Authors Note: Well guys, it's only been two years in the making! I first of all have to apologize to anyone who was waiting for a follow up. School, work, faulty computers and life in general all seemed to conspire to get in the way of my writing! But, without further ado, here's chapter 2 of Hurricane! Saturated with my blood sweat and tears! Enjoy it and tell me honestly what you think! Comment! Vote! Subscribe! all that good stuff!
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"Look what this girl done did to me, she done cut me off from her good good love.
she told me that those days were gone.
Now I'm sitting here going half crazy, cuz I know she still thinks about me too.
And it ain't no way in hell, that I can be just friends with you." - Trey Songz
So much had changed in the almost three years since Alejandro Delgadillo moved to Los Angeles. Thinking back, he could actually pinpoint the exact time his life had been altered. It was the moment he stepped off the plane. The airport was way too crowded for his mood at the time, and he found himself glaring angrily at everyone. They were all too happy or else faking it well, with their spray tans, bleached teeth and bleached hair. He longed for things to go back to the way they were before when he and Sean were nothing but happy. Back when all they had was each other and that was more than enough.
He wanted to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball in his hotel room and never leave. Just sleep until he became a new person. He hadn't slept in days and out of sheer exhaustion he almost did on the plane, but that too was thwarted by the loudmouthed couple sitting behind him. They proceeded arguing about any and everything they could think to argue about. At one point they argued about the air-conditioning and who it was blowing on, then they argued about the leg room and whose legs were longer.
The only thing that had him even slightly intrigued was the fact they were speaking in Spanish. And not the American or even south American Spanish, proper Spanish like back home. He found himself becoming nostalgic, and missing his family even though they were partly the reason he was on this plane. So when everyone de-boarded the plane in Los Angeles and he found them at the ticket agent arguing yet again, this time over their connecting flight, he decided to help.
"Alguien que hable Ingles!" the man yelled, clearly frustrated that no one was understanding him.
"Si!" he called to them as he made his way over. Repeatedly he asked himself why he was doing this. He took a good look at the tall and skinny man with thin hair, graying at the temples. His thin tan colored v -neck sweater was carefully rolled up to his elbows, showcasing forearms that looked strong yet he could tell from his cream linen slacks and matching loafers that this was a man who was meticulous about his appearance. Typical of most spanish men he knew. He didn't even bother looking at the woman; after his ordeal in New Orleans he couldn't bring himself to look any woman in the eyes. The only thing he did see was long flowing hair and a backless sundress and turned away.
"Thank you! They're saying we aren't even on the flight list, stupid fuckers! We paid for first class seats! And this is what our money gets us!" the man yelled in Spanish.
Alejandro turned to the ticket agent who was turning redder and redder by the moment.
"I speak perfect Spanish!" she fumed. "I know exactly what they said about me, and I'm about to refuse them both!"
Alejandro took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He was too tired for this.
"Are either of them on your list?" he asked as patiently as he could muster.
"Yes, they both are! I never once said they weren't but they are not in first class! There is no first class with this airline! Everyone flies coach, they're not going to Honduras for vacation or something. They're flying right into La Macabre!"
Alejandro turned his tired, heavy, sleep deprived head and looked at the two spoiled brats and suddenly remembered why he left Barcelona. Because of pompous buffoons like these.
"There is no such thing as a first class, so there's no way you paid for it. Just shut up and take the damn seats they've provided before they too are no longer available to you!"
He turned and walked briskly away. As much as he'd missed speaking in his native tongue, he regretted that conversation immediately. Rich assholes like them had no idea what the world was really like. Looking back, he realized the reason they angered him so much was because they were a mirror image of himself ten years ago. He didn't know why they were flying into Ma Macabre and he didn't care, he just hoped they got the reality check they deserved when they landed.
*******
"Hey!"
Gregory Daniels waved Alejandro over and rose from his seat in the directors chair with a smile.
"Come on over and take a look. What do you think?"
Alejandro took a seat and watched the playback for his last last take. He had to admit; it looked fantastic. He couldn't believe his own eyes; that was him running through all those explosions, narrowly escaping death,and in Ferragamo shoes no less. He didn't know he had the cojones, he never ever dreamed he'd be here. Okay that's a lie, he'd always dreamed he'd be here but never thought that dream would come to fruition.
Now here he was, on the verge of superstardom.
"Its amazing!" Alejandro cried, eyes glued to the tiny screen in front of him.
"Absolutely fantastic!" he said turning to his director who was smiling just as hard as he.
