"Well, baby," I sigh into the mouthpiece, "I miss you too... but no one ever said that these long-distance romances were easy."
I stretch my bare body along the length of my bed, tiger-like, and somehow manage to keep the phone by my ear. The low tone of a frustrated growl comes from your end of the line. You might be hundreds of miles away, but you sound like you're in my bed with me... although that doesn't happen as often as either one of us would like.
I absent-mindedly drag the soft pima cotton sheet across my breasts as I listen to the sound of your goatee rub against the phone. Almost immediately, I catch myself imagining that the sheet is your beard brushing against my heated skin. Even a civil phone conversation with you turns me on.
Your voice vibrates through the phone line, husky and sweet. "Remember our last conversation? I said I just wanted to be alone with you for a week or two? You and me. No phones, no TVs. No nightclubs with the gang or barbecues with the folks, no appearances, no premieres. Some time just for us?"
I close my eyes so that I can better imagine your animated face as you continue preaching to the converted. As if I needed any convincing?!
Your voice is gruff as you continue your train of thought. "I mean it, baby. You've been working way too hard, always on some project or another for weeks on end without a break. That firm of yours has run you ragged, what with all the layoffs and you having to reorganize your group over and over. I'm pretty near fried as well. I'm sorry to say that I'm almost glad the show looks like it's going to get cancelled."
Shocked by your last comment, I gasp, "Oh, sweetie! You don't mean that!"
I hear you sigh over the phone and can see you in my mind's eye, running your fingers through your hair in frustration. Your tone softens when you speak again. "You know I don't really mean it, but the schedule has been nothing less than brutal. It will only get more hectic if the network picks us up for a full season and then more so if they renew us for next season. With more time and money invested in us by the network, we'll have to make every episode better than the last. And add to that, all the press junkets and conventions that the networks will start lining up for us if the buzz about the show accelerates."
There have been times when the low points in your career would worry me. Now I see that I also have to concern myself when your career is doing well. All I want is to see you happy and satisfied with your life and the path you've chosen. "I understand. I realize the show puts a lot of pressure on you, sweetie, both on and off-screen. I have noticed that on the last couple of episodes it looks like you've lost some weight."
Your throaty laugh bursts out across the phone line, giving me a start. "Not you too, baby! Even the fan blogs and gossip websites are saying I've lost weight! They're all crying about how skinny I look and they're convinced that's why I'm always dressed in turtlenecks. Don't they know how cold it is up here in the Great White North?"
Sheepishly, I answer, "Well, you do look a bit thinner."
"Listen to me, one way or the other, the show is on hiatus, maybe permanently. So right now, my main concern is that I miss you. Just a week or so of sleeping late, making love, eating, drinking and talking 'til all hours of the night. How about it? I'm not getting enough of you, maybe that's why I look thinner."
Your whispered tone is serious when you state with finality, "I... need... to... see... you!"
I feel the same way, smiling warmly and aching at the thought of finally getting you all to myself, not having to share you with family, friends, co-stars or fans.
I respond eagerly, "You are so right, babe. How about this coming weekend?"
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Aside from our attempts at maintaining some semblance of a relationship through regular visits, we've dabbled in phone sex. I have to say - if your film career ever hits a serious dry spell, you could certainly make money with your own 1-900 number. I know numerous girlfriends who would gladly hand over some of their hard-earned cash to hear you whisper sweet nothings in their ear. But that's where I draw the line in sharing you... I will share your image on screen, but only because it is your chosen profession.
We have only managed to make this relationship work so far because we never limited our views of what we thought was erotic or sexy. Because face it... you can carry on just about any other aspect of a relationship long-distance. But generally with sex, you usually have to be in the same room... with your significant other... for it to be really good.
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You growl huskily, "Yes, please! This weekend, if not sooner! Besides, I don't think I can take much more of trying to convince my body that my hands are actually your hands touching me. I want the real thing."
I giggle uncontrollably, loving when you get like this. We've had very little quality time together when we visit each other, what with family, social and professional obligations, errands, etc. So we begin plotting a getaway, to satisfy all our lusts, of the mind, of the palate, and... thank you very much... of the body. After all, a gal needs to get laid just as badly as a guy does, no?
I reach over to the nightstand for a pad and pen and begin to jot down our thoughts about where to go. After we resolve a few specifics, I say, "I can take care of all the arrangements in the next couple of days. I'll call you when I've got everything settled."
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We arrange to go to Las Vegas and stay at the Bellagio, where we can eat, gamble, dance, spa, swim, shop or simply stay put in our suite. You fly in from Vancouver early Friday evening and I arrive from the East Coast late Friday afternoon. Staying here will help to avoid anyone tracking us down. Who knows? You just might luck out and not get recognized all that much this week. This is something that's happening less and less with you having recently gone from the big screen to the small one.
I arrive first and check in. The young bellhop escorts me to our suite. It's an absolutely gorgeous series of rooms all done up in delicate shades of cream and gold. The afternoon sunlight entering through the French doors that lead to the balcony makes the entire living room area and all its furnishings glow and shimmer. I finish checking out the rest of the suite and make sure the champagne I ordered for us is chilling nicely. Thanking the bellhop for bringing in my luggage, I tip him and see him out.
I wander over to the intricately carved writing desk and locate some of the richly embossed Bellagio stationery. I jot you a quick note, telling you that you'll find me at the main pool by the cabanas. I place the note on the queen-size bed where I'm certain you'll spot it. I quickly dig through my suitcase for a pair of sandals, my bathing suit and cover-up to change into.
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I've been lounging by the pool for about an hour, leisurely adjusting my sunglasses as I read my book, I Know This Much Is True, by Wally Lamb. You absolutely raved about it when you read it, so I picked it up to read on the plane. Setting the book down beside the chaise, I reach for the icy cold glass that holds my vodka and tonic.
