On set, day
twenty-something.
It had been a long day and we were currently taking a break
between takes. The actors cleared the scene while some carpenters and
technicians were dismantling some structures. Meanwhile, I had wandered off
seeking a quiet backdrop to call Raf and let him know when we’d be done so he
could drive in pick me up, and take me to the airport to fly me back home.
I liked to knock
down all my phone calls between shooting breaks; it made me feel important
around the cast and crew seen engaged in many phone calls, and maybe beguile
some relevant industry figure that I was an incredibly sought after person of
interest.
There was
one other phone call I wanted to make before I clocked out and headed home –
and it was one I really didn’t want to make once I got home.
“Hey!" I said, trying to sound like I was on top of the world. "It’s
Jerry Mousseau,” Then I quickly added, “we met on the dating site. I stayed at
your place—”
“Oh, Jerry,
of course I haven’t forgotten you!”
My heart
swelled at Natalie’s effervescent voice. When she was thrilled it broke with a
small scratchy squeak that was strangely erotic. I could just picture her
beaming her opalescent smile like she was sitting in front of me.
She went
on:
“How are
you doing now? How did it all pan out?”
“Where do I
begin? I’m in St Palma right now, soaking up the ‘sometimes’ sun and – oh hey,
I nearly forgot, I’m acting in a film now!”
She had a
gorgeous laugh; vibrant and unpretentious. I drank it in like cool water on a simmering
day.
“That’s so
great! But why am I not surprised?” she said. “First time I ever saw you it was
on screen. So, just when are you planning on making your red carpet debut, Mr
Mousseau?”
The ground quaked as a pair of giant's boots stomped right past my eyeline, shoelaces flicking dangerously. I flinched, hoping the quaking didn't pass through the phone line to her end.
"Hey!" I yelled. The giant barely threw a look over their shoulder. Unless you were a lead actor, you weren't shown much special attention.
"--What's going on over there?" came Natalie's voice, slightly concerned.
"Never mind me, what are you
doing these days?”
“Guess what? I’m in St
Palma! Both struck by the same bolt of inspiration, huh? – great minds.”
I had a nanosecond
to decide how to receive this information, and chose surprise.
“Oh, wow—!”
– and nearly said ‘small world’ (good grief) but managed to stop myself—
“Small
world, right?” she said. And before I could answer she went on: “I skipped campus to study here at SPU. Not quite
as glamorous as you, but I can be up here with my boyfriend, which is
really…nice."
A beat. The white noise of crew member discussion bubbled at my back.
"Sounds busy," Natalie noted.
"Uh huh," I sighed. "So, you're in a relationship?"
“That’s
right. Grant and I have been dating now for – Gawd, like – ” she seemed to
think for a moment, “four months? Let me think…When did I last see you—?”
“Gone and
over before you know it,” I sighed. “Ever since I’ve been up here, I’ve barely
had time to stop and think.”
“That’s
your excuse for not getting in touch before now?” she jibed. “You’re a big,
important movie star? Better watch it doesn’t go to your head!”
“Yeah…I’m
sorry, Natalie,” I said sincerely. “A lot of things got in the way.”
“It’s
fine!” she said. “Things must be moving so fast for you. When we last spoke,
you were in a sort of in-between place and not quite sure what your heart was
telling you...?”
“I don’t
know about that.”
“So, what happened?
You just appeared to run out the door on me, big guy.” She said it teasingly,
but – was I imagining it? – there was something in her voice; an undercurrent
of something genuinely curious, but restrained.
She then told
me about how she had to talk to police after I'd left – correction, been
snatched – from her house. It didn’t sound like she had a detailed picture of
how I’d spent the month I was at Samantha’s house, except that she suspected something
weird was up.
“I was
worried,” she admitted. “I mean, since you left me no number to contact you.
But it worked out?”
“Not with Samantha,” I said, now secretly keen to get off the
subject, “but my ex-girlfriend and I are back together. She’s home.”
