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Foreground - Chapter 3

Steppin' Razor

  Ding Dong.

Tom waited one, two, three, four seconds until Zoe opened the door.  It had been two days, 7 hours and 40 minutes since the incident, you know the one, when Camilla had informed him of Zoe’s secret desires, and Tom hadn’t seen Zoe since that night, which didn’t count really, because even when he was looking her, he didn’t actually see her. 

 They had decided, him and Zoe, to get together before the filming of their shared scenes began, and talk a little bit, explore their characters’ relationship, something Tom knew Zoe’s been avoiding for a long time. It had occurred to him that this may be a hint pointing to what Camilla had said, and with that Tom felt a little sympathy for Zoe, because so far he’d been thinking that she was just avoiding him all together and she’s so unprofessional she’s going to ruin the entire movie.

 So, here he was, in front of her door, and she opened it agonizingly slowly, like she knew, she somehow knew that he’d been waiting and wanting to see her, his mind eager to trace the lines of her face, the shape of her body, to flash with detail that neglected part of Tom’s brain where he had stored those images of her.

 “Hello, Tom.”

 She smiled at him and Tom took her sight in, inspecting her carefully, almost comically carefully, like those children who watch strangers in the street or the tube, their mind slowly registering with the unfamiliarity.

 Zoe was beautiful.  Her eyes were actually hazel, they were green and they were brown, and Tom was sure they were black at moments too.  He let his own eyes fall lower until they reached her mouth, dear god how come I hadn’t seen that mouth before this mouth is pure poetry. 

“Tom, Tom, Tom.” she snapped her fingers right in his face.

“Hmmm?”

“Are you gonna come in or are you gonna stand there?”

“In, in. Definitely in.” he smiled nervously and cleared his throat. “I brought wine.”

“What for?” she asked as she walked in front of him and towards the living room, bent down, picked the script from the floor and put it on the coffee table.

 Tom was trying to think with words in his head, his normal reaction being annoyance as when most people say thank you Zoe had said what for, what for this girl is rude, but his brain failed him, concentrating only in absorbing Zoe’s form, like it was escaping him the whole time, afraid that he would forget again. He had stopped himself from going to the internet and finding pictures of her, the idea hadn’t crossed his mind that sleepless night, but later, when he was calmer he thought about it, and yet he didn’t do it. He didn’t want to see her through somebody else’s eyes, but his own.

 And that’s what he did. He just stared at her as she bent down and suddenly that chorographer didn’t seem so perverted to Tom, that is indeed a great ass and Jesus you came here for a reason pull yourself together!

 “Tom what’s wrong with you? Are you tired? Are you drugged? Speak up.” she teased as she gestured to him to sit on the chair across from her and Tom thought she looked softer and friendlier than usual.

“Sorry. I’m a bit tired.”

“I figured.  Do you want tea? I’ve got like ten different kinds of tea in the kitchen.”

“Yeah…yes.” He nodded smiling. “Tea. Tea sounds great.”

“Be right back. Take a sit.”

 Tom wasn’t going to sit. He put the wine on the coffee table, took his cardigan off, and let it fall on the couch.  He looked around, this being his first time in Zoe’s flat and as tradition would have it, he started wandering a bit, wanting to know something more of her, anything. It was then that he realized he didn’t know much of her anyway, that early conversation the three of them had, Tom, Zoe and the director, when Tom still thought he could be friends with Zoe, and between talking about the film and how it’s scon-e-s instead of sco-n-s, Tom had learned a few things about her, how she was born in South Africa, how she came in London when she was seventeen with her parents,  and how she learned how to cook because both of her parents were shit cooks and that’s all he knew.

 Her place was relatively empty, a couch and two armchairs, the little coffee table, no TV, no nothing.  She didn’t have pictures on the walls, hers or others’, the curtains white, the carpet black, everything tidy and clean.  The place reminded him of those god awful waiting rooms in doctors’ offices and he got a sick feeling up in his stomach. He let his eyes wander, suddenly aware of a small library down the hall. He paced swiftly towards the library afraid she would come back soon.

