by Michele Hauf
I didn’t realize I was singing my lungs out until someone banged hard against the bathroom wall, shouting, “Will you keep it down in there, Tina?”
“Up yours! And it’s Gloria!” I yelled back laughing, knowing it was Pete Gallagher, who sang in the shower every morning and who was probably the most tone-deaf person I knew. He was a few years older than I, and a confirmed bachelor, though he’d tried to lure me on dates on more than one occasion. He was good-looking, but I always declined because of Richard. I asked myself now for a mad moment what would happen if I went over to his apartment wrapped in a towel and asked him to join me in the tub. That would give Richard tit for tat. And… I’d be no better than him.
Shaking my head in disgust because the thought had even crossed my mind, I reached for the phone to call Danny. I told him I was going to fly to London tomorrow and asked him to make hotel arrangements for me.
“It will be done,” he said cheerfully. “When do you plan to get back to Chicago?”
“I’m not. I’m flying back to L.A. with you.”
There was a significant pause. “Oh? Do you want to visit The Ultimate Dreamland?”
“Nope. I’m moving there.”
“You are?” Another pause. “How… When did you decide?” he asked, sounding puzzled but very pleased.
“Today,” I said on a sigh, moving my leg idly in the bubbly water. “It was an impulsive decision, but I’m sticking to it.”
“That’s great, really great.” I sensed he wanted to ask more questions, but one of his biggest qualities was diplomacy. All he said was, “So, where do you plan to stay? You can have my guest room for as long as you want.”
“That’s very nice of you, Danny, but I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of your hospitality. I’ll stay in a hotel for a short while, then I was thinking I could buy a place of my own. About that… How soon will I get my advance money? The truth is I need it really badly. The plane tickets and a few days in a hotel will exhaust my lifetime savings. After that, I’ll be broke.”
“Well, the term is thirty days from the signing of the contract, but I think I can make that twenty-four hours. They’re hooked, Kendra. At this point, you have them eating out of your hand.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. I smiled back, letting out the breath I had been holding.
“That’s good. My biggest worry dealt with. I have to go now. I need to start packing.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then. What time shall I pick you up at the airport?”
I quickly calculated the time difference. “The plane lands at ten p.m, I think. But listen, you don’t have to…”
“I’ll be there,” he interrupted firmly. “And I’ll set up the meeting for the day after tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Danny. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. Bye.”
I put down the receiver thoughtfully. I had a zillion things to do. I hadn’t even started and I felt weary. I submerged myself into the water, knowing I was as well hidden from my problems as an ostrich in the sand. With a huge gulp of air, I surfaced and started shampooing my hair. Things weren’t getting done by themselves.
Midnight found me slaloming in my crammed bedroom among boxes and bags, still not sure if I’d packed everything I needed, or if I’d packed too much stuff. I’d never been a hoarder, and didn’t have a real wish for collecting things, except maybe for books and clothes. But I was selective in both departments, preferring to own one quality item rather than ten knockoffs.
I packed a single suitcase with the best clothes I owned, a few books and some personal things: a small angel statue my mom had given me for my birthday, an antique pocket watch that had belonged to my father’s father, whom I’d never known, a set of three small silver spoons given to me by my best friend...
I looked again in the suitcase, then around me. In my somewhat melancholic mood it seemed sad I should own so little, need so little. My entire life could be packed in a suitcase, with room to spare.
“Oh, for God’s sake! I’m not gonna start feeling sorry for myself. I’m just a practical person. Besides, who needs more, when in a few days I’ll be shopping on Melrose and Rodeo Drive?”
The thought really cheered me up, as did the vision of streets bordered by palm trees, sunshine and beaches. Soon I was going to rub elbows with celebrities, shop for a house, and start a new life in the land of all possibilities. Live fast, die young, that was the motto in Hollywood, and even though I wasn’t the type to believe in such extremisms, my blood stirred with excitement.
