Passion Fruit

passion

/ păsh'ən /

n

1. A state of strong sexual desire or love.

2. A strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept.

fruit

/ (froot) /

n

1. An edible, usually sweet and fleshy form.

2. Result; outcome.

-American Heritage Dictionary

Fifth Edition

The Passion Fruit is an intriguing and mysterious fruit with a number of health and medicinal benefits. Passion fruit looks a little strange growing on its creeper vine, which can wrap itself around almost any surface and cling on, seeking the sunlight.

-Organic Facts

Act I

"Go fuck yourself!" The man in a black leather jacket leaned back in his seat with a toothy grin. Opposite him, the man in a check shirt continued to volley abuse. Grace Kennicot sat two tables away, wedged into a booth with three people she barely knew. It wasn't clear what had made check shirt so angry but everyone in the coffeehouse was listening. Suddenly leather jacket leapt out of his seat with a knife.

Their waitress screamed and dropped her coffee pot as the knife plunged into the checkered chest. Grace was hypnotised. Leather jacket turned and casually walked towards the front door. The coffee house was silent. Across from her, check shirt slumped like a felled oak, a thick pool of blood oozing across the cheap lacquer table.

"Ok, cut!" said the director. "We've got it, great work guys."

Check shirt sprang from the table, giving a thumbs-up to the director as a woman wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap began removing compact blood capsules underneath the crimson-covered shirt. Three Hispanic men buzzed around the booth sweeping up the breakaway sugar glass which littered the floor like specks of glittering stars.

"Can I get a fresh shirt over here please?" said the baseball cap woman, her head craning back to the legion of people behind the two cameras, boom mics and stage lights. "Outstanding," said the director. "That's exactly the intensity I'm looking." He turned towards the far end of the coffeehouse, addressing his second actor in the leather jacket. "Super cool, man." Breslin Vow gave him a nod before walking off set, followed by an entourage of his people. There must have been half a dozen of them. Grace wondered what on earth they all did?

"Wow, that was some scene," Grace said to her fellow movie extras or 'background artists' as they were officially known. They'd spent the last hour sitting together at their table sipping lukewarm coffee and talking in whispers, following the directions of "action," "keep rolling," and "cut."

The extra cash from her movie work helped keep her afloat. A second job she could do most nights. It didn't leave much time for a social life, but she needed the money. At least it was easy money. She didn't have to do much, just sit or stand around in the background. As a pretty but understated woman, she was a good fit for casting agents.

This was her second movie as an extra. The first had been a small independent production with actors she'd never heard of. She couldn't even remember the name of the film. Something about wallflowers. This movie was different though. It had a multi-million dollar budget with a genuine Hollywood A-Lister in the lead actor, Breslin Vow. And there were hundreds of crew. They gave very few details about the movie. Grace had to sign a non-disclosure form, which meant she couldn't mention anything about the movie to anyone or risk being sued. The film studio, already reeling from three consecutive flops, wanted nothing leaked to the press. Grace signed the form. She'd have signed pretty much anything if it meant being on a movie set with Breslin Vow.

Act II

Breslin Vow was a magnet. There were always people around him. The scene last night in the coffeehouse was the closest Grace had been to him. The movie people had given their table explicit instructions to only talk quietly among themselves and not to stare at Breslin - at least, not until the knife attack.

They were back in the coffeehouse the next night for a scene they wanted to reshoot. Grace didn't realise how much waiting around there was on a movie set. So much preparation and discussion. The actors weren't even in sight yet. She was already on her fourth coffee and was pretty tired after a long day at the office. The shooting eventually wrapped close to midnight. There were no stabbings or bloodshed this time. In fact, Vow wasn't even in the scene. It was background story. Grace was glad when to finish. She was about to leave for the short walk back to her apartment when the woman with the New York Yankees' baseball cap came running after her.

"Hey, you're Grace, right? Can you come with me, please?" She introduced herself as Sara, the Assistant Director. Sara sensed Grace's unease. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble," she said, picking up a piece of chocolate from the table. "Sorry, dinner," she laughed.

