Celebrity

by De Ross, Melinda

  I clicked to open the message and read it:

  Dear Miss Kensington,

  This is Sam with Dream Beach Homes.

  I was wondering if you have found any home you like on our website, DBH.com. I would be happy to show you any house you wish to visit. Would this be a permanent residence or a vacation house? Please let me know how I can help with your home search. If you have any questions at all, please contact me anytime.

  With Appreciation,

  Sam Pavlovich

  I drummed my fingers on the side of the laptop, tongue-in-cheek, wondering if I was able to control myself. Nope, I decided after a few seconds. I wasn’t. I hit ‘Reply’ and wrote:

  Hey Sam,

  I am not interested in buying any property at the moment. I’m a writer and I’ve accessed your website just for research purposes. Please stop sending me emails, because I am not a prospective customer.

  Kendra Kensington

  It was probably mean to crush his dreams of shoving a billion dollar house down my throat, but then, it was rude for him to pester me with uninvited emails too. I felt much better after sending the message, and even giggled a bit at my bitchiness. I could just imagine the cuss words when he read it and realized he’d wasted time and hopes for nothing.

  And just because I was in a mean mode, I wrote a very pompous announcement on Facebook and Twitter, knowing Richard would see it: ‘I am delighted to announce that my script, ‘The Diary’ will be turned into a movie by MBM Movie World! Warm thanks to my amazing agent, Danny Gonzales, for making my dreams possible. More details to follow.’

  I added a heart emoticon for good measure, and made sure my location, Los Angeles, was publicly visible. Then I posted it, along with a photo of the Hollywood sign I’d quickly downloaded from the internet. I promised myself one day soon I would take my own photos of that sign.

  Exhaling with satisfaction, I closed the laptop, ate three cookies and crawled into bed. After I turned off the light, I vaguely remembered I had neglected to brush my teeth, but I was asleep before I could return to the bathroom.

  ****

  I spent the next few days shopping and exploring the city, either on foot or by car. I took the opportunity to jog each morning, enjoying the perfect temperature and the ever green streets. I liked discovering the seemingly endless one-way roads, where villas and mansions reigned, shaded by cascades of well-tended vegetation. I didn’t much care for the signs of ‘Private Property’ and ‘No Trespassing’ I seemed to encounter every few miles, but I couldn’t blame the owners for not wanting strangers in their own private chunks of nature.

  I’d always loved plants, so I felt giddy thinking of my future home—I already considered the Malibu house mine—with its wild-looking surroundings and backyard forest. I counted the days until Wednesday, when I planned to call Vicki.

  In the afternoons I cruised the shopping centers or sat in open air restaurants, watching the world go by. On Tuesday I drove to Beverly Hills, left the car in the secure parking lot of a nearby bank, and set off to browse all the shops on Rodeo Drive. Two sweaty hours later, I had learned one of L.A.’s golden rules: there were fifty shades of ‘expensive’ around here, the major three being: obscenely expensive, indecently expensive, and you-go-blind-if-you-even-check-out-the-price-tag expensive.

  However, I had acquired a few anorexic-looking bags, of items I could barely afford, since they were on a so-called sale. Most of them were panties, bras, and a few pieces of very sexy underwear. Other than sweets, underwear were one of my few weaknesses—especially black, lacy, exquisite undergarments. I’d always thought panties and bras were like orgasms—a woman could never have too many of them.

  Only Richard was aware of this addiction, but I realized now how wasted it had been on him. When we didn’t have sex in total darkness, which was usually the case, he undressed me so quickly he couldn’t possibly see what I was wearing. Come to think of it, I rarely noticed what he was wearing. God, how could I be involved with such a guy for a whole year? And he wasn’t much different from the other few lovers I’d had.

  Had I been wrong to be so engrossed in work that I didn’t pay any attention to the other things and people in my life? Was it so terrible I wanted to do more with my life than marry, have kids and expect my husband to take care of us forever? I thought of my mom, how contented and cheerful she always was, and I wondered not for the first time if perhaps I was too ambitious. Had I met a man like Dad, who would make me as happy as Mom was, I might have settled for being a stay-at-home wife and mother. But I’d never come close to living such a love story. Maybe I never would.

