Plays The Thing

Megan tightened the hood of her parka, hoping no one would recognize her. Guys stinking of Axe body spray handing her white roses was really getting old. Thankfully, no one recognized her when she wore layers.

She dunked her boots in some slush, mourning that New York had already turned it gray. Limos weren't supposed to be two hours late, were they? They should be waiting at the airport the minute you stepped on the plane, just in case you passed through a time warp. She might as well have hailed a cab, if it weren't for her phobia that a cabbie would recast her in Misery. She'd heard that was what had happened to Neve Campbell.

"Are you Megan Fox?"

"Uh... no," Megan said as she turned back to the airport. She had more of a denial planned, like how she thought 'Megan Fox' was a skank, but then swans and crap started singing in her ears. Olivia Wilde. It was Olivia Wilde! And she looked just as yummy as she did making out with other women on House.

"You look a lot like her," Olivia quipped.

"Oh, I am, I just—I'm undercover."

"Ah." Olivia winked. "Say no more. I didn't want to bother you," (Megan really wanted to be bothered.) "but I saw you standing out here and I thought maybe the limo didn't make it because of the snowstorm."

Megan pointed at her. "Psychic."

"So I just got my rental car and I was wondering if you needed a ride."

Megan still had fantasies of riding Olivia Wilde. "That'd be awesome. How can I ever pay you back?"

"If you've got a hotel room, give me a few hours to thaw out? I'm only in town for a premiere."

"Of course! When it comes to housing, I'm totally your bitch."

Megan thought she probably should've planned that sentence out instead of picturing Olivia huddling with her for body warmth. But Olivia laughed, so it was all good.

***

Olivia's rental was alright. It reminded Megan of her old BFF's clunker, a cute little Volkswagen. The radio was kinda flat and the heater was a little crappy, so Megan kept her parka cinched tightly over her front. Underneath she just had a jacket and a cami. "So, do you give rides to all the B-list stars or am I extra-sparkly good karma?"

Olivia giggled. "You're Megan Fox. I think doing you a favor is like scratching a puppy behind the ears. Good for your heart, lowers blood pressure."

Megan slapped Olivia's thigh. "Anything I can do for public health." A 'bitches and hoes' rap song came on the radio. Megan played with the dial until she found some White Stripes. "I'm surprised the Fox guys didn't send you a limo."

"On that set, if your name doesn't rhyme with Hugh Laurie, you might as well be a prop. I was lucky to get a coupon, and I'm pretty sure that's just because I'm the only castmember Megan Fox would kill a mountain ox for."

Megan winced. Why did people have to listen to her when she got nervous and babbled shit? She wasn't a politician, she acted opposite tennis balls on sticks. "That's not true. I'd do nasty things to a chicken for Lisa Edelstein."

"My heart is broken."

"Aww." Megan leaned over and kissed her cheek, then sat back feeling like a little girl with a crush on the teacher.

Olivia turned up the radio. "You LA types are touchy-feely."

"Sorry."

"It's cool. I'm pretty touchy-feely too."

***

The hotel room Megan's agent had reserved for her was the kind of place Megan had gotten used to in the last two years. For a few seconds, it surprised her how Olivia was dazzled by it.

"This view kicks ass," Olivia cried, staring out wall-length windows at the snow-covered city. Even with visibility what it was, you still felt like you could pick out each snowflake.

"Shut up! Don't tell me I stay in better hotels than you, I'll spontaneously combust!"

"My hotels are more authentic. They've got soul."

"I feel like such a ho. I mean, you're a better actress than me and they treat you like a second-class citizen!"

Olivia sunk into an armchair, putting her feet up on a plush for obviously the first time. "I'm not

that

much better at acting than you. I saw you in that Simon Pegg movie. You weren't bad."

"My only job is to look hot."

"My only job is to look hot, spout medical jargon, and sometimes kiss girls."

"You sound like you're doing nurse porn," Megan tittered.

"Not for another fifteen years."

Olivia wiggled out of her long coat and kicked off her boots. Her clothes were more winter-appropriate than Megan's, a long-sleeved blouse and jeans, but they were tight enough to be extremely flattering. The blouse especially had a cut-out that made Olivia's collarbone very interesting.

Megan wiped away the saliva she'd gathered by licking her lips. "Hey, wanna watch HDTV? They have all the primo channels."

"Maybe later. I've got some scripts I have to

peruse

if I don't want my manager to abandon me in a desert."

"Sounds cool. Can I help?"

Olivia dumped her carry-on out on the bed. Manuscripts rained down. "Sure. Tell me if you see the next Iron Man."

