Shards of Glass (2 page)

“Are you eating properly?”

“Excuse me?” I ask.
Who is he? My father?

“You seem to look faint sometimes. You’re so slim, I wonder if you’re getting enough nutrition.”

“I had a yogurt for lunch and an apple and—”

“Thought so. Not eating enough. Actors need sleep, good food, and plenty of exercise. Stamina. Integral strength—it’s part of your job profile. We’re still only in rehearsals right now, Janie, but getting out on stage every night, plus matinees, is taxing on the body as well as the brain. You need to look after yourself. Your body is your tool, remember that.”

“I go for long walks in Central Park,” I venture.

“Not enough.” His eyes are looking me up and down, burning through my body, through my almost see-through dress. Can he see my panties? That they are damp? The way he looks at me has made a slick, moist pool gather between my legs. I’d fuck him on the table right here if he asked. But he doesn’t see me that way. He sees me as a child. I want to say,
Spank me, then, for being naughty.
I want to say,
Take me across your knee and spank me for being late, for not eating properly, and for being lazy about exercise,
but I answer, “I’ve joined that gym around the corner from the theater.”

“Joining a gym means nothing unless you actually use it. How long ago since you left Juilliard?”

“I graduated this summer.”

“That’s right, you were one of their little stars.” The way he says this doesn’t sound like a compliment but a reproach. He raises a cool eyebrow. “So you’re even younger than you should be.”

“For the role?” A freight train is now racing through my body. Jesus, he’s going to fire me! That’s why he wanted to talk. I feel my eyes well up.

“So how old are you? Twenty-one?”

My mouth is dry but I manage to croak out a “Yes.”

“So young, so vulnerable, so f—”

Daniel is biting his lower lip as his teeth are folded over in an F, but then he stops himself. Am I imagining things? Was he about to say, ‘
so fuckable?
’

“So fearful,” he says with a gentle smile. “I’m not going to eat you, Janie. You have tears in your eyes, what’s up?”

“Have you brought me here to fire me?”

He laughs. His wide smile lights up his handsome face, his teeth flash white, his eyes crease with mirth. “Is that what you thought?”

But I’m not smiling back. I’m still shivering with trepidation. I cross my legs. The dampness between them really might be showing through my dress. How embarrassing.

“No, Janie. Of course I’m not going to fire you. I’m extremely happy with your work, as it happens.”

I want to fling my arms around him. I want to straddle him, sit on his lap. I manage to curve up my lips a little.

“You’re making leaps and bounds in rehearsal. You have just the right balance of vulnerability and rawness; it’s working beautifully. No, I want to ask you to come with me to the theater tonight. I’ve been given comps to a play I’d like you to see.”

My stomach gives another lurch.
Is Daniel Glass asking me on a date?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks.

My fantasies are coming true
!
He wants to date me
! “No,” I reply, and I notice his eyes flick down to my breasts. I feel myself tingle between my legs again.

“Just asking, in case you wanted to bring him along. In fact, bring a girlfriend, if you want, or your mom.”

“My mother’s—” I want to say ‘dead’, but I stop myself. “It’s okay, I don’t need to bring anyone else.” My heart has sunk like a defeated battle ship. He doesn’t see me in the date type of way at all.

“I just want you to see Natasha Jürgen play this part. She brings so much vulnerability to her role, but at the end of the play she shows such strength . . . well, I won’t say more because I don’t want to spoil it for you, but it’s important for you, I think . . . for you to see this play.”

“I’ve heard about it, but I didn’t think it had opened yet.”

“It’s press night tonight. Will you come with me?”

“Are you kidding? I love Natasha Jürgen’s work.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“My address is—”

“I know your address. I’d prefer to come and collect you, that way I can be sure you won’t show up late.”

“You know where I live?” I ask, butterflies circling my insides like a spring storm.

“You are my employee, I have details about
all
the cast. See you at seven, Janie. Go home, get something to eat and have a nap. You look a little tired.”

My eyes linger on his worked-out torso, which I see rippling through his T-shirt, his muscles flexing as he picks up his papers and puts them into a briefcase.
He knows where I live
! The thought of it sends a shiver up my spine.
He’s picking me up at my apartment
!

His voice is husky when he says quietly, “See you later, Janie. Remember, get some rest.”