  I shook off the thoughts that threatened to cloud my good mood. It was too gorgeous a day for such depressing musings. I was only thirty, for Heaven’s sake! I had most of my life ahead, and plenty of time to meet Mr. Perfect. At least I always wore great underwear, so I’d be ready if he cared to make an appearance in my life.

  Smiling to myself, I was just heading back to my car, when something caught my attention—a blonde teenage girl was walking out of a tattoo parlor, followed by a trio of girlfriends. They all squealed and exclaimed over the blonde’s left ankle. As I approached I saw a raw, fresh tattoo on her tanned skin. It was a colorful rainbow of stars, beautifully sliding up her ankle toward her calf. I was mesmerized. I’d never been a fan of tattoos, but this purely feminine symbol was truly lovely.

  Impulsively, I opened the door to the parlor. I’d never been inside this kind of place before. I expected to see a couple of leather-clad artists tattooed from head to toe, and wearing just as many piercings. To my surprise, I saw a fortyish blonde who looked like a sea nymph, dressed in a long, floating dress, decorated with pink and blue flowers. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. The only tattoo I saw on her as she greeted me was an intricate bracelet curled around her left bicep. I always had the impression tattoos somehow shadowed a woman’s grace and femininity, but this was a vivid example of how wrong I was.

  “May I help you?” she asked, as I looked around at the walls covered in art of all kinds, from paintings to hand drawn sketches.

  “Um... I just wondered if you have a catalog, or something I can look at for tattoo ideas,” I said awkwardly, still convinced I was wasting both my time and hers.

  “Of course.”

  She showed me to a small sofa, then took a couple of folders from the coffee table and handed them to me.

  “Feel free to browse as long as you want. If you have any questions, just call me. I’m Sonja,” she added with a smile.

  “Thanks. “ I took the catalogs and sat, putting my bags next to me. “I have one question first: do you make temporary tattoos too, or only permanent? I mean... I don’t know if something like this would suit me.”

  She smiled again. “We do both. A tattoo is a commitment, and although its meanings and purposes have changed during the centuries, these days we have choices. A temporary symbol is like an engagement, a trial before the final step.”

  I laughed softly as she walked away to greet another customer. I’d never thought there was so much philosophy about some design scribbled into someone’s flesh. I thought it was a primitive custom, but now I was wondering if I hadn’t been a bit narrow-minded.

  After a few pages covered in drawings of skulls, fiery crosses, snakes, dragons and other stuff, I was beginning to reconsider, when I came upon an image that took my breath away. It was the exquisite drawing of a lacy-winged butterfly, made in simple black. The artist had managed to make it look graceful and strong at the same time, and so real I almost expected it to flutter off the page. This was the classiest accessory a woman could have. It was the kind of symbol that would look elegant even on a queen. As I stared at it mesmerized, I recalled the moment I arrived in Los Angeles. I’d felt exactly like a butterfly, fragile, lonely and lost, swallowed by the unknown. But now I knew it didn’t have to be that way. I might be a butterfly, but I was a joyful one, who wanted to breeze through life carried by a gentle wind,
through sunny, colorful fields, enjoying each moment. A smile curved my lips as I lifted my eyes in search of Sonja. Perhaps it was another good sign that she was just heading toward me, her dress swaying gently with each step.

  “Have you seen anything you like?” she asked.

  “Yes. I want this one, here on my right ankle,” I said, touching the bare skin above my sandal strap.

  She smiled back, taking the catalog from me. “It suits you. Would you like a temporary tattoo?”

  I took a deep breath and stood. “No. This one is a permanent commitment.”

  Chapter Eight

  I spent Wednesday morning in bed, writing down ideas for a new script on my laptop, and admiring my tattoo. Since I couldn’t see it very well, I kept my compact mirror next to me, checking the reflection of my graceful butterfly every ten minutes or so. I was super excited, especially since I knew it would look even more spectacular once it healed completely.