Grace fidgeted with her bracelet as she walked a few feet behind Sara. Maybe they were going to ask her to play a slightly larger background role. She could easily play a waitress, she reckoned. She'd spent over a decade dealing with the public. No-one else could perfect the fake smile and bullshit small talk better than her. Maybe it meant some extra money too.

Grace followed Sara into the warm New York night air. It was September, but the remains of a long hot summer still lingered over the city. They walked down the side street to the cordoned-off area, behind which housed the on-location movie set. Sara showed her badge to the two overweight security guards who patrolled the area. She motioned Grace forward and signed her in. It was like a mini village. Even at nearly midnight, people were scurrying everywhere. There were cameras, lights, stands, wires, cranes and various vehicles and trailers. The smell of fried onions filled the air as tired crew wolfed down burgers and hot dog. The fast food smelt great. It reminded her she'd hardly eaten anything all day. She'd try to grab a hot dog on her way back.

The two women snaked between the crew and equipment towards the back of the set, where two metal trailers stood. In front of the trailer on the left was another security guard, although he looked in much better shape than the two guards earlier. Sara gave him a wave. "Grace, you see that trailer there? Why don't you go in?"

Grace twisted the bracelet around her wrist and stared at the trailer, then looked back at Sara. She eventually asked, "Is that Breslin Vow's trailer?"

Sara smiled. "He's inside now. Say hi to him." Sara gave another nod to the burly security man who stood aside.

Grace had read stories about Breslin Vow in her gossip magazines she'd been trying to give up. The fits of rage, an alleged assault on his manager, kiss and tell stories from past girlfriends about his 'unstable' tendencies. Grace and her friends called these types of men 'dirtbags'. Men they would avoid like the plague. But this was surely different. This was a genuine star on the set of his own film. And besides, Grace knew the press loved to make stories up. She already had a laundry list of regrets in her life. She would not add another tonight. She smiled at Sara, turned and walked towards the trailer.

Shit, how did she look, Grace thought in a panic? She fished in her purse for a small vanity mirror to check her hair and make-up. Passable. She added a covering of pink lip-gloss and popped a fresh mint. Then she knocked softly on the metal door, which had a small white sign attached to it. In neat black letters it read, 'Private Trailer--Strictly No Admittance.'

Grace heard nothing. She knocked again. Maybe he was out. Or asleep. She was about to consider a third and final knock before the door opened. "Come in," said an accent she recognised immediately. She stepped into the brightly lit trailer, glimpsing Breslin Vow's face from behind the door. The inside of the trailer took her by surprise. It was a mess, filled with cheap-looking and tatty furniture. Vow walked past her and sat at the end of a sofa that looked like it was from another decade. He was wearing a grey t-shirt and blue denim jeans. He was clean-shaven and fixed his deep piercing eyes on Grace who remained rooted to the spot. He pulled his hands behind his head and leaned back, not saying a word.

Grace twisted her bracelet again, her eyes sprinting around the unfamiliar surroundings.

Finally Vow spoke.

"Do you know how much I love my wife?"

Grace stared blankly ahead. She didn't even know his wife.

He answered for her. "More than life itself."

"That's... great," said Grace meekly, wondering if this was a case of mistaken identity. Did Vow think he was talking to some tabloid hack reporter about to run a scandalous cover story? She felt it necessary to qualify herself, "I'm just an extra on the movie."

Vow straightened. "Your name is Grace, isn't that right? Take a seat next to me, I'll fix you a drink. Let me guess, you're a gin and tonic kind of girl right?" His quick change of demeanour from serious to lighthearted took her by surprise.

"Thanks," she replied, "a G&T would be nice. And yep, I'm Grace." She sat close to where he'd been sitting, still taking in the bizarre situation but trying to stay cool and friendly.

He brought the drinks back and sat down next to her. They clinked glasses.

"Does your wife stay with you here?" She felt like she already knew the answer looking around. Vow shook his head slowly with an ever-so-slight grin. "No."

"Let's relax a little," encouraged Vow. He put some music on. She didn't know the band, but they were good. She stopped fidgeting with her bracelet. "Which part of Australia are you from?" he asked, picking up on her accent. She told him she was from Melbourne and if he'd ever been there. He hadn't and said he didn't get to travel much, which confused her given he was a big movie star.

