baby, don't say don't

dolores romero. xxxii.  —  green murmur, intact. the fig tree spreads out its arms to me.

[dolorom]

MASON HARTLEY.​

She’s offended — how dare he call her chicken, but he catches that sparkle of animation embedded in her reply. Mason’s never seen that before, what with her being so professional (almost too professional) on set. They’re playing potential lovers for crying out loud, it would make it a little easier if he could actually talk to Dolores like a normal person. 

Mason has his beer in hand now, a draft on tap, following her to the pool table with a twinkle in his eye of his own. It’s steeped in relief — relief that she didn’t exactly hate him, as far as he thought, that perhaps work would be a bit less tense in the upcoming weeks. He picks up the cue, single brow raised, intrigued by the sudden wave of confidence. The tequila had certainly worked its magic. 

“Shit, that confident, huh?” Mason tilts his head, hands flipping the stick around with ease. “Sure, I’ll wager that — but if I win, you have to stick around, too. No running off after you buy my drink.” He wags his finger in her face, tutting gently. 

And so he breaks, without fidgeting, rife with the confidence of a man. When he finishes, he looks over at Dolores, satisfied with where the balls have ended up. His gaze doesn’t waver, not because he wants to intimidate, but because nobody has ever questioned it. “So,” he starts, “how’s Hollywood treating you so far?” He’s genuinely curious, if only because she had the chance to mold her narrative. Mason hadn’t, with his famous mother writing the narrative for him before he even received a chance to speak for himself. And now, this affair, this ruinous act of sin would be what defined his career. 

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

and so she selects a cue of her own,  an eager confidence still glimmering there,  in her eyes;  even as he wags a finger in her face,  accepting the challenge.   her lips part to speak  —  the words i would never already in the back of her throat  —  though the only sound she offers is a scoff,  incredulous.   as if the idea she’d run off was so preposterous.   but dolores feels her cheeks redden and she steps toward the table casually,  sips at her drink,  feeling utterly caught:  would she have left his company for someone else’s?   she hadn’t considered it,  yet she feels shame anyway.

he breaks and she nods,  eyeing the balls’ placements across the table.   she mutters approval and begins a slow walk around it,  deciding where to place her shot,  half-listening to mason’s words.   only when she settles on a solid-colored ball she thinks she can sink does her attention return to him,  at last feeling his gaze.   it’s steady  —  challenging,  even,  in her mind  —  and dolores needn’t think hard to guess where mason’s confidence comes from.   see,  she knows his story,  as most do:  to exist in hollywood was to exist in its social spheres.   and though dolores fluttered around the edges,  word travels quickly.   and,  in all honesty,  she’d googled him more than once.   admittedly before even meeting him.

oddly unfazed,  she stares back,  hip leaning into the table as she debates whether to answer his question with the truth.   part of her feels as though he can’t be trusted with it,  as though her truths are too shameful,  too embarrassing to be laid bare  —  but,  she supposes,  this question is simple enough.   so,  rather than opt for a press-ready response,  dolores starts,  ❛  um…   honestly…   this is gonna sound stupid,  but…  ❜   her gaze drops down,  settling on mason’s hands.   ❛  it’s super nerve-racking for me…   i feel a lot of pressure to do a really good job with everything,  and i try to,  like…   put my all into it because….  i dunno.   i want people to take my work seriously and see me as talented,  i guess.  ❜

she pauses for a moment and straightens,  clearing her throat.   ❛  but i have faith.   things always work out the way they’re meant to,  ❜  she smiles softly,  having met his eyes again,  before finally leaning over the green to take her shot.   she directs the ball into the hole and manages another before scratching,  thus turning back to mason,  drink in hand.   ❛  i still get pretty starstruck,  though.   but how ‘bout you?   i know things haven’t always…   been easy for you,  but.   do you like where you are right now?  ❜

[dolorom]

CAMILA TORRES.​

Starter for: Anyone (4/5) Where: Public park downtown When: Late afternoon @catalinastarter​

It had been one of those days where just everything went wrong and Camila was just done with it already. In general she was a woman who was patient and kind but right now she was having a short fuse. Training had gone badly, a dull ache had been there constantly for the entire day and she knew that it wasn’t going to pass until the next morning. So to see someone else being the target of some trouble was something that was quite a relief for the day. Any other day she would feel guilty for enjoying this. But right now it was a relief to see the woman going all crazy to another woman over the fact that she had found her boyfriend cheating on her with the other woman. “I feel like I’ve been watching a live soap opera for five minutes now. And I am never one to watch those, but this is rather… interesting. Tell me, what’s so interesting for us in other people’s pain?”

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

a late afternoon lunch.   a rare opportunity,  truly,  to take her time on such occasion,  given her oft demanding schedule.   thus so,  in an effort to recharge and restart,  she’s opted for an option cleaner than usual:  a stroll through downtown,  a french podcast she can’t understand yet hopes to absorb through sheer osmosis,  and a green smoothie.   the latter of which she’s choking down.   it’s almost peaceful  —  a strange change of pace  —  until,  as she’s entering the shade of a tree,  she catches wind of two women arguing.   if their wild gestures hadn’t caught her attention,  the couple of onlookers that’d slowed,  as she did now,  might’ve.   dolores,  curious,  lowers the volume of her podcast and takes an earbud out,  coming to a stop as one of the onlookers speaks up.

