The tall, beautiful brunette passes a small group of women gathered twenty feet from where Keanu stands in the baggage claim section of LAX.
"Oh my God, " mumbles one, wearing a name tag and dressed in cafeteria garb, "Do you know who that is?"
"You're super cute!" Calls a younger, braver woman with a blonde bob and black tights under her jean shorts.
The brunette continues past them, straight for Keanu, who is reaching down to pull a large duffel bag off of the carousel. A tin is tucked underneath his other arm. His back is turned as she nears, and the crowd of women gasp when she lays her hand on his shoulder.
"If that isn't a Black Forest brownie, then you better turn your butt around and get back on a plane to London."
Setting the duffel bag down, he turns around with a lopsided grin. "You're gonna have to wrestle me for it," he challenges, wiggling his eyebrows.
She wraps her long arms around his neck.
He lifts her and spins her around in a circle before setting her down with a kiss on her cheek.
"Thanks for coming to get me, Kim."
"You kidding? I'm planning to use this for every bit of favors I can wring out of it. Lemme look at you," she lays a hand aside his cheek before reaching for the tin. "Now give me that brownie!"
He holds it just above her reach. "Ah ah ah, we're going halfsies with this one, got it?"
Back at the Chateau Marmont, Kim pulls up a chair to the small table in his hotel room. Two plastic forks sit atop two paper plates, half of a heavily frosted brownie dotted with maraschino cherries on each.
"Omahgawd this is amazing. Just like when we were kids." Her eyes roll to the back of her head.
He watches her go for another forkful of chocolate utopia. Pausing mid-chew, his eyes narrow as though he is straining to pick out the smallest letter on an eye chart. He reaches for his sister's hand and brings it up within a few inches of his face. With his finger, he circles a blue-green area on the back of her hand a couple of inches in diameter.
"That's an ugly mark. Bar fight?" he winks.
With another swallow, she licks frosting from her lips. "I honestly don't remember," she shrugs. "How was your trip?"
"It was...fulfilling."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
It's been three days and Sandra still hasn't heard from him. Three days since he'd returned from Europe. Three days of waiting not-so-patiently.
"You know, you could call him," Gesine suggests while watching Sandra scrub the kitchen sink with a toothbrush.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Gez."
Ding-Dong.
Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong.
"Alright alright alright, I'm coming. Geez."
Sandra opens the door to find Samantha, Jennifer and Brianne, her three closest friends, on the doorstep. Each one is carrying a six-pack.
"SAN-DY!!!!" they scream, surrounding her with squeals and hugs.
After a catchup period talking about their lives, their jobs, and their loves, the conversation turns to Sandra.
"Guess what I brought with....?" Samantha hunches over a small backpack as though she has the holy grail inside. The women crowd around her as she pulls out a small, rectangular item. On it is a picture of Keanu with Sandra's name emblazoned in block letters along the top.
Their screams bounce off the walls of her cottage again, her friends jumping up and down, leaving Sandra with a forced smile. They pile onto the couch with Gesine in the reclining chair and pop the tape into the VCR, annotating as the movie progresses.
"Sandy, you don't smoke! Did they make you actually smoke that?"
"Well this beats Little Shop of Horror in high school. I guess..."
"You're going to remember us now that you're big time, right? Take us to all your premieres and introduce us to all your hot co-stars?"
For all its juvenile nature, Gesine notes, it is working. Sandra looks more like her usual self than she had since she'd returned from Europe. She wonders if she'd shared with her friends how close she's gotten with Keanu.
Onscreen, the final scene starts:
*Jack: I have to warn you. I've heard relationships based on intense experiences never work.
*Sandra: Okay. We'll have to base it on sex then.
*Jack: Whatever you say, ma'am.
"He can call me ma'am anytime!"
"Seriously Sandy?!? Seriously. This is what you get paid to do. Seriously."
Suddenly, Samantha interrupts them all. "THAT'S it! That's it right there!"
The rest of them mumble in surprise as Samantha pauses the tape, then rewinds it. She hits play again, but this time in slow motion. Standing, she runs up to the television screen and slaps Keanu's face right after his last line.
**"THAT look. That look right there! That's the look I want for every kiss I have for the rest of my life. Omigod, did you see it? We're playing it again."
The oohs and ahhs morph into more squeals and screams as Samantha launches into a continual cycle of play-pause-rewind-replay. Over and over they watch as Keanu's face melts before their lips touch.
Sandra's eyes dart to Gesine, who is giving her the look that she only has to say the word and Gesine will usher the whole group out of the house. She almost takes her up on it until Brianne pulls them into a huddle to talk about the time she ran into Dennis Hopper at a bar, a story she had kept from them all until right now. In that moment, as Brianne regals them with the worst of Dennis' pick-up lines, the pressure is off of Sandra. She relaxes, relieved to be moving on to something else, and enjoys her friends well into the evening hours before collapsing into bed.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
"BOOM!" A mechanical voice calls through a megaphone. "The subway car just crashed through the sign on the street."
She can feel the clench of his taut stomach through her thin, tank top material as he pulls her directly on top of him. The hot set lighting burns her shoulders, but it feels like ice compared to the burning low in her stomach.
