The Story Slice: Alex

This is the continuation of a story that began here:

Part 1: Maureen

Part 2: Maureen

Part 3: The Takeoff

Part 4: Colleen

by Brian Hughes

Alex was kind enough to reach out to Cahil in the middle of the night and real him in with her Saturn. They were heading back over the hill into Hollywood – back to his hotel. She was wearing her pajama bottoms. Cahil stared at her ankles and pretty, little feet in sandals. Alex was always the girl with the attitude – anti-man for the most part, but no lesbian.

“So what the hell are you doing out here?” Asked Alex.
“I have a big interview with Brenda Burgundy.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah … I’m playing with the big boys now, Alex – just as I always said I would.”
Alex had a prominent nose and an always sly look in her eyes. Her world was photography, human rights issues, Johnny Depp and Jack White.
“You’re not interviewing The White Stripes I’m guessing …”
“Nope. But you’ll be the first to know.”
She was another in a long line of gals that Cahil felt he let slip through his fingers. Why? He’s still unclear of that: Youth, perhaps - fear mostly. Fear ruled the long days in the bookstore he use to work in: Fear of hanging out, fear of meeting new people, fear of asking the big three if they’d go out with him; Alex was two in the hierarchy, Heather of course sat at the top of the pyramid, while Colleen took up the rear.
“Have you stayed in touch with Heather?”
“Yeah, why?”
“How is she doing?”
“She’s doing well. She’s in “events planning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she’s in a relationship with this really cool guy. He’s a private pilot with lots of big time clients.”
“Good for her.”
“You’re still hot in the pants for her, are you?”
Cahil stared out into the passing night – seeing the first moment he set eyes on Heather: She was casually walking into the back stockroom, having just come off a break, when Cahil was introduced to her by the stockroom manager. He couldn’t remember the stockroom manager’s name, all he could remember was that he was a big time sci-fi reader who hated The Doors: He hated The Doors because they sounded like carnival music. It was strange what the mind remembered.
“I’m just warning you that any moment I might pull over to the side of the road and take pictures of you. I’m feeling it … I’m definitely feeling it,” Alex said as she reached behind the driver’s seat for her camera bag.
“We ought to collaborate and do something together some time.”
“Yeah, that might be fun,” she said as she peeled around the winding roads in the canyon. “Are you planning on visiting Heather?”
“I might,” Cahil said. “Do you know where she is now?”
“Yeah, I do – I’ll send it to you. Do you still have the same email address?”
“I do.”
“You should really stay away. You shouldn’t go see her.”
“I can’t! It’s the damn internet: The goddamn, motherfucking Myspace, Facebook and all the rest…!”
“Aren’t you engaged?”
“Yes, yes … If it wasn’t for these sites I would have probably forgotten her, but no, her image lingers: It stays there, updating, provoking me to continue looking, to continue to be informed.”
“It can’t lead to anything good – you’re engaged and she’s serious about her relationship.”
“I adore my fiancé, I couldn’t have found someone more perfect, it’s just I feel there is unfinished business.”
“You should leave it alone – trust me – I’m pulling over.”
Alex pulled off the curve and parked the car at a rest stop that overlooked the dark, cavernous canyon.
“Sit up on the front of the car, look over here.” Alex kept the lights of the car on. She was working the lights and shadows to some type of affect and moved about the car like a real picture pro.
“You’re gonna send me these pictures, right?”
“Of course.”
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Cahil said.
“Thanks … lean a bit more to the left.”
“I should have asked you out.” Alex said nothing. “I think about you all the time.”
“How come you never email me?”
“I email you once in a blue moon, and you usually never respond.”
“There are so many guys to have to deal with … no offense, I don’t need any more drama.”
“I understand.”
“Oh! That’s awesome! Look this way.” The wind was blowing hard and all Cahil could think of was whether his weight was enough to send the car over the edge.

Alex was through getting her shots of Cahil. She peeled back onto the road with a screech and in the irony of all ironies, The Doors “Love Her Madly” came thundering from the speakers of her car. Cahil and Alex shared the vocals, he banging the dash, she slamming the steering wheel with her palm. Never had he wanted to fuck Alex more that in that very moment: The Doors, the California night, slinky roads and a curvy chick: what could be better to Cahil than this?
A message on his blackberry: Agatha Reece was in town:
“Heard we are staying in the same hotel. I’m in room 1004. Knock on my door tonight – we are demonstrating the latest Asian sex toys to hit the market.”
Agatha Reece was a sex writer who occasionally wrote for The City Savior and ran her own popular website called DeepVag.com. She had been on CNN and a bunch of other television programs. Cahil had a jones for her – had beat off to her site on more than one occasion. Going to her room was a definite possibility.
Alex pulled up to Cahil’s hotel.
“All right Cahil … nice catching up. Don’t be a stranger …”
“Would you like to, perhaps come up for a little bit, maybe …?”
“No way, I’m dead. I need some serious rest. Here – let me send you Heather’s address…”
“Oh, thanks …”
Cahil was thankful Alex came and got him. He’d have to remember to call Enterprise about the stranded car. He couldn’t even remember where he left it. He’d never fuck Colleen, nor would he ever get a chance with Alex. Perhaps that was best. As he stared down at Heather’s address, he was beginning to wonder whether he should take Alex’s advice and not go and see her after all: what was the point? He adored his fiancé, and perhaps Heather would always have a special place in his heart, but what was the use in seeing her? Disturbing her day? There was something so devious and ugly about going to Heather and spilling his guts to her, while Janeen was running around New York City with her mother trying to nail down a spot for their reception party.

Cahil was feeling down about himself as he knocked on room 1004. A large black guy in an expensive suit answered the door. Cahil told the guy who he was and was soon led in. The suite was surrounded by hip looking Asian people with layered, spiky haircuts and Soho duds. Agatha Reece was the ringleader, wearing a hot pink, Jacquard and lace corset. Always a bit on the big boned side, she filled out the lingerie with sexy opulence. The suite was awash in red light and dampness as trance bass music pounded the floor below his feet. Men and women were stretched out and strapped to various sex machines like The Thruster and The Missile Launcher, which was an industrial looking, steel cage contraption which drove a dildo into a young man’s anus. Everyone seemed to be having a rip roaring time though, with ball gags, chastity belts and medical gear – all except Cahil, who at once felt as if he should be punished hard for thinking he could get away with having sex with these California gals while engaged to the most wonderful woman in the world. The air was stifling and the longer Cahil stayed, the more he felt obliged to test one of these contraptions, but he knew, as with almost anything sexual in his life, he wouldn’t have the balls to go through with it.

Cahil’s interview with train wreck Brenda Burgundy was fast approaching and he hadn’t done a lick of research. With a bottle of Chivas Regal in his hand, he threw some headphones on and listened to her soulful, Motown-era sound. He stared at Heather’s address on his blackberry, through his tired, bloodshot eyes and wondered how in fuck’s sake would he ever get out to her?