Alison's Lament

I no longer went by my name Alison Peters; I hadn't let Chad adopt me after he married my mother, even though he'd offered. So legally I was still a Peters, but the name I'd decided on for my acting career was Ashley Bell.

I was a natural actress and a damn good one. I found it easy to become the character I was playing. That led to the critics' approval and the audience's appreciation. As my fame increased, along came all the issues associated with it: false friends, intrusive journalists, and photographers. I got so used to the media circus and the need for security that it all became second nature to me. I never traveled without a team of bodyguards, finally settling on David, an American ex-secret service agent, as the head of my security team.

For a year I overdosed in the fame and took the adoration of the public as my due. I was invited to every party of consequence and tried lovers of both sexes, but I was never comfortable with any of them. I later realized I measured all of them against my memories of Jos. Sex had become a meaningless bodily act with only the goal a moment of pleasure to look forward to. I was standing at the top of a slippery slope when a tiny thing happened that helped shock me out of my destructive spiral.

It was a simple thing; I broke the gold chain that I wore around my neck: a simple thin gold chain with a gold heart on it. Jos had given it to me for my sixteenth birthday, and I'd worn it ever since. Only when it was necessary for a role I was playing would I take it off.

Lucy discovered me sitting on the bathroom floor, tears streaming down my face, the heart and the broken chain clutched in my hand. It was the last thing I had that linked me to Jos, and at that moment, I was as broken as it was.

Lucy had started working for me about six months earlier, and I'd never told her about Jos and the circumstances under which I left him, nor could I now. Jos was my secret, my dream, but even without that knowledge, Lucy seemed to understand how important the broken chain and locket was to me. She found a jeweler to repair the chain and helped me pull myself together.

She became one of my closest friends, and a part-time lover when I needed her. She was a sounding board for my fears and insecurities while organizing my career in a way I couldn't do myself. I took a good look at what I'd become, and I didn't like what I saw. I knocked the excesses on the head. I stopped playing Russian roulette with my life and my body: no more casual sex. Oh, that's not to say I gave up on sex entirely, I enjoy it too much, but less was better, and I was a lot more discerning about my choice of partner.

I found it hard to concentrate during lunch with the producer; my mind was still focused on thoughts about Jos. I was to be the female star of the film, a romantic tearjerker, set mainly in present-day Vietnam. He and the director had narrowed down the choice of a co-star down to two actors. They wanted my input on who I'd feel most comfortable with.

I hadn't worked with either, before, I'd met both in the past at functions and parties, but neither had made much of an impression with me. Jerry gave me their folders, and I flipped through them while we waited for our food to arrive.

I've known Jerry for several years. He'd produced the last two films I'd been in, and I thought of him as a friend. If he hadn't been gay, I'd quite liked to have taken our friendship further. Conversely, he knew me, and he knew when I was distracted.

"So," he said, "I love your new hair color."

"Hmm," I replied absently. Then my head shot up, "What are you on about; I haven't changed it."

"I know, but you've been pretending to read that same page for the past five minutes. What's going on, Ashley, you are usually so much more focused."

I put down the offending page and gave him a week smile. "Sorry, I had a bit of a shock earlier. I was reminded of an old friend I've lost touch with."

Jerry knew a little about my past. "I'm guessing it was from before you came to the States?"

I gave him a nod, "He was my first boyfriend, my first love and I'd completely forgotten it's his birthday tomorrow. I needed a calendar on my phone to remember."

"Ahh, first love; such an ethereal thing. So why so sad?"

"Because he meant the world to me, and I made no effort to keep in touch after Mum brought me here."

I gave Jerry a considered look and opened up. "Josh was the boy next door," I told him.

"Literally or figuratively?"

"Literally, he actually lived next door, and we grew up together. I don't think I ever looked at another boy while we were together. We were going to get engaged on my eighteenth birthday."

"So what happened?"

"Mum's affair with Chad happened, that's what. Dad found out about it, and the next thing I knew was I was in America and not allowed to contact Josh.

"You didn't phone him, or there's that thing called email. I hear that works quite well." I heard the disbelief in his voice.