As I shoved the pile of boxes in a corner and crawled in bed, I was already dreaming of the new beginning that awaited me. I could almost hear the waves of the ocean and feel the hot California sand under my feet.
3
I spent most of the flight to London trying to sleep, caught in a numb state of fatigue after a very short night. I couldn’t wait to arrive at the hotel and make this exhaustion vanish between silky sheets. Danny promised to pick me up at the airport and informed me he’d reserved a room for me at the Waldorf Hilton. Also, he had arranged for us to have lunch with Marie Bell tomorrow in the hotel restaurant. I was tremendously grateful to him for making all the arrangements, although I shuddered to think what a night at the hotel would cost.
When the plane landed, a dull headache radiated through my skull. As I set foot for the first time on British soil, I felt miserable. The night air was cold and thick. A bitter wind speared through my jeans, shirt and jacket, making me shiver Danny had told me where to meet, so I walked quickly toward my destination, dodging the surrounding crowd as best as I could.
I spotted Danny immediately. He was the kind of man who would stand out in any crowd and turn heads, both male and female. As his last name indicated, he had some Latin blood, which was reflected by his olive skin and nearly black eyes. His tall figure was perfectly outlined in a black tailored suit and white shirt. He wore his head shaved—a look that suited him very well. His face was cleanly shaven too, except for a small patch of hair, snazzily shaped under his lower lip. All in all, he gave the impression of a sexy gangster with a keen sense of fashion.
His sensual mouth curved in a slow smile when he saw me, displaying straight white teeth, which contrasted nicely with his caramel skin. He rushed toward me and wrapped his arms around me. I couldn’t associate the word hug with Danny. It was too comfortable, and that didn’t fit with the description of the man. He had an air of raw sexuality, an intensity that made me uncomfortable whenever we got too personal, which I tried to avoid. He was a ruthless businessman. I had the feeling he was the same as a lover: too demanding, too dominating, too overpowering.
Though the heat of his body and the masculine scent of his aftershave made me want to curl up against him, I drew back from his embrace to look up at him.
“Hey, you! I’m so glad to see you,” he said, taking both my hands to his lips in a smooth, practiced gesture.
“You too, Danny. Thanks so much for picking me up.” I smiled, hoping I didn’t look too tired and bedraggled.
“Don’t give it a thought. You look wonderful,” he said, as though reading my mind.
I couldn’t stifle a scoffing sound. “I bet. I didn’t sleep more than five hours last night.”
“Poor girl… I guess it’s all the excitement of this contract.” He took my suitcase from me, then ushered me toward the exit, holding my arm with his other hand. “I confess I was a bit shocked when you told me you want to move to California, but I’m delighted.”
I walked beside him to the parking lot, trying to control my shivering. I couldn’t understand how people lived in this cold.
“Yeah, well, it was an impulsive decision. But this contract was rather a surprise too. It feels like a great opportunity has just fallen into my lap. I know I’ve said this a thousand times already, but you did a great job, Danny. Thank you. I could never have gotten this deal without you.”
He put a friendly arm around me. “Hey, this is my job, and I’m good
at it, as are you at what you’re doing. I hope you’re planning a sequel to The Diary.”
“Do you think I should?”
He shrugged. “I can’t say yet, until we see how the movie comes along and how the public receives it. It’s all in the hands of the producer and director now. But it’s a pity not to continue the story.”
He steered me toward a taxi, then instructed the driver to put my suitcase in the trunk. As we climbed into the back seat, the heat started to seep into my chilled bones and I began to relax.
The streets of London were beautiful, though a thin veil of fog gave the lighted cityscape a translucent appearance. It might have been just my fatigue that made it all seem surreal.
I turned to Danny, focusing on keeping my eyes open. “So, do you think they would object to my involvement in this project?”
Danny looked a bit confused. “What do you mean by involvement?”