"Close your eyes when you kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him."
The sound of Jan's voice turns to an echo and the subway car spins in circles, leaving her dizzy. She lay on top of him, one large hand across her waist and the other into her hair, every inch of him solid beneath her.
He is all man — strong, hot, exquisite.
With peripheral vision she watches the crew move backwards: one step, two steps, three, until they grow blurry, then transparent.
He looks at her with so tender a gaze that she can't bare it, dropping her own to his Adam's apple. His eyes trace hers wherever they go, urging to lock again until she has no choice but to fall into them. His hand is now cupping her face, his thumb running along her lower lip. He looks at her like a man stranded on a deserted island who finally sees a woman for the first time, like someone dying of thirst who is handed a tall, cool glass of water. His cheeks soften, his eyebrows inch together, and then his slow, sensual lips are on hers. He pulls her closer, his kiss growing hard, then soft, then hard again until she parts her lips, deepening the kiss.
He pulls away, staring at her with an animal's hunger. His hand draws from the base of her skull slowly down the length of her spine, so soft that it brought a chill. Running his middle finger along the hem of her tank, it breaches the material, his rough fingertips tickling her skin.
A broken gasp escapes her.
He presses his mouth onto hers again, at the same time pressing his fingers up her back, dragging the top along until he settles on the clasp of her bra.
Clip.
The sound of him releasing the hooks of her satin is subtle but distinct. She whimpers as his palm moves to the place her cup once lay.
The subway car starts to vibrate, the violent shaking digging deep into her bones.
Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting.
With a sharp intake of breath, Sandra pushes herself up from her mattress, looking for the source of the noise. At the foot of her bed is Baxter, scratching his ear with all his strength, jingling the tags on his collar. She sits upright, her chest heaving from the realization that she was not on the subway car.
It was all a dream.
She digs her fingertips into her forehead.
Baxter, having satisfied his itch, readjusts his position with a flop, shaking the bed, lying his big head on top of her thighs.
She gives him a few pats before lying back, eyes wide open.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
"You haven't told them, have you?" Gesine asks the next day.
Sandra cringes.
Gesine had spent the day with Raymond and Sandra was relieved to not have to relive any part of the previous evening all day. Now she is cornered in the kitchen, putting away dishes, and she can tell by Gesine's tone and posture that she is not going anywhere.
"Why haven't you told them?" she repeats.
"Tell them what? There's nothing to tell."
Sandra whips the utensil drawer open and aggressively tosses each knife, spoon and fork into the separate bamboo boxes. She doesn't dare look, but it doesn't matter. She can feel Gesine standing over her, hands on her hips, reeking of attitude.
"You are impossible!" Gesine throws her hands into the air in exasperation. "Nothing to tell? You don't think doing the horizontal tango with your hot SWAT officer is 'something' to tell?!?"
"Horizontal tang—gross, Gesine. Gross. And I never said anything about that much happening."
Sandra marches herself out of the kitchen and flops down on her couch. Remote in hand, she turns on her television and flips it to AMC. On the screen, Ingrid Bergman is having a walk with Gregory Peck in Spellbound.
*Constance: I think the greatest harm done to the human race has been done by the poets.
*John: Oh poets are dull boys, most of them. But they're not especially fiendish.
*Constance: But they keep filling people's heads with delusions about love. Writing about it as if it were a symphony orchestra, or a flight of angels.
"Preach it, sister!" Sandra calls from the couch.
Gesine sits next to her, sitting on one foot. "I ordered the pizza. It'll be here in an hour. Oh, and, you're deflecting again."
"No, I'm getting my Ingrid Bergman on. Wise woman right there."
"I wouldn't call her the bastion of knowledge on love and relationships," Gesine muses.
"What are you talking about? She was married."
"Three times. And didn't she hook up with every co-star she had?" Gesine strokes her chin and cocks one eyebrow. "On second thought, I can see why you feel connected."
FWAP!
The couch pillow hit Gesine square in the face. Jaw dropped, she glares at her sister.
"Shhhhh," Sandra purses her lips against her finger. "Ingrid is speaking."
*John: Which it isn't, eh?
*Constance: Of course not! People fall in love, as they put it, because they respond to a certain hair color or vocal tones or mannerisms that remind them of their parents.
Turning to her sister, Sandra waves one hand toward the television to emphasize Ingrid's wisdom.
*John: Or sometimes, for no reason at all.
"Ahem," Gesine catches her sister's attention, then returns the gesture.
Sandra holds her hand up, blocking Gesine's know-it-all look with her talk-to-the-hand motion, eyes glued to the screen.
*John: I know why you came here.
*Constance: Why?
*John: Because something has happened to us.
*Constance: But it hasn't happened like that, in a day.
*John: It happens in a moment sometimes. I felt it this afternoon. It was like a lightning strike. It strikes rarely.
"You haven't spoken a word about your trip, either, Sandy. It's not like you. What happened in Paris?"