Alejandro slowly eased himself out of the director's chair and walked to his marker. He knew without asking that they were going to try for one more shot. Even though the last one was as near perfection as it probably could get, he knew Greg would want absolute perfection. So he steadied himself, evened out his breathing in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He waited quietly, eyes closed and patiently tried not to think about how he was risking his life for a stunt. He tried not to think about the pre-laid explosions awaiting his heavy footsteps to go off once again and attempted to empty his mind.
It was always then though, in the quietest and calmest moments that she would come to his mind. It was more like she dominated his thoughts at those times. It would start with a single image of her opening her eyes in the morning and smiling at him, or her stretching as she got out of bed and looking over her shoulder at him. He'd see her laughing, dancing, zipping up her black dress, putting on her earrings in the mirror as she looked up at him, slowly sliding off her pumps letting it glide along the arch of her foot until it finally slips from her hands onto the floor, her slowly unzipping her black dress as she walked to him and finally letting it fall to a heap at her feet. All of it was too much. He tried his absolute best to keep her out of his head. He'd usually thwart any and all thoughts of her before they even became one because they'd only lead to self destruction. His life was way too good now, on the verge of becoming something exceptional if he let it. He had no intentions of going back down that well worn path, so he'd close her off and reserve thoughts of her to times of self reflection. Now it was like she consumed him like a flash fire and he was powerless to stop it. He was being ridiculous; it had been nearly three years since that night; nearly three years since he watched her leave. Her suitcases dragging behind her. Nearly three long years since he closed off his heart and vowed to never, ever let another woman have so much of him because there was nothing left over in the end.
He'd begun constructing himself slowly but surely again to try and find the man that flew into New Orleans and try and remember his dreams but that man was gone. A completely different person was what remained and he just had to learn to deal with who he was now. He could still feel her burning in his veins, and he waited for his need for her to subside, for her to fade. She didn't. It was almost like he could smell her now in the desert air, the spicy sweet scent of her.
Something told him to open his eyes and he hesitated, listening to the sounds of the crew setting up the charges for the next shot. He needed to get it together, and stop thinking of her so damn much. Three fucking years? And you still can't stop thinking of her? He thought back to the day in the LAX airport. He just wanted to get to his hotel. He wanted to close out the Californian sun, he wanted to buy a very large bottle of Jack Daniels and not leave until he could form a thought that didn't end in her. A sentence that didn't revolve around her. An anything that didn't have to do with her. He was walking briskly towards the baggage pickup bumping into people here and there; he didn't give a damn. This was her fault! She discarded him like yesterdays news, paid him off, gave him one last piece of ass and disappeared. How could she be so heartless? Like everything they shared together was nothing? And the last little bit about her not wanting to break up his family? She knew! She knew there was no family to break up! His parents cared more about public image than him. And a son who gave up the opportunity to become a very rich business mogul to follow his "dreams" didn't fall into the image they were trying to portray. The relationship was broken long before a hurricane. And long before a fucking voicemail was left.
"Excuse me!"
Alejandro turned to see the man in the tan get up, rushing towards him. Shit! He turned and began to jog away from him. He could honestly only take so much. If he had to go another round with him he was sure he wouldn't be able to contain himself, he'd had his fill of pomposity for the day.
"Wait! Please, just wait a second!"
His hand was now on his shoulder. He was apparently a lot faster than he looked. Alejandro shrugged out of the strange mans touch and turned back to face him. He was smiling a pleading smile and Alejandro let out a defeated breath.
"Yes?" he asked in English.
"This may sound like an absurd question, but are you an actor?"
The first thought that entered his mind is that no one was who they said they were. The confusion must have been written all over his face because he smiled again and put his hand up in explanation.
"I had to be sure it was you, I mean you are Alejandro Montez Delgadillo right?"
His eyes turned to saucers. How the hell did this man know his name? His father? He was obviously from Barcelona, and judging from the Gucci shoes he wore he was apparently not hurting for money.
"Okay before you start thinking up some grand scenario in your head about me, I shall explain all. But first I need a drink."
He began to walk towards the airport bar, realized that Alejandro wasn't following and turned back. He looked at him for a moment like he was going to say something, waved him on instead and disappeared into the bar. Alejandro thought about just checking into his hotel, but his curiosity led him into the hotel bar.
It wasn't until after he gulped down the cheap whiskey and had another one placed in front of him that the strange man who identified himself as Ramón Arroyo, explained that he had been looking for him for a few years and couldn't believe his luck when he just got on the same plane as him. He'd written an entire film with him in mind. It was called Esperanza, and it was about a man who drives across South America to rescue his wife from kidnappers. The film was to be as much about South America as it was about the kidnapping and he planned to both showcase the beauty of the countries as well as the danger. It was perfect for him; he got to get even further away from here, star in a film, and to make it even better, the part was written just for him.
"It looks as if you've made up your mind then," Ramón stated.
He shook his head.
