Chapter 17: A Momentary Lapse of Reason

Chicago, Illinois

October 20, 1995

Greg Oldfellow was well on his way to intoxication when the plane touched down at Chicago Midway at 4:33 PM, Central Time. Ordinarily he did not drink so much on airplane flights, particularly not when he had a film premier to attend later in the evening, even more particularly not when the premier in question was a film in which he was the star and all of the attention would be on him. But Mindy Snow had sat next to him on the chartered aircraft for this particular flight and Mindy had been in the mood to drink. Greg couldn’t really let her drink alone, could he? That would be uncouth.

It started with bloody Marys shortly after takeoff and then progressed to scotch on the rocks by the time they were cruising over the four corners region. No one expressed any sort of disapproval at the antics of the two stars. Neither Johnny nor Georgette, Greg and Mindy’s respective agents, were on the flight, and the director, the producer, and most of the supporting actors along for the ride were enjoying the festive atmosphere as well. Why not? The film had received solid reviews across the board so far and was already being discussed as a sure Oscar winner. And, though the official release of the project in theaters was not until the following Friday, it was projected to be a blockbuster, perhaps in line to break the highest grossing opening weekend of all time.

For the flight, Mindy had dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a burgundy sweater that showed the shape and outline of her magnificent breasts quite well. Greg was distracted by the sight of them bouncing about as Mindy moved back and forth in her seat, or as the airplane bumped a little in the moderately frequent turbulence. And Mindy was being more than a little flirtatious as well. Nothing gauche or risqué, but she did make a point to touch his hand or his arm whenever the opportunity presented itself, to laugh and smile at his words whenever it could be justified. It was a subtle flirtation, very much like what she had employed during the days and nights when they filmed the sex scenes for the project. It made Greg a little nervous at first, but after the second scotch on the rocks, the wariness was effectively buried, leaving only the sense of feeling flattered by her attention.

Limousines took everyone to the same hotel they had stayed in during the filming. Greg and Mindy each had their own suites on the top floor, right next to each other. It was well past five o’clock by the time they were checked in and they needed to be downstairs for limo pickup at 6:30 so they could make it to the Roughhouse Theatre in old Chicago by 7:00 to make their entrance. This did not leave them all that much time to get ready. Locally hired hairstylists were already waiting for them in their suites when they arrived.

Greg quickly showered and then put on a hotel robe over his underwear and socks. He then sat in the chair in front of the mirror while a flamboyantly gay stylist named Rory teased and combed his hair and then sprayed it with a half a can of hairspray to keep it in place, all the while talking about how fabulous he thought Greg was.

Greg tipped him a hundred dollars and then shooed him out the door. He then put on his freshly cleaned and pressed tuxedo, making sure everything was just so on it. By the time he was done with this, it was only 6:10. His buzz was fading, and he knew if he did not refresh it, he would begin to feel sleepy. So, he mixed himself a potent scotch and soda at the minibar and began to sip at it.

At 6:25 there was a knock on his door. He opened it and there was Mindy. Greg’s eyes widened as he took a good look at her. Her dress was a light shade of pink, falling well below her knees and covering her arms and shoulders to protect her from the chilly Chicago night air. But it was hardly a conservative frock. It was form fitting, hugging her body tightly and outlining her feminine curves very nicely. And it had a huge V-neck that dipped down nearly to her navel, allowing her breasts to practically spill out of it. Greg thought that if she moved in the right manner, one or the other of her areola, if not her actual nipples, would become momentarily visible.

“What do you think?” she asked him, giving a little pirouette.

“Wow,” he said, looking her up and down. “It’s very uh ... you know...”

“Sexy?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Very sexy.”

“You think I’ll turn a few heads then?”

“I don’t think anyone is going to be paying attention to the film once they see you in that,” he suggested.

She giggled and then entered his room, uninvited. She looked at the drink in his hand. “Oh good,” she said. “You’re keeping up with me. I had a whiskey sour while I was getting my makeup done. Still feeling good.”

“It seemed the appropriate thing to do,” Greg said.