They made more small talk, mainly Vow asking about her life. She told him about her life growing up in Australia and how she'd given up a comfortable but fairly boring life to take a chance at something more exciting in New York two years ago. Vow was listening but seemed a little distant to Grace, like his mind was elsewhere. He didn't seem to enjoy being asked questions and was more comfortable doing the asking. He was so hard to read. But his body language was altogether different. He was close enough she could smell his aftershave and his muscular arms were constantly in motion, like towering cranes on a building site. He placed his hand on her bare knee. Grace's voice trailed off, but she didn't remove his hand. He encouraged her to keep talking. In mid-sentence, Vow moved in swiftly to kiss her. She returned the kiss, closing her eyes and clasping her hand in his. They kissed long and hard, their tongues darting and exploring. Vow picked her up, knocking over a glass, before slamming her against the wall of the trailer, their faces still locked together.

"Oh God," moaned Grace as Vow pinned her arms above her head, biting and licking her neck. She closed her eyes and pulled him closer, feeling his warmth and strength. Her nipples grew hard as Vow pulled off her top, exposing her pink bra. Moment later the bra lay discarded on the floor and her breasts were being groped and cupped. As Vow sucked hard on her nipples, she moaned again. Grace grasped his face and rammed her tongue into his mouth. She could feel his hard dick pressing against her as they embraced. Vow ran his hands down her half-naked body, pulling at her skirt. He hiked it up, grabbing her panties and ripping them off. They kissed hard again as Vow thrust a finger inside her. Grace rolled her eyes as he added a second.

Vow slid his fingers out of her pussy and held them up to her mouth like a prize. They were wet and slick. She took them greedily in her mouth, closing her eyes. Her head was spinning. She wasn't used to this kind of lust for her. He jammed her against the wall, lifting her legs so she could wrap them around him; her boot heels pressing into his muscular legs. He slid himself gently into her and they both let out a long groan. He started screwing her with deep, slow strokes and then increased the intensity. She could feel the trailer rocking and gripped Vow tighter. She dug her nails into his back as the orgasm tore through her vulnerable body. It seemed to last forever. Vow then followed-his powerful body shuddering as he came inside her. He held her against the wall in silence, both of them trying to regulate their breathing.

"I want to see you again tomorrow," said Vow as Grace was gathering her clothes from the floor. There was no shooting tomorrow, a two-day break for the cast and crew.

She fastened her bra. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea," slipping on her top and then picking up her panties. She shook her head. Fucking without a condom wasn't a smart move. She'd have to take the morning-after pill. It wouldn't be the first time.

"It's just dinner," said Vow. He made it sound like it was nothing. But it was. She thought about her life in Melbourne, the promises she'd made to herself to take chances in life. But smart chances, not reckless ones.

"Ok," she said.

Vow took her number and said he'd message her in the morning. "Tomorrow night we'll meet at a restaurant where no-one will disturb us. I'll send you the address. Don't tell anyone where you're going or give out the number I use." He emphasised the word "anyone". The seriousness of his voice and manner was so at odds with the passion and intimacy they'd just shared.

She convinced herself it was just dinner. A nice meal with someone famous. A girl rarely, if ever, gets that opportunity. The last dinner date she'd had was with a guy who wore his trousers too high and bored her to tears.

Vow kissed her on the lips as he walked her to the trailer door. "Remember, tell no-one. I'll be in touch tomorrow."

As she walked away from the trailer, past the security guard who didn't acknowledge her, she wondered how many other women had slipped out the same trailer in the dead of night.

Act III

Grace had a poor night's sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness and interrupted by vivid sexual dreams and a constant state of arousal. She couldn't keep her hands off herself, achieving three self-induced and hugely satisfying orgasms under her covers. This was what Breslin Vow had done to her body and mind in just one night.

Work wasn't any better. She checked her phone every few minutes. Grace replayed the previous evening's events several times, briefly considering a trip to the ladies' room for her fourth orgasm of the day before her phone bleeped in a ringtone that jarred her back to reality. It was a WhatsApp message. Her heart thumped as her eyes scanned the words. It was Vow.