  At 11:00 I called Vicki and asked her if we could have lunch, because I had some more questions about the house. She was solicitude personified. After a short discussion, we decided to meet at the same Italian restaurant where Danny and I had dinner last week.

  I’d considered this meeting all night, not sure how best to convince her to sell me the house for a lower price. Unfortunately for me, Vicki was a professional negotiator. But I did have an ace up my sleeve: she didn’t know I was willing to pay full price if she didn’t relent. I wanted that house. I’d already made plans for it, for the furniture and kitchen appliances, the bedroom wallpaper, the living room floor. I’d even made lists with the necessary repairs. I simply had to have it.

  I applied my makeup carefully using black eyeliner, mascara and pale pink lipstick. Then I stepped into one of the few dresses I’d bought from Melrose—a soft pink in pinup style, with a narrow waist and full skirt that reached my knees. I slipped my feet into flat black sandals, and couldn’t help admiring my butterfly once more. It looked gorgeous, just above the sandal strap. I only needed to work on my tan, because my skin was too pale compared to the Californian babes and surfers who populated the streets.

  I found a parking spot and left my Rover in the shade, then decided to sit outside, since the restaurant also had open-air tables under large, green umbrellas. It seemed everything was green around here. As I sat back in my chair with the lemonade I ordered, a smile lingered on my face.

  Vicki arrived at 1:00 sharp, dressed in a pale blue suit this time, accessorized with a bulky Louis Vuitton bag. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, and she wore sunglasses, which were essential in the Los Angeles sun. I waved at her, waiting as she walked quickly toward the table, her high heels clicking on the pavement.

  “Hi! I’m glad you could make it,” I said, signaling the waiter to bring us the menus.

  “I always make time for potential clients,” she replied, flashing her whiter-than-white smile as she sat in the chair opposite me. “I understand you have some questions about the house in Malibu?”

  I paused, then took off my sunglasses and planted my forearms on the table, all business.

  “Actually, I’m ready to make an offer on the house.”

  I could tell she was stunned when I told her my price offer, and I congratulated myself for the bold bluff.

  “Well, I’m not sure the owners will agree to your offer,” she said hesitantly after she recovered. “We’re talking about a 10 percent price reduction.”

  “Vicki, let’s talk frankly. The house has been on the market for almost a year. It’s a wreck. It would cost nearly as much as the property itself to restore it.” This was a gross exaggeration and we both knew it, but we had to dance the dance. “I bet you’ve reduced the price at least twice so far, and it hasn’t sold.”

  I had her attention, so I pressed my advantage. “I think the house has potential, so I’m willing to buy it, but this is really the best offer I can make.”

  When the waiter brought us our menus, we both took the time to regroup, browsing through the food options. After a few minutes, Vicki was the one to break the silence.

  “I can’t promise you anything, but I will talk to the owner and get back to you.”

  “Great,” I said indifferently, my eyes still on the menu. “As I mentioned, I haven’t visited all the houses on my list, so I’m in no hurry. Have you decided what to eat? I think I’ll have a pizza with lots of cheese and pepperoni. I’m starving!”

  I had no idea if she’d fallen for my BS or not, but once again the ball was in her corner. I changed the subject, making it obvious this sale wasn’t nearly as important to me as it was to her.

  “I forgot to tell you,” I said after we both ordered pizza. “I bought a Rover just like yours, but mine is black.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yup. I have to thank you for giving me the idea.”

  She beamed at me. “Glad to help. So, do you like driving it? Some women aren’t fans of big cars.”

  “I love it,” I said between sips of cold, delicious lemonade. “I’ve always liked manly cars. Danny, my agent, says I’ll have trouble with parking, but...”

  My phone started quacking Danny’s familiar tune. As I answered, I saw Vicki trying to hide a smile. I had to admit, the tune was ridiculous, and it must sound even more so to people who heard it for the first time. Maybe I should change it.

  “Hi,” I said to Danny.

  “Hi, Kendra. How’s it going?”

