Everybody Comes to Hollywood Ch. 04

Nikki smiled for the camera, her natural confidence reasserting itself, and then we were on our way and into the theatre.

The movie premiere went off without a hitch, and then it was back to the limos and off to the studio's after-premiere party at a swank hotel.

I headed back out when Beckett found me once again. His vapid model already drunk. I guess the champagne hits you pretty fast when you have zero meat on your bones. That wolfish grin of his was back. "I sent your limo home. You can ride with me."

Ah, to have powerful friends. I followed along obediently, Nikki hanging on to me like her career depended on it. In the company of a writer and one of the most powerful producers on the planet, I was sure she would do anything we wanted to make sure she didn't miss this opportunity to get her break in Hollywood.

We arrived at the limo, and I was not surprised to find four women already inside, wearing dresses that assuredly would be easy to remove. We had no sooner closed the door than Beckett had his hands inside of the Vogue model's dress, joined by two of the extra women.

Nikki surveyed the situation in a half instant and then was straddling my lap, her hands on mine and directing them to trace up her legs, lifting up the hem of her dress until it was bunched up around her waist and my palms could obviously feel her naked ass-cheeks and the thin thong-strap running the length of her crack. She dipped her head to plunge her tongue into my mouth and ground her crotch against me, moaning in arousal. I couldn't tell if she was really turned on or just playing me, but the fact that I couldn't tell led me to believe she may not be half-bad as an actress.

She broke the kiss and leaned back and I saw that one of the other women had her hands inside of Nikki's top, pulling that end of the dress down to reveal Nikki's naked bosom. Her tits were as perfect and round as I remembered them, and looked absolutely delectable with another woman's neatly manicured fingers caressing them.

As fantastic as this situation felt, that annoying voice known as my conscience started bugging the hell out of me again.

*This is not fulfilling for you.*

I sat there, unmoving, letting these girls caress and grind against me. I watched a hot redhead begin to nibble on Nikki's neck while another blonde dipped to let her tongue trail along the curve of Nikki's left breast.

It's just sex... I told myself. And Nikki seemed to agree as her hands were fumbling with my zipper until she managed to extract my erection and pull it out into the air. It's just sex... I repeated to myself. There's no harm in this.

The redhead slipped her fingers below the strip of cloth in Nikki's crotch and was strumming Nikki's clit. I watched, my dick twitching in Nikki's hands as the puffy pink folds began to emerge, the limo's interior lights reflecting off of her wetness. And even in the midst of this, my guilty conscience railed at me. And at this moment, I didn't even know WHY I felt guilty.

And then Nikki leaned in, capturing my lips with hers again and rubbing those great tits into my chest. And she flexed her legs, lifting her hips up a few inches while repositioning my rod. And then with a smooth descent she plunged me into her.

Pleasure screamed through my brain as I felt each layer inside of her part before my battering ram, until with a snug fit I was buried to the hilt. She panted and moaned with real arousal now as the redhead kept thumbing her clit while the blonde turned Nikki's head for a wet open mouth kiss. And in that exact moment, reason made a most unwelcome arrival into my head.

*She's using you* that little voice told me.

What? I'm using her! I get to fuck a hot blonde with great tits and go home to a gorgeous A-list actress!

*She doesn't love you. She doesn't really want you. She just wants a role. And you're going to give it to her. She's using you.*

I have the power. I am the Hollywood hotshot. I can fuck her and STILL not give her a role.

*Then you'll feel really guilty, and you'll be a cold-hearted evil bastard. You don't want to be an evil bastard, do you?*

Of course not.

*Well, you're fucking her now. So now you have to give her a role. And she knows it.*

And Nikki was soon bouncing in my lap, my shaft exiting and re-entering with piston-like precision and erotic friction.

*So she's going to get what she wants. She's using you.*

And incredibly, I could feel the sensations coming from my prick starting to fade away. I was only a minute into fucking this hot, young, platinum blonde, and I was losing rigidity.

*Does this make you happy? Are you fulfilled? Are all of your dreams coming true?*

Yes! I'm rich! I'm a Hollywood writer. I'm FUCKING HOT WOMEN. This is everything that I ever dreamed of.

