Together We Are Gold

"Good evening, ma'am. How can I help you?" The doorman of the luxurious building is an older man, probably uninterested in movies targeted to a teenage audience. He doesn't recognize me. Usually, that is a relief: I'm a renowned enough actress, so every drop of anonymity I can find gives me respite from a life in the spotlight. But tonight, that hint of anonymity makes me feel small.

"I'm here to see Mr. Wolf, please. My name is Emma Gold."

"Of course, ma'am. Just one moment, please." the old man makes a call to announce me, and I wait, feeling like a child. "Go ahead, young lady. It's the penthouse."

"Thank you," I smile, trying to look like I belong.

When I walk into the elevator, the mirrored surface reminds me that I'm a grown woman: an adult with a successful career and a personal stylist. It is unnerving how much this dinner invitation makes me feel like an infant. Maybe it's because when I met Alexander Wolf, I was indeed a child. It was ten years ago, on the set of the most successful teen saga of the decade. Acting is make-believe, and one of the most common deceptions is a character's age. Actors of the most disparate age ranges are thrown together based on their appearance and ability to embody the character. I was mature for my age, so at fifteen years old, I played a young woman who had just turned eighteen. Alex's character was nineteen, though his actual age was twenty-one. My character was in love with his, and I silently pinned for Alex. But in real life, we were too far apart. I was a high school girl; he was an established Hollywood star, young, yes, but not a child like me. To make things worse, back then, he was dating Philippa Coulton, an A-lister at least ten years his senior.

The worst day of my young life was the day we filmed the climactic love scene. Our characters make love in an impossibly romantic setting: a clear in a forest, over a picnic blanket, under the stars. The scene showed us only from the shoulders up plus a few takes from above, centered on Alex's muscular torso draped over my much smaller body. I was wearing a tube romper of sorts, completely covered for all practical purposes, but my sexual experience at that time was zero, so having my crush half-naked hovering over me for hours at the time was a mind-blowing feeling. Under the director's commands, we stare into each other's eyes, and he kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world. We did maybe twenty takes; on each one, I let loose more and more, kissing him for real, savoring his mouth, and allowing his intoxicating scent to fill my senses and blur my mind. The scene in the movie is absolutely perfect. Then the cold words broke the spell: "cut! That's a wrap! Thank you." Alex said, "good job, kid," then lifted his warm body from me and strolled to his trailer, where Philippa was waiting for him. I ran to my trailer, avoided my mom's greeting, and locked myself in the tiny shower, dropping on the floor to cry. I tortured myself imagining the unbelievably sexy scene that Alexander Wolf and Philippa Coulton must have been performing at that exact moment.

The ding of the elevator brings me back to reality. It opens directly on the foyer of the penthouse. There, stunning like a greek god, is Alexander Wolf.

"Munchkin!" he exclaims, open arms coming to embrace me. His warm reception takes me by surprise, a mix of excitement and embarrassment running through my whole body. Excitement to see that he is as happy to see me as I am to see him; embarrassment to hear my old, childish nickname coming out of his lips. Once again, I'm fifteen, lost in the feelings for the man I crave, so out of my league. "You look gorgeous. Thank you so much for taking my call." He's talking loudly, and I perceive nervousness in his tone. When he takes my coat and purse, I could swear his hands are shaking a little.

"Of course, Alex dear," I say, trying and failing to level the playing field in my mind. The message I got from him was an invitation to discuss a project, so I want to be my current self: Emma Gold, A-List performer and burgeoning director, not "Munchkin," the young actor in her first significant role.

"Come in please, I fixed us some dinner. Can I offer you some wine? We'll be having filet mignon, so maybe a red?" Alex is speaking fast like he's the one trying to get a grip. I offer my sweetest smile.

"Merlot, please."

"I have an Italian one, how's that sound?" he's rushing to the kitchen, and I follow, taking a seat on a stool by the isle.

"Perfect," I beam. I am having a glass of Italian wine with Alex Wolf. My teenage self would have swooned at the idea.

I watch as Alex skillfully uncorks the wine and attaches an aerator to it. I'm glad I know what the gadget does; it helps me feel my host's equal. That is until he speaks again.

"Did you know that the Friuli region where this Merlot comes from was once part of the Venetian Republic? Such a small piece of land, yet it was one of the most powerful countries in Europe. I guess it proves size doesn't matter and whoever holds the gold makes the rules," he says, pouring two generous glasses.

"That's intense," I say, taken aback by the slightly uppity comment. I have a degree in art history and know plenty about the Renaissance period; it's just not the kind of talk I expected from Alex. He used to be so aloof back when I tried to look older by making remarks like this one. For him to be the one trying to upscale the conversation is disorienting.