"Nothing. Work stuff." Sandra props her bare foot up on the coffee table and rummages through a pink and turquoise plastic caboodle full of various nail products, the soft clink of glass polish bottles drowned out by the ominous tones from the Hitchcock film. She pulls out a shade labeled "Twilight" and sets it on the table.
Dr. Brulov: My dear girl, you cannot keep bumping your head against reality and saying it's not there.
Gesine rolls her eyes. "You have a tell."
"A what?" Sandra douses a cotton ball with fingernail polish remover and rubs at the flaked color on her big toe.
"A tell. You have a tell."
"Oh yeah? What's that, Dr. Bullock?" Sandra mocks.
"You obsessively repaint your nails whenever you're getting some. It's like some weird grooming ritual." Gesine grins, proud of herself.
Sandra scoffs, spilling some of the polish onto the tip of her toe. Her big toe is now separated into halves by a black line. She begins to fill in the rest of the nail, but is interrupted by the sound of a loud motor. Shoving the small brush into the bottle, she rises and unlocks the door without looking out the window or waiting for the doorbell to ring.
"That better have extra cheese on it or no tip!" she chides the would-be pizza delivery person as she opens the door. Taking one look, she sharply draws her breath and slams the door shut, leaning her back against it as if she could somehow push the figure off the porch. And back to Europe.
"What are you doing?" Gesine asks, confused when Sandra stares at her with bulging eyes.
She chews on her upper lip for a moment then exhales, whipping the door open again with such fury her hair blew from the pressure.
"Keanu! Hi. What are, what're you doing here?" She smoothes her wispy hair down, acting as though she hadn't just slammed the door in his face.
His chuckle unnerves her.
She glances at his hands: in one he holds a green bottle with gold foil and label. The other is filled with roses and a thin box wrapped in red cellophane.
***"I thought you might like to try champagne and truffles," he offers with a sheepish grin. "And these," he brings the bright petals to his nose and inhales, "well, they just reminded me of you."
In a flash, she can feel him pushing the hair behind her ear, the soft touch of his lips across her neck.
"You smell like roses today."
She strokes the trail on her neck left by his touch in that green room in Paris.
Suddenly aware of the heat emanating off her flushed skin, she clumsily waves money in the air. "I, uh, you're not pizza," she ends her explanation with a high-pitched laugh. Christ! she closes her eyes in disbelief, cash covering her mouth.
She couldn't remember the last time anyone had brought her flowers.
His brown suede jacket, black beanie, and weathered jeans provide an earthy background to the shades of the petals ranging from blood red to fiery orange. It is the perfect mixture of open and closed blossoms, cushioned by white baby's breath.
"Come in," she invites. Laying her palm against her cheek as he walks past, she can feel the heat rising off her flushed skin.
He walks into the kitchen, setting the champagne on the island. Turning toward her to hand her the bouquet, he stops, his eyes moving from her bare feet, up her stone-washed denim, to her white, knit top. "Pfffffeh," the air whistles as it escapes his mouth, taking her in. With a small tremor, he jumps back into awareness. "Uh, these are for you," he extends his arm with the flowers.
"Yeah, you mentioned that," she grabs the stems, taking in the scent. "Come in! Gesine is in the living room and you know she'll be ticked off if you don't go say hi."
He disappears and she pulls a black vase out of her pantry, carefully snipping the edge off of each stem before placing them in water. Alone, she steels herself against the island and takes a few breaths, reminding herself of her perfect plan she'd insisted on in London.
She could feel the waist of her pants pulling away from her stomach when he hooked his fingers into her belt loops. She could feel the cold breeze of airport air-conditioning cause goosebumps to form. And she could feel her resolve slipping with his hot breath in her ear as he told her he was thinking of her lips.
"This can't go on. When we get back to the states, this can't go on. I need some time. I need you to give me some time. This can't be public. Not yet."
She knew it bothered him when she asked for time, but her soul was not prepared to crash and burn when his transient interest in his romantic co-star finally waned, as she knew it would. There was more and more talk of a sequel, and her name was not as strong as his yet so she needed to play her cards right. She needed to be sure her head was screwed on straight, that her brain spoke louder than her heart. So she repeated her demand, and he finally agreed.
Nothing to do now but go along with the plan, she commands herself, leaving the vase on the island and walking into the living room where he is waiting, where she will have to solidify her lines, convince him she is ready to put her money where her mouth is.
She finds him on the couch, chatting with Gesine, giving her that same attention to her words that will drive any woman crazy.
He senses her presence and stands, which makes her laugh at the formality.
She shakes her head and pats the air, encouraging him to sit. Still he remains upright until she finally joins him, one foot under her and the other on the floor. The fresh scent of leather and soap fills her, sending a shockwave of memories down to her core.
It'll be fine, I just need to stick to the plan.
What she really wants to do, though, is rip that beanie off his head and grab fistfuls of that black, silky hair. She wants to know what his lips taste like today. She wants the length of his body on top of hers...
Just. Stick with the plan.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
*Quotes from Speed and Spellbound
**Really happened, Sandra gathered with friends and they gushed over the look he gave her before they kiss, exact details & friend names are fiction.
***Really happened, recently revealed by Sandra in interviews.