Lying next to Olivia on her belly, Megan sorted through the scripts. Nothing by Joss Whedon or David Benioff. Lots of coming-of-age stories that needed a quirky love interest or action movies that needed heroines who did shower scenes. Then, a Western caught her eye. Only it wasn't a Western, it had dead in the title. Another zombie movie? On the one hand, how 2008. On the other, she'd never played a zombie slayer. Could be fun. Then—

"Holy crap, they're making a Hollows movie?" she realized/asked.

"Yeah, they've rewritten the script about twenty times and I guess now it's going to be Twilight for people who care about quality? I don't think they have a director or anything. Why, are you all Scientologist about it?"

"Nah, I just read it when I was a teenager and I really liked that the heroine didn't know if she was gay or straight or what. She has this vampire partner who's, like, the best girlfriend ever and totally into her but she has no clue what to do with it."

"So do they get together?" Olivia asked, blinking coyly. Or maybe it was just that she was Olivia Wilde and every time she blinked it was like she was sunbathing nude or something.

"I don't know. I quit reading the series about five books ago when Rachel turned into a total tease. Hey, I wonder if..." Megan flipped through the script, muttering the names of characters under her breath. "This writer is totally in love with Jenks. Yes!" She pumped her fist all of a sudden. "They kept the scene where Rachel accidentally makes a pass at Ivy!"

"How do you accidentally make a pass at someone?"

"I know, right? Here." Megan laid the script in front of them. "You be Ivy, I'll be Rachel."

"The flat-chested redhead?" Olivia asked with a raised eyebrow that was like a full-on bump and grind from any other woman.

"I'd look good with red hair," Megan giggled, twirling a strand around her finger.

"You would," Olivia said sultrily, and Megan felt her thighs clench. A black-lacquered fingernail traced the first header. "Interior, church, kitchen, sunset," she read. "Church?"

"Just go with it," Megan said.

"What's my motivation?"

"You, Ivy, totally want to jump me."

"Are you sure you shouldn't be playing Ivy? It'd be easier to get into character."

Megan grabbed a second copy of the script, this one with some highlighting done and a new name scribbled on the title page, and flipped to the same page. The kitchen scene fortunately was still from an earlier revision. She rolled off the bed and quickly memorized her lines as she took up a position comparable to Rachel's. It was easy; she'd read the scene enough times under the covers with a flashlight. That and A Fistful of Charms. Ooh, dog-eared.

She looked up to see Olivia was standing across from her, script in hand. "Ivy is dressed in her usual black," she read, "while Rachel wears a bathrobe that comes down to her goosepimpled thighs. She sits on the island. Her long, crossed legs end in fuzzy pink slippers that dangle off her feet. Her toes bop as she eats delightedly from a box of take-out."

Megan jumped up onto the counter and grabbed a tray of complimentary Fig Newtons. Olivia took the second tray from the bag and leaned against the wall across from her.

"'This is great,'" Megan said, picturing a big juicy piece of sesame chicken going down her throat instead of low-fat cookies. "'Where'd you get it?'"

"'Piscary's,'" Olivia read.

Megan did a bad job of pretending to sputter nonexistent water. "'The—pizza guys?'"

"Ooh, foreboding," Olivia said.

"Don't break character."

Olivia lowered her voice down to her dark, mysterious, panty-peeling level. "'My mother gave him the recipe. Piscary makes it special for me. It's not a big deal.'"

Megan took another bite, savoring the figgy taste. "'Your mother was—is a good cook.'"

"'My mother's a lot of things.'"

Megan looked up. Out of nowhere, Olivia had invested the line with a lifetime's worth of pathos. And now she was dismally nibbling on a Fig Newton. Megan scrambled to find her line, belatedly setting aside her foot and standing up as per the stage directions. She pinched her clothes between her fingers and pulled on them.

"'Thank you for the clothes. They're a great fit.'"

Olivia looked at her over the edge of the script, her eyes beguiling, inquisitive. Megan felt guilty about the hotel all over again. "'They look good on you as well.'"

"'Thanks... hey Ives?'"

Ives

?

"'Ask.'"

Megan cleared her throat, marshalling a bit of nervousness. Rachel was kinda like the nerdy girl in school getting invited to hang out with the popular girls and then suddenly asking them what all this cheerleading stuff was all about. She could do that, even if she'd been the popular girl. She'd felt like the nerdy girl enough times. "'Why'd you join the IS if you didn't want to work for them?'"

Olivia's voice lowered even more to a dull, heartbreaking monotone. "'My mother's a lot of things. I don't like many of them.'"