"Well, I guess that was my convoluted way to try and bring up the reason for our meeting. But let's toast first. I am thrilled to see you, Emma," he says, raising his glass and looking me in the eyes. We clink and sip. I take one too-long gulp; before I can feel self-conscious, I see Alex take a quick second one. Maybe he is nervous too.

"This is delicious," I declare. "So, don't keep me in suspense. What's up?"

Alex takes a deep breath.

"I have a proposal—an indy project. I already secured the financing, nothing like a big studio, of course, but good enough to let us work if we keep it tight. It's a retelling of Gone With the Wind in a modern setting, something like Hamilton," he pauses, taking a breath. "It's ambitious and risky; if it flops, it will be on the list for a Razzy, but if it works,"

"It will be in line for an Oscar," I complete his thought.

"Exactly." My host stands to pull the dinner plates from the oven, giving me time to ponder the idea. We clink glasses one more time, and he gestures for us to eat. The food is delicious. The mix of a good meal, great wine, and an exciting idea takes me to a high. I get his metaphor: we are the gold because we hold the social media attention. We make the rules. But then my high comes crashing.

"Alex, I can't sing. I mean, I can carry a tune if needed for a character, but not what you need for this project."

The greek god chuckles, reaching for my hand.

"You know, that comment I made about the Venetian Republic?"

"Yes?" I ask, curious.

"I just read it on a description card for the wine. I get a great wine delivery service, and it comes with these little fun facts about each bottle. I don't know shit about the Friuli Firulais region or whatever it's called."

I laugh, relieved by his confession. I was starting to think the Alex I knew was disappearing under a blanket of pseudo-intellectual bullshit.

"Why did you feel the need to bring it up?"

"Because it's you, Munchkin. You have always been too smart and quick-witted, even as a teenager. And I want to work on this movie with you, but I was afraid you would reject the idea of working on the pet project of a dim wit."

"Come on, Alex. you are not a dim wit. You are a skilled actor, and you know a lot about filmmaking. And you are a very talented musician, which I'm guessing is the main reason why you want to do this particular project."

"Thank you, that is indeed the reason," he says, his grey-blue eyes fixed on mine. "I can see the whole thing in my head; I have already written most of the lyrics. But I know my limitations. This kind of project needs a real intellectual brain behind it. I knew the idea was good, but the depth of the research needed to make it a valuable art piece, well, it needs you. I need you, Munchkin," he says, his thumb caressing my knuckles. "I want you behind the scenes with me. I want you to direct the movie."

I'm speechless, barely managing to blink. I hope my mouth is not hanging as low as it feels.

"Why me?"

"Because you do know what the freaking Venetian Republic is. You understand periods and politics, everything that this production will need if it's going to have any value. When we worked on the saga back in the day, you were the brains behind every good take we did, and you were barely fifteen. You are a genius, Emma. Would you please consider putting your name in this project?"

"I will," I respond too quickly. It is not just the project is him. I want to make beautiful art side by side with the beautiful Alexander Wolf. Before I can feel ashamed of myself, he's got me wrapped in his arms. His scent is as wonderful as I remember. The amount of pleasure I'm feeling this instant is overwhelming and completely unprofessional. I enjoy a few more seconds of it before slowly pulling back.

"Thank you," he says, face very close. I hold still, my mind going blank, hoping against hope. After three heartbeats, his mouth closes over mine. It tastes like wine, lust, and possibilities. I hop off my stool and let him pull me up to straddle his lap. It gets intense; my hand finds the fly of his jeans, but when the zipper gets stuck, I come back to my senses and jump off him.

"I'm sorry!" I squeal, ready to run, but his hands have not released me. He has a confession to make.

"I have a crush on you, Emma. I want you for this project; I really do, you will make it magnificent. But I am besotted by your magnificence. I have been for a while, watching you become the star that you are. Please. I know I shouldn't feel this way right before starting a project but,"

"I've had a crush on you for a long time, since the forest scene," I blurt. We stare at each other, then burst laughing, hugging, and kissing again.

"We'll take it slow. The project can be our dating ground, and we could call this our first date," Alex offers.

"Sounds perfect," I concur. I sit back on my stool and raise my glass. "Did you know that Merlot means little blackbird? It refers to the dark tone of the grapes," I say, with a smirk, a little full of myself.

His laughter is like another caress. He cups my face and speaks with his lips brushing mine.

"See? That's why I need you. My pretty little nerd."