“We still got five minutes,” she said. “Let’s do a shot.”

“A shot?” he asked, not quite sure what she was referring to. The first thing that came to mind was some sort of illicit drug use that involved a needle; the sort of thing that Jake’s previous bass player, Darren had been into.

“Yeah,” she said. “You know? A shooter? My bar had some Patron in it.”

Understanding washed over him. “A shooter?” he asked, appalled. “I’m sorry. I do not do ‘shooters’ like a kid in a public high school raiding his father’s bar.”

“Don’t be a prude,” she said, walking over to the bar. “Patron is the good shit.” She looked the shelves over until she found a squat bottle of clear liquid. She pulled it down and set it on the bar. “Here we go. One for the road, Greggie. Let’s do it.”

“I think not,” he said.

“I’m not going downstairs until you do a shot with me,” she warned. “You might as well get it over with.”

He sighed. He suspected she was not being serious, but it seemed the path of least resistance was to just do what she wanted. “Very well,” he said. “Set us up—I believe that is the proper terminology, right?”

“Right,” she said, smiling at him. She pulled two shot glasses out of the holder and set them on the bar. She then opened the Patron bottle and poured both of them full. “You’re going to like this shit. You don’t even need salt or a lime to go with it.”

“Wonderful,” he said. He walked over and picked up the shot glass closest to him. It was so full that a little of the liquid dribbled down onto his finger. He raised the glass in a salute. “To Us and Them,” he toasted.

“Us and Them,” she repeated. She put the glass to her lips and made the liquid disappear.

Greg drank down the shot. It was not as bad as he had been expecting. Patron was tequila, he discovered, but it was smooth tequila, not raunchy-tasting like what he had had in the past. The shot warmed him all the way down and he felt it going almost immediately to his head.

“Not bad, huh?” Mindy asked.

“Not bad at all,” he had to agree. “Though the ritual is a bit adolescent, wouldn’t you say?”

She reached up and caressed his cheek for a moment, her smile widening. “Sometimes adolescents have the right idea,” she told him. “Come on. Let’s get down there.”

“Right,” he said, feeling himself flush a little at her touch. “The limo should be here any time.”

They rode downstairs together in the elevator. In the lobby, they found the group they would be riding to the premier with: Jerry Lancing, the producer of Us and Them; Frank Graham, the head of production for Merrimack Studios; and Georgie Fletcher, the director. All were wearing custom-fit tuxedos and in a festive mood.

The five of them climbed into their limousine, settling into the comfortable seats.

“Drinks!” Mindy yelled before they even left the valet area. “Let’s get some booze flowing here!”

Nobody was in disagreement with this suggestion, so Greg opened a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt scotch. He poured everyone a healthy shot in the glasses provided by the limo service and passed them around. “To Us and Them!” he toasted for the second time that night.

“Us and Them!” everyone repeated.

They put away two glasses of Glenfiddich apiece on the trip to the 1930s era theater in old Chicago. There, they emerged into the sea of flashbulbs and video camera lights as the media and the paparazzi captured their images. Surrounding the media and the paparazzi were more than the usual amount of uniformed Chicago police officers. Many were providing security for the event; but some were invited guests. The project, after all, was about them and had been filmed with their cooperation and input. It would have been quite rude not to invite some of them to the premier that took place in their own city.

Greg and Mindy made their way inside the spacious lobby of the Roughhouse Theatre. The obligatory velvet ropes led inside and then ended. Three bars had been set up and the tuxedoed bartenders were already on standby. Champagne girls in short skirts were starting to circulate with trays of Dom Perignon in crystal glasses. The appetizer tables were all set up with steaming trays of hors d’oeuvres and other snacks. The two starring actors were supposed to set up at the end of the velvet ropes and greet each guest as he and/or she entered. But first, Mindy dragged Greg over to the nearest bar so they could get another drink.

“I think I’d better slow down on the alcohol a bit,” Greg whispered to her. “I’m starting to feel kind of drunk.”

“Isn’t that the point of drinking?” she asked him.