MY TINY STUDIO is my untidy but perfect nest. It’s full of clothes and full of plays. I cannot read novels of any kind or guilt sets in. Just plays. Tennessee Williams, Clifford Odets, Shakespeare, Jean-Paul Sartre, David Mamet . . . you name it, I’ve read them all.

I take off my dress and get into the shower, watching my reflection steam up. I wash my long, chestnut-brown hair and dump half a bottle of conditioner on my fingers, threading them through the tangles, running my fingers through the knots. I look at my face. So little, my body so tiny. I feel like a bird. It’s true, I need to eat more. Stop snacking and give myself proper, nutritious meals. My eyes look unusually large and puppy-dog brown, perhaps because I have lost all this weight. Is my part getting to me? I have never felt so vulnerable, never so submissive to a role. I feel as if I have a hole in my heart and the only person that can fill that hole is him. I ache for Daniel Glass. Finally, finally, I have a chance.
He has asked me out
!

I get out of the shower, rub some aromatherapy oil on my wet skin and massage my legs. When I reach my thighs I see Daniel in my mind’s eye and imagine his abs pressed against me. The tingle in my groin reminds me I need to release myself—it’s been too long. The weeks of torture as I see him in rehearsal every day; the temptation as I watch him work, listen to him direct me in his cool, sexy voice. My instructor. My master. I can’t hold it in any longer.

I rummage in my bathroom drawer and reach around for my little “rabbit” and turn it on. I haven’t used it for a long while and never would have thought of buying one, but I won it at a friend’s bachelorette party. Its rumbling vibration has already got me feeling ready. I’m wet again. Every day I’m that way. Every day, seeing Daniel, hearing him boss me, tell me what to do and command me as my director has me turned on like a switch. I am his submissive. I am his slave. Even though it’s my job to do what he tells me, and even though he is kind, I’m still his puppet—his marionette dancing to his tune.

I bring the rabbit in between my thighs and place it on my clit. Aah, oh wow, this feels sexy. It’s making me quiver. I rub it around in different places, behind me, now, at the back of my entrance, and then up around the front again. Oh yes, I see Daniel’s huge erection, at least how I imagine him: hard as a rock. He’s fucking me now. From behind. Oh yes. I let the rabbit enter inside my slick opening and ram it up me as if it were Daniel, then bring it out again, letting it vibrate about my clit. I turn up the power. It’s almost thumping me, and I feel the blood rushing inside me, and spasms make my entire body tremble. I lean against the wall. I’ve reached a climax but I still don’t feel satisfied. I need flesh and blood.

I need Daniel himself.

I collapse on my bed, hair still wet, and close my eyes. I think of how he likes me vulnerable, weak, yet he says I must look after myself and be integrally strong. What a paradox. How am I supposed to do that? I stretch out and doze off.

I hear my cellphone go. It feels as if I’ve been napping for five minutes, but I see that it’s five-thirty. I pick up, my head groggy. “Yes?”

“It’s Daniel.”

“What?”

His voice is almost a growl. “Daniel Glass.”

“I know who you are,” I say with a giggle.

“Are you going to let me in? I’m outside your door.”

“How did you know the elevator code? How did you get through the main door?”

“A neighbor let me up. The one who lives on the fifth floor.”

“You’re early,” I complain.

“Just let me in, Janie. There are some things I need to discuss with you.” His voice is commanding, urgent. Am I nuts? This is my wildest fantasy! Why am I procrastinating? I jump out of bed and straighten myself up in the mirror. My smudged makeup is dark around my eyes but it does look a little sexy. Too late, anyway, there’s no time. I grab my silky Victoria’s Secret robe and go to answer the door.

He’s standing there. His jeans are the way they always are. A bit loose but showing off his strong legs, his cute, tight ass. He’s a little unshaven, Funny, I didn’t notice that earlier. How can a five o’clock shadow spring up that fast?

“Bad girl,” he says, moving towards me, into my apartment. He shakes his head. “Bad, bad girl.”

“What did I do this time?” I ask nervously.

“Sleeping with wet hair. You’ll catch a cold. Did your mother never warn you against that?”

“She . . . she . . .”

“I’m going to have to punish you for that, Janie, you know that, don’t you?”

“Punish me?”