“Well, I mean that I would like to have my opinions taken into consideration, be able to speak my mind if I think an actor isn’t right for a certain character. That kind of thing.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know what to tell you about that. It all depends on the director, but I think they would be delighted to have you as a consultant, as long as you’re not too demanding. I know you have a clear picture in your mind of how every character looks, how they behave, and stuff like that, but you have to be willing to make compromises. Better let me do the talking tomorrow, and let’s just mention this briefly for now.” He gave me a wink, along with a one-sided smile. “First lesson you need to learn about Hollywood is that you have to be very diplomatic and sneaky to get what you want. Never ask for it straight out. Baby steps,” he said, pinching my chin lightly.
I felt a bit piqued. I hated being patronized and treated as though I were a child, but the bitter truth was that we were now in Danny’s waters, and he was a veteran shark. He’d been in the business for more than fifteen years, since he was barely twenty. According to his stories, he’d tried every aspect of the art industry, including acting, producing, script writing, novel writing, even modeling. Finally, he decided his talent didn’t lie in the aesthetic aspect of making movies and books, but in selling them. He was an excellent negotiator and had uncanny instincts when it came to matching the money people with the talent people.
When we reached the hotel, I stepped out of the car, straining my neck to look up at this oasis of luxury. Though I hoped I managed to act as though I’d frequented such places all my life, I was awed by the shiny opulence of the hotel. A doorman led us inside and immediately took my suitcase from Danny.
“Miss Kensington, Mister Gonzales, good evening,” he said in impeccable British English, leading us into the lobby.
The brightly lit space was enormous and spread a golden aura, which I didn’t think for a moment was coincidental. The gold colored marble tiles, the honey-gold walls, the sparkling antiques tastefully sprinkled here and there clearly reflected one word: rich. It made me think of that movie from my childhood, Richie Rich. I remembered how much I wanted to be like Richie in those days, when it seemed money was all that mattered in life. I shook my head slightly at the memory, with a small, nostalgic smile that didn’t reach my lips.
A dignified, matron-like receptionist handed us our cards, then I signed the register and Danny led me toward the elevators.
“We’re both on the second floor,” he said, giving me my access card. “You’re in suite 15 and I’m in 17. Would you like to have some dinner? Or we can order something from room service.”
“No, thanks. I’m too tired. I just want to curl up in bed and sleep for twelve hours,” I said, covering a yawn with the back of my hand.
He smiled down at me indulgently. “There’s nothing to stop you from doing that. I won’t wake you up for breakfast tomorrow. Just beep me when you’re awake, but make sure you’re ready by 11:30. We’re meeting Marie at 12 sharp, and she’s a stickler for punctuality.”
“So am I.”
The elevator doors opened to reveal a well-illuminated corridor, decorated in the same tones as the lobby. Danny showed me to a door, then stopped in front of it, putting down my suitcase.
“Goodnight, Kendra. If I forget to tell you, I’m really glad you’re moving to L.A.,” he said, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek.
Perhaps I was wrong, but I thought I detected something inviting in his dark eyes. Was he hitting on me, subtly? His smooth, lingering touch sent a shiver over my skin. Any woman would have been flattered by Danny’s attention, but at this point I preferred to keep things platonic. I was too susceptible, too hurt, and too vulnerable because of Richard’s betrayal.
I wasn’t going to throw myself into the arms of the first attractive man I met. I realized I couldn’t even think about that now. For a dreadful moment I wondered if I’d ever regain my self confidence, if I’d ever be able to fully trust a man again. The possibility that I might not almost brought tears into my eyes.
“Thank you. Goodnight,” I said quickly and fumbled to open my door, turning my head so Danny wouldn’t notice signs of my inner turmoil. “See you tomorrow,” I added over my shoulder as I entered the room and closed the door behind me.