“Well ... yes, but this is a very public event. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself.”

“You’re an actor,” she told him. “Just act sober.”

He thought this over for a moment and decided it made sense.

The other members of the cast and crew of the project entered the building, coming in between the velvet ropes in pairs, triples, a few foursomes. Greg and Mindy greeted each of them by name, shaking hands or sharing hugs with each and every one. And then the other special guests began to filter in. The Superintendent of Police of Chicago PD and his wife were the first, followed by Mayor Daley and his wife Maggie. Two of the deputy superintendents followed them and then Captain Miles Blinker, who commanded the 4^th District, where much of the filming had taken place. And then came some of the rank and files who had been particularly helpful with the project: Sergeant Mackle and his wife, who had graciously allowed the studio to use their home for filming Frank Haverty’s domestic scenes; Rick Brentfield and Robby Downs, the patrol team that had allowed Greg to ride along with them for two weeks as part of his preparation for the role; and a plethora of other 4^th District patrol officers and civilian staff that had ferried the crews around and provided security during the filming. All of the police officers were dressed in their class A ceremonial uniforms for the event, which meant, unfortunately for them, that they could not drink alcohol. Greg and Mindy commiserated with each of them on this while continuing to sip their own drinks.

Following the official guests, the entertainment media and local media crews entered next. Greg and Mindy did not bother greeting them as they entered. Instead, they let Fletch and Jerry Lancing deal with them. The two of them headed into the lobby to mingle a bit. Greg headed for the food tables. He had been drinking on an empty stomach and thought it might be a good idea to change that equation a bit. Mindy, instead of heading off on her own, stayed at his side. She was giggly and a bit uncoordinated from her own alcohol intake. Several times she had to grab Greg’s shoulder to keep from falling down. When they finally got their plates filled with a variety of snacks from the tables, they stood near one of the bars to eat. As they did so, Mindy kept close to Greg’s side, close enough that he could feel one of her breasts pushing into his arm whenever she turned to talk to someone. It was not really an unpleasant sensation, but he could not help but wonder if it was deliberate—and if it was, to what purpose?

They were able to consume two glasses of Dom Perignon before it was time to enter the theatre for the screening. Greg was feeling pretty drunk as he sat down in one of the chairs in the back row—the kind of drunk that he got when he was hanging out with Jake Kingsley. Mindy sat next to him on his left side. Fletch sat on his right side. The aisle seat on the other side of Fletch remained empty for the moment.

Once everyone was seated, Jerry Lancing, the producer, stood up at the front of the room in front of the red curtain that covered the screen. He gave a brief speech, thanking the City of Chicago, the mayor’s office, and particularly the Chicago Police Department for their cooperation and assistance in making the film a reality. He thanked several people by name, including the mayor himself, the superintendent, Captain Blinker, and Sergeant Mackle and his family.

“This film belongs as much to you as it does to us, maybe even more so,” Lancing said in conclusion. “We tried to be as realistic as possible, both the good and the bad, so ... please ... let us know how we did. Enjoy the show, everyone. Let’s get started.”

Applause rolled through the room as Lancing turned off his microphone and trotted up the center aisle of the theatre. He took the seat on the right side of Fletch. No sooner had he sat down then the lights dimmed down and the red curtain began to rise. The Merrimack Studios logo appeared and then the film began.

Us and Them was one hundred and forty-seven minutes in length, from logo to the end of the credits. This was enough time for Greg to metabolize some, but nowhere near all, of the alcohol he had consumed. He would have started to feel a little sleepy under normal circumstances, but the presence of Mindy next to him served to keep him awake. The chairs in the old theatre were not very large, not very wide. As such, Mindy’s body was continually pressed into his left side. Her leg often rubbed against his and he could feel the silky fabric of her dress. Her shoulder was constantly rubbing against his. And whenever she turned to whisper something to him, or to Fletch on the other side of him, her breast would push deliciously into his arm. She seemed unaware of the contact she was making, was certainly unconcerned with it even if she was aware, but Greg felt every touch, every bump, every slide of the dress. He felt himself becoming more and more aroused as the film went on.