for a moment,  she hesitates to answer,  though the woman’s words make her smirk.   ❛  i don’t know,  really…   maybe we just like drama more than we admit,  ❜  she offers with a shrug.   then,  pondering the question further,  dolores remembers the old telenovelas she’d watch with her mother,  remembers how her mother watches them still.   ❛  my mom would eat this shit up…   like live telemundo.   she even named my sister after a character from one of the novelas,  ❜  she snorts,  turning to look at the woman.   ❛  maybe it’s just a distraction?   like if you’re bored,  or you want the drama on someone else for a change.   what d’you think?  ❜

[dolorom]

LOCATION  ›  a bar in avalon. TIMESTAMP  ›  march 14th,  2021.   9:15 pm. NOTES  ›  open starter for @catalinastarter.   1 / 5.

they’d been outside the bar,  about to enter,  when it’d all seemingly gone awry.   or perhaps the tension among their small group,  having built up throughout the day’s festivities,  had reached its breaking point.   a vibrating strand stretched so taut it’d finally snapped,  leaving the woman alone,  enraged,  and in tears.   why couldn’t her siblings and herself get along?   in a haze,  her mascara likely beginning to run,  oblivious to whatever bystanders may have witnessed the siblings’ altercation,  dolores watches her sister,  her brother and his girlfriend stalk off toward the marina.   and though she’s fuming and feels a slew of swear words coming on,  dolores lets out a groan before heading inside.

she’s storming toward the restrooms,  tears still brimming in her eyes,  and doing her best to navigate the crowded establishment.   it’s karaoke night:  something that might’ve been fun if her evening hadn’t been ruined.   somehow,  she supposes,  she should’ve known it would turn out this way.   meeting up with her siblings had almost always been a disastrous pursuit and,  to make her odds doubly worse,  she NEVER had good birthdays  —  celebrations always went downhill one way or another.   the thought saddens her even more so,  and just as her lip’s about to tremble someone steps back the very moment she steps behind them.

the collision sends her reeling toward the floor,  balance already off from the handful of bars she’d hopped around to before,  and dolores feels the tiara atop her head lose its place.   it,  along with the phone in her hand,  clatter away in opposite directions.   another groan then  —  frustrated  —  as she lets out,  ❛  fucking of course.  ❜

[dolorom]

ELEANOR HIRSCH.​

Her brows quirked up with interest at Dolores’ answer; it was not the response Ellie expected, although it piqued her curiosity nonetheless. Who knew when was the last time she gossiped and chatted the night away like a normal woman at her age? For the past decade it’d either been going to endless auditions, rolling up to set at the crack of dawn and leaving only to pass out in her own bed, or the Hollywood events she was made to attend for the publicity of her own image or the project she currently worked on. Normality, such as tonight, was something she used to take for granted, until the past year or so. “Like…who?” She probed lightly, although wouldn’t be offended if her friend decided to shut down the conversation as a whole.

Ellie found herself swirling her glass, watching content inside spin into a whirlpool as she was taken by surprise at her friend’s remark. It was a refreshing one to hear anyway, considering she’d already heard enough of people’s opinions since her relationship status surfaced in the media. The fact that Dolores didn’t have an opinion in this regard, was something she rather appreciated. Nodding lightly, she nibbled on her bottom lip, contemplating over her words before answering. “I know that’s probably what it seems like…but I think he’s just misunderstood by everyone, you know? At least from what they wrote about him in the media anyway.”

At her next question, however, guilt creeped into the pit of her stomach as the words slipped from her lips in response. “Um, we met through mutual friends,” That wasn’t so much of a lie, although Ellie hardly considered their agents as friends. “You know what it’s like in our line of work, everyone seems to know each other. We just kind of hit it off at one of the events. Not quite like typical movie meet cute, I know.”

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

❛  like…   no one,  ❜  she deflects and,  to her dismay,  blushes.   for a woman whose line of work,  whose only ace up her sleeve was her ability to convincingly lie,  dolores had cheeks that oft betrayed her.   then,  she remembers the face mask she currently has on,  and hopes that eleanor hadn’t noticed.   she shakes off the feeling,  a breathy laugh escaping her,  and she sighs,  ❛  i’m…   taking a break from all that.   i think.   unless you know anyone who might be into what i’ve got to offer.  ❜

just kidding,  she thinks to herself.   ha ha,  unless.

her eyes roll in thought,  before her attention turns back to her company and dolores nods in understanding,  hanging on to eleanor’s every word.   and,  shamefully,  she had to admit she hadn’t always looked to nath without some judgment.   the realization came with its own sort of guilt as she remembered how relentless gossip outlets had been,  and still could be.   ❛  yeah…   i guess i bought into that a little bit,  before,  ❜  she offers,  an undertone of regret.   for a moment,  dolores is unsure what to say.   ❛  i was stupid.  ❜

her glass tips back against her mouth,  an ice cube falling to her waiting tongue.   dolores sucks then crunches down on it.   ❛  ah,  mutual friends…   well,  hopefully i get to meet him sometime,  i guess,  ❜  she mumbles,  words muffled by her full mouth,  before she nods toward the deck.   ❛  you wanna move on to the next topic,  or you want me to keep interrogating you about nath…?   i’m down for either.  ❜

[dolorom]

JACK ADLER.​

Sometimes, Jack feared that all he truly had was the music. How did he come across to strangers? Did they only see the music man, the sad songs? It’s the question he always asked himself when the music and the inspiration guiding it truly consumed him. But then he had moments like this, moments where he had a friend who held dear the same level of inspiration for their craft and what they loved, and that alone reminded him of how beautiful the world was and how much beauty was inside him too. Outside of the music, outside of the lyrics, there was so much more. 