*What do you want in this world, more than anything? What is your greatest desire? Remember those questions?*

I remembered the question. And it took me a while to think about it, I was obviously distracted by the girl humping me and determined not to let my erection flag. And just like so many years ago, I found the answer deep down in my gut:

To write something really special, something I believed in. And to share that with someone who is just as special to me.

*Have you written something that was really special?*

No. Just Hollywood blockbuster crap.

*And is Nikki that someone who is just as special?*

No.

*Then what the FUCK are you doing here?*

Nikki was screaming her orgasm, her erect nipples rubbing against my chest and her nectar flooding out and coating my penis, when I came back to reality.

I leaned over and hit the intercom. "Pull the car over, I'm getting out." And then I lifted Nikki off me and started putting my pants back together.

Everyone was surprised and confused, not least of whom was Nikki who just stared at my limp dick, wondering what the hell she did wrong. Beckett didn't notice anything except the model he was fucking up the ass until I opened one of the side doors, but then I was already outside.

*You're not an evil bastard, are you?*

I exhaled, then turned around, looking right at Nikki, who had the most bewildered expression on her face. "I'll find you a role. I promise."

I don't know if she believed me or not, but I closed the door and just started walking away. Time to find a cab.

***

I sat in a comfy chair on the patio of our house... Andrea's house, in Malibu, looking across the deep blue of the Pacific and relishing the cool breeze wafting through my hair. My laptop was open, my script doctor program up and running, with nothing but a blank screen.

A memory came into my mind. I was sitting at my computer, typing away at an early draft of "The Amazon." Andrea was lounging on my bed.

*I need to get my foot in the door first. Give the Hollywood studio heads what they want. Then once I've got a few hits under my belt, I'll have enough power and freedom to write REAL stories.*

And now I was at that exact point. I gave the Hollywood masses what they wanted. I was a pseudo-bankable name for scripting. I was nowhere near the levels of Kasdan and Kaufman, but I had a couple hits under my belt. "Double Vision" had been number one at the box office and was steamrolling through the week towards a huge second weekend. I had the power and the freedom to write REAL stories.

I picked up my cell phone, calling the studio and declining that latest script offer. I told them I was working on something of my own if they were interested in a few months.

So then I lifted my hands, the ideas percolating in my head. And then I started typing.

I didn't leave the house for two weeks.

***

It was at the end of those first two weeks when Andrea came home. I was on that second-floor patio deck, enjoying the sunshine and watching the surf, my laptop sitting next to me containing four different story ideas on it which were moderately fleshed out. I was sipping an iced tea when I heard the doors opening behind me, and some part of me instinctively knew who it was. I felt a tightness in my throat.

"Hey there." Her voice was as tight as mine felt, not the husky come- hither comment she normally offered when we had been apart this long. I think we both knew our relationship was over.

I didn't turn around, mumbling a "hey" in response until she padded around to take the seat next to me. She didn't even look at me as she stared off into the deep blue of the ocean, her face hidden behind big sunglasses and a summer hat.

Her voice cracked for a moment, before she started to say, "I'm not sure how to say this... I-"

"You don't have to say anything," I cut her off. "I already know, you're breaking up with me."

We both sat in silence for a long time. She started to speak again on at least two more occasions, but kept stopping to reevaluate her word choices. Even after two years, we had never learned to talk to each other about any emotions besides lust. Our teenaged clichés just didn't cut it in an adult world. "We're not right for each other anymore," she finally managed to get out. "It's just been such a long time since High School, and we're not those people anymore. I kept wanting it to be just like the old days, but it never is."

I smiled, "No, it can never go back to the way it was." Momentarily, I worried about that rule applying to Bethany as well. I kept staring straight at the ocean, as if not wanting to face what I was about to say. "If it's any consolation, I was about to break up with you, too."

"You were?" I'm not sure Andrea ever considered the possibility of anyone dumping HER. I suppose Hollywood diva-dom gets to even the best of us.

"Like it or not, we have no future," I told her. I finally turned and swung my legs of the lounge chair, planting them on the deck and facing her. Andrea turned her head towards me. "It's for the best, right?"

