Skinny Dipping

This story I have been working on involves James Franco, set a few years back, and an original character I have imagined named Eleanor Dureau. Take a peek if you can!

"He learned to love me before I thought it was even possible, as I didn't have a chance to hide and mess it up and while it was a little scary at times, mainly I could not even imagine the world without him there." - Brian Andreas

 

May 2010

I kept my mouth pressed in a perfect, steady smile.

"Ellie! Ellie… Over here!... This way!" The photographers and journalists seemed extra adamant today. As Miranda, Doutzen, Rosie and I posed pristinely in our matching t-shirts and white jeans, I rehearsed answers to questions that had not even been asked of me yet. I was going to avoid speaking as much as I could, but unfortunately it was my job to be here and campaign for Victoria's Secret. Whether or not I had to dodge speaking about my personal relationships was my own problem.

I kept calm, allowing my photograph to be taken and hugging on my three colleagues, blowing the occasional kiss to the blinding, flashing bulbs until finally, I had to surrender to the press. It was time to face the music.

I sauntered pleasantly towards the end of the press line, where a short black woman smiled eagerly up at me. The microphone she held read "EXTRA" in large, bold letters.

"Ellie, you're looking so beautiful this afternoon!"

"Thank you," I responded humbly, tilting my head towards the cameraman behind her. My dark, loose curls fell over my shoulder.

"Can you tell us a little about the event today?" She held the microphone to my lips, having to reach up slightly to match my height.

"Well, today the girls and I are sharing our shopping secrets and giving tips on how to shop like a supermodel. We're promoting the Bombshell bra today, which is such an amazing bra. It has so much support and adds two whole cup sizes. And who wouldn't want that, right?"

I continued down the line. One by one, I kept my interviews as vague as possible. Victoria's Secret was why I was here, not my boyfriend. And with what I thought was a huge stroke of luck, no one had probed me with questions about James.

That is, until I reached Giuliana Rancic.

She gave me a knowing smile, and I pulled her in for a hug.

"How have you been?" I asked casually.

"I'm great, Ellie - and you look great, girl!"

I gave a faux-curtsy, then pointed at my chest. "It's this Bombshell bra!"

Giuliana laughed, holding the famous E! News microphone to my face. "I'm sure James likes the look of this one, huh?"

I laughed, tossing my head back. "He likes anything I wear, really. He's not a picky guy when it comes to that."

In truth, it really was funny. After eight years I still got nervous when questions arose about James - and after eight years they were always the same, stupid ones. Does he like the underwear you buy? How does he handle dating a supermodel? What's the sexiest thing about him?

"Is he going to join you at the event tonight?" Giuliana asked, and I nodded.

"Yes, he'll be there."

I just hoped he really would be.

***

I tried to turn back to James quickly, but my reflexes were almost gone. And the sharp motion was too much for the drunken stupor I'd fallen in. Darkness filled me, filled my body and my mind, and I was falling. I fell forever into the black of absolute night. And then, mercifully, I slept until I forgot.

 

I hurried back toward our apartment, feeling as if I'd been away from it for years. The night before seemed like something from my distant childhood, barely remembered. But I knew that today there would be its consequence to face.

The night before I'd had to face James. My boyfriend had been terribly upset when a good friend of ours asked if he and I had broken off our relationship, and even more upset that I didn't seem to find that odd. By the time I had arrived home at nearly two in the morning, he had been frantic with paranoia.

I hadn't been able to comfort him. I could only say that it was no big deal, that he was over-thinking the question, and that I knew it probably bothered him to be asked that. All the rest, everything else that was said between us after that, I couldn't recall. Even if I hadn't been drunk, I wouldn't have been able to see what was going to happen coming.

I hadn't slept in, instead sneaking out of the house before I had to face James to grab a big, greasy breakfast and  coffee alone. The streets in West Hollywood seemed oddly deserted as I hurried on toward home in my black Mercedes coupe. Overhead, the sky was gray and dull. I wondered what James was doing. All night, while I'd been sleeping so heavily, he never came to bed. I woke up alone.