Jack marvels in that feeling, laughing lightly at Dolores’ teasing tone. It earns the apples of his cheeks to burn even more, a shake of his head following next. He then reaches into the bag she offered, plucking out a Pepsi for himself before cracking open the can. “Hey, no problem. It’s an honor, really.” Jack replies, one hand reaching up to touch his chest with gratitude. “It’s my first real project since getting sober and everything so, I was scared that I might screw everything up. But you’ve made it so easy. The camera loves you.” The singer admits, a laugh weaving through his words. The addiction side of this story was never an easy fleet. If he were the old version of himself, he would have kept the getting sober part unspoken. But, he’s learned that it will never truly be a secret, and it was nothing to be ashamed of. He was better, or attempting to me, and that was all he could truly do now.

When he takes a sip of his drink, he almost chokes while listening to her next set of words, more laughter bubbling from him. “Wow, I’m flattered.” He says between chuckles, “No, no, please. It’s so sweet. Just knowing people like me in general is something I’ll never truly get used to. Tell your sisters I’m honored and thank you. Do they live here on the island too?” The singer asks, his smile never faltering, “I’m free for the rest of the evening, I promise. Honestly, I was just gonna go home and watch a movie with my dog. Which sounds lame, actually. Definitely just ruined my reputation there.” Jack teases, “What about you? I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

his honesty  —  whether he offered it to anyone he spoke to or not  —  touches dolores.   what more,  it allows her to relax a bit,  the angles of her shoulder blades pressing into the seat behind her.   there are words that nip at her tongue  —  thoughts she had regarding his sobriety,  his musical inclination,  the unabashed encouragement she’d so like to offer  —  but,  like a knot she’d yet to quite untangle,  dolores swallows them.   perhaps they were to be revisited later,  once she straightened them all out.   instead,  she nods in understanding,  shuffles the deck of cards in quiet contemplation.   flush never leaving her cheeks.

it’s moments later,  as jack replies to her next,  that dolores is snorting again.   the sound he makes  —  like he’d nearly choked on his drink  —  has her feeling a combination of things:  strangely proud to have made him laugh and relieved he hadn’t been annoyed by her words.   she was always saying the wrong thing,  in her experience.   ❛  you’re too humble for your own good,  ❜  she half-jokes,  leaning forward to begin dealing out their hands.   her head shakes in bemusement as more laughter spills from her.   ❛  but no,  none of my family lives here.   most of them are over in pasadena.   and i’ll tell ‘em you said that,  but i swear  —  mark my words,  jack  —  they’re just gonna bother me even more.   like,  ok ok,  look—  ❜

their hands are dealt out and dolores sets the deck of cards between them,  turning over the top one neatly.   then,  as if she were confiding in the man,  she leans into the table,  voice lowering to a hushed tone.   ❛  just using this as an example,  you said the camera loves me,  right?   but like.   my older sister LOVES to give me a hard time;  she’s always saying that if only i had her looks,  maybe my career would’ve taken off by now.   so,  if you give her an even bigger head,  she’ll just do something wild like move here and snatch you up.  ❜   if it sounds harsh,  she’s unaware.   she’d long since gotten used to her family’s brand of tough love  —  had long since gotten used to feeling like a failure compared to her older siblings.   if she hadn’t already mulled it over a thousand times,  dolores might wonder if how quick she was to blush and how unused to compliments she still felt were somewhat related.   after a beat and another roll of her eyes,  the smile on her mouth softening,  she takes another drink.   ❛  anyway nah,  you’re not keeping me from anything...   i’d probably just go home and do the same thing.   minus the dog,  but….  if you’re lame,  then so am i,  ❜  she shrugs then nods toward the cards.   ❛  you go first.  ❜

[dolorom]

MASON HARTLEY.​

Casual — it suits her, more than the heavily curated wardrobe the costume designer selected for their characters. What can he say? — the film is gentle, muted, and the array of faded L.L. Bean flannels and thick khakis (though comfortable beyond compare) isn’t exactly his style. It’s clear from her sweatshirt she has her own flair as well, and the corners of his eye crinkle in amusement, wondering if she’d be the type to co-opt vintage clothing for fashion’s sake. 

Mason decides not, tugging on the drawstrings, not unlike the way a schoolboy would to a young girl. “Wouldn’t have pinned you for a Star Wars fan,” he says, grinning. He’s one to talk, in his flashy Hawaiian shirt. “It’s all good. You’re here, and that’s what matters, right?” 

He doesn’t even have time to protest before the tequila shots are ordered, set in front of him, almost as a challenge. So much for starting off slow, because he’d sooner be damned than let somebody else outdrink him (that competitive streak always has to rear its ugly head), and he salts the back of his hand, readying a lime in haste. “You think I’m the type of guy to turn down a free tequila shot? Come on, on the count of three…” And he counts, salt, shot, lime, in that exact order. 

“Phew!” It’s been a while since he’s done a proper shot, the strongest thing he’d drank in the past few weeks had been expensive whiskey, straight from the bottle, but the head-dizzying tang of a relatively cheap tequila is no match for rich, full-bodied weight of a good Scotch. “All right, remind me not to do that again.” But already, he’s struck by the delightful buzz of the liquor. What was it about tequila that made it such a happy drink? (And staunchly on the other side, whiskey, the drink for sour old men, bitter despite their wealth.) He leans in, hands out and against the edge of the bar, head turned and cocked to the side. “I seem to remember you challenging me to a game of pool, y’know, if you’re still not chicken.” 