"It is," she nodded. Finally, a wistful smile spread across her face. "Besides, she deserves to have you back."

That caught me by surprise, but then Andrea was crossing over to me, holding my head in her hands and then giving me the most passionate kiss we had shared in a long time.

I wrapped her up in my arms, never wanting to let go. My brain knew that this was the best thing we could do for each other, to let each other move on and find our futures. But it didn't make leaving my girlfriend of almost three years, my High School sweetheart, any easier. I was afraid of losing her.

But then her lips left mine, and I kissed her forehead. She wiped a tear from behind her sunglasses, and then turned back towards the door leading into the house.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I've got to fly back to New Zealand. We're in the middle of shooting. I just had to do this in person." Andrea turned and kept walking, but when she had passed into the house, her hand on the door to close it, she turned back to me. "I always loved you."

And then Andrea walked out of our relationship.

***

I collected my things, and after a few weeks, moved back into my house in the Hollywood Hills, the same one Bethany had picked out with me so long ago. After stocking up on groceries and putting together a thick catalog of restaurants that delivered, I became a veritable hermit in my house for the next two and a half months.

Some friends, including Bethany, called on occasion to chat. I brushed them all off declaring that I was "in the writing zone" and couldn't be bothered. No one, not even the paparazzi, knew that my relationship with Andrea had come to an end. US Weekly was even speculating that she had flown back to Hollywood just for a one night tryst with me before returning to the set.

I became a man possessed, writing and writing all hours of the day and night. I barely ate, rarely slept, and didn't even masturbate. My hair was getting shaggy and I kept meaning to shave, but my brain was exploding with ideas non-stop.

Three failed stories and five drafts later, I had my script. And it was a script no major studio would touch with a ten-foot pole. It was a tight little thriller that probably wouldn't even make it to the hour- and-a-half mark. 3 characters. No plot holes. Truly an exercise in independent film writing.

Now how the hell was I going to get it produced?

Remember, in Hollywood, it's not what you know, it's who you know. And there was only one producer I knew who might make my little Indy-flick.

So ignoring the eighteen messages, I picked up my cell phone and started to dial.

***

"Hey, Mr. Writer."

My chair teetered when I shifted in my seat. One of the legs wasn't as long as the other three. The table kinda moved when I leaned on it too, for that matter. I dropped the plastic menu and looked up into the face of an angel.

"Good lord, what have you done with yourself?" Bethany asked.

She had only gotten more beautiful and elegant as she passed into the latter half of her twenties. I, on the other hand, certainly looked a mess. I hadn't shaved in three weeks nor showered in two days. Or was it closer to four? I knew my clothes didn't smell too good, and I'd surely put on a few pounds in my self-imposed exile.

I didn't respond to her question, merely gaping at the most beautiful creature I'd seen in months. She wore a stylish black pantsuit, far too stylish for this hole-in-the-wall Chinese place. Her hair was neat, but uncomplicated, with simple makeup and a casual smile. But I still hadn't seen a real live woman for about three months, not including pizza delivery. And Bethany was a goddess.

"Hello? Wake up..."

I blinked and sat up straight, closing my mouth. "Uh, I've been busy."

"I could tell. I've left half a dozen messages on your cell phone since the last time you called me back."

"Yeah, I just kinda lost track of the time. I've just been writing so much lately. That's actually why I called you here."

"Ooh, is it a big secret? That why you picked this place? Fancy Hollywood hotshot slumming with the locals?"

"Ah, no. I've just started to really like the food here. Kept getting it delivered. Figured I'd come down and see what the actual restaurant looks like. So anyways, let's get some food. See what you think."

Our waiter came by, and Bethany ordered right away without even peeking at the menu.

"You're not the only one to have found this little gem!" she told me, a sly grin on her face.

We got our food, and started making small talk. As usual, we deftly avoided talking about Andrea. It was never the easiest subject for Bethany, and I could see the hurt in her eyes whenever she thought about me with someone else. I asked how her producer's job was going. And she asked how I was feeling. That particular line of questioning didn't get very far before she finally just asked.