A quiver of anger went through me as I thought of how many times that had happened recently. But what was I supposed to do? I couldn't shame James for being the way he was. He was programmed to be non-stop.

All I knew was that I needed to see him, to hear his voice, to feel his arms around me. The possibility he was angry at me was like I was about to be shed of my own flesh. I knew what it felt like to be on the wrong side of James Franco.

I walked up the steps to our front door and into the seemingly empty house. I headed towards James' office, because I knew that he spent most of his mornings there when we were home.

But he wasn't in the office. Through the open door, I saw his empty chair behind his oversized wooden desk.

I turned away from the door mechanically. Like an automaton, I climbed the stairs and walked to our bedroom. As I opened the door, I saw James' face turn toward me from where he stood shirtless at the dresser. I slipped slowly into the room.

James stared at me for a moment, then continued shuffling through his t-shirt drawer. When he had turned back to the dresser, I stared at his mass of curly, disheveled hair.

"I don't know what happened last night," I said stupidly. I felt as if the very air around me was smothering me, as if there was a crushing weight all around me. My mouth felt dry and hot. "James, is anything wrong?"

"You mean what's wrong with me?"James turned around as he pulled on plain a navy t-shirt. Once he had it over his head, he tugged it around his waist rather forcibly. His eyes were staring wide at me, and I felt like I was deep, deep under water without a pressure suit.

"I didn't… I mean, I was just making sure we didn't get in a fight last night," I said, forcing the words out.

"Ellie, I wasn't the one fighting. You were drunk and picking the fight. I slept on the couch and by the time I came up here early this morning, you were gone. I almost wondered if you were waking up to skip town."

"That's not true," I said, though conscious-stricken. James raised an eyebrow, and my cheeks flushed red. "I'm sorry, babe."

"I know you are, Ellie." His voice was cold. His stare dulled, and he was opening his mouth again. I shook my head suddenly, looking at him without really seeing.

"God help me, I'm always the wrong one, James," I said, then whirled and made for the door.

"Ellie, seriously? Eleanor!" I could hear him calling after me as I bound down the hallway and back down the curved staircase to our foyer, my mind fixed on one thing.

James thought I was going to leave. Good. He could waste a few minutes stressing about what to do now. Then he'd know how I had been feeling on an almost-daily basis.

I walked out the back door, plunging into the murky, summer air. I moved quickly, my long, lithe legs eating up the distance between the porch and the pool.

The conflagration in my heart was searing hot and burning. I knew now what a towering rage meant. I looked around me with feverish eyes.

Above, the clouds were flowing along like a lead-gray river. The limbs of the oaks and beeches in our backyard lashed together wildly. A gust threw handfuls of leaves past me and into the clear-blue water of the swimming pool. It was as if the sky were trying to drive me out, as if it were showing me its power, gathering itself to drive me back inside to James.

I ignored all of it. I tore off my tank top, then pulled my denim shorts down before kicking them to the side. I was completely nude when I dove headfirst into the water.

"Eleanor!"

Icy water stung my skin. Oak leaves that had been floating at the top of the pool swarmed around my body.

"Ellie!"

James was pissed.

"Ellie, get out!" he shouted.

My face reached the surface and I opened my eyes. Above me, the sky was gray as glass, and James stood at the edge of the pool. I felt rage and frustration still stinging my throat. I'd been wrong. James knew me too well; he knew I wouldn't have left.

He crouched down, close enough to where I was treading water that I could see the faint lines around his dark eyes.

I swam back a couple of feet before I could stop myself. Every instinct that had lain quiet while he had shouted my name was now begging me to sink back underwater.

If I could've clenched my fists, I would have. "I can't swim in my own pool?"

A line appeared between James' dark eyebrows. "Your pool?"

