Four Nipple Sam

Four Nipple SamA Hollywood RomanceSuki McMinn Copyright © 2023 Suki McMinnThe moral right of Suki McMinn to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.ISBN 979-8-8300-0101-4All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the author.This novel’s story and characters are fictitious. Certain long-standing institutions and businesses are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary. For the Grumpy Sisterhood Contents Title PageCopyrightDedicationChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-oneChapter Twenty-twoChapter Twenty-threeChapter Twenty-fourChapter Twenty-fiveABOUT THE AUTHORACKNOWLEDGMENT Chapter OneSam didn’t always have four nipples. There was a time he was merely a normal human man. I don’t remember the first time I saw him, but surely I’d seen him before, because I knew who he was the day he appeared in his underwear in the parking lot of my apartment building. That’s when I realized how far up my boyfriend’s butt my head had been. How had I missed this fine specimen of a man living right next door to me?I’d awakened to make coffee and then gone back to bed when the 5.9 earthquake woke the entire city of Los Angeles at 7:42 a.m. on October 1, 1987. It was my first significant quake, and I didn’t recall what I was supposed to do. Get under a desk? (I had none.) Stand in a doorframe? (I had two—to my bathroom and my kitchen.) I pulled the covers over my head and waited for the shaking to stop.Later, the news said it lasted twenty seconds, but it felt as if my apartment rattled and rumbled for twenty minutes. It wasn’t the first moment I’d questioned my move to Los Angeles, but it was certainly the most dramatic.When it was over, I threw my front door open, not knowing exactly what I was doing but longing to just be out. Samuel had the same idea, as he was standing beneath me in the parking apron (under an alarming number of wires between utility poles—that couldn’t have been safe). He looked up at me, his dark curls in disarray, a wide-eyed expression on his face, in nothing but light-blue boxers.“Are you okay?” he called up to the second-floor walkway.I nodded, instinctively touching my body to make sure I was indeed okay, and was reminded I was clad in my nightgown, a clingy slip of the finest lavender polyester not very much money could buy. But at least my nipples were covered. His were not.We stood waiting for other people to appear, but none did. There were only ten units in the Fair Haven—all small single apartments—and we seemed to be the only two people at home. Or at least the only two who felt the need to flee their home.As he climbed the stairs, I said, “Would you like some coffee? I’m Sadie, by the way.”“Samuel,” he said as he reached the second-floor walkway, extending his hand.I looked down to take it, but instead I saw his male package outlined in pale-blue cotton and withdrew my hand. Should I withdraw my invitation? No. I felt shaken by the earthquake and didn’t want to be alone.Samuel’s apartment, where there must have been choices of pants and shirts he could wear, was only a few yards beyond mine, but he opened my screen door instead and held it as I entered obediently. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone either—even for the minute it would take to retrieve his clothes.I poured coffee into my only two matching mugs. “Cream or sugar?” I asked nonchalantly, knowing I had neither.“Black is fine,” he said as he sat at the foot of my open sofa bed.The power was out, but the coffee was still hot. I wondered whether I should open the curtains to let in more light, but then anyone who walked by would see us sitting on the bed in our inappropriate clothing, so I left the curtains drawn.I sat beside him, my heart pounding from the earthquake or from the boxer shorts. There was only one chair in the room, and it was piled high with clothes I’d neglected to hang in the closet. I hadn’t expected company.“You’re a writer,” I said. It wasn’t a question. I’d listened to his typewriter for months. “I mean, I hear you typing, so . . .”“I’m sorry. I don’t know of a quieter way to work. I try to stop at ten, but I know sometimes I don’t. I’ve had neighbors complain before.”“Oh, I’m not complaining. Just observing.”“Yes, I’m a writer.”He seemed to relax his shoulders. They were broad and exquisite. But I had a boyfriend.“I have a boyfriend.” Damn, that was not what I meant to say.“Oh, good. I mean, I’m happy for you. If you’re happy, I mean.”“I am.” Was I?“And I have a girlfriend. She’s an actress.”I nodded. We both drank some coffee.“What do you write?”“Screenplays.”“You’re in the right place.”“Let’s hope so.”“Anything I’ve seen?”“No. I haven’t sold one yet, but I have a solid nibble on a sci-fi adventure I’ve been shopping. Have you heard of Grayshade Pictures?”“Really? Maybe. Well, that sounds exciting anyway.” I thought Grayshade was a small studio, but still, it was a studio. Getting the attention of any studio was a big deal in Hollywood.He set his mug on the folding end table by his side of the bed after pushing my black lace bra aside. I did a quick inventory of the tabletop contents. He’d found the worst. He used my spiral-bound journal for a coaster.“It takes place on the planet Zost. Two alien races battle for control of the planet after a long war. An unlikely hero emerges. Have you heard of the hero’s journey?”“Like The Odyssey,” I said. “Or Star Wars. It’s a literary template, isn’t it?”He raised his eyebrows and nodded.“So,” I continued. “We’re