"Damn you, Jerry, I didn't get an opportunity. There were reasons not to contact him that my mother convinced me were reasonable."

He smiled at how clumsy my last sentence had been, and that took the anger from me. "How often do you think about him?"

"Subconsciously, every time I realize the man I'm with isn't him."

"Ahh."

"Ahh, what?"

"It explains all the stories about the drunken flings you used to have in the past. Sex with no commitment; so you don't have to compare them to him. Why didn't you go looking for him?"

That was the crunch of the issue, why hadn't I? I gave Jerry the most honest answer I could. "At first it was because when I was free to contact him, I was too embarrassed. I'd abandoned my soulmate and was more interested in enjoying my new life here. Later, well, later I was scared if I did find him; he'd have moved on and had a new life."

I gave Jerry a look, hoping that he understood what I was trying to say to him

It seemed he did because he replied, "So if you don't know, then there'll be a chance for both of you?"

"Yes," I said gratefully. "He was my unobtainable goal."

Jerry gave me a calculating look. "You aren't fooling yourself, girl. If a birthday reminder was able to do this to you, then you are still head over heels in love with the man."

I knew he was right and I resolved that as soon as the upcoming film was in the can, I was going to find Jos. I needed to make it right, and just by making that decision I felt so much better.

Jerry tapped the folders on the table and said, "Back to business. I do need to know which of these two you want as a co-star."

I placed their photos side by side. "Did they both audition?"

"Roger and I saw both of them last week." Roger was the film's director and a longtime friend of Jerry's.

"And?"

"They were both good, to be honest. We couldn't decide, so we thought we'd leave the choice to you."

One of my options vaguely reminded me of what I thought an older Jos would look like. For no other reason than that, I tapped his picture. "Him, I think."

"Simon Davies it is then."

Two days later I was back in Los Angeles; I'd finished the photo shoot and filming the advert. I'd bought my villa in the hills after the success of my first film. It wasn't a big place, but the views were impressive, and it had a nice pool. It didn't feel like home, nor did Mum and Chad's place in Texas. The place I felt most at home was an apartment I'd bought in London, a place that had views along the River Thames. I'd grown up in a town close to London, and I had many enjoyable memories of days with Jos spent in old London Town.

The script was based on an Australian best seller about a young woman seeking to find out what had happened to her grandfather who had gone missing during the Vietnam War. I'd been surprised to find out that the Australians had troops in the war. Being British, I'd known little about it. It had been a very brief chapter in my history of the 20th-century textbook. So, I'd been intrigued when Jerry had sent me both the draft script and book on which it was based, suggesting there was a great film hiding in its pages.

He was right; there were the seeds of a great film hidden among the pages. The book was a poignant reminder of the war, but at its core, it was a love story between the granddaughter, her American guide and the beautiful countryside. In the book, the growing love affair between the two main characters was described in the abstract, which was the weakest part of the storyline. It was this I'd wanted to change in the script.

I'd been intrigued to find out how based in fact the story was. If it were factual, it would limit how much we'd be able to adapt the book, and it needed a fair amount of work, so I set up a call with the author.

"None of the main characters is based on real people," the author, a man in his forties, told me. "It's all an amalgamation of stories about the war my uncle told me; he served over there. I made up the granddaughter, and as far as I know, there are no Australian servicemen unaccounted for now."

I told him I'd read his book, but I felt the film needed a more powerful love affair than the one he'd written. He agreed and admitted he'd toned that part of the book down at his publisher's insistence, hoping to appeal to a wider audience.

"I've still got my original drafts if you'd like to read them," he said. They should give you an idea of the story I was trying to write."

He e-mailed the files, and I printed them. The sections I had been worried about were a lot stronger and a damn sight more exotic.

I spent a couple of weeks reading and rereading the script and comparing it the unedited draft of the story. Some of the scenes and conversations between Simon's character and mine seemed stilted and lacked the emotion I would have expected from two people in love. My copy of the script was soon dog-eared and full of notes and corrections. Jerry dropped by, and I explained my concerns.

He took his time, slowly going through the script and the original story. Occasionally he would try out my alternate lines.