 She had great taste in books, he already knew that. See, Zoe was one of those people, those pretentious snobbish art lovers that Tom despised so much, their arguments coming back to him as he traced with his index finger the line of the books, from Plato and Sophocles, to Marsilio Ficino and Giovanni Boccaccio and T.S.Eliot and Carol Ann Duffy. Yes Tom Shakespeare is the centre of West Literature, everybody ripped him off, that doesn’t mean Loki’s a Shakespearean character.

 He sighed with the memory of it all, still reading the titles of the books, when his eyes reached a small piece of paper on the third shelf.  SEE YOU SOON! COULD YOU GIVE TONY MY KEY AND FINISH THE GIN PLEASE? FOR OLD TIMES SAKE! X

He squinted his eyes, now curious more than anything else, when he felt Zoe’s presence behind him.  A second later he heard her voice.

“The tea’s ready.” she said sternly. Even though she saw him standing there, she didn’t offer any explanation, of the paper, of the books, and Tom didn’t ask for it.

 “Thanks.”

 They resumed their seats quietly and picked up their scripts.

“Sooooo…” she took a sip of her tea and looked up at him, “What do you think about the script…about the characters, I mean.”

“Well, they’re in love.” Tom smirked and Zoe rolled her eyes.

“That’s…elaborative.” she sighed. “And for the record, I don’t think they’re in love. They’re just infatuated with each other.”

“Are you saying the biggest romance in literature was simply an infatuation?”

“No, I’m saying the biggest romance in literature was based in an infatuation.”

“Same thing.” Tom’s patience slowly wearing thin with this frustrating creature, his mind half ready for another argument, half distracted by her low cut jumper.

“It’s not the same thing, Tom, and you know it.” she seemed determined and Tom knew better than to continue with this argument, he hadn’t come here to argue. “Besides”, she went on, “I think it’s ridiculous that thing, you know, with artists….what they do….you know.”

Tom took a sip of his tea. “What do you mean? What thing? I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know, the muses and the romance.” she enunciated the words with a light mockery in her voice. “Throw a pretty girl in a poet’s bed and bam inspiration.”

Tom chuckled. “You think inspiration is ridiculous?”

“The way it happens is kind of ridiculous.”

“So, let me get this right, you’re saying that it’s ridiculous that artists get inspired when they’re in love?” Tom couldn’t believe this girl!

“Infatuated, infatuated. Not in love.”

“Well, I disagree. I think beauty is a big source of inspiration.”

“Yeah, but that’s not beauty in itself. It’s beauty they get to enjoy.” she smiled and he smirked. He smirked and shook his head.

She took another sip of her tea. “It’s like if you’re poet and you ever run out of inspiration, get a pretty girl and you’ll be fine.”

Tom smiled and scratched his chin, thinking, weighing his answer. He caught her staring at him as he did so. This is why he had come here, not to discuss the script that’s bullshit. He had come to see for himself, to taste the waters so to speak, to find out on his own if Camilla was actually right.

“Ooh…I don’t know, don’t know…” he said putting his mug on the table. “It doesn’t seem so weird to me, I think…yeah. If I had a girl like you naked in my bed, I’d probably feel very inspired myself.”

He let the sentence sink in, smirking and looking intently into her eyes, those same eyes that Tom was seeing for the first time today, they went wide, her body scooted back a bit, and she rearranged herself in her seat, for a second, just a tiny second, but Tom still saw it. He felt warmth spread through his own body, like his skin was registering with that feeling before his mind did, he could taste it in his mouth, he probably did, that feeling, you know the one, satisfaction. It wasn’t a sexual thing this satisfaction, not in the least, even though the context was sexual, and Tom may have had one or two inappropriate thoughts about Zoe, but that’s beside the point.

