Romantic Novelist: Beverly Hills

"Yes, yes," the woman said, "this is really good. I'll even ask you for more". Audrey resisted opening her mouth in surprise. She was sitting on a comfortable leather chair in the quaint office of Gabrielle West, a popular literary agent for publisher localized within Beverly Hills, California. Audrey had finished her first novel, completed during a trip to Las Vegas with her boyfriend, a romantic story set in Old Las Vegas and her new agent ate it up like a good meal. She sat on a large chair behind a mahogany desk, a well-dressed, executive-looking woman with her hair made up in a French twist and crimson lipstick. She put down the manuscript over the table and smiled. She uncrossed her legs a la Sharon Stone.

"Miss Rose, this is a splendid novel and it doesn't even seem like it's your first," Gabrielle said to her, " how did you manage to do it?"

"I was inspired," Audrey Rose replied, "and I've read a plethora of romantic novels in my thirty years. Do you really think it's good?"

"Oh, my dear, it's just what we're looking for at the moment. You're novel is passionate, steamy but at the same time romantic. I'll never see Las Vegas the same way again. You made it into a colorful den of shady characters: Mafia lords, Mafia wives, Hollywood stars, gamblers, adventurers. And the romance between the film actress and the bad boy gambler is wonderfully done."

"How long should I wait before I can write my next novel?"

"I'm tempted to say at once, my dear," Gabrielle suddenly took out a cigar, as if she had just enjoyed an orgasm and wanted to smoke, " but really, I don't like to put pressure on my clients. You're a terrific writer, obviously very talented but I will respect your working at your own pace. Just as long as you don't take too long. At most a year."

Audrey could not believe it. It was like a dream. She was finally, finally being published! Her book would grace the shelves of the romantic section in bookstores across the country! She brushed her hair to one side when a strand fell over her forehead and smiled gratefully at Gabrielle West, who rose from her seat, ready to announce something evidently important, the way a lawyer does during trial.

"Now about payment, royalties, a book tour and all that good stuff"...........

Beverly Hills was beautiful. As Audrey walked out of the three-story office building and onto the street toward her car, her eyes feasted on the opulence of the vicinity. In sight was Rodeo Drive, with its chain of pretty shops, one after the other like beads in a necklace: Chanel, Dior,, Victoria's Secret. And the women going to these stores were fashionably dressed themselves, and possessed a leisurely, contented look. They were beautiful women, thin women in dark sunglasses that were oversized. Some wore large sun hats made of light yellow straw material. Some were sandals and simple but chic outfits.

This was Beverly Hills and these were the paragon of California cool. Audrey wondered if she'd run into Paris Hilton, Angelina Jollie or other celebrities. Audrey had never been in Beverly Hills before. She'd only heard about it, seen it in magazines and films like "Pretty Woman". Before it had only been a lot like a teaser, now she'd seen the whole thing.

Audrey felt she was not looking shabby in the least. She had bought a little black dress inspired by Audrey Hepburn, that timeless fashion icon, that cute outfit from the opening scene in "Breakfast at Tiffany's", except hers was considerably shorter and showcased her smooth, white stockinged legs. On her head was a black-and-white hat, an accessory she felt necessary owing to the heat and intense sunlight. Her eyes, too, were shielded in sunglasses.

As she turned a corner, she caught sight of a strangely familiar face. Audrey had found her silver Audi but now she was motionless as she stared at the young lady approaching her in the street. She was striking and garbed in white, her dress oddly business-like but at the same time elegant and leisurely. When Audrey finally took notice of the distinctive features of her face, and the strands of red hair in a sensible ponytail, she knew just who it was.

They embraced and kissed one another on the cheek.

"Audrey Rose, since when do you walk by Rodeo Drive at one in the afternoon?" the woman said, with a jovial air and carefree laugh.

"It's good to see you Michaela," Audrey replied.

"Whatever are you doing here?"

"Well, I've just come from my publishers. They are printing my new novel in a month's time. I'm taking care of that business part of it here."

"You must be kidding. You're writing novels? I would have never believed it. But come, let's go to a cafe and catch up."................

* * * *

"Then I'm going on a book tour: Seattle, Boston, San Francisco, New York, Chicago, Miami, Washington D.C," Audrey said to her as she sipped her cappucino.