I stood against it, drained. I didn’t understand how I could feel so empty of emotions, and at the same time, overwhelmed by an avalanche of contradictory sentiment. My life had changed drastically during the last forty-eight hours, and many more changes were about to come. I’d been through so many stages and states of mind within such a short time, I didn’t know which to surrender to: the excitement of my professional accomplishment, the disappointment—I deliberately downgraded the feeling—of finding out my lover was a cheat, or the delight of moving to a place where I always wanted to live. This last part was also terrifying through its novelty, and yes, loneliness. I didn’t know anyone in L.A. except for Danny. I knew it would be difficult for me to settle and make friends.
With a heartfelt sigh, I unglued myself from the door. Baby steps, Danny had said. It was the wisest thing I’d heard lately, and I decided to follow it. There was nothing for me to do at the moment but rest. After all, my life-altering decision to move was already taken. Now I had to live with it. That was supposed to be simple once I made up my mind, or so they said.
I dragged my suitcase into the sitting room, glancing around listlessly as I put it on an elegant sofa and started rummaging through it for my pajamas. The suite was exquisite, sporting a lot of polished wooden floors and apricot-colored furniture. In the front room, a sofa and two arm-chairs were arranged around an ornate coffee table. A pair of French doors partially covered by peach-colored drapes revealed a balcony. Next to them was a Queen Anne desk with a matching chair, and in the opposite corner an elegant lamp stood on another ornate little table.
I undressed and draped my clothes on an armchair, then put on my black pajamas, which consisted of a simple cotton T-shirt and shorts. I had to make a super-human effort to find my toilet bag and take out my toothbrush. As I moved through the bedroom to reach the bathroom, I noticed the setting here was similar—simple and tasteful. The sight of the massive bed covered in buttery-white sheets made me moan out loud. As soon as I brushed my teeth and switched off the lights, I sank into the soft mattress, letting out another moan of pure pleasure. I was asleep before I could pull the covers over myself.
Although I knew I was dreaming, seeing Richard in bed with the blonde again still gave me a jolt. I just stood there, watching them, and willing myself to wake up. It occurred to me I’d never dreamed of any of my old boyfriends. For that matter, I’d never dreamed of Richard until now. It only took him cheating on me to get my wholehearted attention.
Suddenly, Richard stopped bouncing over the blonde and turned his head to look straight at me.
“You selfish bitch! You think you were the only one who had to fake it?”
I stared at him dumbfounded, my heart thumping madly. Dimly, I was aware of the woman lying
under Richard, her hands all over him, her mouth whispering compliments into his ear. But his eyes remained on me as he spoke, almost conversationally.
“You think you’re the only one who got screwed here?” He gave a short laugh. “Okay, that wasn’t exactly a good choice of words. But anyway, do you have any idea how much effort I had to make sometimes to even get a hard-on? You complain about me, but you weren’t exactly a sex goddess, were you? Just lying back and thinking of your fucking stories. I could almost hear you plotting in your head, sketching your characters and juggling with the points of view,” he said mockingly.
Then he rolled onto his back, and the blonde immediately slid down over his body, greedily taking him between her pouty lips. I still couldn’t react, too shocked, too hurt.
Richard went on speaking, “This is what a woman’s supposed to do in bed. Take the initiative, be active, be involved with her partner, not send the message ‘Oh, just get on with it so I can get back to work’. Do you have any idea how frustrating it was to try and get a response from you, to feel like I was reaching out to an iceberg?”
“Iceberg?” I repeated, my voice shrill and trembling with suppressed tears. “Richard, I thought we were getting along fine. I mean, you never said anything…”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you, Kendra. These things should come naturally, instinctively. You don’t have an ounce of passion in you.”
“I’m not passionate? Shall I remind you what dozens of critics and reviewers said about how sensual and well written my erotic scenes are?”
He scoffed. “Written is the operative word here. You may have imagination, but if you can’t be like that in real life, it’s all a waste.”
“It’s not a waste.” My breathing was fast and shallow now. “You were never the one to inspire my fantasies. And if a woman isn’t good in bed, it’s because the man doesn’t inspire her.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged indifferently and plowed his fingers in the blonde’s hair, urging her on. “I’d rather have her over you any day.”