She pulled herself together rather quickly.

“That’s a typical thing for a guy to say.” she said her voice lower.

“Yeah… guilty.” Tom shrugged, his smile never fading.

She was trying to regain her composure, Tom knew that. Zoe always won in arguments; he had to give her that. “And, there are pretty girls everywhere.”

His eyes were fixed on her, sparkling.

 “Well, that’s true…” he looked down at his lap and back up again, “that’s true, but I don’t know. There are some girls...some girls that, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but they’re more than just beautiful. “

“Really? What are they then?”

Tom chuckled, a breathy sound, and exhaled audibly at her sarcastic tone, the Zoe he knew was back again, and he wanted to send her away. He was enjoying this conversation more than he could have possibly imagined.

“They’re…you know. Different. Those girls can drive you crazy.  You know, you of all people must know.”

Tom didn’t really think that Zoe was one of those girls or that girls like that even existed. He didn’t know or care if they did. But the situation, or better his intentions, dictated that he should lie, so that’s what he did. It didn’t matter though, as Zoe believed him, it was obvious she did, reacting the same way as before, eyes slightly wide, breath hitched, nervously moving in her seat. It’s not often that one feels uncomfortable in their own sofa.

But again, she pulled herself together, quicker than last time, not quick enough though because Tom saw it. She knew that he saw it. And Tom knew that she knew that he knew and it was so pleasant that Tom’s smile widened, morphing into a grin.

 And that’s when Zoe got up.

“Want more tea? I finished mine.”

“Sure” Tom said, sure, but he wasn’t going to let it go so easily. “I’ll come with you and we can talk in the kitchen.”

They walked towards the kitchen neither one of them speaking a word, Zoe pacing in a fast tempo, Tom following lazily with his hands in his pockets. He didn't want to push her too much, this was just the beginning. And so he let her put the water in the boiler, open the cup drawers and get more teabags, while she was murmuring the different flavors lemon, cinnamon, strawberry, blackberry, watermelon which one would you like, and Tom didn’t even respond to that, his eyes fixated on a large window at the end of the hall. He stood there mesmerized.

 “You’ve got an amazing view. Really, really amazing.”

He turned his gaze to her and then back to the window. 

“It’s why I decided to rent this particular flat. I love windows.”

He smiled kindly at this, not being used to this kind of honesty and openness from her. She half smiled, not daring to keep his gaze for too long.

“Listen, you seem a bit tired. Do you want me to go and come back tomorrow? I mean, we still got time.” he walked to her putting his own mug on the counter.

“I thought you were the one that was tired.” she challenged him, still not looking in his eyes, taking a strand of hair and putting it behind her ear, Tom’s own eyes following the tiny gesture on their own accord.

Zoe, you little shit.

He sank his teeth in his bottom lip.

“We’re both tired. So how about we leave it here this time, and we meet tomorrow or the day after that. We got time.”

“Maybe we can ask John to be there as well. You know, help us a bit, since we don’t seem to agree.”

That wasn’t the answer Tom expected. He stepped even closer to her. “My darling Zoe, we never agree.” Tom laughed. “I’m sure John has more important things to do than deal with this. We can take care this on our own. Right?” he waited for her to answer. “Right?”

She swallowed and looked down and back up again and tapped her foot nervously on the floor and Tom enjoyed her reaction so much he let his eyes close for a second, reveling in that strange feeling he felt slowly make its way to his neck, behind his head, and he almost groaned at the sensation of it.

“Right.  So…”

“So, I’m going.” Tom turned his back and slowly walked to the living room to pick his cardigan and leave. He didn’t really want to. She followed him, still keeping her distance.

“Soo… bye, Tom.” she opened the door for him.

He smiled sweetly, leaning to her, and gave her a small kiss on the cheek, he never used to kiss her goodbye, but now he wanted to. She didn’t kiss him back.