It was still very hot outside but the cafe was pleasant and they sat outside on a white linen table with a view of the street. All the while, Michaela looked as if she'd die of envy right there and then.

"Really, Audrey, this is a surprise. I didn't think you had it in you," she said, in a way that although appeared half-insulting, made it appear casual and somewhat innocent.

Audrey did not know what to make of it. Was she implying something? How petty could she be? She had always been like this. High school was hell for everyone - except for Michaela, the daughter of a wealthy family who were in film production. By the age of fourteen, Michaela had traveled almost everywhere in the world.

"And what are you doing now, Michaela?" Audrey inquired, biting on a small croissant.

"I'm in television and film, of course," replied she, with a triumphant smile, "it's really a lot of work. My agent is always finding spots for me in soap operas and movies. I have to take frequent flights across the world for some of them. And that always makes me feel like I live nowhere in particular."

"But you live in Beverly Hills. You can't get any lovelier residence than that. Listen, Michaela. It's been lovely chatting but I really should get home. My boyfriend is there and we need to do some work around the new place we just moved into."

"Oh, you have a boyfriend....and you live with him. Where exactly?"

"Redondo Beach, a small beach city not far from LAX."

She was such a bitch. Did she actually believe that after she had stolen my first boyfriend, thought Audrey, that I'd pine for him for the rest of my young adult life?

"I could never live near the beach. It's so middle-class". Audrey rose from her seat, as if she had a spring under her seat. She furrowed her brow and stared at Michaela with angry red eyes, looking as if she was about to devour her right there and then on the table, irregardless of an audience watching.

"Listen, I'm sick of your haughty and conceited rich girl bit. You don't need to lord it over everyone. You have no idea what real life is like and you're full of yourself," Audrey bellowed, " I've always thought you were a bitch and I don't know why you bothered to even talk to me in the street"

Michaela was speechless and put a hand over her mouth.

"Don't act surprised. You see, I'm middle-class and this is how we express anger. You, on the other hand, will express it by staring at me as if I just committed mass murder in this cafe and later you'll think you've always been right about me. That I'm trash and that I don't know anything. You'll blab to your stuck-up rich bitch girlfriends about this incident as part of your regular gossip and laugh. If you're angry you'll probably see your shrink."

"Audrey, wait," she said, "please, forgive me. I -"

But it was too late and Audrey had stormed off, headed toward her Audi.

* * * * It was funny. Anger had lead Audrey to get into bed with her boyfriend, as if the fury itself was an aphrodisiac. She had come home to see him moving an armoire and sofas in the apartment, wiping sweat from his brow, shirtless and wearing only sweat pants. The minute their eyes met as she walked through the door, Stephen knew what was about to happen. Immediately, they were in each other's arms. Audrey removed his sweat pants with a quick tug and Stephen, in a sudden frenzy, unzipped her black dress, nearly tearing it like one small piece of cloth. Audrey had worn panties and bra to her trip to Gabrielle West's office and that made Stephen growl impatiently. They kissed passionately, their mouths open wide. No time for small, butterfly kisses or even much of any sort of foreplay. Audrey felt Stephen's cock getting hard against her thighs and she knew he would make this rough and quick, like the wild recklessness of sex between an Indian man and a squaw. It was not long before Stephen pulled down her panties, sliding them down her smooth, average-sized slim legs and removed her stockings.

"You're wearing too much for this kind of thing," he said, laughing.

"Less talk more fuck," Audrey said to him, her breath becoming ragged.

"Whoa, Audrey, man, what's come over you? I've never seen you like this. Not that I don't enjoy it but -"

She shut him up by tossing him into the carpet-less floor of their new apartment. The smell of paint, which Stephen had been applying to the walls, was strong and unpleasant. It even made Audrey want to scratch her eyes. Everywhere on the floor were buckets of paint paintbrushes, rolled up carpets, newspapers and trunks and valises. They were on a spot that was just pure wooden floor. It felt slippery beneath Steve's butt and Audrey could see if they weren't careful, they'd slide across the living room like dying magnet decorations on a refrigerator. Audrey was nude now, and Steve's blood stirred as he saw her breasts heaving, her hair in disarray and her eyes burning with a frightening intensity he'd never seen in her before.

"Fuck me," she said to him, "fuck me."