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

he tugs on the drawstrings of her sweatshirt and,  for a second,  it has her feeling childish,  not taken seriously,  though her smile remains  —  even if her jaw clenches.   rather than speak on it,  dolores pushes back such an impulse as her own pessimism.   the stubborn way she oft dissected people’s words,  searching for any possible hidden meaning.   he’s just being playful,  he’s a playful guy,  stop letting everything get on your nerves.   in an effort to return some sort of playful banter,  she looks at his own outfit choice and thinks to remark upon it  —  though the two tequila shots are readied,  set down before she comes up with anything.

his enthusiasm,  per usual,  is unmatched,  and it actually gets her to smile.   like,  really smile.   not the concerted expressions she typically puts on in advance.   it catches her off-guard,  watching as mason salts his hand in preparation,  and dolores quickly catches up.   a moment later,  she nods in agreement:  salt,  lick,  shot,  lime.   immediately,  her face scrunches up  —  both from the sour ripeness of the lime,  which she sucks dry,  and the horrible strength of the tequila,  a burn she feels travel within her chest.   ❛  i dunno,  maybe you should remind me,  ❜  she mutters,  shuddering as her shot glass is at last traded for her paloma.   tequila for more tequila.

then,  just as she’d felt childish moments before,  the woman is feeling childish once more.   the introduction of playground taunts and the way such teasing has her perking up,  competitive fires lit,  brings a new heat to her veins:  an eyebrow cocks and,  after licking her lips,  dolores turns to mason.   ❛  you did not just call me chicken,  ❜  she laughs.   ❛  i’ll show you who’s—  ❜   midway through that thought her voice cuts off,  a hand swatting his arm gently as she spots an open table.   ❛  i’m ‘onna go get that one.  ❜

HER enthusiasm,  this time,  surprises dolores.   her drink is carried carefully as,  mere seconds after speaking,  she’s weaving among other patrons to snag said pool table.   and she’d like to attribute it to the alcohol or mason’s own infectious attitude that,  for the night,  she couldn’t brush off  —  but dolores couldn’t place what it was.   perhaps an exhaustion from dealing with herself.   she glances to see how closely mason followed after,  to see how closely his enthusiasm held up,  and dolores leans over the green to begin racking up for their game.   ❛  you feel like making this interesting?   like….  loser buys the next round?   i’ll even let you break.   or are you chicken?  ❜

[dolorom]

ELEANOR HIRSCH.

Ellie would like to pride herself in being a good hostess. After all, the brunette would never turn down the opportunity of having company. Especially in the vast space of her own home with just herself and her golden retriever, life during the downtime, away from sets could be rather lonely at times. When Dolores reached out that she was on the island to shoot a movie, and she needed a space to crash amidst the road constructions across the island, she extended the invitation almost instantaneously. Grateful for her friend to keep her company, and also providing her a perfect excuse for a slumber party to catch up, momentarily distracting her that she wasn’t edging towards thirty everyday.

“Nothing? No one caught your eyes on set just yet?” Ellie asked, a smirk creeping upon her features as she brought the cocktail to her lips, mid-gulp when the brunette turned the question back to her. She almost choked on her own drink, taking a moment to swallow before speaking up again. “Well…” She trailed off, shaking her head lightly at her friend’s expression, her lips pursed as she mulled over the question. “He gets me, you know? I feel like I can tell him anything.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, because she did find that sense of comfort, of understanding in Nath. It was the whole ordeal — their relationship that was the lie, that was all. “Everyone seems to be saying that,” Granted, one day Ellie was single, and the next, her fake relationship with Nath seemingly to be of everyone’s knowledge. “Be honest, do you think we make a good couple?” At least a convincing one, she hoped. 

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

had anyone caught her eye?   her thoughts wandered,  gaze trailing off to some middle distance across the room,  and as dolores brought her drink to her lips,  she pictured mason,  pictured a selection of crew members,  pictured the director.   pictured her answer  —  of course  —  before shrugging,  swallowing deep.   ❛  i mean yeah,  but…   i try to keep it professional,  i guess.   it’d be kinda awkward to,  like...  ❜   another shrug then,  and her mouth shuts,  apparently finished with that thought.   in truth,  people always caught her eye:  it was a fact she’d rather ignore,  a fact that made her feel desperate in a way that made her feel unattractive.   the better question was had she ever known how to be single?

after a moment,  her position shifts as dolores lies on her side,  head propped up on her palm.   a wistful smile graces her features as she listens to eleanor’s own answer,  and dolores tries to imagine what nath would be like in person  —  a good listener,  apparently.   ❛  um…   i don’t really have that much of an opinion,  ❜  she starts,  considering ellie’s words and choosing her own carefully.   ❛  i’ll always be glad to see my friends happy and all,  but…   i don’t know nath,  so.   from what i’ve heard,  he seems like he’s really trying to,  like…   reclaim himself,  you know what i mean?   if anything,  i think maybe you’re exactly the kind of person he needs.  ❜

with that,  she downs the last of her cocktail and shakes the remaining ice around.   ❛  how did you guys get together,  anyway?   what’s the story there?  ❜

[dolorom]

LOCATION  ›  eleanor’s home in ventura. TIMESTAMP  ›  january 26th,  2021.   8:40 pm. NOTES  ›  closed starter for @eleanorhirsch​.

