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Abby and I had frequently eaten at the Beach Shack, a dumpy place with superb cuisine; they understood great burgers and also knew how to make a fresh Cobb salad. Anna, Abby, and I arrived, staked out a worn picnic table in the shade, and placed our orders.
If I’d detected hero worship from Abby now and again in our relationship, she was over the moon eating with Anna Pechet. She asked questions of her nonstop until I held my hand up. “Abby, you’ve given Anna a thorough grilling. Why not give it a rest? Let her eat.”
Anna took my hand and set it firmly on the table with a smile. “I love getting questions from Abby. She’s not like the others, and her questions are deep and thought provoking. Go on Abby, keep asking and don’t mind Jim.”
I made a dismissive gesture with both hands and sat back, content to listen to the two of them talk. Abby asked, “In your training, I read where you were schooled in the Stanislavski approach, yet in an interview in People you commented on using Method acting. Do you contrast those two, and how do you think they differ for you from the Meisner approach? Do you use each for different parts you play?”
Anna praised the question, and the pair was off talking about acting: emotional responses, creative visualization and self-hypnosis, and talking in a vocabulary that sounded like English, but that made little sense to me. I could tell by Anna’s responses and looks that the questions stretched her thinking. Abby’s questions were often like take a graduate-level exam.
Eventually, Anna started to question Abby, quickly determining that she was far from the ditzy teenager or college girl she might have been. Abby was deep.
After lunch, we wandered around the small town and then walked back home by way of the beach again. Most of the time the two girls walked in front of me, and I followed along behind. The tide was exceptionally low so we gathered many shells that we wouldn’t normally see. Despite the beautiful weather, I was surprised at how few people the beach had attracted that day.
Abby said goodbye to us as we passed her house, and then she bounded up the path through the dunes up to her porch, waved, and went inside.
After Abby was out of earshot, Anna said, “That is one smart girl, plus she is hung up on you in a BIG way.” Anna squeezed my hand, “And I can’t say I blame her.”
“She’s brilliant, and I do nothing to lead her on about how I feel. I’ve bluntly told her that we are just friends, quite insistently in fact.”
Anna smiled at me, “You may need to rethink that supposition.”
I recalled Anna’s comments the following summer when she came to visit me again. It wasn’t that we were a serious item. She wasn’t ready for that. She’d explained, “I need a boyfriend – an ‘official’ boyfriend who people in the media can see and talk to occasionally. I don’t have one, except for you. The fact that we live on different sides of the country, and travel independently of each other is just our way of life, and no bother to the paparazzi.”
Thereafter, whenever Anna Pechet’s love life became a topic of discussion, I was mentioned as ‘The’ long-term love interest. Were we in love? Maybe. I was allowing for that possibility.
I recall being in L.A. for some event, and Anna and I went to a large formal awards ceremony that had a red carpet, TV cameras, and the whole shebang. I stood beside Anna as her Trophy Boyfriend in a tuxedo while she got interviewed, taking in the scene and the other glitterati at the event.
Suddenly, the reporter thrust the microphone in front of me and I watched the TV camera zoom in on me. She asked, “So, what’s the long-term future of your relationship with Anna? Oh, and did you like her movie?”
I emitted an automatic sanguine smile and turned on my brain. “Well, I see a lot of long-term potential for the two of us – very long-term, and I think she’s one of the greatest actresses of our time. Her role of Sybil in the film epitomized the quest for perfection that she always exhibits in everything she does.”
The reporter persisted, “And, Jim, you have the sequel to The Pumpkin Man about to be released, do you not?”
I gave that sincere smile I’d mastered, “I do. The book should be out at the end of the month – so put that on your reading list, and Sony tells me the film might be as soon as six months later.”
“Might you want Anna playing the lead role?”
“I’d be delighted if that were the case; however, Sony will be doing the casting. I’ll make my recommendation, of course.” I gave him a grin that indicated my obvious choice.
My sixty seconds of fame passed as we were pushed along the red carpet into the elaborate theater and our assigned seats.
Anna whispered, “You did that so well, and I am glad to be thought of as your long-term girlfriend.” She squeezed my arm to her bodice, making her nearest boob almost pop out of the magical strapless bra struggling bahis firmaları to contain her femininity. I wondered how many wardrobe malfunctions occurred at events like this.