“You need to learn to look after yourself. You need to learn a lesson. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“But I’m not dressed, I—”

“Your nipples are hard again. I can see them through that skimpy blue robe you’re wearing. Is it because you’re cold that your nipples get hard all the time or is it because of me?”

“I can’t believe you said that, I can’t believe—”

“Believe it, Janie. I’m here, aren’t I? I came over, didn’t I?” His body is close to me now. I can feel his breath on mine, sweet, slightly heavy. His eyes are undressing me.
Oh God, help me, my knees are buckling beneath my feet.

“I’m going to have to spank you and then—”

My lips part and I want to say something—to protest—but I hear a faint moan emanate from within me. He looks about the room and settles his eyes on my bookshelf.

“David Mamet?” he asks with disbelief. “Steven Berkoff, Tracy
Letts
?”

“My favorite playwrights.”

“You like rough, crude characters then, Janie? Like a little aggression, do you, fucked-up, tough-guy characters, tortured souls?”

“Tortured souls have always fascinated me.”

“And you think I’m tortured?”

“I don’t know, you could be . . . I guess,” I splutter.

He takes the paperback,
Speed the Plow,
from the shelf and examines its cover. “She was a little bitch, this character. Unusual for David to write a female role. His wife played the part, did you know that?” Daniel sits on the edge of my bed, with the book in his tight grasp. “Come here.” He taps his knees.

I walk over to his side. He gently pulls off my robe and I stand there naked. His large hands cup my butt. “Always been an ass guy, myself. Love your perky tits but it’s that ass that gets me going.”

He strokes my behind softly. I hear myself moan again. My nipples are like bullets. Suddenly, he bends me over his knee like a child. My eyes are now on the floor, my ass doubled over his strong thighs, which I feel beneath me. My fingers cling to the fabric of his jeans. He’s making circular motions with his hands around my butt, and his finger brushes past my opening.

“So wet, Janie. So fucking sexy. You make me rock hard. I don’t know if I can stop myself fucking you. My cock’s throbbing, can you feel it? Throbbing beneath your tits. It wants to ram itself inside that tight little pussy of yours.” His finger is stroking my entrance now. I’m soaking. I can hear soft yielding noises coming from inside me as Daniel runs his finger along my pussy.

“Get ready, Janie – brace yourself.”

I feel the paperback slap my behind. Not too hard, but it does sting. Then he softly strokes the lips down there and slips his finger inside me. The smooth with the rough. All I can think about is Daniel ramming his erection into me. Hard.

“Ready, you naughty little girl who doesn’t feed herself properly and who goes to bed with wet hair. One, two . . .”

I tense as the book slaps down on my butt again, this time harder. I cry out.

“Again?”

“Yes,” I moan. This is so erotic.

He whacks me once more, and this time it hurts. “Enough?” he asks me.

“More,” I murmur, wanting to be brave.

“No. You’ve been punished enough. I need to kiss it all better now.” He cocks up my leg. Turns me around so I am no longer sidesaddle, so to speak, but straddling him with my face down, still looking at the floor, but my thighs splayed on either side of his legs. My butt is high in the air and he lifts it up to his face.

“Got to lick this tight little pussy,” he says in a low voice, and his tongue starts to slowly, deliberately circle my clit.

I’m groaning and crying out with pleasure as it flicks about me, teasing me, darting its way in and out, and I begin to writhe with bliss. His thumbs are splaying my lips open as his mouth is sucking, then blowing between my legs. Softly. I’m throbbing and pulsating—the feeling is incredible. Then he lies back on the bed and pulls me right on top of his face.

“Unbutton my jeans,” he commands, and I fumble desperately around his crotch, frantically unbuttoning his fly opening. I feel his hard bulge and it makes me gasp. He swirls his tongue around my clit again and I hear myself meow like a cat.

“Push yourself up on all fours,” he directs, and I maneuver myself above him. I’m pulling his pants down to his knees, and open up his boxer briefs without taking them off. I free his erection through the soft combed-cotton and take him in my mouth, rimming my tongue around the soft head of his crown.

“I always loved the number 69,” he says with a laugh.

I run my lips along his smooth length, kissing as I go. I have only ever done this once before. But it was different then. This time I have Daniel Glass on the tip of my tongue. And like glass, it can be dangerous—it scares me.