Page 73 of Director's Cut
Until Charlie catches me, securing me with one arm while he swoops the envelope into his hand with the other. “I swear you will be back in your girlfriend’s loving arms in a minute. No need to swan-dive off the stage.”
At that moment, it’s like my body reboots. My heart slows a bit. I’m alive, and I feel weirdly secure in Charlie’s arms, despite where we are. Everyone bursts into laughter, including, fuck, me. I’m still laughing as I look from Maeve in the audience to the teleprompter to Charlie’s joyful fucking face. And I too feel some form of joy coursing through my veins—and, okay, maybe it’s really horror-filled adrenaline disguised as joy—but it feels good. I compose myself, look to the very boring opening for Best Supporting Actress, and pull myself together long enough to say, “And the nominees for Best Supporting Actress are…” and list off the names.
And the moment is actually really nice. To my utter delight, my on-screen child in Stroke wins her first Oscar, at age twelve, and she, Charlie, and I are able to share a little hug mid-moment. Maeve’s grinning when I return to my seat. I hand her a napkin full of cheese and carrot sticks I found backstage, and she hands me her phone.
“You and Charlie are trending,” she says.
My stomach pinches as I pull up the first article. But it reads, “10 Best Parts of the Oscars So Far…” and it talks about how charming Charlie is and how we have great chemistry. They mention Charlie’s gay comment along with a link to another article.
This one talks about Maeve and me on the red carpet. How heartwarming it was to see me burst into tears of joy with Maeve.
I grab Maeve’s hand as I give her phone back. “Thanks for coming with me,” I whisper, and kiss her cheek.
The awards wrap up, and Maeve and I decide not to go to an after-party. With our hands just touching thighs, teasing, her head resting on my shoulder, our designer heels knocking against one another, we know no bottle-popping after-party can compare to what we can do together.
Luna and Romy are overjoyed to get my tickets to the Goodbye, Richard!’s studio’s after-party, and tell me they plan to meet Wyatt and one of his coworkers there. Even I’m a little overjoyed seeing them practically skip toward the venue hand in hand in their matching suits, so clearly in their own world. When Mason texts me asking if I’ll be there and I say I’m ducking out early, she just responds with a bunch of taco emojis. Charlie asks if he can bring someone home, and I think I say something along the lines of “I’m not your mom; you decide” as Maeve and I step into our Escalade.
Once we’re inside, we put our seat belts on like everything’s normal. We each managed one free glass of champagne on practically empty stomachs, but I feel loopy with her around. I almost repeat history and unbuckle my seat belt to reach under her dress, but I’m too sober for that. I settle for grabbing her hand.
“Did you have fun?” I ask.
She smiles. “Honestly?”
I nod.
“It was a lot more boring than I remember it being when I watched it on TV. But you and Charlie made it completely worth it.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“I am too. Thank you for, you know, giving me the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Eh, you’ll be forced to come back next year.” I feel like I’ve released a kite that’s caught the wind right away. It’s more a wisp of a fantasy, but I doubt Maeve will remember when we’re both teaching in a year, Hollywood in the past.
When the drive ends, Maeve and I move effortlessly to my house, up my stairs, into the serenity of my bedroom. We kick off our shoes, but then the momentum screeches to a dead halt.
“Val, how the hell do we get these dresses off?” Maeve asks.
I smirk. “Very carefully.”
“I’m not touching yours.”
I chuckle. “Fine.” I locate the zipper on mine easily, step out of it carefully, and hang it up on the hanger the designer gave us. Then, in nothing but some pasties and a black thong, I move to Maeve. I grab her shoulders and run my fingers down the lengths of her arms. “It’s back here.”
I plant a firm kiss on the nape of her neck. My own heart thumps as her hairs stand on end. Slowly, achingly slowly, I kiss down her spine. With each brush of my lips, she sighs. With my body pressed to hers, our heartbeats reverberate off each other’s skin. Finally, when her skin is hot, her breath quick under me, I unzip her dress. I slip the dress off her as gently as she handles everything in her possession and hang it up. She tears the pasties off delicately as I remove my own, throw them into a nearby trash can. She turns to me, and it’s like a fucking movie. I’ve never seen anyone more gorgeous in my life, and I never want to see anyone else.
I smile. “Now that that’s over with…”
I slam her into the nearest wall. Her sighs turn to moans as we kiss, lick, and bite, as we all but rip the panties off each other. As we fall onto the bed, hands migrating to legs, asses, the supple skin between our legs, the moans only increase. We rip open my drawer. Yank out the harness underwear, the strap, a bullet vibrator. I slide the harness on, stuff the vibe and dildo in, and smile down at Maeve as she opens up for me.
“I love you,” she says as I enter her.
“I love you too.”
I can’t wait to say that later tonight, tomorrow morning, maybe even for the rest of our lives.
It plays like a chorus in my head, provides a tune for my every movement, the way our hands clasp together, the way our lips come together and don’t separate as we moan into each other’s mouths. We clutch each other, scratching nails against soft skin and pushing bruises into shoulders and waists as we come together hard, arching into each other. Like there’s no peace until we’re as close to each other as possible.
We could have every inch of skin touching and I swear we wouldn’t be close enough. Being inside her isn’t close enough. Telling her my every secret and asking her to cradle my most vulnerable self doesn’t feel like enough.