  “Perfect. I’m just having lunch, and then I plan to do a little tour of museums and art galleries—as much as I can see in one day. Any recommendations?”

  “Absolutely. I can be your guide if you want. Then we could take in a movie, or go for a drink,” he suggested.

  “That sounds marvelous. I’m with a friend at that restaurant where we ate the other day. Can you meet me here in half an hour?”

  “Deal. See you there.”

  ****

  Danny arrived precisely five minutes after Vicki finished her pizza and left with the promise she’d be in touch. I was just drinking my second lemonade when he walked in. All the women in the restaurant turned their heads to give him appraising leers, and for good reason. He looked great in the simple white T-shirt that molded his body, and washed out jeans. It was the first time I’d seen him out of a suit. I had to admit the casual look fit him just as well.

  He smiled at me as he took off his sunglasses.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  I stood, grabbing my purse from the chair. Before I could say a word, he picked up the tab and took some bills from his wallet.

  “This one’s on me. No argument,” he said firmly, ushering me out of the restaurant.

  As we walked to the exit, I was aware of his warm hand on the small of my back. Several envious gazes darted toward us from his many admirers. Not for the first time, I wondered what he would be like as a lover, but kept my thoughts firmly away from that idea. There couldn’t possibly be anything meaningful between us. I didn’t want anything meaningful right now. In any case, he wasn’t the type of man who took women and relationships seriously. Besides, if we were to have sex, I was afraid I wouldn’t measure up to the countless women he had before me. It was a bitter blow to realize my self confidence was still so fragile.

  “Where did you go, preciosa?”

  His deep voice interrupted my musings, making me jerk and blush at the same time. “I was thinking where we should go first. Why don’t you guide me, Oh Mighty One?”

  Laughing, we climbed into his Mercedes and began compiling a possible route.

  “Let’s see...” Danny mused. “There’s the Getty Center, if you’re into art and antiques, or we could visit the Griffith Observatory. Talk about feeling on top of the world!” He glanced at me with a grin. “Then there’s the Natural History Museum...”

  “That’s it! That’s where I want to go first.” I clapped my hands in childish excitement. “I adore natural history! Do they have skeletons of prehi
storic creatures?”

  “Frankly, I’ve never been there, but I do know they have specimens dating from over four billion years ago. Plus, they have a whole gallery of dinosaur fossils.”

  My eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Oh, my God! I think I want to live there. I’m fascinated by dinosaurs! In fact, I’ve seen the Jurassic Park trilogy at least half a dozen times. Except for the third one. That was the most annoying one, all due to the dumb blonde played by Téa Leoni. Every time she started yelling and screaming on that island full of dinosaurs, I wanted to bitch-slap her. I don’t know what she’s like in real life, but she played that role too well.”

  Danny’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Maybe they’ll cast her to play Serena.”

  I glanced at him sideways, wincing. “Oh, well, I’m sure she’s very talented,” I began lamely, but stopped when I saw he was laughing at me.

  “I’d punch you, but you’re driving,” I said, ticked. “I’ll remember it for later though.”

  “You can’t stay mad at me, you know that. Anyway, the Jurassic Park is actually a tetrology. There was a fourth movie released last year, Jurassic World.”

  I let out a snort. “That was a total letdown for me. It was obvious it didn’t have Master Spielberg’s magic touch. The only redeeming thing was Chris Pratt, the new Hollywood heartthrob. How I wish they cast him to play Hunter...”

  Danny started to say something, but then he propped a hand on the horn and cursed lavishly at an idiot in a green Honda, who nearly rammed us from the left by skipping a red light.

  “That stupid, crazy son of a bitch!” I exclaimed, clutching my pounding heart.

  “You gotta love driving in L.A.”

  ****

  I have no idea how many hours we spent in the Natural History Museum, but I was so thrilled I could have stayed there for a week. The place was huge, with a spectacular glass entrance featuring a stunning, sixty-three-foot-long whale skeleton. There were at least a dozen galleries with specimens representing the Los Angeles region's history, from Native Americans to the Catholic missions, the Industrial Revolution and the World Wars, down to the present day.