I swam forward and splashed him, soaking his face and shirt.

I had no thought of doing it before I did it, and afterward I could scarcely believe what I had done. But it was as good as a hard slap, with the full force of my rage behind it, and it forced James back to his feet. I stared up at him, trying to calm my breath, and waited.

He lifted his arm to wipe his face, fanned out his shirt without a word, then slowly looked back down at me. I saw blood rising in his face.

"Don't, James," I said, my voice shaking. "Don't hold a drunken argument against me. I know how you are."

"You do?"

"You know I do!"

James smiled and then turned it off instantly.

"James, seriously. I love you -"

"Then what?" he said. "What's wrong with you, Ellie? Why are you acting like you don't know why I'm ***** aggravated?"

I fell silent. For the first time, I realized that the wind had died away. The day had gone deadly quiet around us, as if we were motionless at the center of the universe. James stood with his head tilted down slightly, his eyes fathomless and full of question.

"I don't know," I whispered, "but I'm sorry."

He frowned, and my heart jerked and began pounding hard. God, he was beautiful. Handsome was too weak and colorless a word. As usual, his frown lasted a long moment, but even when his lips leveled it left traces in his eyes.

"It's okay," he said dimly, looking around the yard. Then he turned back and held down a hand to me. "You're lucky you're naked," he said lightly.

I thought of slapping the hand away, but instead I raised mine out of the water and held it, trying to lighten the mood. "Get in here."

"Later, possibly - for a price." He withdrew his hand.

I stared at him, not understanding, not liking him denying my invitation.

"You owe me, Ellie." Suddenly, he leaned down again, close, his eyes fixed on mine, his voice soft and urgent. "You've tried to tip-toe around this conversation, and nothing has satisfied you. You're the woman I've given everything to, but there's something bothering you and I don't know how to fix it-"

"Stop!" I did understand then, and a knot rose in my throat.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why not talk to me about it, Ellie? Isn't there a part of you that wants to?" His dark eyes were full of heat and intensity that held me transfixed, unable to look away. "You can confront me about it. Nail me with it - I can take it."

"No," I said, wrenching my eyes away from his. I sunk back underwater. I wouldn't look at him, wouldn't let him do this to me. I wouldn't let him make me think about it… make me remember…

He called my name. His voice caressed my ears just as I reached the surface again. "I just want us to be happy again."

I wouldn't let him make me remember…

"I'm not going to let this drive us apart."

But I wanted to drive this out of my mind. The memory of the baby, of being pregnant and the sadness that had been following James and I since I miscarried just a handful of weeks earlier. But nothing James could say to me would fix it, not after what we had been experiencing as of late. I looked straight up at him.

"I'm fine," I said brutally. "And we don't have to talk about this in order for us to be happy."

An awkward stillness swept through the air between us. Looking into James' eyes, it was as if we were strangers.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked slowly.

I was panicked now. I couldn't help it, not with the cold of the water swarming me, chilling my bones. The wind was picking up again, the branches of the trees tossing. "I don't want to do this right now, James."

"At this moment? Or never? Can't you think about what I want to do for an instant?"

 "No!"

I shuddered, shocked at my own selfish outburst.

"And that's your final answer? Be very sure, Ellie. The fact our relationship is dead is nothing to laugh about."

"I am sure that I don't want to talk about this right now." I had to stop him before another argument arose. "You can't get mad at me, James, or haven't you noticed? The moment we start to discuss… what happened… a fight erupts. I hate this. And there's nothing we can do to fix it."

James' face altered, becoming solemnly hard. He shook his head, on and on. "Nothing?" he said. "I would do anything for you, because I love you. You have no idea, Ellie, how much I love you."

He stood up and stepped back, and the wind cut my wet skin like a knife. My vision seemed to be blurring; tears welled in my eyes.

"You need to get out of there before it starts storming," he said.