"'What about your father?'" Megan asked with a hint of chipper.

So out of place. Mental note: Kill yourself later, spaz

.

Olivia summoned up a convincingly rueful smile. "'When I told him I'd quit, he said I should've either stuck it out or killed Denon.'"

Megan glanced down at the script after Olivia paused. It wasn't her line, it was stage direction. She really should've been used to this by now. The Transformers script was basically 'Sam and Mikaela run away. Something EXPLODES!' printed five thousand times.

Rachel moves closer to Ivy, hesitantly reaching out to comfort her. Ivy watches her, her gaze intimidating. Finally, she takes Rachel's hand and runs it slowly over her face. It's a strange gesture, both touching and oddly arousing. Then, as if nothing happened, Ivy picks her take-out carton up. She's hungry again.

Megan stepped forward, trying to invest every movement with a heartrending mix of nervousness and friendship. Then she figured she was going too slow and rushed the last few steps, holding the hand up to Olivia's face. Olivia

caught it,

like a predator responding to a threat, then visibly relaxed and brushed Megan's hand across her face.

Awesome.

Megan made a note to write that down.

"'My dad married into the family,'" Olivia read. She was holding onto Megan's hand, caressing it with her thumb. That wasn't in the script. "'I'm the last living blood member of my family. Mother wants me to find a nice, living, high-blood vamp—the kind we'd have loved to bust—then settle down with him and pop out so many kids her living bloodline will never die out.'"

Two could play at this game. Megan worked her hand into Olivia's and squeezed it, smiling and brushing some hair out of her eyes. "'I joined because of my parents too. My dad. He was in arcane division. Came home every night with some wild story.'"

"'Bet he never mentioned the paperwork,'" Olivia lilted.

Megan laughed and Olivia just smirked as she plucked a Fig Newton from its tray. Megan stopped laughing as Olivia bit into it, investing that simple gesture with menace and sensuality.

Megan stumbled over her words as she tried to continue. "'When he died, I guess I wanted to carry on his work. My mom was—she's not broken, but it's like she won't remember he's gone. She'll say things like 'I made banana pudding today; it was your father's favorite.' She can't let him go.'"

"'I suppose it's hard to let go of someone you love,'" Olivia muttered.

"'You've never lost anyone?'"

"'I've never loved anyone.'"

Megan held Olivia's hand to her heart as Olivia looked away, sullen and unresponsive. "'But, your dad...'"

"'He's pathetic!'" Olivia hissed with sudden venom, so much that for a moment Megan thought

dude, I thought Olivia's dad was cool.

"'He gives everything my mother takes. Feeding her is killing him and she lets him...'"

Olivia pulled away from Megan, hand slipping away. Megan gulped and followed after her, the script held in front of her.

"'Maybe... because he loves her...'"

"'That's not love,'" Olivia breathed. She sat down on the bed again, this time totally locked into Ivy's body language, her body all hunched up and yet dangerous.

Megan lowered the script to her side, trying to mix a hopeful tone with trepidation. "'So, did you join the IS because of your dad too?'"

"'It was my mother's idea,'" Olivia said softly. "'She thought it would look good on my resume. She never wanted me to be a runner. I did. So, she put Denon on my back.'"

"'Remind me to thank her next time she's in town,'" Megan said. Badass cockiness, that she could do.

"Don't. You must fear her. She's why I'm living in a church," Olivia said vehemently.

The stage directions called for Rachel to put her hand on Ivy's shoulder, but Olivia Wilde wasn't the only one who could improvise. Megan gave her a hug, arms wrapping her shoulders, and heard Olivia sigh softly. Her head grazed the top of Megan's hair as she leaned into it. Megan could feel Olivia's heart pounding against her forearm, so hard it was a wonder it didn't shake her to pieces. Olivia was so slender, so lithe, and when she acted so vulnerable it made Megan want to grab a baseball bat and stand guard.

"'I'm sorry,'" she whispered into Olivia's ear before pulling away. Olivia began toying with the hem of her blouse and Megan self-consciously took off her jacket, leaving her in a cami that made her glad she'd worn a bra. Her hardened nipples had been chafing against it for the last five minutes.

"'She died when I was 18. What came back—wasn't my mother. She stopped seeing me as a daughter and started looking at me as a weapon. Vampires don't love like humans do, Rachel.'" Olivia looked at Megan with a stare that was a perfect mix of challenge and sorrow.

She's asking me to stay with her,

Megan thought, before realizing it was the

character

of Ivy asking the

character

of Rachel to stay with her. Duh. "'They don't

mean it

.'"

