulders, broad, wearing a shirt just tight enough to indicate how very, very...fit he was.  That aside, she never forgot encountering weirdos in airports wasn't all that uncommon.  Nothing had been said---until now---but somehow in the absence of conversation or acknowledgment she had still managed to pique his interest. 

         Dressed down as she was in a pair of low-slung, faded, flare-bottomed jeans, two-tone brown and cream flip-flops, and a ribbed wife-beater covered by a chocolate-colored hoodie, she looked just like a lot of other girls--- college students most likely--- shuffling through the terminal.  The main thing setting her apart was while they came in differing degrees of honeyed tan, her skin was fair, lightly-freckled...creamy.  She had her Ginger-colored hair tied back in a loose knot and her eyes were hidden behind her big sunglasses. Emily wasn't a resident, hadn't even been a long-term visitor, and getting a tan was not even close to her motive for being here.

         Already pissed because her flight home was being rerouted--- delayed over two hours so far by a belt of bad weather in the Midwest--- the airline had been even less helpful by not saying for certain when another plane would be available.  Her inability to hop on a plane when she wanted and get as far from here as possible was only compounding how utterly sick of Miami she was.  Now, to add to her...inconvenience, she had an admirer, a guy who "just wanted to ask a question."  Riiiight.  And if she had refused, he would've followed up with a promise that it would be quick---which it never was---or "only take a moment"---which it never did---and she would still be stuck with his presence. 

         Fucking airline.  Fucking Miami.

         Screwed either way.  No, worse, screwed EVERY way.  Exhaling lightly, she cocked her eyebrows and looked up over the rims of her sunglasses, managing something approaching--- she thought--- a smile.  "Sure," she answered.  "Ask away."

         The man set his water bottle down and leaned forward to an almost conspiratorial distance, his voice lower than before.  "How long have you been in the business?"

         Emily leaned away, staring.  "What?"

         "Hey, hey, it's cool, I was just wondering how long you'd been doing movies.  I'm in the business too, I can always spot---"

         "You've got me confused with somebody else, I---"

         The sandy-haired guy extended his free hand.  She noticed it was broad, the nails even and clean like his smile."Winston, Winston Adams, but that isn't what I go by.  For some reason my agent thought I'd be easier to sell under 'Johnny-14', silly as that sounds."

         Emily let the hand hang there between them, as awkward and unaccepted as this opening confession.  "Johnny who?"

         "Fourteen.  You know, I'm 'the white guy with the fourteen-inch dick'. I did JOHNNY IN YOUR SPOT and I have a series out called HIS MOMMA WUZ BLACK And He's Got It Like THAT.  We've shot three so far, maybe you've seen them...?"

         "The fourteen-inch..." Emily didn't know which she wanted to do more: to get up and move or bust out laughing.  "Uh, yeah, right," she said, shaking her head.  Whatever this guy had smoked before coming to the airport, she hoped she wasn't near him when the dogs caught a whiff.  Between the Department Of Homeland Security, the DEA, and the Miami-Dade Narcotics unit, a whiff of something was more than enough to end up in jail here.  Emily wasn't interested in that kind of trouble, the DUI charge she had gotten at sixteen coming home from a party was all the police contact she ever wanted to have.

         "Hey," he continued, not seeming to notice her guarded disinterest.  "It isn't really fourteen inches, that's just my gimmick.  Besides, nobody has showed up to measure me and then again, nobody ever complains," he smiled.  He looked away for a moment then snapped his fingers.  "Wait, Mandi...  Mandi Mouse, right?  Got the 'Hot New Hottie' and 'Best Female On Male: Oral' awards last year for TEENZ LUV CREAM:3 and NOT 2 YOUNG 4 FUN...?  But your hair, it was jet black before, the red threw me.  Damn, I knew I recognized you!  Yup, I've been to ALL the shows the last 3 years, won't start skipping them until I win something."

         Emily hoped her jaw hadn't really just hit the floor.  She'd been recognized in public, something she'd been careful to avoid for nearly two and a half years and now here she was, alone in an airport, busted.  Damn, she was fucked.  Actually, she had been fucked--- fucked over--- yesterday, but whatever...
         
         Winston could tell by her ongoing silence and the look in her eyes that recognition of her... profession hadn't been what she was expecting.  Many people in their line of work avoided blurring their professional and private lives while others fed off the notoriety like addicts.  "Mandi" seemed to be one of the former and he understood; keeping your privacy helped keep some degree of sanity while doing what they did to earn a living.  He was a firm believer in "Don't ask, don't tell" when it came to regular people, too.  While he wasn't ashamed of what he did, he didn't make it a point to go blabbing all over like an idiot about it either.  Even so, he was hoping since they were both in the industry, this would be acceptable.  That it might be cool, like two kids with a great secret in a room full of uninitiated adults.

