Finding Love's Wings

by Derrick, Zoey

  I enter the suite and beeline straight to the bar. I grab the bottle of Laphraig and pour about two fingers’ worth into the crystal glass. Once I pour, I stare at it like it's going to bite me.

  "No more," I grumble out loud, and down the scotch. Immediately I pour another glass and make my way to the terrace. The hotel room has a retro feel to it. With a lot of orange, red, brown, and yellow, of all things. All put together, it really works. The streets of downtown L.A. are bustling with people going this way and that. The searchlights are still going in front of Nokia Theater and people are still milling about. No doubt waiting for all those who entered to leave again. The premiere isn't even for one of my movies. I felt no obligation to stay, and I refused to stay with Layla milling about. I turn my phone back on and text Travis to let him know that I've left. I had agreed to attend Travis's Rebound premiere more than a month ago. He never actually asks me to attend such events; it's kind of implied, when it comes to him. We met about four years ago at a charity event and we have been nearly inseparable ever since. He's been my rock since all of this Layla crap happened, including my escape and a place to crash.

  His response to my text has me laughing. I stare at the "Fuck Layla!" replay and shake my head. If he only knew.

  I sit down and rub my chest. While I wait for Tyson, I look to the stars and whisper. "Please, Mama. Send me a sign – something, anything – that this is all going to be right."

  PART TWO

  Upon my arrival in L.A., I head downtown to the JW Marriott, I want to stay at the Hollywood Hotel, but my late arrival has me seeking something quick and guaranteed. If the JW fails, the Ritz is right next door.

  Once I check in I take the elevator up to a suite on the eighteenth floor. The room looks like Ikea barfed on the decor: brown walls, orange furniture, and white linens. The furniture is eclectic, but strangely it all goes together.

  I dump my luggage next to the bed, pour myself a glass of white wine, and flop into a white, high-backed club chair. While pulling my iPad from my knapsack I notice a strange light peeking through the closed curtains. Hmm, I wonder what that's all about? I get out of my chair and walk toward the window. Peering out, I notice a few spotlights floating around. My eyes follow the lights to the top of the towers located in the center of L.A. Live, then look down to see the red carpet and the crowd milling about. It's hard to make out what exactly is going on, but it appears to be a premiere.

  I stare down at it for a moment, shrug and return to my chair. I email Beau and Mick to tell them that I'm in L.A. I just leave it at that for right now. I'm sure the initial reaction is that I'm in town for business, which is now true: Trinity has emailed to ask me to come to a board meeting tomorrow. I guess since I'm here, I might as well.

  I shut down the iPad, light a cigarette, and sit back. Taking a deep breath, I let the tears of frustration flow.

  I'm not hurt, per se, regarding Reed. I'm angry with myself and – interestingly – with my parents.

  Bobbie, my father, and Evelyn, my mother, were the definition of what a parent shouldn't be throughout my childhood and even into the early stages of adulthood. When I was only six, my parents sent me off to England with a personal matron to keep tabs on me until I was old enough to enter into a full boarding school.

  I stayed in England until I was sixteen. I was brought home by Bobbie because Evelyn had passed away. I found out later on that she had been sick for some time. It was another thing to add to the long list of what my parents failed at.

  After I graduated from high school and moved away to Phoenix for college, Bobbie started to come around and warm up to me. The emails were few and far between in the beginning. As time passed, his emails became more frequent. When I entered into my degree program, my schedule was such that my responses became shorter, and I sent them less often. But the emails from Bobbie got longer, and the more emails I got, the better I got to know him. I made a few trips out to California over the next couple of years, and, to my surprise, Bobbie made time for me. The lunches and dinners were awkward, but we managed to muddle through.

  Last year, which was my senior year of college, my thesis kept me busy and left me little time for much fun. I did, however, make a point of returning his emails, though my replies were often short. I thought we had time. Just as I realized I was looking forward to having a better relationship with Bobbie, he passed away.