dolores can feel her pores beginning to tingle,  a multivitamin face mask slathered upon her skin,  as she sets her cocktail down to reach for another card.   per her suggestion,  the two women are currently sprawled out on the living room floor playing the girls’ night out edition of table topics:  a game she,  herself,  had picked up at a bookstore the week before.   what better time to open it than her first night at eleanor’s?   the two women hadn’t seen each other in months,  nor had dolores ever actually visited her friend’s home  —  the perfect occasion to catch up via a party game.   even if it was just them.

upon plucking a card from the deck,  dolores reads it aloud:  ❛  what do you love most about your current partner?  ❜   she nods once,  her lips pursed,  then gingerly places the question on their discard pile.   ❛  well,  i’m single right now,  so…   i guess nothing?  ❜  she shrugs,  snorting softly  —  and feeling quite internally sad about the fact  —  as she reaches for her cocktail.   an eyebrow cocks now,  a smirk on her mouth.   ❛  what about you?   what do you love about the one and only nath edelstein?   i’m still surprised you guys are dating.  ❜

[dolorom]

MASON HARTLEY.​

Does he breathe while waiting for her answer? — Mason can’t be sure, though his next exhale is heaven on his lungs and he nods, twice in rapid succession. Doesn’t really know why he’s nervous, but maybe it’s because he’s never had to deal with somebody possibly disliking him before. Her answer is a bit less enthusiastic than he would’ve hoped. She’s nonchalant, with a whiff of exasperation that he’s not quite sure is real or imaginary. 

Nevertheless, Mason nods. Dolores is funnier than he’d initially thought of her being, with her sly taunt about beating him in pool, and he chuckles, throwing his hand up in surrender. “I’ll take your word for it, but don’t place any bets on Street Fighter,” he replies. “Can’t beat a kid with too much time on his hands as a kid.” 

TIME SKIP. 

203 main st in lafayette, he texts. don’t get lost cause I’m also directionally challenged, and before he presses SEND, he adds a smiling emoji for good measure. Contrary to popular belief, Mason isn’t a flirt, but it doesn’t stop the masses from assuming what they wanted about the actor. 

Three Palms Arcade is crowded, as expected, though he’s almost positive a quarter of its patrons are from their set. They’ve sprawled out over half the bowling lanes and the arcade, all with a drink in their hand, courtesy of Mason, who’d bought the first round. Every so often, he’d take a swig from the beer in his hands, a sorry attempt at masking the furtive glances he’d steal away at the entrance. Maybe she would walk through now, maybe she’d turn up halfway through the night. And of course, maybe she wouldn’t show up at all. Dolores certainly didn’t owe him her appearance, no matter how much he begged. 

Mason rises from his seat, sliding his empty beer bottle across the bar to ask for another, when he feels somebody’s shoulder brush up against his arm. He turns, eyes brightening almost immediately. “Hey! You made it.” 

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

[ Mason Hartley ]  203 main st in lafayette. don’t get lost cause I’m also directionally challenged 😊

her thumbs are poised over the keyboard,  blue message lighting up the haphazard cracks in her phone’s screen.   she’s loitering outside the establishment,  half-listening to the various groups of people outside smoking,  chatting,  messing around.   there’s a couple clinging to each other,  mouths pressed together as they lean casually against a lamppost.   and dolores can smell grapes in the air with each puff of smoke some guy,  clad in an aviator jacket,  long hair tied up in a bun and eyes leering,  blows from his pen.   she types out a message  —  I’m here  —  before deleting it and raising her hand to her mouth,  preparing to nibble on her nails until she consciously stops herself from doing so.   the guy  —  a stranger  —  with the bun offers her a hit and she looks at him shortly,  gives an uh thanks i’m good,  before shoving her phone into her bag and heading inside.

she always felt foolish wandering around looking for familiar faces,  and she feels foolish now.   it’s generously loud,  warm and crowded,  as she  —  standing at a mere five feet and three-and-a-half inches  —  raises to her toes,  neck craning to see if she could recognize anyone and make a beeline for them.   she doesn’t.   and after sucking in a breath,  dolores sets her sights on the bar instead.   at least a drink could ease the ball of anxiety that’d formed in her gut;  its origins unknown.   after they’d bid their temporary goodbyes on set,  she’d gone back to her trailer to change out of her character’s wardrobe,  wash her makeup off,  then reapply mascara and a few thin strokes of eyeliner before finally figuring out a means of transportation to three palms  —  all while taking frequent breaks to scroll twitter and sip on a whiteclaw.   she’d even contemplated bailing on the plans.   it’d taken getting lost down the wrong cross street and choking down an antacid before dolores finally showed up.

halfway to the bar she hears her name being called and she searches for its source.   though she’s unable to immediately locate it,  dolores does spot mason  —  really,  spots his shoulders and the back of his head first,  seemingly looming over surrounding patrons  —  and she opts to head there.   nearing the bartop,  she tugs down her hoodie  ( star wars,  the original trilogy,  raw-hemmed and cropped by yours truly,  a comfort piece of clothing )  and she smiles,  shoulder brushing against him.   and mason  —  true to himself as ever  —  greets dolores enthusiastically,  and a laugh emits through her nose.   ❛  i made it…  ❜  she remarks,  tone decidedly casual.   her gaze wanders,  taking in the arcade’s vibe.   ❛  sorry that it took me a little while.   y’know,  directionally challenged,  ❜  her voice playfully directs to mason,  stopping as a bartender pops open a bottle to slide it over.   dolores requests a paloma then,  after a second’s hesitation,  two tequila shots.   to her present company,  she straightens,  expression shifting to something more upbeat,  ❛  do one with me, yeah?   then we’ll go…   play something,  or whatever.  ❜

[dolorom]

JACK ADLER.​

On days like this, Jack’s creative engine revs to life with great vigor. He has it all mapped out in his head with certain percision. The lighting, the story, the music, the scenarios, the sets. Everything. Dolores was a new addition to this vision, her presence welcomed instantly. A friend of a friend, Jack finds himself fond of her already. Which wasn’t too hard for someone like him, in truth, his heart was practically stitched to his sleeve at all times. 