And then the first sex scene came on the screen.

“Mmmm,” Mindy whispered into his ear, her breast pushing his arm again, her hot breath making him flush. “My favorite part.”

Greg swallowed but said nothing. He did, however, start to spring an erection as he watched he and Mindy doing the nasty on the big screen. He remembered what it had been like to feel those naked breasts in his hand, to taste her nipple with his mouth, to feel her hands on his bare ass.

Steady, he told himself, willing his member to return to normal operations. We were just acting. It’s over and done with now.

But his member did not want it to be over and done with now. It remained quite interested in the goings on of the scene and the memories of filming the scene. And when Mindy suddenly reached over and squeezed Greg’s thigh, just a little north of the knee, it became even more interested.

Jesus Christ, Greg thought. What was that all about? He did not know, could not begin to guess. Had that just been a companionable squeeze of affection? Had it been a drunken grope? Had it been nothing at all, just an unconscious gesture? It could have been any of the above, or all of the above, or none of the above.

Greg’s erection had almost entirely deflated when the second sex scene occurred. This one, while not as graphic or as involved, did feature the best and longest view of Mindy’s bare breasts. Her nipples were hard in the shot, sticking up alluringly. Greg remembered how Mindy had deliberately played with them in front of the entire crew and himself just prior to action being called so she could achieve that mouth-watering state for the shot. His erection reversed direction as blood began to collect once again. Mindy did not help much by dropping her hand to his thigh again—a little higher this time—and whispering into his ear: “This is my second favorite part.”

This time, however, she did not remove her hand from his leg. It remained there, still, unmoving, as if she had just simply forgotten to pick it back up again, just inches away from his now-throbbing tumescence. Greg took in a deep breath, looking around to see if anyone had noticed what she was doing. The theater, however, was very dark and no one seemed to be paying any particular attention to them.

Mindy’s just an affectionate person by nature, he told himself. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. With that rationalization in mind, he did not make an attempt to remove the hand from his leg. There was no sense hurting her feelings, was there? Or making a scene? And besides, another, darker, more primal part of his mind whispered to him, it feels kind of nice there, doesn’t it?

The film rolled on, going into the darker, more depressing part of the story. Mindy’s hand stayed on his leg. Greg’s manhood remained firmly erect. And then, without warning, that hand gripping his thigh rolled inward, seemingly in a random shift of posture, as if she were finally reaching up absently to touch her hair or scratch her nose. As it did so, her knuckles came into contact with the swelling inside of his trousers. The hand stopped instantly, remaining in contact. Greg drew in a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh my,” Mindy whispered, a hint of teasing in her voice. Slowly, the hand rolled over and her fingertips were gently squeezing the outline of his erection through his pants. “What have we here?”

Greg reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from him. “Sorry,” he whispered back. “Natural reaction.”

She put her hand back in her own lap. Even in the dark, Greg could see the teasing smile on her face. “You gotta love biology, huh?” she whispered.

She kept her hands to herself for the rest of the showing (though not her boobs, they continued to press into his shoulder every few minutes). Greg’s erection slowly, and with great reluctance, returned to its nominal state just in time for the funeral scene and the rolling of the credits. When the lights came up and the audience gave their standing ovation—and the actors and directors stood to acknowledge it—the embarrassing bulge in Greg’s trousers was no longer prominent.

Greg and Mindy exited the theatre together and took up position near one of the bars, where they could graciously accept the gushing accolades of the guests, who were bound by the rules of film premier etiquette to each approach the stars and the directing team to offer some. Mindy dashed over to the bar and got them both scotch on the rocks—doubles, no less—before they got started.

Greg downed his first scotch rather quickly, as his mind was troubled, and he was still trying to put Mindy’s actions inside the theatre into perspective. The alcohol did not help much with the perspective part, but it did wonders for the troubled part. It helped so much that he did not even argue when Mindy stepped away to score the two of them second and then third doubles as the evening progressed.