"I may
be the one behind the eight ball here," the words came slower, "but, is this the same ex-girlfriend you were telling me about...?"
"Well,”
I said, wringing my hands, hating to remember what exactly I had said, "I made
her sound like some kind of two dimensional cartoon character. But she'd different
in real life."
"Oh,"
Natalie said, sounding like she was smiling again, possibly not fully
understanding, but all the same, seeming relieved. "Bumpy road, but you
got there."
“With your help,” I said suddenly. “I really
appreciate it, Natalie, and, uh…” I cleared my throat, “…there was a…something
I needed to tell you…my girlfriend and I just got engaged, and I’d really like
it if you could…” I took a quick breath, “…want to invite you to our wedding,
if you happen to—”
“Oh my
God!” she gushed. “That is so
wonderful! Really, Jerry, I’d love to.”
“Thanks,” I
said, somewhat mechanically. What did I expect her to say? – Oh no, has the
S.S. Jerry really sailed out of the harbor? Am I too late?
I glared at
the ground, disgusted with myself.
She was jumping ahead of me:
“When are
you holding the ceremony?”
“We don’t
know yet,” I replied, feeling stupid all of a sudden, “we have to figure out
size before we can move forward to the next stage.”
Maybe
sensing my anxiety, she said in a consoling way:
“Don’t
stress out over those little details, okay? Pay too much attention to size
and...you’ll miss the full picture.”
“It’s also
about her,” I said, too quickly, and then paced myself. “I don’t want to run
the whole show.”
“But – I
don’t know – some girls might like that, have their man take care of it all.
And you’re a pretty capable little mover these days aren’t you? Leaving home,
starting a new job…”
Still can’t open a refrigerator, though, I thought before I could help
myself.
She said
something I didn’t catch; her voice segueing back into my awareness:
…and,” her
voice slowed for emphasis, “surely it wouldn’t be outside your abilities to
meet up soon, would it?”
I blinked.
“When are you
free?”
“Well, when
are you free, Mr. Movie Star? How
about the weekend after next?”
I heaved a
breath.
“I’ve got
yoga on Saturday, and I can’t shift it.”
It was
forecast to be warm that day, and for whatever reason, Larissa said our workout
needed the warmth.
“You take
yoga?” Natalie interrupted. It was a hobby of hers. “What did I say; great
minds!”
“Just one
session. I’ve never done it before.”
“Well, what
would you say if I was your yoga buddy for the day? Make you feel not so new at
it?”
“I’ll let
my personal trainer know. But if you came as my chaperone I’m sure she’d let
you buddy with me.”
“Oh – I’m
Mr. Jerry Mousseau’s chaperone now!”
she said faux self-importance. “Call it a date!”
“Absolutely.”
I sighed
inwardly. Whatever it was we were doing that day, it probably would not be a ‘date’ – as much as I secretly wanted to. We said our
goodbyes and she was gone and it was just me again, before the director’s
assistant called me back onto set.
*
“YOU NEED A
WAKE UP.”
I’d been
daydreaming and now once again found myself supported on all sides by the soft
interior fabric of the dark drawstring pouch. My shoulders bumped into the thin
walls as the pouch slid and jostled back and forth. An announcement blared over
the intercom: one of the other flights was now boarding and passengers were
being directed to the correct departure terminal. My flight wouldn’t be long
now.
The smell
of hot food and coffee wafted into the pouch opening just above my head, interrupted
by Raf’s cologne.
Gripping
fistfuls of the fabric lining, I poked my head up out of the drawstring opening
to be met with the sweeping white airport lounge, people bustling past in all
directions over the polished tract of flooring, and snatches of buzzing
conversation. No one noticed me, and even as I stared, I picked out a couple of
other travellers with small bags or wallets hanging from straps around their
necks, carrying not little people but passports or currency or cameras.
“Sorry?” I
said, blinking around.
“YOU LOOK
TIRED, CHIEF. COFFEE?”
It was the
evening, but in St Palma, time of day was no barrier for caffeine. Not that I
needed it; I’d been slowly chugging Kolade over the course of the day to keep
pepped up.