For the video, Dolores plays his lover, of course. Jack had a vision of two people, one a singer and another a trumpet player. Hence Jack bringing his trumpet to the set, the singer deciding to practice once they wrapped on a few scenes. 

Then, someone is at his trailer door, stepping inside. Jack smiles at the sight of Dolores, setting the instrument back down into it’s velvet case. “The good shit,” He says, repeating her words, a laugh sounding from him. His light eyes catch sight of the Pepsi cans nestled inside the bag and his face lights up, “You’re an angel, Dolores.” The singer says before taking the bag from her, unloading the cans and then, a 4-pace of Yoohoo and some hot Cheetos. “I’d like that. I might even call it a day, honestly, tell everyone to get on home. It’s getting late and we could always pick up again tomorrow. So, you’ve got me for the rest of the evening.” Jack clears off the small table inside his trailer, motioning for her to sit across from him. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. I know I keep saying that but you’ve been amazing.”

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

art and heart come hand in hand.   whatever a person’s medium should be,  it seemed an objective truth:  artists bore the burden of emotion in a way most others wouldn’t  —  or couldn’t.   as she’d stepped inside,  eyes falling on jack’s trumpet in its velvet case,  dolores considered the fact.   jack,  she knew,  was known for the way he wore his heart;  known for its tenderness,  its songs of passion and reverie.   and still,  it came somehow as a surprise to find him this way,  playing the trumpet all alone.   like catching someone singing to themselves:  that personal and endearing.   she makes a mental note to ask him more about it at some point.

given this thought process  —  the obscene romanticism she contemplated  —  it should come as no surprise that he has her blushing almost immediately.   yet she’s surprised,  anyway.   his words  —  the way he calls her an angel  —  brings a warmth to her chest,  a shyness to her smile,  and she feels forced to look away.   hoping he hadn’t noticed,  dolores pretends to admire his trailer for a moment,  busying herself with removing her puffer.   it’s only when the feeling passes that her gaze turns to his hands,  watching as they unload the bag.   ❛  really,  the whole rest of the evening?   if i knew that,  i’d a brought more than just uno,  ❜  she finally smirks,  offering jack a waggle of her eyebrows.

dolores is twisting the top off a yoohoo and plopping herself down when it happens again:  i know i keep saying that but you’ve been amazing.   it was her own fault,  of course  —  she should be used to it by now.   the way jack could go from lighthearted and joking to unwavering and sincere in mere seconds.   dolores supposed she’d never learned to NOT take what people say to heart.   her cheeks redden once more and there’s no hiding it this time,  seated across from the man himself.   her eyes hold his for a moment before she looks down at her drink,  focusing on the glass as it’s brought to her lips.   dolores shrugs as she drinks,  downing about half the bottle before the heat leaves her chest and it’s safe to speak without stammering.

❛  actually i’m the one who should be thanking you…   i mean,  you’ve been so great with working around my schedule and….  i just—  i dunno,  there’s a lot i’m grateful for,  so.   thank you,  ❜  she sighs.   her smile’s still present,  having at last relaxed into something less bashful.   fingers drum the table as her throat clears.   ❛  you know…   my sisters would all DIE if they knew i was here right now.   i mean,  they already harass me about hooking them up with mason,  so like…   if they knew i’m working with two of the guys on their stupid free pass list…  ❜  dolores snorts,  eyes rolling heavenward.   after a beat,  she leans forward to grab the deck of cards.   ❛  sorry—  you’re probably tired of hearing stuff like that.   you don’t have anywhere else to be,  though,  do you?   i don’t want to,  like,  keep you here or anything.  ❜

[dolorom]

MAYA WOLLMAN.​

The delicate skin of Maya’s lips were torn to shreds, her nimble fingers picking at the area. Sometimes she’d taste blood by mistake while sipping on her beer, not realizing her bottom lip had begun to bleed. In one swift motion, she wipes it with the napkin soaking up the condensation from her drink. It burns a little, the droplets of alcohol rubbing against the subtle wound. A wince sounds from her, Maya’s head still low. Though she’s quick to bounce back, Maya Wollman an expert at hiding all types of pain, even subtle. 

You see, tonight was meant to be a good evening. Something decent, something quiet that would eventually lead in her going home and slipping into bed with only her underwear on and an old, smelly t-shirt she would most likely pluck from her hamper of unwashed clothes. But, no, there was always something. A man, usually. This time, it’s a middle-aged man with a round face. He’s tan but only in his face and his hands, the rest of him is a pale shade that turns red after another grand sip of liquor. He does a double take before setting his gaze upon Maya. She attempts to look away but he has other plans. Of course, he scoots on over, scanning Maya like she was an animal to be devoured. In some sick way, she did sometimes find pleasure in the idea that someone may find her desirable in moments like this, even with torn lip skin and a wild head of hair that’s yet to be washed after a day of work. 