My tears were practically blinding me, and I could barely see the outline of his figure. I waded to the steps of the pool, hugging myself with my arms, head bent down, my whole body shaking as I stepped out of the water. I whispered, "James -"

"I've got you," James' voice came back, and he was instantly wrapping me up in the warmth of a towel. My head jerked up, but there was nothing to see, only the skin of his neck as he held me into him. My tears burned my cheeks and clogged my eyelashes. It was only then, as he walked me slowly towards the back porch, that I realized it was already raining on the two of us.

It was raining in California. Overhead, the sun was gone.

 

An unnatural fog hung over the abandoned yard as I peered out the glass French door. It wasn't raining hard, but the wind was getting worse. Tears blurred my eyes, and the soaking wet towel I clung to felt as if I'd stepped out of a current of frozen ice water. Nevertheless, stubbornly, I did not turn around to James and the bed beyond him. As best I could judge, he was waiting for me to speak.

By the time he crossed the room to close the distance between us, my shivering had become painful. His warm arms wrapped around me lithely, crumpling me as if I were made of tissue paper, and took my breath away.

As I sank back into him, I suddenly realized how silly I had been to go out and try to avoid James even more. He would always come to me. All I needed was to be here.

I shut my eyes and leaned my head back onto his shoulder. I felt much warmer. My mind drifted and when my eyes opened, I saw James staring intently at me. His arms around me were strong and secure, and I relaxed against him, glad to let go of fear and tension. I was home. I was where I belonged. James would never let me keep hurting.

But then, instead of holding me so firmly, James turned me towards him. I saw his urgent face, his dark eyes filled with pain. I wanted to wipe his expression away, but I couldn't. "Look at me," he said, and though I already was, I felt the compelling force of his dark eyes not allowing me to look elsewhere. "I love you."

Without so much as a fleeting second passing, I whispered, "I love you, too."

Like he'd swept me up in an incantation of calmness,  James kissed me, and I gave in to the kiss because in truth, it was the first kiss we had shared like that in several weeks. It was a kiss that held actual meaning, that filled up every crevice of emptiness I may have had in my heart and mind about James and I's relationship.

I felt the heat rising in my skin and lifted my hands to James' unshaven face, and he kissed me once, twice, then three times more.

"You're my girl," he said, before moving his lips to my bare neck, then collarbone.

"James?" I breathed, and I felt his warm hands squeeze my waist gently.

"And that -" said James, ignoring me, his lips still pressed to my skin, "is why we have to fix this."

So it was. I was his. And James Franco never half-assed anything. Patched, frayed, and dirty, our relationship had been stagnant and trampled all over - and now it was time to pick up the pieces.

James began to kiss me again. He kissed me so hard that it were as if ten of him were kissing me at once.

He lifted his hands to the back of my neck, around my wet hair. I pressed myself closer into him, the towel tied around my body barely hanging on.

"Do you still feel safe with me?" he murmured against my mouth.

I didn't answer. I was thinking fast, and it looked bad, all right… but the longer James stood there with me, the more color was rising back into my face… and in the meantime, I noticed, his eyes were becoming wider, more speculative… If it had to be an uncomfortable conversation between us, better sooner than even later.

"I don't know why I've been like this since I got pregnant," I said abruptly before I could stop myself. "I don't know why a six-week pregnancy that was basically over before we even knew about it is killing me, James."

James' face was blank until he forced a small grin; it was overshadowed with sorrow. "That's all I wanted to know."

I stood, tense, waiting for him to say something else. But he was blank again.

Author's Note

Please tell me if you read it and like it!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The story is very good. I like the way you make the story seem real and personal by using real objects and situation. I like the situation you create and the internal thoughts. I was held to the last word by the story. I like the surprise ending. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Anna Blackburn]

This was a beautiful story. I love the cliffhanger! I felt as if I was there with the characters. It reads as if it were a published story for all to read. There was a couple of mistakes such as: "He kissed me so hard that it were..." might say 'was' instead; that makes more sense to me.