“No thanks,
Raf. Maybe I’ll have something on the plane.”
“SURE? I
COULD GO FOR AN ESPRESSO.”
“Get
yourself something. I don’t want to need the restroom mid-flight.”
He bought a
coffee from one of the airport cafés, but quickly decided I needed safekeeping
away from his chest while he drank it, so none spilled on me.
The pouch
was lifted from his neck and turned upside down and I slid out gently into the
palm of one of his enormous hands. The other cupped around me to shield me from
view as I was lowered down his body and slipped inside the hip pocket of his
jeans. The world went dim as my feet settled at the base of the pocket, which
pressed around me like a rugged sleeping bag. Then I was moving around blindly
with his thigh as he took each juddering stride. When his foot touched down on
the hard floor, the impact coursed up my spine. It was like riding horseback,
but sideways, and with a sack over my head.
Since I
mentioned it, after he drained his coffee he took me into the restroom, and in
a cubicle, put me down on the seat, with a square of toilet paper to stand on,
and he turned away while I relieved myself into the oversize bowl.
Past the
boarding gates, and through the glass walled jet bridge into the plane, he
handed me and my booster seat over to a flight attendant who was designated to
look out for me during the flight. She took me to my seat; located near the
galley. I had no carry-on this time; my stuff was back at the apartment.
The flight
attendant carried me to my normal-sized seat, strapping the booster in, giving
me earbuds and TV screen control. It was difficult to watch a movie; I kept
focusing on the actor and the line delivery. Then I came to, to find half the
movie was over; my brain kept staggering off into nothingness, floating higher
than the cloudy dream world out the window. I hadn’t only refrained from coffee
that day, but also Kolade, and having since had it every morning to pep me for
work, my nervous system noticed the absence.
But I
couldn’t achieve proper sleep, my mind just drifted, I snapped awake again,
then drifted. Then snapped awake.
It was dark
outside when the announcement came over the speaker that we were descending, the
upward rush pushed against the plane as we came down, then the bump of landing.
Once most
of the passengers had exited the plane, a flight attendant detached my booster
seat and carried me over the jet bridge, transferring me to a customer
assistance officer, who took me over the automated people mover. The tall glass
windows scrolled by before we reached the arrival gate.
With the bright
flare of her perfume, the hairs on my arms stood to attention.
“Hi,”
suddenly feeling very small, half my size.
Appearing
to the side of the cart, she undid the booster harness and then her thumb and
middle dug beneath my armpits and squeezed my chest before lifting me up into
the air. Her lips expanded rapidly in my view and then covered everything as
she drew me in for an unselfconscious kiss, at the same time, massaging my
ribcage between her fingertips, a simulation of a crushing hug. I drank in her
recognizable perfume while her lipstick caressed and oiled my face and it
occurred to me she had neatened herself up a little beforehand.
Actually,
that was an understatement. She seemed to glow from within and radiate sensual
warmth over my hug-constricted body, totally powerless and exposed to her
fierce, barely contained lust.
“YOU’RE
MINE AGAIN, LITTLE PET,” her voice rumbled right in my ear.
“Jen…you
don’t have to…ugh…” I whimpered, squirming between her forceful fingertips as
they made their immodest exploration of my body.
The
customer assistance officer – who had not made any direct physical contact with
me – watched with wonder at the cosy familiarity with which Jen handled my
little body, like a cherished toy, and then took the cart one way while we went
another, out through the airport.
*
Back home,
I made myself a bath, put on a pair of pyjama shorts and afterwards, wandered
through the rooms of the house, marvelling at the expansive floor space
compared to my apartment, which I’d never really noticed before.
Bathed, I
walked back out into the living room. The oven hummed from the kitchen, where
Jen was making up dinner, baked salmon. She must have glimpsed me entering from
the corridor.
“HEY,” she
called out. “I COULD USE A LITTLE COOKING ASSISTANT OVER HERE.”