I had a letter from Abby when I got back to my New York apartment from L.A. One paragraph stood out: ‘I saw you on TV at the Awards ceremony last night. You were so handsome and Anna was gorgeous. I felt so special knowing the two of you. I liked that you ‘came out’ as her boyfriend. I just hope you keep a space in your heart for me. Remember that I claimed you first. [Smiley face] I love you and can’t wait to see you this summer. Tell Anna I said Hi and sent my Love. Love. Abs.’
I had to give Abby points for persistence. Since age twelve all she’d ever declared, despite my protestations, was that we were boyfriend and girlfriend in a long-term relationship. She even had used the term soul mates a couple of times. Apparently, others could come along and also hold those designations, but we were the primary relationship.
I had just finished a seven-week European trip to promote my books and the two movies, and spent a week at my Manhattan condo mostly recovering and packing for the summer. I then headed to my favorite place in the world in late May – my summer cottage on the Cape, just in time for Memorial Day. I planned to go to the local parade.
When I got to the Cape house with my usual carload of crap, I found that Abby had left a note on my door: ‘Welcome back. Please call me when you arrive regardless of time of day. [Heart] Abs.’
The note actually brought joy to my heart in several ways: she apparently still liked me enough to put a heart by her name and to want me to contact her right away, and that she was here on the same schedule I was. I called Abby’s cell, only got to say, “I’m here,” before she hung up. Seconds later a beautiful twenty-year-old woman in a yellow sundress came hurtling across the sand and sea grass between our houses and into my open arms.
She was all over me for thirty seconds – kisses, hugs, and words of love and affirmation of her lifelong affection for me. I’d never had such a warm welcome in my life. She was ecstatic to see me, and that made me pretty happy to see her too.
I pulled back and held Abby at arm’s length. I hadn’t seen her for nine months except in a couple of photographs she’d emailed. She’d morphed again. She was then spectacularly beautiful: trim and perfectly proportioned figure, flawless skin, a face most models lust after, and a smile that lit up the afternoon – especially since it was all for me.
We hugged and kissed again, and talked excitedly at each other for a few minutes. I found myself relaxing in the comfort of her company, and basking in the contagion of her happiness. I let her know that I had missed her too. I wondered why I let nine months go by without trying to see her once or twice – or more.
Abby helped me carry in the luggage and boxes from my car, and opened the doors and windows to air out the stuffy cottage. I resolved to give her a key as soon as I could get to a hardware store.
Abby kept up a steady banter the whole time we were near each other, telling me about college, the courses, the unusual experiences, how she’d tested out of one course after another, and so on. Her voice was like velvet. She’d graduated college in two concentrated years of course overloads, but now planned on continuing for a master’s degree – something about bridging the gap between writing (like me) and mass media.
She elicited from me various facts and feelings about my trip, Anna – and her visit in July into August, and what I’d been up to. She seemed to hang on every word I said.
I asked about her parents. Jean, her mother, had been down to help open the house for the summer, but had gone up to the city for a week to be with her dad and some other friends for some event. Abby had the place to herself. Since she was alone I invited her to dinner at the Beach Shack. She looked exceptionally pleased with the invitation and accepted immediately.
Over the past year, I’d remotely poured several hundred thousand into my cape house, making it all-weather and storm proof, enlarging the footprint, creating a dream kitchen, redoing the master suite, and getting some professional decorating. I loved the location on the bay side of the Cape, and always found the atmosphere conducive to writing and relaxing. My best work always came out of my weeks there; after I had left at the end of the season I would hone my work even further, but the convolved plots and detailed outlines I’d work on over the fall and winter always came from my creations and ruminations at the Cape.
As I put things away, Abby stayed close by as I gave her a running tour of the changes I’d had made to the place. Whenever we were near each other, there were little touches or intimate glances at each other. I was not immune to her charms.
We walked up the beach to the restaurant kaçak iddaa about seven o’clock. We held hands the entire way there. She seemed well behaved, and didn’t lunge into any further kisses with me after her initial welcome. I kind of wished she’d do it again, and yet I didn’t. I was surprised at the conflicted feelings I felt about her.
