John Locke - Wish List

“Buddy?” she says.

I try to speak, but my throat is pinched shut. All that emerges is a tiny mouse-like squeak. I feel my face redden, and clear my throat to hide my embarrassment. She flashes her radiant smile, the one that earns the big bucks, and says, “Please come in.”

I want to turn to see what’s happening behind me, in case Jefferson and the body guards are laughing or getting ready to kill me or to see if I’m being filmed for some sort of cruel reality show. But my eyes are glued to her face. When she steps back and opens the door I enter. She closes the door, locks it, and briefly presses her body against it. Her back is to me, and her head dips slightly. She moves to the window and stops a moment to place her hand on the window pane. Her shoulders sag slightly, and I hear her give off a small sigh. Then she closes the curtains. When at last she turns to face me, her eyes appear moist, but her expression is incredibly seductive.

She glances to her right, and I follow her gaze to see a couch located in one of the sections that extends outward, that gives the front of the trailer a three dimensional look. In front of the couch is a small coffee table that holds a cut-crystal tumbler filled with ice.

“Can I pour you a drink?”

Jinny Kidwell said that. Not some look-alike actress, body double, or high-tech hologram. Like Nicole Kidman, there is only one Jinny Kidwell, and her voice is as unique as her appearance. Often imitated by that talented comedian on Saturday Night Live, among others, no one can quite nail Jinny’s voice. It’s smoky like Demi Moore’s, but not as husky or deep. So this is her, and we’re in the same room, sharing the same air, and she’s offered me a drink, and the only thing I can think to say is, “Why?”

Her laughter seems sincere. She takes a seat in the chair across from me and says, “Why, what?”

I gesture at her, and shake my head.

“Seriously, what’s going on here?”

She starts to speak, then pauses, as if trying to formulate the proper words. While she does that, I allow my eyes to take in her entire frame. Although the Jinny Kidwell before me is very close to how she appears on the big screen, I realize the camera has never properly captured her perfect skin, upon which there are no blemishes, wrinkles, or marks of any kind. No freckles or moles on her face, arms or legs that I can see.

Speaking of her legs, they are jaw-droppingly perfect. Impossibly long, and toned to a degree that stops just short of being muscular, these legs draw you in and hold your gaze like Medusa’s head.

“Are you okay?” she says.

I force my eyes upward. She’s smiling coyly. What must her lips and tongue taste like? Before Lissie came into my life, all my sexual conquests smelled the same: like closing time at the local bar.

I put it all out there: “I’m old, fat, broke and ugly.”

She smiled. “You’re not so old.”

“Compared to you, I’m a dinosaur. I’m a complete nobody. I’m lousy in bed, and…”

“And you’re married,” she says.

I’m stunned. “You knew?”

“You’re married to Lissie. She’s very pretty.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“I’ve seen a photo.”

I don’t know what to say. Nothing makes sense.

“I’m married too,” she says.

“You are?”

She looks at me curiously. “You sure you’re a fan?”

“I know you through your movies.”

She nods.

Despite the absurdity of my presence, I love being here, love knowing that Jinny Kidwell is sitting a mere six feet in front of me. I love her attention, love exchanging words with her, love looking at her.

But this is crazy.

“Jinny,” I say, then shake my head thinking how ridiculous her name sounds coming out of my mouth.

She waits expectantly.

“Is it okay to call you Jinny?”

She looks at me as if I might be crazy. She’s right. I’m in her trailer, been told I’m here to have sex with her, asking if I can call her by her name. I start over.

“Did they tell you why I’m here?”

She blushes.

I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to Jinny Kidwell, making her blush like a coed. She bites the corner of her bottom lip nervously.

And stands.

She’s wearing—I now notice—a leopard print mini skirt and a black (she told me later) Ferretti silk tee, with a jeweled, sunburst print. I can’t remember the style and pedigree of her sandals, but they were lovingly crafted by some premier designer exclusively for her.

She says, “Buddy, I don’t know if I can make you understand this from my point of view, but in my whole life I’ve only been intimate with three men. I may seem like a household name to you, but the truth is I’ve only been a mega star for a year. Like you, I made a wish.”

Every time she opens her mouth, I’m stunned by the words that emerge.

“You made a wish to be famous?”

She nods.

“And they somehow granted it?”

“They did.”

“Who are these people?”

“I’ll tell you this much: I’ve been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and it’s good karma to give back. My wish was very important to me, and yours is very flattering.”

“Flattering?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They told me your number one wish was to be intimate with me. Is that not true?”

“Yes, it’s true, but—”

“—Out of every wish you could have made, this is the first thing that came to your mind. Can you not understand how amazing a compliment that is to me?”

“Yes, but—”

“But?”