“Bye, Zoe.” Tom all but whispered, to himself to Zoe, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter anymore, as he got what he came for and that was enough for now.

She loved windows.

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But I cut my hands and break my back Dragging this bag of stones Till they bury me down beneath the ground With the dust and rattlin' bones

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Foreground - Chapter 2

Do I want to know?

  Ample make this bed/ Make this bed with awe / In it I’ll wait until judgment day/ Excellent and fair/ Be its mattress straight / Be its pillow round / Let no sunrise yellow noise / Interrupt this ground.

Poetry was always better than counting ships to get to sleep those god awful nights before the stressful, dreadful mornings after of auditions and premieres and exams and going to the dentist. Tom could always find something appropriate to recite for he had his personal library up in his brain with every line he had ever had to memorize never leaving him; those lines were his favorite friends.

  He was tossing and turning in his bed wrapped up in his own sweat and uneven breath. He got up, sat in the edge of the bed, scratched his head for a second and then fell back to the mattress with a loud thumb groaning in frustration and rubbing his eyes. Four more hours and he got to get up.  He just couldn’t sleep. He turned on his side and cursed Camilla under his breath, and cursed his co star, fucking Zoe, the sole source of all his problems, but mostly he cursed himself  because he knew that he was really the one to blame.

 She wants your cock, Camilla had said. She didn’t say she likes you, she wants you, she has a crush on you, or whatever of those things kids say these days, oh no. Camilla had decided to be graphically frank at that particular moment and the more Tom thought about it, the more he decided that his discomfort was her fault.

 Was it her fault that it ate him? He knew Zoe for quite a while now for in movie business projects are being discussed time after time, long meetings, directors and producers and costume fittings, and screen tests, and screen tests with the costumes, and more meetings and more discussing, and all that time, never had he thought that she was interested in him in a romantic or carnal way, so to speak. See, the carnal part was the one that ate him the most as Camilla’s words rushed through his mind, his brain cells burning, sending vibrations in his ears, buzzing, bringing the blood behind his eyes.

 Insomnia.

 The more he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense.  Zoe couldn’t possibly want his cock! This is ridiculous!  And yet, only the idea of that tiny possibility that maybe, maybe she did have sexual feelings about him brought him unease. He had spent most of the time driving back to his flat trying to remember anything of his previous encounters with Zoe that would be an indicator of what Camilla had suggested, but nothing came to mind. See, the only memories he had of Zoe were of her being cold or just plain mean. She did it with finesse though, brilliant in her sarcastic tone, she was just joking, and Tom could never ask her to cut the fucking crap.

 Maybe it was one of those cases, you know, male pride, because Zoe, despite her personality, was a very beautiful girl. She was, wasn’t she? She had to be.  Tom couldn’t remember.  It was bizarre, you see, how he knew her all this time and when he tried to bring the image of her in his mind all he could see was a figure, the long hair, the tall frame, and nothing more. Her eyes were brown, he knew that, or were they green? No, her eyes were actually black because last day of costume fitting they talked about Antichrist and Tom had said how he liked the idea behind it but he thought it was a bit extreme for his taste and she glared at him, her eyes dark and intense, talking about how Lars Von Trier created art with that film, and art is supposed to be extreme when it’s needed.  Her eyes were definitely dark brown or black, weren’t they, Jesus Christ!  Tom groaned and turned again.

 Her face was sweet, he had thought the first time he saw her. She was sweet. Or rather she seemed sweet.  Yet, he could remember nothing of it, not the color of her skin, not the shape of her lips, none of it. He knew it seemed sweet though.

  And then there was the matter of her body.  That’s when Tom sat up, threw the duvet, and turned on the lights. He could not hear the ambulances anymore. Everything was quietnow.

 She was tall and thin, he could remember that much, but the good stuff, you know, the really good stuff, was escaping him, his memory being cruel towards his needs, like that constant need of the mind to form images that went beyond its experience, but Tom’s experience had grasped those images of Zoe, it must have, and why couldn’t he bring them back he’d never know, and Kant can go fuck himself. 