When we were finished, he said, "This is better, much better in fact; there's a lot more raw passion than the original version."

I nodded in agreement, "Jerry, the original script is just too wishy-washy. It's supposed to be about two people who meet up in a foreign country and fall in love. You can see how the author thought the story should go. They are both forceful people, each with their own agendas, and the script portrays them as love-struck teenagers. Suddenly they are both fucking like demented rabbits. There was no build up; in real life, they would have drifted together slowly, and who, for Christ's sake, wears a bra for the pivotal sex moment. I bloody well don't, and nor should my character."

"We would be lucky to get the PG-13 classification we wanted."

"You keep thinking this is a simple, poignant family romance; it isn't. We need to accept it'll probably end up as an R. It's a strong, gutsy romance, but it can have a lot of pathos as well. If it's pitched correctly, then it will appeal to the mature market."

It took me a while to convince Jerry. We ended up having to get Roger to join us. Then we compared some of the original scenes with my alternatives, I acted out my parts, and Jerry read Simon's lines with Roger adding comments as he thought of them. My versions mostly worked, the originals didn't, and the script was sent off for a complete rewrite.

The revised script was so much better. The cast and director were secluded in a mountain retreat to rehearse. Simon seemed nice, and I felt comfortable working with him. We flirted a bit, and I was enjoying the attention, but the rehearsals were over before anything happened. We went our separate ways; filming was due to start in ten days in Vietnam, where the bulk of the story was set.

I was scheduled to fly into London for several publicity events to support a film I'd completed the previous year. I only had a supporting role in the film, but as a recognizable face, I'd been given a fairly large role in promoting the film. My biggest commitment was to join the film's main stars on a late night chat show.

The day following the premiere, I was invited by the film's director and his wife to a dinner party held for the cast and friends. After the meal, I was enjoying some fresh air at a table on their patio when a tall, handsome man sat down beside me. A knot formed in my stomach yet my heart started racing. Damn the man, why did he have to be there tonight?

My nemesis went by the name of Antonio Rossi, and he was the one big mistake in my life that kept coming back to haunt me. At one time or another, we all have met that one person; the one we know is completely wrong for us, yet when they beckon, we lose all our inhibitions and come running. Well, for me, that was the man who'd sat down beside me.

We'd first met two and a half years before at the London fashion week, Antonio's father, Maurizio, had designed the gown I'd worn for that year's Oscar ceremony. In return, I'd promised to model a dress at the finale of his fashion show. The son was tasked with looking after me; he was handsome and intriguing, and so when that first time he asked me out to dinner, I accepted.

I'm still not sure why Antonio affected me the way he did. He was handsome, arrogant, exuded machismo, almost a parody of an Italian man; but not quite. It didn't take long for me to realize I didn't like him. In a way, he's everything I despise in a man. Yet at the same time, I couldn't seem to resist him.

I've never been the one to initiate contact, but when he found me, I was a lost soul. I didn't love him, and I know he didn't love me; he could just trigger intoxicating raw passion in me.

I was panting with desire within hours of our first meeting, luxuriating in the feel of his beautiful cock as he thrust into me. He played me like a fine musical instrument, drawing orgasms from my body, but he played me with such arrogance I felt as though my mind had detached from my body.

The next day I felt unclean, dirty, embarrassed, and so sick to my stomach that I vowed never to repeat that night. Months would go by when I thought I was free of him, then he would be back with his arrogant smile and the promise of more pleasure. It had been less than a dozen times, but each one was branded into my soul. Each time my body would respond the same way: an overwhelming itch that only his cock could scratch. After each encounter, I would hate myself for several days.

"Ahh my Bella Ashley," he said in his soft voice. "Have you missed me?"

He drew the tip of a finger down the side of my neck as he spoke and I shivered in equal parts repulsion and need.

"I've missed you," he continued.

"Damn you, Toni, not tonight," I hissed. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

He gave me one of those extremely arrogant smiles he'd perfected.

"It is because Alison your body doesn't want me to leave. I've missed you screaming out my name as you beg me to fuck you. I'm looking forward to hearing it from your sweet lips again."