It was close to eleven o’clock when the party finally started to break up. By that point, Greg was quite hammered, as Mindy had stayed at his side all night, making sure he always had a fresh drink in his hand. She made no mention of what had happened inside the theatre, neither directly nor in allusion. Greg, however, could not stop thinking about it. She had actually touched his erection! With her hand! Something she had not done even during the most intimate stages of filming the sex scenes for the project. What did it mean?

At eleven thirty, most of the guests had gone home and those who had not were all waiting in the limo queue. Fletch and Lancing suggested to the stars that it was about time for them to get in the limo and return to the hotel. It was a plan they agreed with. The four of them climbed into their limousine and headed back in the direction of downtown. No sooner had it pulled away from the theatre than Mindy was pouring them all shots of bourbon.

“To success!” she toasted.

The three men dutifully repeated her toast and shot down their bourbon.

Once at the hotel, Fletch and Lancing declared they were going to go to the lounge for a little nightcap and asked if Greg and Mindy wanted to join them.

“Not me,” Mindy said with a giggle. “I’m pretty fuckin’ drunk now; not ashamed to admit it.”

“Yes,” said Greg, hearing himself slurring. “I’m in the same boat. And we have to be at the airport by ten o’clock. I think I’m going to go upstairs, climb into bed and die.” After I pleasure myself and blow off some of this steam, he did not add.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mindy said, her voice loud. “I’ll walk you up there.”

“That’s okay,” Greg said. “I know the way.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said. “But since we’re going the same way anyway...”

She did have a point there. “Okay,” he said, giving her a little smile. “Let’s do this.”

While the producer and the director headed in one direction, Mindy took Greg’s arm and they stumbled their way over to the elevators. Once again, Mindy’s breast kept bumping into his shoulder, although now it did not seem quite as accidental. Greg, in his drunkenness, just went with it and enjoyed the sensation.

The elevator arrived and they stepped inside. Greg pushed the button for the top floor. The doors closed and the car began to rise.

“I’m gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” Mindy prophesized, “but goddamn if we didn’t have a good time, huh, Greggie?”

“Yes,” Greg said, his eyes taking surreptitious glances at her cleavage. He thought that, for just a second, he had spotted some areola on the left one. “Although I’m sure I too will be paying the price in the morning.”

They reached their floor and the doors opened. They staggered out into the empty hallway and made it about fifty feet or so before they realized they were going the wrong way. This caused a giggling fit and they drunkenly turned themselves around and headed back in the direction from which they had come. As they passed the elevators once again, Greg said, “This looks familiar”, causing another outburst of laughter. Mindy, who was still holding tightly onto his arm, pushed her body against his once again, letting him feel the press of her breast again, the silkiness of her dress, the feminine curve of her hip.

“Come on,” he said with a mouth that was suddenly dry. “We’re almost there.”

“Right,” she said with another giggle. “Almost there.”

They came to Greg’s room door first. He started to walk by it, his intention to walk Mindy to her own door and see her safely inside. But Mindy made him stop.

“We need to have one more shot!” she declared. “A nightcap to put an end to a successful premier.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Greg said. “I’m already pretty hammered.” And having you inside my room right now is a bad idea. I can feel how bad it is even through the booze.

“Don’t be a pussy,” Mindy teased. “Have a shot with me.”

“No, Mindy,” he said. “Sorry, but I think it’s time to say goodnight.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well ... well ... you don’t have a fuckin’ hair on your ass if you don’t do one last shot with me,” she declared.

Greg raised his eyebrows. “I don’t have a hair on my ass?” he asked. “That’s something that Jake says.”

“I know,” she giggled. “Who do you think I learned it from? Now, do you have hair on your ass, or what?”

“You just saw my ass up on the big screen a few hours ago,” he reminded her. “You tell me.”

She laughed again. “It’s a great ass,” she said. “You know that right? And it has just the right amount of hair on it. So, open the fuckin’ door and let’s have that shot.”

He sighed. Once again, it seemed just doing as she asked was the path of least resistance. And besides, one last shooter would probably help him drift off to sleep, wouldn’t it?