“You’re married,” I say.

“As you are.”

“Yes.”

“And two hours from now, when you leave, we’ll still be married.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just stare at her mouth, wondering how the mere act of speaking can appear so provocative.

“Buddy?”

“Yes?”

She removes her blouse and says, “I want this to be a very special afternoon for you.”

She’s not wearing a bra.

“I’m not super experienced,” she adds, “though to you I probably seem wild on the screen.”

Jinny Kidwell is standing in front of me, and she’s not wearing a bra.

She reaches behind her with both hands and I hear the sound of a zipper lowering. She does a sort of hip shake and her skirt slides to the floor, and…

…She’s not wearing panties.

She says, “All I ask is that you treat me with respect.”

“Huh?”

“With respect.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t do anything to hurt me.”

“Hurt you?”

She blushes again.

Then I blush.

Chapter 16

If I could have a fifth wish it might be that I’m the most amazing lover Jinny Kidwell has ever encountered.

But the truth is I’m unable to perform.

“This has never happened to me,” I say.

“Nor to me,” she says.

“I can’t do this to Lissie.”

“I believe you.”

“No, I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Buddy. I was just kidding.”

“Oh. Right.”

We’re sitting on her bed, and we’re both looking at the pathetic, drooping thing between my legs I used to call my “mighty sword.”

“He looks tired,” she says.

I wince.

“What’s the problem, do you think?”

I shrug. “I think maybe I’m just overwhelmed.”

She nods. Then, as if trying to enhance my mortification, she reaches over and pokes it with her finger. Then she lifts it with her thumb and index finger, holds it aloft a second, then lets it fall, and I want to crawl in a hole somewhere.

She frowns. “So what’s the plan, Stan?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve got to get this thing done. What do you suggest?”

I’ve never had a woman stare at my manhood as if it were a snail on a plate. Nor have I ever had a conversation with anyone about it, while staring at it. I sigh. “Maybe we should just forget the whole thing.”

A sudden look of fear enters her eyes.

“It doesn’t work that way,” she says. “We have to do this.”

She starts breathing rapidly, as if she might hyper-ventilate. I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, relax,” I say. “I can tell them we did it. No harm, no foul.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I made an agreement. You have to perform!”

I look at my lap and mentally curse my dick.

Jinny says, “Give me a sec.”

She leaves the room a minute and comes back with a small bottle of water and a pill.

“Here,” she says, “take this.”

“What is it, Viagra?”

“No.”

I stare at the little pill in my hand. “Is it safe?”

“One is safe. Six is an addiction.”

“Will it help me perform?”

“It won’t hurt.”

I look into her gorgeous eyes. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Please, just take the pill.”

I swallow it and set the glass down.

“Now what happens?” I say.

“You lie down and relax. I’ll turn on some music and we’ll see what happens.”

“Sounds good.”

Some time must have passed. I’m not aware of any time passing, but something must have happened, because I’m suddenly aware that Jinny Kidwell is bitch slapping me and calling me names.

No, wait. That’s not what happened.

I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I now realize she slapped me once, lightly, and said, “Focus, Buddy!”

“What happened?”

“You’re back!”

“How long was I out?”

“A couple minutes.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Hey, I have an idea!” Jinny says, brightly. “Have you ever acted before?”

“What, like in a play?”

“Uh huh.”

“Not really.”

“Well let me put a thought in your mind.”

“Okay.”

“You know I have love scenes with actors in my movies, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I know I’m married, and the actors know they’re married, but the way we get the public to believe our scenes is to pretend we’re not married.”

“That makes sense.”

“It does. And here’s the thing: Lissie doesn’t know you’re here. In two hours our lives will go back to what they were before we met. Lissie won’t know what we’ve done, and she’d never believe it anyway.”

“That’s certainly true.”

“I’m giving you a gift, Buddy. The most special gift I can give a man.”

I nod.

“And there’s something else,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“We’ve already seen each other naked, so the rest isn’t such a big deal.”

I look at her nakedness some more.

“I’ve got another idea,” she says.

I wait to hear it.

“I think it might help if I show you a view of my body that’s never been filmed.”

And she does.

Two minutes later, meaning our entire romantic encounter lasted maybe half that long—we talk about making movies, and the type of blouse and sandals she’d been wearing, and how hard it is to be her, with cameras in her face and people shouting and pushing every time she turns around. As she talks, her breasts rise and fall and I become swept up in her delicate beauty and—bless her heart—she allows me a mulligan, and this time I’m playing from the championship tees!

As our second hour comes to a close I feel as though I’ve known her all my life. We’re lying on her bed, gazing into each other’s eyes and she seems as if she’s about to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“Sorry? About what?”