He pulled me towards him and his scent, a unique aftershave he always wore, wrapped itself around me. He crushed my lips in an aggressive kiss that destroyed my resolve. I hated myself; I could smell my body's traitorous arousal. I sat frozen as he slid his hand up my leg until he reached the damp fabric of my panties. My legs opened instinctively, and I leaned forward as his finger pushed my final defense aside and invaded my core. So many emotions at once, disgust, raw desire, a need for him to possess me. He knew just how to defeat my defenses.

I moaned in disappointment and annoyance at myself as he withdrew his finger. He brought his finger up to his mouth and casually licked at the moisture that coated it.

"Time to go, Caro, I want to taste more of this."

I took the hand he held out to me and let him lead me from the patio in a daze. I vaguely recall saying goodbye to my hosts before Toni ushered me into his car. His hand rested on my thigh as he drove through the dark London streets. He was staying at a small deluxe and very private hotel in Mayfair, and I followed him up to his room like a puppy on a lead.

My mind wanted me to say no, to leave me alone, but my body betrayed me, as it always did when Antonio held me. A caress and my dress was a pool at my feet. A second caress and my bra joined it. His mouth on my nipples and I stopped trying to push him away and held his head as he sucked on them. My knees buckled, and he carried me to his bed.

The bed was soft on my back, and I watched as he stripped off his clothes. He arrogantly stood naked at the end of the bed looking down at me. I cried inside my mind. I knew that tomorrow I'd hate myself all over again, but at that moment, all I could think about was that wonderful jutting cock rising between his legs and the pleasure it was about to give me.

He tore my panties, my last visible defense from me, and his fingers found their way back into my core. I cried in anger, and pitifully for more, to be used and penetrated by his cock. I grasped that pulsing rigid rod of hard flesh and used it to pull him to cover my waiting treacherous body

He took my invitation, and I groaned in defeat as he pushed deep into my body. My world contracted into waves of pleasure that grew and burst, only to grow again. He was a never-ending sex robot, constantly hard and aggressive. The fucker must be popping Viagra like candy to stay that hard, but then he was only thinking about himself, my fulfillment a distance second to his. Even that was more than I'd experienced with any other lover.

As was his usual practice, he let me sleep when I grew so exhausted I could no longer respond. He woke me twice more to use me. It was the last time that changed the dynamics between us. I opened my mind's eye, and the body above me morphed into the Jos I'd been fantasizing about.

I accepted my new lover eagerly, rising to meet his thrusts, wanting to please him and needing to feel the hot burn of his cum inside of me for the first time. I came, but it was different, for once my mind accepted the pleasure as well, and I cried out Jos's name repeatedly.

After I came, I pushed Toni, off me not caring that he'd not come. He grunted as my push was almost a punch.

He glared at me, "Who the fuck is this Jos, Caro?"

I lay on my back, gasping for air as he rose up on his knees beside me. Anger caused his eyes to flash. It took me a moment to come to my senses, and I turned away from him in disgust.

I moved away from him before saying, "A better man than you Toni."

He gave a harsh laugh, "But I'm the one you fuck; who is this wimp?"

I sat up and smiled when I saw his usually hard cock had deflated. "He's the man who just reminded me that I'm so much better than this."

He gave me a slap across my breasts as he cursed me, and I cried out at the stinging pain. My cry seemed to shock him, and he stared at me then stalked off, slamming the door of the bathroom behind him. I heard shower run and started crying at my stupidity.

I got out of the bed and took in the sad pile of clothes I'd been wearing the night before. The panties were a scrap of torn fabric, and the rest weren't much better. I wasn't going to be able to leave the hotel wearing them.

My clutch bag had been tossed on the floor by the door. I pulled out my phone and called David.

"I need to leave," I told him, "but I'm going to need fresh clothes."

"Don't worry, I'm downstairs, and I've got a bag with me. I'll bring it up."

I gave a silent prayer of thanks to the god of one-night stands and waited for David's knock on the door. I'd wrapped a bedsheet around myself, so I was reasonably decent when I let him in.