 Tom went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, three more hours and he had to get up. He didn’t even bother to turn on the light and he stumbled a little tripping on the table, his limbs barely able to keep him up, but his mind, that little fucker, didn’t let him be.  He leaned on the counter, the glass in his hand, and closed his eyes.

Zoe’s body.  

Other people seemed to like her body, the first day of dancing rehearsals flashed in his mind, when the male chorographer had whispered to him looking towards Zoe’s direction and grinning like an idiot Man, that’s a fucking great ass. Look at that. But Tom was minding his own business, and even though he didn’t like Zoe, he still thought it was crude and unprofessional that the chorographer was making that kind of comments on her.  And why would Tom even care if she had a great ass? He didn’t even bother to look. And now he was regretting it. Now, he wanted to know all those things, if she really had a great ass, and perky tits, and long legs, and if she had ever touched herself thinking of him.  And although he hated admitting that to himself, he actually enjoyed the idea that she might be sexually frustrated because of him, he secretly hoped she was, because that would be a perfect revenge of a crime that hadn’t been committed yet.

 He smiled at that thought as he tugged the duvet over his head and he finally managed to drift off. He woke up two hours later, somehow fully relaxed and calm, got up and poured himself some coffee, ready for his first day of filming. He took a hot shower, and began to dress up, a smile on his face. This was a new day, and Tom’s philosophy of life, somewhat cheesy for the non optimistic people, was that every day was the first day of your life, except for maybe the day you die, like Alan Ball would suggest.  None of that mattered though, as Tom was actually excited to be filming today. He had worked and worked on this part, God knows how much, despite the obstacles in his way. And now, it was finally happening. It was a new day, it was a brand new beginning and Tom’s philosophy, that philosophy that other people often mocked, allowed him to forget about the past, completely erase from his mind the previous night and go on as if nothing of that ever happened.

 But he wasn’t going to do that.

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Foreground - Chapter 1

Maps 

  Tom was burning. Not in that blissful sense that tightens the muscles in your stomach in  anticipation and excitement, but in the sense of being angry, the kind of burning that makes your fingers twitch and your nostrils flare. The kitchen was empty and quiet but he could still hear the little flicks of rain right outside the window a couple people walking down the street and those fucking ambulances they never bothered him before, but why the fuck are there ambulances all the time in London? 

 It had started with a lazy conversation, everybody already getting terribly bored and those cast gatherings that Tom really enjoyed, as he enjoyed being with people he could share his passion for the art, could go numb when new mothers started talking about breast feeding for beginners and how to soothe a crying baby, for babies had twelve different cries but Tom could only remember one he was playing repeatedly in his head.  And then Camilla, the casting assistant, this mystery woman who loved watching reality tv shows, the most dreadful ones there were, and who cares cougar is a fun word,  but she was a divorced mother of a child with hydrocephalus disease and spend most of her time in hospitals,  that woman, brought up the topic  of guilty pleasures.  All kinds of responses flew over the table, ice cream and Glee and Channing Tatum and dairy and Broadway Musicals and Tom knew that most of them were lying.

 “See, the things is, I don’t feel guilty about my pleasures”, Tom had said when his turn came and it was probably the most honest response to that question.

Well aren’t you cool she had said, aren’t you cool, and everybody started laughing and before Tom could muster a good answer with a lot of breathy  umms and emms  and I’m not cool, I just…I just…think we should not feel guilty about pleasure,  the conversation had already moved forward .

 He didn’t hate her, although he was sure that she felt that way about him. He didn’t know why, the only reason he could think went way back in their first meeting, during her audition. He had thought she was cute that day, in her little white dress fidgeting nervously in her chair as they waited out of the room for the director to come.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine”, Tom tried to relax her.

“Thank you”.

Thank you, thank you. It was probably the nicest thing she had ever said to him.