"'You're not a vampire yet.'" Megan scooted closer to her, wishing she hadn't already played the hug card. Sitting with her knee and shoulder meeting Olivia's, she gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but probably came off as just another magazine cover shoot 1000-watter.

"'It's only a matter of time,'" Olivia said as Megan's smile disappeared in a hail of lip-rolling.

Acting! Genius!

"'Do you have a crucifix?'" she then asked, with an inflection that took Megan by surprise. She made crucifix sound like some kind of super-dirty sex toy, turning the whole thing into a pouty come-on. When Megan looked at her in shock, Olivia's eyes were half-lidded, her lips gently parted before they closed. Goddamn, this was, like, Bound hot. Did Bound have a big opening weekend?

Megan glanced at her script, saw she was supposed to roll up the sleeve of her nonexistent bathrobe to reveal her nonexistent charm bracelet. Only Megan had just taken off her jacket, so she just held up her arm. Olivia rolled with it, running a finger over Megan's wristwatch as she raised it between them, displaying the time to Megan. 11:20. Where had the time gone? It was past her old curfew.

"Is it blessed?'" Olivia breathed, her exhale stroking the soft hair on Megan's arms.

Megan nodded, not having to summon up a lot of the Method to pretend she was incredibly, confusingly turned on.

"Mine too," Olivia panted, as if in orgasm. She let go of Megan's hand, which stayed trembling in mid-air, to pull on a necklace she had on. The end was hanging between her cleavage. Megan looked down to see, not only a ridiculously perfect set of breasts, but a tiny silver cross emerging from the darkness between them. She nearly fainted. That little crucifix seemed unspeakably erotic from the way Olivia was pulling it out. Girls had offered her strap-ons with less seductiveness.

And she was supposed to touch it. The script said so. Megan's hand pulsed into a brief fist to steady it, then reached for the crucifix. Quavering, hovering over Olivia's breasts like a bee floating over flowers. Then her forefinger touched the crucifix and Olivia gasped like it was her clit Megan was fondling. Oh, happy thought.

Really

happy thought.

The breath Olivia had taken in was expelled over Megan, fondling her face before settling down her collarbone and warming her breasts. Olivia was right next to her. Megan pulled up the crucifix, as if for a closer look, putting it in the mere inches between their mouths.

"Of course, you'll have contact lenses here," Megan said nervously. "For the aura you pull."

Olivia didn't seem to break character at all to say "I don't think I need them. Do you?"

Megan rustled the pages of the script. "Then, you take off your necklace..."

Olivia did, lowering her head (and getting a great look at Megan's breasts, nice touch) to pull it off. As if in a trance, Megan lowered her head to receive it. Olivia's hands caressed her face as she pulled it on, leaving the crucifix over her heart.

"'I will protect you,'" Olivia said, even though they both knew the line was 'It will protect you.' "'I was born a vampire, Rachel. The virus didn't wait until I was dead to take hold of me. It changed me in the womb. It gave me... a little of the night.'"

Olivia grinned briefly in amusement at the dialogue, but she otherwise stayed in-character. The whole thing... Olivia Wilde as some kind of vampirella... seemed like it could really happen. The whole world full of pixies and vampires and werewolves seemed real to Megan. Breathtakingly real.

"What can do you?" Megan prompted.

"'I can...

hold

people,'" Olivia cooed, making her hold sound like a drug addict's narcotic of choice. "'If they let me.'"

Then Megan felt Olivia's hands on her, curling around the back of her thigh and another resting on her chest with the heel of her hand on Megan's collarbone, like Olivia didn't know if she was going to choke Megan or cop a feel. She lowered Megan onto the bed, carrying her off the edge so she could place her on the center of the mattress. Megan looked up into Olivia's eyes as the other woman slowly moved over her, settling into position on all fours above Megan like a lioness creeping close enough to pounce.

Oh my God... she's not that good an actor!

Her next line abruptly exploded into Megan's head. "'What good is it if someone has to let it work on them?'"

Olivia's head lowered to Megan's heaving breasts. "'Because when I fuck someone, I can make them feel

very

good.'" Her tongue snaked out and stirred over one of Megan's very erect, very hard nipples. Even through the cami and the bra, Megan nearly sobbed with pleasure.

She laid there, her hands white-knuckling the sheets, as Olivia closed against her like lava flowing over something, only hotter. Her leg crushed between Megan's thighs. Her teeth pressed into Megan's neck, not breaking the skin but feeling oh-so-delicious.