  From my parents I learned to be insensitive, a bit of a bitch, and, most of all, shallow and empty. I know nothing of love, or what love is supposed to feel like. I constantly find myself in the arms of men that treat me as though I'm nothing more than a good fuck.

  I'm so angry at myself for being susceptible to the weakness Bobbie and Evelyn have instilled in me that I can't stop the tears from flowing.

  The next morning I wake up around six, shower, and put on jeans, a tank top underneath a lacy button-up shirt, and sneakers. I head downstairs and grab a cab, instructing the driver to head to Westwood Memorial Park in Hollywood.

  When we arrive I ask the cab driver to wait for me, and I make my way to Bobbie and Evelyn's grave. As I approach their headstones my anger grows to uncontrollable proportions, and I walk up and kick Bobbie's headstone right in the name.

  "Ow! Ow! Dammit." I fall to the ground, sobbing. "I hate you, you son of bitch! Why did you do this to me? I don't understand. If you never wanted kids, why the fuck did you have them? Because, believe me, right now, I'm sure I would be better off." For a moment the tears are so overwhelming that I can't speak anymore.

  I have never understood why my parents saw fit to let us be raised the way that we were. Why did we never have parents, but only house staff and guardians at school to take care of us?

  "Because of you, I'm dead on the inside. I can't love or be loved," I continued to sob. "You were never there for me. You were never supportive or loving. You left me to care for myself at an age when I needed you most." I wipe the tears from my cheeks. "I've never been anything more than a throw-away toy, a sexual object, and for that I hate myself. I just wish I knew better how to handle myself and my emotions, or even something as simple as a relationship. Instead I give in to someone so fast they see a way to use me for their own satisfaction."

  The anger that pulled me here quickly turns to loneliness and isolation. I shift my position, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms tightly around my legs, and stare at my father's grave.

  He's been gone for a full year now. Despite all his God-awful flaws, I'm really starting to miss him. I need someone to be there for me on an emotional level. I need someone who has holes in their head that fit all the rocks in mine.

  Bobbie and I were never a father and daughter; it was more like ward and warden because he was always cold and unyielding when it came to expressions of love. I am so angry at the fact that I feel so lost and I have no one to turn to.

  After a few more minutes, the cab driver approaches me. "Ma'am, we need to go if you want to make your meeting."

  I wipe the tears from my eyes and stand up. "I'll be right there," I tell him. Take one last look at the headstone.

  As much as I want to hate him and be angry with him, it's no use. There's only this bronze-colored headstone.

  "Good Morning Rayne," I say to my assistant. She starts, then quickly puts her hand dramatically over her heart. I can’t help but smile at the fact that she looks so guilty, but all I did was scare the hell out of her. Rayne's presence in the office, while helpful when I'm here, is ridiculous if you want the truth of it. She ends up doing ridiculous office duties when I'm not around and it's unnecessary. I watch as she quickly composes herself.

  Rayne is about my height, with blond-highlighted, chestnut colored hair and brown eyes. She is very pretty in a simple-kind-of-girl way. Her makeup is subtle, but present. A curvy yet slim figure. She’s downright gorgeous, if you want the truth of it. Her outfit today is a black suit with an electric blue camisole underneath.

  "Good morning, ma'am. I assume
that Trinity doesn't know you're here?"

  I smile. "No, I didn't see her email until last night. I had already come back to L.A., so I figured I'd come in."

  "Fair enough. Trinity is here, in her office. She seems a bit out of sorts this morning. No doubt it has to do with one of her clients." Rayne giggles. She knows how worked up Trinity can get. She definitely sees it more than I do.

  I nod to her. "Can you bring me some coffee, please?"

  "Sure thing." And off she goes. I walk past my office to Trinity's. Her door is ajar, but only by inches. I tap lightly and push it open.

  "Holy shit, Cami, don't scare me like that." She smiles.

  I giggle. "Then maybe you shouldn't be doing something you're not supposed to do." I watch her face fall and the stress return to her features. "Why are you so tense?" I ask.

  "I've been up half of the night, trying to track down one of my clients. He took off from a premiere and no one has seen him since he left so abruptly."