Would you like to dance, sweetheart?

“No, I’m good, thank you.” Maya says, laughing again, now turning away.

Oh, come on, I’m a great dancer and you’re beautiful. Let’s make some magic.

With that, Maya laughs before turning completely, a roll of her eyes coming next. She scans the area, looking for a hero or an easy way out. And, then, she locks eyes with a woman. She’s gorgeous, slim, and has the kind of perfect cupid’s bow that made Maya want to become an artist just so she could spend her days drawing beautiful women. Bingo. “Excuse me,” Maya slips from the man’s grasp entirely, approaching the woman. When she’s close enough, she speaks in a hushed tone, “Please pretend you’re with me so this guy stops riding me ass. I’ll buy you a drink in return.”

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

it takes little beyond a second  —  half a breath,  really  —  for the two women to meet eyes and form some sort of strange recognition.   for the briefest of moments,  dolores even wonders  —  upon seeing the other woman perk up and edge out of the man’s grasp,  to make a beeline toward her  —  if they’d met before.   but that thought passes,  and she straightens.   she’s approached in hushed tones and dolores leans to better hear her words,  listening as her eyes,  wide and wondering,  wander just behind the woman,  watching as the man in question  —  cheeks rosy and confused  —  quickly stumbles toward them.

she stops to think,  following the man’s eyeline to notice he’s staring at  —  what else  —  this woman’s ass.   and just as he’s about to reach for her once more,  dolores snakes an arm around the woman’s waist to pull her closer,  out of reach.   rather than roll her eyes as she so wanted,  already annoyed by yet another man’s drunken behavior,  she allows them to twinkle,  lets a smirk grace her lips.   ❛  baby,  i’ve been looking for you all over,  ❜  dolores laughs,  leaning  —  in a move she hoped wasn’t too much  —  to press a kiss to the woman’s cheek.   ❛  mm,  you smell amazing.  ❜

her opposite hand raises to the woman’s cheek,  a smile still present on her face,  to wipe away a smudge of red lipstick dolores had left behind.   though she doesn’t look his way,  she feels his presence lingering the way one feels watched in the dark.   and she hopes for no need to engage:  that by just ignoring him altogether,  he’ll take the hint.   to the woman,  dolores continues,  ❛  i hope no one’s been bothering you.  ❜

[jcylenz]

ANA DE ARMAS as Roxanne in Yesterday (2019)

[dolorom]

MASON HARTLEY.​

Relief — it washes over him in spades; he’d been expecting her to downright refuse, even if her answer is lukewarm at best. And that had been her demeanor towards him their entire month-and-a-half of filming: lukewarm, not testy enough for him to leave her alone, not friendly enough for him to make judgments about her character. She is a puzzle that he can’t quite solve, the itch right out of grasp in the middle of his back, Mason has never learned to gracefully back away from a challenge.  

He stands there, a phantom of a smile, pale and thin, touching his lips — the comment she makes about Disney-plus and its catalog of childhood nostalgia, hinting that familiarity is always better than novelty. Hands on is waist, he lifts his chin and nods, that burst of awkward chuckle shooting out of his lips again with the finality of a punctuation mark. “I don’t know if I can compete with all of the Pixar movies, but, uh, I can promise decent conversation, at the very least. Don’t get your hopes up too high,” he jokes. “We’re thinking Three Palms Arcade. It’s open ‘til three, and its loud enough to keep us up until then.” 

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

three palms arcade.   decent conversation.   an airbnb.   pixar movies.

her gaze turns to the waves,  hungrily lapping at the shore,  impatient for an answer  —  will you or won’t you,  she thinks.   her options weigh against each other,  bringing a soft snort to her own amusement.   again she wonders why this decision seems a difficult one to make:  most anyone could decide by now.   yet,  dolores pictures herself at home  —  the airbnb,  where she’d sink into someone else’s sofa,  surrounded by objects that weren’t hers.   she pictures the movie she’d likely land on,  then immediately zone out during.   something she’s seen a hundred times over.

and then dolores pictures mason and the others,  having their own good time until three in the morning.   she imagines what they might say about her  —  kinda weird,  seemed pouty,  difficult to work with,  not very fun  —  and,  selfishly,  how that could affect her career.   when she turns back to him once more,  her cheeks are still flushed;  the look in her eyes still distant.   and again  —  again,  again,  again  —  she contemplates how outgoing he seemed to be,  how generous and warm,  and dolores can’t help but question his motives.   though not everyone operated under false pretenses,  in her experience they often did:  consider her own thought process,  mere seconds ago.

was she talking herself into going,  or talking herself into staying home?   she already knew the answer.   she should’ve said so from the beginning.   his smile’s gentle and,  beside herself,  dolores wonders what’s behind it.   ❛  whatever.   i’ll go,  ❜  she starts,  a sigh.   her neck tilts to better look at him  —  the man nearly an entire foot taller  —  as dolores steps forward,  fist raising to lightly punch him on the arm.   ❛  only if you’re gonna be okay when i beat your ass at pool.   i guess i’ll just change outta this,  then meet up with you guys there…?  ❜

[dolorom]

LOCATION   ›   on set for a jack adler music video. TIMESTAMP   ›   january 23rd,  2021.   10:15 pm. NOTES   ›   closed starter for @jackadler​.