"Grace - meet me tonight at Rossini's Restaurant. Queens, 125 Rosewood Street. Ask for the manager Paolo who will take you to our table. Don't mention any other names. Please arrive at 8pm and don't be late. BV."

She added the number to her contacts as 'BV' and watched as his profile photo popped up. It was an old church in black and white. It looked really pretty. She thought about changing her own profile photo to something similarly artistic before realising she was being ridiculous. She wondered how many other women Vow had put in this situation. She knew this was a married man, and a high profile one at that. Was it just going to be sex again? (if 'just' could be the right term). What if he wanted more? She could find herself in a dangerous place if things got ugly with the wife, especially if lawyers and the press got involved. She went to delete the message but paused. Fuck.

"Everything ok Grace?" said one of her colleagues. "You're quiet today. Too much wine last night?"

She smiled and said she was fine, just tired.

Grace opened the message again. Her body tingled as she started typing. "Hi, ok, see you there at 8pm. I won't be late." As she pressed send that warm and heady feeling swept through her like cherry blossom during a Japanese spring.

The rest of the day dragged. Three times she mixed up a simple stock order on the telephone. She desperately wanted to call one of her friends but knew it wasn't worth the risk of Vow finding out.

Back in her apartment, she showered and selected her outfit at the ninth attempt. I. She wore a Victoria's Secret black lacy bra and panties, a figure-hugging sequined cocktail dress and five-inch heels. She tied her long brunette hair in a bun and fringe, applying a conservative amount of make-up and painting her nails fire engine red. She wanted to look elegant and sophisticated for Vow, the right balance of sex and smart.

The Uber car pulled up outside her apartment. It was still early, but she didn't want to be late; and she knew New York traffic.

Grace arrived at Rossini's almost half an hour early. She thought about walking around the block, but it started raining. She went inside. A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a warm smile greeted her, introducing himself as Paolo. He looked like a man who did favours for people. He whisked her to the back of the tiny, dark restaurant where to her surprise Vow sat drinking a beer. There were no other diners.

"You're early," he said, rising to kiss her with a charming smile. He was wearing a crumpled white shirt.

"You too," she said, enjoying his scent and closeness once more.

He smiled. "This is a place I like to bring people. Paolo and I have an understanding. It's important for me to have somewhere like this."

Well, at least he was open to her about his brazen affairs. She felt sorry now for his wife. God knows how many women he had wined and dined here. But maybe his wife was out cheating too. You just never knew with some relationships.

Vow ordered Grace a large glass of white wine. Once more the conversation focused on her. She was desperate to know more about him, about his films, his life, what Hollywood was really like. Grace let Vow dictate the conversation and topics. His voice was so rich. She told him about her passions in life, the different places she'd lived, even her boyfriends and lovers. More than once her mind drifted back to the wild night of the previous evening. It was hard not to.

The food was incredible. Homemade pasta with fresh vegetables and a sauce that hit every tastebud. Grace loved cooking, although Vow seemed disinterested in discussing food. It surprised her. She'd read he loved food and invested in a few restaurants around the world. But food was another topic that quickly came and went. She refused a dessert, not really having a sweet tooth. After Vow took care of the cheque, paying in cash, he put his hand on hers across the table.

"Let's go somewhere more private. My place."

They left arm in arm, Vow hailing a taxi as the heavens opened again. She pulled into him, feeling his warmth.

Act IV

Like the trailer, Vow's apartment was underwhelming. Grace had expected Vow's fuck-pad to be extravagant and luxurious, perhaps on the Upper West Side overlooking Central Park. Instead, she walked into a basic apartment on the fourth floor of a square, red brick building. They were still in Queens, and a Korean laundry occupied the ground floor. Inside the apartment there was some furniture and a few things scattered around.

Vow led her into the lounge, which was pitch black until he turned on two table lamps. Grace noticed a strange piece of furniture on the far side. That was if you could call it furniture. It was a large cross made of wood and attached to the wall. Soft black leather covered parts of it. She walked over and inspected it further, noticing marks on it. The three glasses of wine made her feel less intimidated than she might normally be.