  Trinity Parish is the Vice President of Public Relations at Bold International, Inc., and the glue that keeps this company functioning. Founded by my father back in the late seventies, Bold International is an agency that offers all manner of services to a wide variety of clients: actors, athletes, artists, authors, and the like.

  Compliments of my father, Bobbie, I inherited this gig. When he passed away he left me half of his fortune and all of Bold International, Inc. It’s a job that I don't want – well at least at the time I didn't want it – but that I was required to take. Bobbie had written his will so that I had no choice to take over. If I hadn’t, the company would have been sold off in tiny pieces to the lowest bidders.

  Trinity's panic is almost comical. "I'm sorry, I guess I am failing to see the urgency in the situation. Its been what, eighteen hours? Give him a break. He probably ran off with some random woman and is holed up in a hotel somewhere."

  Her face visibly relaxes. "I suppose you're probably right."

  "I usually am." I give her a cheeky grin and she smiles. Trinity really is pretty, with her blond-, brown-, and red-streaked pageboy haircut. Her eyes are a warm green, her lips are thin, and she’s pleasantly plump yet elegant. She’s not the typical type you see around Hollywood, but she is definitely a powerhouse. She stands about five feet eight and is always in heels, pencil skirts, and silk blouses. She keeps a wardrobe in the office, full of jackets of various colors and lengths. Ready at a moment’s notice.

  "Thanks for telling me you were coming." She says sarcastically.

  I glare at her. "For the record, Ms. Parish, I was already back in L.A. – don't ask – and I figured I would drop in for a surprise inspection."

  She knows full well that this isn't really the case, but she laughs. "Surprise inspections only work when you're an active CEO."

  "Yeah, that I suppose would be about the truth. Then again, look at me. Could you see me coming into the office every day dressed like this?"

  She laughs again. "You are the CEO. You can dress however you want. Are you coming to the board meeting?"

  I nod, but I'm looking around Trinity's office at all the head shots of her clients, past and present. The south wall of her office is full from baseboard to ceiling with various photos, all arranged around a single, overly large headshot. The last time I was in here there wasn’t a picture in that space. In fact it had never had a picture until now.

  My mouth drops open and I feel a familiar desire deep in my core. The image is about twenty by twenty and contains a very professional headshot of none other than the gorgeous face of Tristan Michaels.

  The next thing I know Trinity's shouting my name. "Cami!"

  "Huh?" I slowly peel my eyes away from the image and look at Trinity.

  "Wow, girl, you got it bad."

  I shake my head in a desperate attempt to clear it. "Since when has Tristan Michaels been a Bold client?" I ask.

  She scowls at me. "Since the very beginning of his career. Bobbie picked him up when he was cast as Dakota in Love is Burning." She looks at me, puzzled. "How, as CEO, did you not know this?"

  "I'm not CEO," I mutter.

  "Yes you are, you just fail to realize or embrace that fact. Think about it, Cami. You attend board meetings pretty regularly. Despite whatever brought you back to L.A. yesterday, here you are instead of running off to where ever it is that you were planning on going." I scowl back at her. "Don't give me that look. I know you better than you think. One day soon, you will have to step into your role here, and now is the best time to do it."

  I let out a very strained chuckle. "No, Trinity, it's not. You and Vincent have things under control. The board members are not ready to have me take on an active role, and I don't have a clue about running a business."

  She laughs. "Cami, as CEO of Bold, you’re a face. Your job description is pretty pale when compared to the things that Vincent or myself do on a daily basis. You sit behind a desk, sign checks, meet with clients, and woo the crowds."

  "You make it sound so easy."

  "Believe me, it is."

  "You saw how dumbstruck I got over a damn picture of Tristan Michaels. For God's sake, how I am I supposed to sit there on the other side of that desk from other celebrities?" I was trying not to get angry. "The title of CEO was bestowed upon me compliments of my father's will and not for hard work and dedication. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to just step in and sit behind that desk when I haven't earned it?"