We talked about her helping me again over the summer as a ‘Girl Friday – Assistant – Aide – Secretary – Editor – Etc.’ and she accepted my offer instantly and with excitement. She explained that with many of her courses and study, she would be more valuable to me.
One thing I learned that surprised me was that Abby had started to write a novel. After a lot of pleading by me she let me read the first five chapters – about a hundred pages. I was hooked. It was a very good book, and I assured her it would sell well. That seemed to be great motivation for her. I volunteered to write a foreword for the book and recommend her to my agent. The result of that offer was for Abby to get up from her side of the table, come around, kiss me, and then sit again with a huge grin. No one else made any fuss about the event, so I didn’t either except to wish she hadn’t stopped. I wasn’t sure I understood my own change of emotions about her.
I teased her, “You don’t know what I plan to say. ‘Hey, the smart brat who lives next door to me wrote this book; read it – or not.’ Or I could describe what a horrible pest you’ve been over the years … or what you looked like with acne and braces.”
Abby just kept grinning. Finally, she said, “I trust you more than any man on the planet. I also love you more than any man on the planet too. And, you are being terrible, but I love it.” Her eyes saw into portions of my soul even I didn’t understand. I woke up a couple of minutes later realizing we’d been silent and staring into each other’s eyes. In those second, I realized I wanted Abby to always be in my life.
I had to admit that Abby ‘had my attention.’ I didn’t pledge my undying love or anything even close to that, but I kind of felt it. Abby was like a breath of fresh air in my life. I thought back over the past couple of years. Some of my happiest days when I wasn’t on the Cape were always when I got an email, letter, or picture from Abby.
We walked back to our homes along the beach. The moon was nearly full so we could see our path. Abby and I both took our shoes off and waded in the water along the way. I watched Abby run up to her parents’ home when we neared my house. I sighed and wished she could have stayed with me.
In the subsequent days, I started to work on my third great novel, and Abby worked on her first novel when she could find the time from doing things for me. At my insistence, I paid Abby, but she accepted only with great reluctance. I knew she would have worked for free just to be near me.
Abby consulted with me about several ideas she had to promote my books and movies, and I gave her permission to play the role of my PR person and to interface with my agent as well. She did a sterling job of this work, even arranging for me to do some interviews to post on a new website, and to begin a blog. She was making me richer, and when something succeeded, she was over the moon.
By this time too, Anna Pechet had become a true A-list star, and I was still noted as her ‘official’ boyfriend. What that meant I wasn’t exactly sure, except that I made sure I was in L.A. to appear with her at special events where she had to make a mandatory appearance: the Oscars, Emmys, SAG awards, and so on. Anna had started to collect her share of some of those trophies.
Anna had a beautiful home in Beverly Hills, and I always stayed with her there, even when she was gone on a job and I was doing my own movie/publishing business. We were close, and I know we both had a great deal of affection for each other. We’d even used the “L” word to describe our feelings towards one another, but never followed those statements with any further commitments or proposals. Anna planned a few weeks off from her busy schedule to fly to the east coast to stay with me at my Cape home. She liked the place as much as I did.
That summer, Anna arrived as planned the second week of July, and I picked her up at the city airport and we had dinner in the city. We drove to the Cape, and made love for hours after our arrival. We were certainly glad to see each other, and as I’d noted we continued to feel both love and lust for each other.
Of course, we forgot about the rest of the world and the usual routine again the next morning. We were both wandering around the house naked when Abby waltzed into the living room. With the new open floor plan, there really wasn’t any place to hide downstairs except a powder room by the front door or a race back to the master bedroom.
Abby gave a cheery, “Good morning everyone. Welcome back, Anna.” Only then did she become aware of the lack of clothing by two of the three kaçak bahis people in the room.
Abby joked as she turned her back on Anna and me, “Sorry, I didn’t get the memo about the dress code. Don’t mind me. I’ll pick up some stuff and be gone.”
Anna moved behind Abby, “No. Don’t go.” She pulled Abby into a hug and kiss. “I missed you, Abby. Let me throw a robe on and then join us for breakfast or coffee.” The sight of Abby in shorts and a crop top kissing a very nude Anna about exploded my head.