Up until till that moment, she had never even said those words to him. She mounted him like she were mounting one of those mechanical bulls in a rowdy country-theme bar. Straddling him, she felt Stephen's enlarged cock slide easily into her wet slit. She gasped and moaned as he began to pump into her. For an endless time, she tilted her head back and cried out wordlessly, screaming her lungs off, bouncing above him wildly. In her lustful abandon, she had not noticed, and neither had Steve, that the door to the apartment was wide open.

They were giving people who passed by in the street quite a show. Audrey cupped her own breasts and her high pitched cries fell sharply over the street and some pedestrians turned away in shock. Stephen felt she was in total control, and he had been so surprised and aroused that he came not long afterward. When Audrey reached climax, she shut her eyes and felt a breeze. It was then when she realized she'd left the door open.

"Oh fuck," said Stephen, turning his head around and looking toward the street where an old man and woman quickly jogged past them.

Audrey quickly closed the door. She tried to steady her breathing.

"You aren't yourself, Audrey," Stephen said, trying to relax himself, "can you please tell me what that was all about?". Audrey did not reply and instead began to put on her clothes. Stephen lay there nude, waiting for her response. He was returning to his normal state slowly. As he followed Audrey with his eyes, he noticed she was beginning to shed tears down her cheeks. She had never been a noisy crying girl, like those melodramatic girls he'd known before. Audrey cried silent tears, subtle tears, always trying to be discreet and unnoticed.

"What's wrong? You have to tell me. You look so upset."

"I ran into an old high school - companion. She was never a friend of mine. She was the richest girl in school and had her own little following of brats".

"You mean like "heathers", spoiled cheerleader-type, popular elitist girls?"

"Worse, spoiled ninnies with money"

"So what happened? You two had a fight? How did you even see her?"

"I ran into her in the street after leaving my publisher's office. I met Gabrielle West, the Beverly Hills agent I told you about. She invited me for coffee and were having a conversation that was so-so for the most part. I told her about my first novel being published soon and I asked how she was doing and then she began to do her "I'm so much better than you" bit and that drove me to call her a bitch."

"You called someone a bitch in Beverly Hills?" Stephen said and did not resist the urge to laugh.

"Oh, it was awful. I mean I was awful. I made a scene and then I stormed out of there. All that was missing was for me to dump coffee over her Dior dress."

"Listen, Audrey. You're entitled to your feelings. The real problem here is not your little buddy there, the real problem here is you did something disgraceful and tasteless in the area where you are getting published. They will see you going there often and remember you for your little hissy fit."

"It was not a hissy fit. I had to tell her. Someone had to. No one did in high school. Oh, I know it was a terrible thing to do and I could have behaved with more tact but I didn't want to take it anymore. I didn't want to sit there and take her sly little insults anymore. You understand, don't you?" "Sure. But now they'll think you're an angry writer."

"Well, I'm going to be able to write better if I feel things strongly, won't I? Now come on, we have to get this apartment looking great before nightfall."

* * *

Their new apartment was pretty when the paint had dried and when all the furniture pieces were in place. The living room was in dark green, sort of resembling a Victorian home, and a large coffee table was weighed with two small statuettes of African deities, a god and goddess facing one another and three large books. On the walls were Steve and Audrey's collection of art: Steve's copies of Picasso and Warhol and Audrey's Degas, Monet and black and white photographs of Audrey Hepburn. When they had finished their work, they treated themselves to an intimate and quiet candle light dinner. Too tired to make love afterward, they talked about the future.

"I'm going to help you if you let me, Steve," Audrey said, "why don't you write for my agent Gabrielle West. She's terrific. She's very kind and recognizes quality work when she sees it. She lets you work at your own pace and promotes you in grand style."

"So I see. Look at the list of cities you're going to visit on your book tour. Even a cruise in the Bahamas when you get to Miami, Florida? Isn't that excessive? When will I see you again? Not till the holidays? Man, that's ridiculous."

Audrey bit her lower lip.