  I watch as her face falls. "I see your point, but it was given to you by your father, who obviously believed in you and your abilities—"

  I cut her off. "Do not go there. My father knew nothing of who I am, what I am about, or what it is I want out of my life. He gave me the CEO position as a punishment, and he set me up for failure."

  Trinity crosses the room toward me and puts her arm gently around my shoulders. "Do you honestly believe that Vincent, Mick, Rayne, any of the staff, or I would let you fail?"

  I’m fighting back the tears. The last twenty-four hours have been so maddening, frustrating, and overwhelming. I shake my head. I need to get out of here.

  "See,” Trinity says. “Once you fully realize that, you will be fine and you will step into this office as our CEO and you will be magnificent at it. Now come on. We have a meeting to attend."

  With that she releases me and stides back to her door. I look back up into the eyes of Tristan Michaels, a god among men.

  I enter the boardroom to find the entire board already assembled, along with Trinity and Vincent. Vincent is your typical Hollywood looker: suit, tie, jacket, and matching cufflinks. His head is shaved bald. Or maybe it's waxed. Or he is flat-out bald. Whatever the case, it sets off his very stern yet powerful physique. He is handsome in a much-older, too-many-years-in-Hollywood, crinkles-at-the-corners-of-his-eyes kind of way. Vincent is Bold's Agent in Charge. He not only works with a few clients, but he also manages our various agents.

  I wave to Vin as I walk to my chair at the head of the table. I get a few sideways glances at my shirt, jeans, and sneakers, but before I can protest Trinity speaks up.

  "Cami came to L.A. late last night for other business. I respectfully requested that she join us for this impromptu meeting, and she obliged."

  A few of the board members wipe the shock from their faces and return to their discussions. A few minutes later, our company attorney, Justin Thompson, enters and takes the customary speaker position at the foot of the table, opposite me. He doesn't sit but stands behind the chair. "We have a couple of issues that need to be addressed. First of all, we are in the process of acquiring a new client that will rank alongside Tristan Michaels." My ears perk up just a bit. "However, we are going to have to get involved in a legal battle..."

  But I'm no longer paying attention. I am picturing Tristan's face in the headshot in Trinity's office, and the picture quickly morphs into a gorgeous, well-groomed, fit, muscled, beautiful man. The same man that I have fantasized about so many times.

  In
this fantasy, I'm imagining him in a sparkling blue pool. The sun is warm, and Tristan is steamy sexiness radiating all over my now-blurry vision of a drab conference room.

  I'm quickly immersed in a vision of Tristan's sexy, toned body strutting around the pool; showing off his physique. It's almost like watching a slow-motion strip tease. My illusion is like a dream, my desire to touch him, to kiss him, grows stronger and more uncontrollable. I feel myself getting worked up, desperate for his touch, a touch that never comes.

  "Okay, so this concludes this meeting. Does anyone have any questions?" Vincent's voice interrupts my reverie. I'm severely disappointed at being brought back to reality.

  I stand, feeling a warm, sticky wetness between my legs. My nipples are hard as rocks; I feel them straining against the barbells that run through them. I’m thankful for the overshirt, tank top and bra.

  I walk past Rayne and into my office. Taking a seat behind my empty desk, I fold my arms on the desk and bury my head. God, what was I thinking. I can't think about stuff like that in a board meeting about a man I've never even met. This is exactly why I know I’m not ready to be CEO.

  I hear a knock on my door and mumble, "Come in." I look up in time to see Trinity and Rayne entering my office. "What's up, ladies?"

  "I just wanted to make sure you're all right, you seemed extremely distracted in the meeting." Trinity is very sincere. "I wouldn't have come in, except Rayne was standing at your door debating on whether or not she should enter."

  I nod. "Thanks, ladies. Really. I’ve just been through hell the last twenty hours. I need to get out of here."

  Rayne nods. "I called for the limo. It's downstairs, ready to take you wherever you want to go."

  "Good. Thank you, Rayne."

  "Will you head back to Phoenix?" Trinity asks.