         Now, staring at him with those sexy, Jack Daniel's-brown eyes, her expression shouted that it was anything but "cool".  Maybe he should have thought longer and talked less.  Maybe he should not have spoken at all.  This was awkward, and in addition to lima beans, okra, and being broke he hated awkward.  "Can't unscramble scrambled eggs..." he muttered, looking at the floor.

         "What?"

         "I was saying...  Nevermind, my mistake.  I'm sorry I bothered you." 

         She watched him lean back in his chair, tipping his water bottle up and draining the last of it.  Now, oddly, she felt like the jerk. 

         Fucking Miami...

         No, it wasn't Miami, it was Derek.  She chewed her bottom lip as that bad taste filled her emotional mouth.  "I Love you more than anything, more than any of this," he had always told her.  How had she let herself believe anything a young, wannabe porn "producer" had to say?  He was an opportunist, would have sold his Mother and his Grandmother to even get close to some type of deal with Jenna or Tera.  But Love--- or the idea of Love--- made women as stupid as sex made men.  It had for her. 

         Again.

         Derek was here getting...raw material for his website "Buttered Beach Booties.com"--- something he did every four months or so--- but this time, it was overlapping his birthday.  If everything went exactly as planned--- which it never did--- between the scouting, photography, and filming he wasn't going to be wrapped for at least two weeks past his special day.  What kind of girlfriend would she be staying on the other side of the country while her man worked through his birthday?

         Not wanting him to be alone and too eager to present her very, very special surprise to him, she decided she wouldn't wait until he got home.  Since she had won the awards, her agency had gotten tons of job offers and she had progressively built up her portfolio--- and her asking price--- with each new gig.  She had capitalized on one such enthusiastic offer in order to be here.  Emily had signed on to do a scene with another company also shooting internet material in Miami, a blowjob site called "Drink Your Milk.com".  She would be here on somebody else's dime and be able to surprise Derek for his birthday.  Drink Your Milk wasn't affiliated with any of  Derek's competitors and their stuff was all-oral, so she would also be able to keep her present for him...under wraps.

         That had been the plan, anyway.  When she flew in, nearly three weeks after he had and a day away from his 27th, he wasn't the only one that got surprised...

         Bastard.

         She shifted slightly in her seat, teeth grinding, nostrils flaring as she remembered everything she had gone through for that...gift.  Derek never found out what he missed, Emily was never going to forget.

         Johnny 14 was looking back and forth between the status board and his stainless steel wristwatch.  He didn't seem as aggravated as she felt but apparently what he saw wasn't making him happy, either.  She was still feeling like a jerk but she wasn't completely convinced yet.  She wanted to get this clear but when she went to speak to him, "Johnny 14" was all she could remember, unable to recall what he had originally introduced himself as.

         "Uh...John?" she said, going for broke.  "John...?"

         He looked up from his watch, brows drawn together.  "Me?" he asked.

         "Yes," she nodded, working to manifest a more genuine smile.

         "My name is Winston."

         "Oh...right, right.  Sorry."  How the Hell had she forgotten a name like Winston?  "Listen, about before...  Look, I need to figure out if you're legit."

         His face relaxed with a smile.  She ignored the thought that it wasn't a bad smile or a bad face.

         "Legit, as in not some perv stalker. "

         "As in not full of shit."

         "Okayyy, what can I tell you?"

         "What agency you working out of?"

         "MoonBeam.  Janet Davis has been handling my booking since I started.  Got me my breaks with Penthouse and Playgirl."

         "Mmn..." she nodded, flipping down the keyboard of her phone.  A few furious thumb taps later  and she looked first to her screen then to him and back again.

         "What are you doing?"

         "Checking your references.  My agent knows some people at MoonBeam, I asked her to pull a casting sheet on Johnny 14 because I'm considering co-stars for some boy-girl work I have coming up."

         "She can message you all that over your phone?"

         "Of course she can."

         "Picture too?"

         "Picture too.  And video."

         "People usually complain about signal in airports, dead zones with no coverage."

         "Never really have a problem, I'm on Verizon."

         "Cool, how much?"

         "How much what?"

         "For the phone.  How much did it set you back?"

         "It didn't set me back.  Lists for $580, plus another two hundred for software.  I only paid $100 total and didn't have to write off any unborn children in the contract."

         "Damn, I need a hook-up like that."

         She smiled.  "I know people..."

         The phone double-chirped and Emily scrolled through the new message.  Winston just sat back, one arm extended out along the top edge of the empty seat next to him.  His word of mouth hadn't been enough to relax her so he waited, watching Emily absorb everything he'd already said but from somebody she did trust.


 

{ Still Being Written, 1770 words & Counting.  Tell Me How It's Coming Along... }