"Oh, not you too. You must support me on this. I love you and it's going to kill me to stay away from you but I'll be back in no time and we'll make up for it of course." Stephen looked away, his gray-blue eyes catching the light of a candle. He drank the last portion of red wine. What was he thinking? Was it possible he was jealous of her, her own boyfriend? Audrey sighed and felt in a sense, worse than she had been feeling after her first visit to Beverly Hills and her run-in with Michaela Money Queen. She wanted to say something to comfort him, to let him know she was not a different person. One book. It was just one book.The fulfillment of a dream. How could he not support her when she had told him about this dream countless times before and felt sure he shared her dream.

"Come with me to see Gabrielle. Show her your manuscript. Isn't it finished yet?"

"No not yet. I'll think about it. I thought I'd get myself a different agent but we'll see. Listen, I'm fine. I'm happy for you, really. Just worried a bit. You're so...so passionate. I don't want to lose you."

Audrey touched his thigh, in a gentle, nonsexual way.

"No, Steve. You'll never lose me. You'll only lose me to death someday. I love you."

* * * *

Back to Beverly Hills. Audrey in her black gown, this time altered a bit to look like a jacket and skirt. The climate had changed dramatically. It was early summer but today the skies were clouded in greyness and a light rain began to fall. Audrey felt she was already late, having agreed to meet Gabrielle West at exactly noon. Didn't that woman eat lunch? She certainly didn't look like one of those skeletal anorexic models that flaunted their bones all across restaurants and lounges in LA. Gabrielle was a sturdy looking woman, with a voice as deep sounding as Kathleen Turner' and with the confidence and sensuality of Sharon Stone. She had of late even taken to having her hair cut androgynously short. Audrey parked her Audi by the dreaded shops of Rodeo Drive again, purely owing to the awful fact there was no parking to be found elsewhere. She prayed she would not run into Michaela once more.

But it was not to be. No sooner had she began to walk toward the office building by way of the stores that she ran into the familiar red-head, again in a chic, expensive dress, a scarf on her neck and carrying various shopping bags.

"Do talk to me for a bit, will you? I think we should," she said.

Audrey sighed.

"You shouldn't say a word to me after my scene at the cafe, Michaela. I'm sure I hurt you and offended you deeply. And because I did not apologize -"

"Listen. I've had my bouts of anger too." Was she serious? She was! There was no anger in her face. She even felt it had been nothing at all. Somewhat relieved but confused, Audrey looked at her and smiled dimly. She scrutinized her face further and did not see the same Michaela she had seen previously.She could not have changed overnight but she seemed as if she was sincere in her words. Perhaps something had triggered it.

"You need not apologize, either," Michaela continued, "I should apologize to you. I know I treated you quite badly in high school. I stole Tony from you and I made you out to be some trashy, hopeless girl who'd go nowhere in life and for that I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright," Audrey said, "and his name was not Tony." They shared a laugh. Michaela's laugh was different, too. Sweeter-sounding.

"He was not Tony? Who was he then?"

"And to think you used to swear you loved him to death. No, his name was Tyler. He was an artist and I just loved that about him. I've never kept in touch with him. think he moved to Boston and went to college there."

"Oh, we were such fools. And still are. Forgive me. I am a bitch like you said. This is why I don't have any real friends like you must have. I have only false friends, fair-weather friends. If I didn't have a trust fund or credit card, they'd never visit me."

So that was it. She was beginning to evaluate her life and her friends. She must have reached the age of thirty since she had last seen her that day at the cafe. Audrey smiled and took her hand.

"You're really not that bad. I'm sure you're friends are not bad either."

"Oh, but they are. You would call them worse things then what you called me. Listen, I've been reading your book -"

She had been reading her book!

"Las Vegas Lover. Oh, Audrey, it's terrific. I wanted to cry when Jon didn't show up at the airport and arrived late. Then it was so romantic how they agree never to see Vegas again and liberate themselves from its trap of greed and vice and they fly off to live together in an apartment in New York. It made me consider how utterly lovelorn I am. My fiance is cheating on me and I've said nothing just so I'll marry him because my folks want me to because he's rich. I want to find happiness and free myself from the love of money."

"You'll never free yourself from that, I love money, too," Audrey said, "but you shouldn't let it rule you and enslave you. It's like drug addiction or alcoholism. We all need money to live comfortably but think of how much better you'll be if you prioritize friendship and love. I'm sorry to hear your fiance is unfaithful. Just don't marry him. Screw your folks and their expectations. You're a grown woman and you decide what's best for you."