Abby looked uncertain. She cast a glance at me, obviously zeroing in on my tumescent cock. After all, one of the most gorgeous women in the world stood a few feet from me nude and willing, and next to her, in hot shorts and a sexy top stood another beauty.
I smiled, “I think I’ll slip into something too.” I turned and went to the bedroom realizing the double entendre I’d made as I left the room.
Anna said to me as I left, “Bring me a robe, please; or better yet one of your shirts.”
A few minutes later, I started to back to the living room barefoot. My presence was not sensed by the two women and I slowed as I heard them talking. I even felt guilty for eavesdropping.
Anna was holding Abby, and they kissed again. I noted the kisses were anything but chaste. I listened. Anna asked, “Abby, you have all this unrequited love for Jim. Doesn’t it frustrate you?”
Abby laughed, “Yes, but I’ve grown up with it, so I guess I’m used to it. I love Jim more than any other person from the depths of my soul – mind, body, and spirit. I dream of being his everything, but I know I can’t be. He’s a complex man and he’s made himself unattainable to me. Maybe that’s why I care for him so much, and always have. All that, and I have to admit that I care for you too. I’ll watch the two of you and be genuinely happy that he’s with you.”
Not giving up her curiosity, Anna prodded, “Little girl crush?”
“Once upon a time,” Abby recited. “The last few years, it’s become a pretty adult set of feelings and emotions. He once asked me if I understood love. I do, more than he realizes. He has my heart.”
“You’ve been out with others?”
“Oh, yes. Jim would worry if he thought I was pining away for him at college. I don’t, but I do. I guess I’m complex too. I’ve been a bad person, because I’ve used my dates to take me places and provide me experiences that intentionally make me a better person for Jim.”
Anna said softly, “I’ve noticed the changes in you each year since we’ve met. You certainly appeal to me more each year.” I looked out at the two of them; the two women were holding one another – Anna nude and her breasts prominent. She stroked Abby’s cheek in a tender way.
Abby admitted, “I’ve followed your every move too. I think I might be your biggest fan … and I care about you a lot too. I love you.”
Anna laughed, “Star struck?”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t feel that way. You’re so nice, and warm. You don’t have the jaded hardness and lack of authenticity that I sense in so many actors and actresses. You’re loveable. You’d be loveable even without all the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. I certainly feel that way about you.”
Anna moved to arms length from Abby, her nakedness most apparent and her breasts shaking, “I’m as authentic as they come right now.” She wrapped her arms around Abby again, and planted a passionate kiss on her. Abby kissed back and I watched one of her hands fondling one of Anna’s breasts, even toying with the nipple.
Anna pushed her breast forward into the interaction. She hummed in her pleasure. “Oh, Abby. How’d you know I would like what you’re doing? I do. I want you too.” The pair kissed again. I blushed for certain at the sapphic interaction.
I took that opportunity to clunk out of the bedroom with one of my casual shirts for Anna. I ignored the obvious physical connection between the two who continued to hug. Anna broke away and pulled on my shirt but left it unbuttoned. I was acutely aware that she was commando.
The girls sat close together on the sofa holding hands.
I offered, “Breakfast here, or in town. I have eggs and can even create one of my signature omelets.”
Both women looked at me. Anna instructed me in cave man talk, “Ugh. Ugh. Man cook. Man good guy. Man get breakfast for women even better. Go Man. Cook.” She pointed at the kitchen.
I said to her as I headed to the kitchen, “I’ll nominate you for a role in the next Fred Flintstone movie.”
As I passed the two of them, I kissed Anna, and then on an impulse I turned and kissed Abby. The kisses weren’t anything to write home about, but in Abby’s case it was totally unexpected by her. She broke into a huge smile as I pulled away from her. I dragged a finger along her jawline as I left.
I wandered into the kitchen area and started to assemble the ingredients and tools to do creative breakfast things for the three of us.
I heard Anna observe to Abby, “You kissed me without recoiling or acting weird about it.”
Abby shrugged, “Why not? You’re the only other person in the world I feel affection for beside Jim. I didn’t expect it to turn physical, but I like it … a lot.”
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