“All right,” he said, pulling out his key card. “One shot and then I’m going to bed.”

“You got it,” Mindy said.

He opened the door and they staggered inside the room. They stumbled their way across the sitting room to the bar. The bottle of Patron and their shot glasses from earlier were still sitting where they had left them.

“Set us up!” Mindy ordered, finally letting go of his arm.

“Right,” Greg said, taking a moment to steady himself. He then opened the bottle of tequila and poured the two shot glasses full (spilling at least another shot’s worth on the bar in the process). He handed one to Mindy and took one himself. “What should we drink to this time?”

She smiled. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “we’ve drank to success, and to Us and Them, how about we drink to me and you?”

Greg nodded and raised his glass. “To me and you,” he toasted.

They clinked their glasses together and poured the tequila down their throats. Greg felt it burning all the way down, but in a pleasant way. He felt his drunkenness almost immediately kick up a notch or two.

“All right,” Greg said. “How about we get you back to your room before I pass out?”

“Do you wanna hear a secret?” Mindy asked, ignoring his question.

“Uh ... sure,” he said.

She gave him a naughty smile. “I’m not wearing any panties with this dress,” she told him.

He felt himself flush as mixed emotions spread through him, a combination of embarrassment, danger, and arousal. “Uh ... really?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

“It’s the truth,” she said. “When I wear these fancy-ass dresses, I never wear panties with them. It’s too much of a pain in the ass when I have to pee.” She giggled. “The garter belt, you know. The panties always seem to get caught or twisted in it. It’s easier just to go commando.”

“Uh ... wow,” he said, his mind now picturing her in a garter belt with no panties on. It was an enticing vision to have. “I never really ... you know ... thought about that.”

“It’s also sexy,” she said next. “Walking around, talking to people, hugging people, being part of a big production and knowing that I have no panties on. It kind of turns me on, really.”

“I ... uh ... can see how it would,” he stammered. “Listen, how about we...”

“I mean ... doesn’t it kind of turn you on, now that you know that I’ve been sitting next to you all night without panties?”

The sense of danger continued to rise; but so did the sense of arousal. Yes, it really did turn him on to know that she had been sitting next to him all night without panties. His manhood was, in fact, stiffening up very nicely at the very notion. But he needed to stay in control of the situation. Needed to take charge and take charge quickly before things got out of hand here.

“Uh ... yes,” he said. “It is a very enticing thought, but I think now we had better call it a night.”

“It’s a night, all right,” she said softly. She reached out with her hand and slid the back of it up the growing bulge in his groin. “Mmmm, you’re getting hard again. That’s sexy, Greggie.”

Greg pulled himself back out of her reach. “Mindy!” he said sharply. “We are not going to do this.”

“We don’t have to do anything big,” Mindy said. “Just something little, something between friends.”

“No,” he said. “You need to go back to your room.”

“Are you sure?” she asked teasingly. “I am quite willing to give you a blowjob right here and right now. I understand that you’re a man who likes a good blowjob.”

“Every man likes a good blowjob,” he told her. “And I’m a married man, as you’re well aware.”

“Every man does love a blowjob,” she agreed, “but not every man gets to have them the way they should be. Isn’t that right?”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“I have it on good information that your wife, the lovely and talented Celia Valdez, will put it in her mouth and does a good job of making it feel good, but that she only does it for foreplay; that she won’t let you come in her mouth.”

Greg was astounded by what she had just said, mostly because it was true. Celia was very talented with her mouth when she wanted to be, and she did enjoy sucking on him as part of the warmup routine in the bedroom, but she had a very strong aversion to completing the act. But how did Mindy know this? Celia sure as hell had not told her. And, being a very private person, the only other human on Earth he had shared that particular piece of information with was... Oh my God! “Cheryl!” he said.

Mindy chuckled. “That’s right,” she said. “Your little makeup girl from So Others May Live. She ended up being my little makeup girl on my last project before Us and Them. Small world, isn’t it? Anyway, she and I got to be close with each other... very close, if you know what I mean.”