"So why DID you call me here? I mean, it's great to see you again, but you haven't made a habit of lunch dates with me lately."

I paused, hesitation about starting down this path away from Hollywood blockbusters and bucket loads of cash. "A new script I'm working on." I reached down into my bag, pulling out a binder. There was nothing on the cover except the working title and my name, and today's date. "It's a little rough, but it's pretty much a complete draft."

I handed it off to her, then continued. "Just read it, tell me what you think. But the more important thing is this. I don't think a big studio is going to want to make this movie. It's going to have to go independent. And I know this is a lot to ask, but maybe you could get it produced?"

Bethany just smiled at me, her business face dropping into place. "Well I'll certainly read it, but don't go expecting any special favors just because we dated way back when."

"I thought that's the whole point?"

She grinned at me, and smiled right back. My first real smile in a long time. I rubbed at the growth on my neck and jaw line. Far too long a time, my jaw muscles actually felt weird smiling.

We chatted a bit more, and then once things had finished up, Bethany beat me to paying the check. "Hey, I'm my own woman in Hollywood now. I think I can afford this."

$10.53 and a hefty tip later, we stood up and walked out of the restaurant, heading for the parking lot. We stopped at her car, exchanging warm hugs. Being held like that after so long felt better than the greatest orgasm I'd ever felt in my life.

"Say 'hi' to Andrea for me," Bethany told me, as she turned to open her car door.

I was staring at the ground when I replied, "Andrea and I broke up. A few months ago."

She didn't say anything, but with my vision still pointed downwards I saw her feet turn around and come back. But I knew she hadn't tried to make a move on me in two years, and wasn't about to start now. Not yet.

So I just looked up, eyes dry and face calm. "It was for the best. It just took me two years to realize I wasn't in High School anymore. I moved back to the Hills. So you'll know where to find me when you finish the script."

Then Bethany took two steps forward and kissed me, a big, passionate, lonely kiss. After a second, I pulled back, my eyes wild and confused. She was immediately apologetic. I recovered quickly and then reached forwards, hugging her and gave her a short peck on the cheek, telling her not to apologize.

"It's okay," I shushed her. "I just need to do a lot of thinking first."

***

I sat in my comfy chair. The one I'd spent most of the past few months in with my laptop. The chair with a great view over the city. And I was just thinking. I was doing too much thinking lately.

At least I had taken a shower and shaved. Bethany swore she wouldn't read the script unless I cleaned myself up.

I daydreamed about the teasing grin she had given me when saying that. How I could be blessed with such a fabulous woman wanting ME of all people, I could never understand. For two years she had stood by, watching me willfully be with someone else, and she couldn't possibly still want me back, could she?

But no one ever got anywhere by thinking. People got places by doing. And I wanted Bethany back. Was it because I felt lonely? I was sure that was part of it.

Was it because Andrea left me? No. I didn't belong with Andrea.

But I felt it in the bottom of my heart that I would be happy with Bethany. And I hoped she would be happy with me. And another wild idea popped into my head. Even more crazy an idea than passing up that last studio scripting offer and all the dollar signs attached to it.

I called Bethany, told her it was important, and informed her that I was driving to her place. I hung up before she could answer me back.

When she answered the door, I was momentarily set back by how beautiful she still looked. But my brain was racing and I quickly sat her down in her living room, my manners and greetings forgotten.

I asked if she had read my script. She had, and she thought it was wonderful. She'd set up a meeting with her other producers to discuss getting the project green-lit.

That's when I waved her off. I had another idea. We could start up our own little production company. Pool in our own money, start with my script, get a little extra backing from the connections we both had. It might not be the biggest moneymaker, but it was REAL. And it would be OURS. I still had ways to make the script even better. Bethany was the brilliant producer. It could work.

I was speaking a mile a minute, my heart racing. I pulled out notebooks and sketches from my bag. I'd done calculations on how much money we'd need, shooting locations, possible actors, everything I could think of. Bethany looked them over, tsking at me and raving that she could do better and with less expense easily.

My smile was so big I swore I could have split my lip. This was possible.

A half an hour later, Bethany was enthusiastic. "Let's DO it!"