Page 9 of Bottle Shock
Stuck. Naked. Hiding. In my own damn house. Wonderful.
“So now I’m blacklisted from half the theaters in Chicago becausehecouldn’t wait to shit-talk me. Cool, cool, cool.”
She listens for a beat.
“No, Russel, I’m not going to take a sabbatical. That’s not a thing. You take sabbaticals from stressful office jobs—not acting. You know how this industry works. If I’m not there, working, I’ll be forgotten.”
She pauses. “I—I can’t be forgotten.”
Something about that last part sounds painful for her to admit. Uncharacteristic.
“See what you can get me. Call me the second something pops up.”
They exchange goodbyes and for a brief moment I think she must’ve left because the silence hangs heavy in the air.
But I assumed too quickly because I hear the distinct sound of a woman sighing.
Then a groan.
And footsteps.
Footsteps getting closer.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She’s coming my way. Of all the rooms she could’ve wandered into, it had to be mine.
This is not how I ever pictured her seeing me naked for the first time. There’s something absurdly intimate about it—her seeing me like this when she’s never really seen me at all.
The sharp thud of her shoes echoes off the tile, followed by the creak of the door as it closes behind her.
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m totally fucking fine!”
I bite back a smile. Of course she’s talking to herself.
Then she whistles. “Fancy bathroom for a granola DILF.”
Granola DILF?
What is that? Is that supposed to be me?
She hums to herself as she moves around, clearly making herself comfortable. And apparently in no rush.
A cabinet door opens. Something clinks against the counter. Another sigh.
I can’t stay hidden forever. Not unless I want her to find me when she inevitably rounds the corner.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace myself for the worst, and clear my throat.
Loudly.
Instant silence.
Then—
“Oh myGod!” she shrieks.
There’s a loudcrash—something hits the floorand clatters. Likely one of my glass soap dispensers. Then the scramble of footsteps.