 She was great at that audition. All the confidence she was lacking before they start exploded during the scene and it was beautiful. It was so beautiful that Tom was taken aback and lost his words and when a funny moment came along in the script, he laughed, he actually laughed and he ruined it. Can we start again no you don’t have to I got it, and even though Tom knew she had done great, he could still see the disappointment in her eyes as she left the room saying quite goodbyes and closing the door behind her.

 Yes, Tom you fucked up and you ruined that poor girl’s audition.

  But in actuality, he had not ruined her audition, because eventually she got the part, and not only that, but also the director and the writers decided to give her more screen time because let’s face it the girl’s very talented and the movie needs her.  Tom was elated about that, dark rooms with small windows, strangers sitting behind tables, one large hand holding a cigarette and puffing rings of smoke in steady rhythm, the other one scratching the hard wood, businessmen and artists all together in this strange fiesta, as you opened up and let your soul flutter, just a little, reminded him of his own auditions and he knew exactly how she felt. 

He apologized later but it wasn’t enough.  She was still cold and Tom thought he could fix that if he was just kind, because people were entitled to give back kindness, weren’t they? Those people should be.  But she did not give back any of his kindness, she was still cold and that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part is that she was sarcastic all the fucking  time and her tone well aren’t you cool vibrated through his ears and Tom knew that if mockery was a sound it would probably be the timbre of her voice.

 It was becoming a routine, her bitterness towards him, and although at the beginning Tom was scared shitless because chemistry is the most important thing between two actors who are about to be pretend lovers, nobody else seem to matter and Tom decided to well fuck it, because he was just tired.

……………………………………………………………………....................

   The little plop plops of the rain falling on the window unevenly calmed Tom eventually as he closed his eyes and  inhaled deeply the smell of the wet earth, was it in his mind, did it really reach his nostrils he didn’t know, but he loved it. That smell reminded him of his childhood.  He didn’t care what everybody else said, London’s air was filled with this humidity you could feel under your skin, behind your eyes, and it was wonderful.

  The laughter had started to fade, more and more people leaving and Tom crossed his fingers that she was one of them.  She, his co star, the one he was going to share an epic on screen romance. Tom shook his head and smiled lightly at the irony of it, when Camilla walked in the kitchen.

 “There you are. Everybody was wondering where you had gone."

Tom shrugged.

“What? Did anybody miss me? I thought Zoe was keeping you all entertained”.

“Yeah, but…wait; you’re not mad at her, right? It was like a joke, not a big deal."

Camilla was eating a piece of candy and looking him with curious eyes, searching his face. Tom thought about his answer. Was Camilla the right person to discuss about this? Most definitely not.

“Naaah…I’m fine, I know it was a joke. She… umm… always makes these jokes with me, so yeah, I’ve been used to it.”

Camilla chewed her candy and grinned at him.

“Well, I mean, you know why she does it, right?” her voice noticeably lower and she was leaning towards him with a naughty look in her face.

Tom knew that look. He stood up and cleared his throat. He wasn’t going to gossip with this woman.

“It’s just the way she is…umm…I guess. You know people are different. I had this friend when I was studying in Cambridge and he…”

Tom stopped when Camilla busted out laughing. She was loudly laughing and Tom couldn’t help but smile, confused. This was going well.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No, it’s just…come on. You must know."

She gave him a little nudge with her shoulder smiling.

“Know what?” Tom was smiling too, unaware of where this conversation was going but also, amused, his anger almost forgotten and who knew Camilla could actually make him feel so relaxed.

But Camilla seemed to know. She stepped closer to him, her lips almost touching his ear and he leaned instinctively to the gesture.

“Well, Tom, she wants your cock.".

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In my beginning is my end. ..In my end is my beginning.”

Four Quartets, East Coker

(via ashishpaswan)

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“Mae Mobley was my last baby. In just ten minutes, the only life I knew was done.”