I
hesitated. She was usually happy to accomplish all the cooking on her own – she
loved cooking. Not that I couldn’t cook; she wasn’t the only food lover in the
household; and I had capably cooked for myself before I’d shrunk, but it wasn’t
clear what place there was for me in the kitchen.
“What do
you need me to help you with?”
“JUST SO
YOU KNOW, I’VE GOT EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL,” she said lightly, “BUT IT’S NICE;
WE CAN COOK TOGETHER.” Maybe my hesitance had sounded in my tone. She paused. “YOU
DON’T WANT TO?”
“Just tell
me what I can do.”
She soon
had me up on the kitchen counter with the end of a long thin knife up above my
head, which I swung repeatedly down upon a bok choy and shallots like a tiny
vegetable executioner. When I finished
and turned to ask her for the next vegetable, she was leaning against the
counter, watching me with the faintest smile. My brow creased; I assumed she was
about to make fun of me for ‘executing’ the shallots wrong.
“What?” I
grunted, feeling self-conscious.
“OH,
NOTHING. VERY SPICY LITTLE MAN, THAT’S ALL. DO I GET A TASTE TEST?”
She poked
her tongue out at me.
I
concentrated on the vegetables again.
“Trust you to get hot to a knife being swung
around.”
“YOU DON’T
FEEL THAT HEAT THAT I’M FEELING?”
“It’s the
oven.”
She turned
back to the baking dish she was lining with paper, and her tone became serious:
“SO TELL ME
ABOUT YOUR NEIGHBORS; WHAT’S IT LIKE UP THERE –LOUD?”
“Kinda loud
outside.” Then I emphasized: “But very peaceful inside.”
“HMM. AND I
BET THE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY.”
“Watch your
language! They’re…different.”
Once dinner
was ready, I sat up at my usual place at the dining table, at a right angle
from Jen’s usual seat, on the dining mat where my plate would have been, if I’d
been seated at the table normal size. In the middle of the table, tongues of candlelight wobbled and flickered on their white wax stalks upon a wrought iron holder.
Her nail tip snapped briskly against the wood grain of the tabletop to get my attention.
“YOU’RE
GOING TO SIT RIGHT HERE AND EAT FROM MY PLATE.”
I looked up
into her green eyes, which returned my look with calm expectation.
“What?
Why?”
“BECAUSE
IT’S FUN. AND I’D LIKE IT IF YOU DID.”
When I
looked at her unsurely, she added:
“JUST
TONIGHT.”
I crawled
over the table on my hands and knees over to the side of her plate, while she
began cutting up slices off her meal and sliding them over into a neat pile at
the nearest edge of the plate. I speared it up with toothpicks, and satisfied,
the huge glistening silver fork then swept around, shovelling up portions of
larger, sliced up food. As I went in to lance up more food on my toothpicks, I
had to watch not to get my hands caught in her fork prongs as the giant utensil
drove itself through the meal like a plow.
How strange
that lurking just behind the beautiful veneer there was a great machine, and
anything close to my size that went in there was invariably crushed, ripped
apart, and disposed of into an acid-filled waste pit. I couldn’t ignore the soft
smacking sound of morsels being squashed down, and the sound of air displacing
via the muscular flex of her throat as she swallowed.
For her,
this might have been romantic, but for me, it was a little unnerving. This may
have been why I ate more slowly than usual, meditating on every bite that was
acoustically magnified right over my head. She finished before me, and while I
chewed the last of my salmon, something hard nudged over my scalp. The faintly food-greased
fork tip was lightly brushing through my hair teasingly, and then it lightly
scratched down under my jaw, probing my throat. My spine tingled.
“LUCKY YOU,”
she said dryly, “NO WASHING UP.”
“Only fair
– I didn’t use a plate or cutlery.”
Once I
finished, she took the kitchenware over to the sink.
“THERE’S
PLENTY ELSE YOU CAN DO FOR ME.”
We moved to
the bedroom. ‘Moved’ meaning, she snatched me up and flew me there.