it’s late and it’s cold when she knocks on his trailer’s door,  but dolores doesn’t mind  —  not that she could do anything about such conditions.   while most others may lament the prospect of a night shoot,  such occasion brings a certain joy to her own demeanor.   as if dusk,  the setting sun,  starlight all brought with them a liberation she rarely felt during the day.   she waits outside and listens:  to the shuffle of jack inside,  to the chatter of crew members at work,  the faint,  far-off shifting of ocean waves.   should she look for it now,  it’d be a black expanse of nothingness.

when the door opens,  dolores raises her hand in the air,  offering jack a better view of the vons bag she carried.   ❛  i brought the good shit,  ❜  she smiles,  then takes her other hand out from within the pocket of her puffer,  revealing a deck of uno cards.   ❛  and the other good shit.   they’re still fixing the lights,  so…   i thought,  maybe…   we could kill some time?  ❜

[dolorom]

MASON HARTLEY.​

for→ @dolorom location: on set, right by a secluded beach time: late evening

And that’s a wrap for today, folks! Immediately, the set buzzes with idle chatter, the small crew already making plans for their night off. With the morning off the next day (a rarity since they started filming about a month ago), everybody is keen on getting a drink or two in without the worry of a killer hangover the next day. 

Mason is no different. He’d always been aggressively friendly, insisting on the entire crew become one big family by the end of filming — but this time around, he’d found it difficult. Dolores, despite playing something of a love interest in the film, hadn’t been as receptive to his offers of friendship. It’d been quite disarming, to say the least. 

But never one to give up so easily, Mason catches the woman as she is leaving, hand landing on her shoulder. “Hey,” he greets. “Some of us are going to get drinks. You wanna come along?”  

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

and that’s a wrap for today,  folks!   their early release brings a sense of audible relief.   as if everyone had been just WAITING for that line to come;  crew members immediately moving to pack things away and get on with their night off.   dolores is no different,  hopping from her chair and stretching,  releasing a groan as she did so.   the natural buzz accompanying everyone’s excitement  —  finally a morning off,  you got any plans tomorrow,  you want to come with us  —  hums within her ears,  as she meanwhile starts toward her trailer,  eager to wash the day off her face.   and though she idly listens to them,  silently longing to join their conversations,  it’s only when a hand touches her that she stops.   and,  without needing to look,  without needing to hear a voice,  dolores knows who it is.

mason hartley.   she turns just so to look at him,  facing him sidelong,  and is taken aback for a moment,  as always.   perhaps shocked that someone could look the way he did  —  or shocked that someone could harbor such a friendly demeanor,  against whatever odds.   her gaze turns briefly to his hand on her shoulder,  before it falls,  and she realizes she’s let too many seconds go by without a response.   so,  lips part,  her weight shifting to one leg,  and she says NO but,  to her surprise,  what comes out instead is:  ❛  i dunno.  ❜

she’s unsure why she says it,  just as she’s unsure why her initial impulse was a hard no.   it’s not like the woman has grander plans for that night or tomorrow.   yet,  in spite of this,  she shrugs,  ❛  i mean…   i just got disney-plus,  so like.   you’re gonna have to make it interesting.  ❜  the words are intended as a joke,  though she quickly realizes her tone was flat  —  rude,  even.   cheeks flush,  her head shakes to correct herself,  and dolores stammers on.   ❛  i mean—  where are you guys gonna go?   i don’t really…   know the island well,  honestly.  ❜

[dolorom]

LOCATION   ›   luau larry’s. TIMESTAMP   ›   january 17th,  2021.   11:47 pm. NOTES   ›   closed starter for @mayawollman​.

is this the island life?   the easy way in which one takes inconvenience in stride?   there’s a duality within her that has her wonder.   mainland dolores  —  the one who would groan should someone suggest walking five blocks to a bar  —  might have smashed something when posed with her current predicament.   something ceramic and satisfying,  that’d be loud when it hit the floor.   and yet,  here she is:  happy to walk back to luau larry’s from her friend’s hotel.   though her feet may not thank her later,  it’s her skin that’s thanking her now,  relaxed to feel familiar air,  nightly and cold and bringing with it the smell of salt.   her arms are crossed as she nears the bar and she’s humming,  of all things  —  surprising even herself with the unbothered attitude she’d assumed.

or maybe she’s just drunk.   or,  to a lesser degree,  and at the very least,  still feeling the warm buzz she’d cultivated over a few margaritas and a few orders of buffalo wings.   remembering this brings a near-watering to her mouth,  the way being out late only could:  dolores had never been immune to late-night munchies.   she’s considering adding another basket to her tab as she reenters the fray,  taking a minute to nudge through the crowds to reach the actual bartop.   and though part of her silently curses her own forgetfulness  —  likely brought on by the aforementioned margaritas  —  and wishes she’d remembered to close out her tab before leaving,  there’s another,  louder part that’s glad not to be alone right then.   as if simply being near people,  and among them,  could be enough to stave off her recent bout of loneliness.

it’s only as she’s flagging down a bartender that she recognizes the voice:  it’s higher than others around them,  a bit pitchier considering,  and enough for dolores to look in its direction.   then,  upon placing it as belonging to some woman with a wild mess of curls that,  aside from the voice,  dolores immediately notices,  she watches the odd interaction unfold:  said woman skittering away as some guy,  sloppy and emboldened by liquor,  attempts to pull her in for a dance.   and,  for a moment,  dolores thinks nothing of it  —  until her eyes lock with the woman’s.

[tedllasso]

Ana de Armas for Porter Magazine, 2020