Smitten by the Playboy: Crush

Charles. That is the name that rings in my mind like a bell when I wake up. I can see him. Right there before me. I know what he is. I know what he does, which no one else does not really know and are even fully conscious of. Mirth made it all clear and apparent to me much to my own shock and mesmerism. Enough of this silly mentality now. Ah-ah! Life does not begin and end with him. I was born and raised up without him after all. I will die without him in the very end.

No wonder I must be in love any sooner from now. I don't want Charles' name echoing and pealing in my nasty damn quiet mind and his handsomely face bothering and tormenting me up. Some other name must be ringing in my mind like sweet music. My heart and whole naked self must belong to someone else. I have to be in love sooner than possible so that I can forget and be over Charles. Yes! Very quickly indeed! Whew! What a relief it shall be for me only then!

Courtney is up early. Las Vegas is very busy town and place, I am aware. So preoccupied and active just like most towns here in the USA and the overall world itself. DUH-UH!

"Good morning, Tori," she whispers and hisses to me in between a seemingly crucial phone call. Of course! It is obvious that she is talking and shooting the breeze up with Garvin Wright. He is her man and protector after all. He has every right in the world to talk with his girl and learn what she is doing and what she is as well up to. And me myself? I have Hollywood to spare me the die with envy and jealousy phase. Fast to my online world. What's fresh and trending here in TINSELTOWN? Holy shit...some newly celebrity has gotten her first big ever role in a $95 million budget action horror movie about zombies and the undead and I have that opportunity and chance to interview her about it. Yes. I shall work my way into it early this afternoon.

Celebrities are cool, fashionable people. I know. They are human, and not THE ALL SUPREME AND SOVEREIGN GOD. For that we must not worship and idolize them. Too sad this is not the case. Many and so often a time, their fans revere and look up to them like they are really divine and worth the Godly statues. I wonder. Are such fans merely jocular and fooling around or are they serious and kill-dame-hater state devoted and attached to it. I can't truly tell.

And I myself being a celebrity? Have I ever imagined that? Oh yes—we all have, in those relatively silly and unrealistic moments. But you know what? Reality always has a nasty little surprise for us, or does not it? Some of us come to be bigger or smaller celebrities themselves whether we like it or not, we plan it or not, we kill for it or not—and the rest of us will always have something valuably and far much important to do in our lives. That is just life. Don't envy a Hollywood star human, they are much the same just like you, only that they are more loaded in their pockets...and more importantly, famous. This—my most beautiful Mirth advices and counsels me frankly.

I don't want to be star, mama! I am tempted to wish and dream to be like one every passing minute, but I know that I will not be either in this life or the one to come if opted for by me.

Work is the usual. Enjoyable and interesting in the early hours of the morning, and then tedious and unbearably exhausting as the sun goes on. I work at The Young's by morning. Not a full-time employee. I do part-time work. They haven't shifted and crossed me over into their full-time category yet. Only after they have seen how good or worse I work and how worthy or not I am for the consummate employee sort of office and assignment. We are into advertising and marketing here. And I handle all the receptionist duties and obligations.

Mr. Logan Hamilton is my boss. I am under his charge and direction. His office is just a few breaths next to my small comfortable desk that has got a very expensive Mac computer and technological equipment displayed and accommodated on it. The building itself is all high and soaring and thirty-two floored up. But not so is my job title and wages scale itself. I make up to $35,000.00 per year, and I am very much happy and satisfied about it. When toiling in the afternoon at the Graham House of Paparazzi, I make a bit lot much more there depending on how successful and triumphant I have been in my endeavors and achievements. If I do well, I get paid well. If I do badly, even the pay and all the other allowances are bad as well. The highest thing I sold was about $15000.00, and I got a small tiny 1% of that. Seriously!

That is just life on my part, and I have come to learn to accept and embrace it. It be for better, for worse still: for richer, for poorer: for beautiful, for uglier still. I don't know how 'Great' or 'small' I will be in life. I just keep going and carrying on with everything that befalls me. I know that I do not have my life and destiny under my wish and control. If I did, I could be all the great-most things that I want to be in life. But then I am not. Neither am I horribly awful and poorly either. I am not high, but then again I am not any low. Thank God for it!

Courtney Schroeder. She comes from an agreeably wealthy and affluent background. Some rumors suppose that her father is a grand multimillionaire himself. On the phone, she is always liken, "Hey daddy, you know what? My five old month car just broke up. I really need a new one. Will you do me a favor of getting me it?

Momma, can you believe I saw this beautiful Gucci dress at some shopping mall. Even Tori here liked it. I want you to spoil your girl a little bit by buying her it. Will you please? It is just two thousand dollars, mother!

Cole. I need you to deposit XXXX dollars into my Barclays Bank account. That's an order from Dad and not me."

For all this, I do not envy or plot to kill her with my own two bloody hands. She is all rich because she is lucky. I wish her well even though I am not entitled to the very same privileges as her. Yeah!

Keyshawn Gibson is the freshest Hollywood big break trending now. Only time will prove how big she is to be. For now, she has appeared in over eight hit movies as a supporting cast and she is as of presently making her first ever film starring in 'Clawed' as Suey Eastwood, an Irish top most assassin who gets hired to kill the American president. She has never failed with her former targets, but will she this time around?

Regardless, I am going to interview Key Gib in person this very present day and I must prepare and do my beforehand and earlier-on Internet research and survey about her. Will you come join me?

I feel like my very own heart is bleeding—or is not it? I can't be late for this interview with Keyshawn. No way. This is something big and more important than I have ever done before. Of course! She is not the highest, top-most celebrity that I have ever interviewed. Not certainly! Whoops! I have to make my leave right now—right away, without any slight or tiny tad bit sort of delay. Yep-yuppy!

It is dark and dreary-like outside here. The sky is all this limitless and boundless. I can feel the cold bite and chew into my flesh as I walk in the early night that is so packed and thronged with so many people huddling and bustling about. I feel kind of bored and very much ill at ease. Thus I fetch my iPod music player, then carefully plug in my earphones, and start playing on some slow but romantic track of music. In this life, can we ever live happily and blissfully without romance? Of course! Easily and painlessly still as a matter of fact. No wonder I have to enjoy being single for this little bit while before I start to belong and be hold in the tender and caring and affectionate arms of someone else. Yuwl!

I am supposed to walk and move faster than I already now am advancing. I hardly and barely don't know why I am going so slowly and unhurriedly. I guess that I am tired. I like my things done fast and brilliantly smart. Before now, I was a tediously slow and laggard person whom someone could hardly yell and snap at—pointing out at how much of a tortoise and less more of a leopard I actually was in getting things done. Oh my! These old, boring, but vigorously exciting memories of mine? I love and cherish them!

It is more dark and dreary still on this narrow street and alley. I barely even notice it. Up till I look behind and think that I saw a cat meow and then rush down the street after me. I stop and peer at it more closely with due attention this time. And I discover that it is not any cat after all. But instead three darkly-seeming men with weird and scary-like looking hats on their heads and some things grasped and clutched in their hands. Shit! They are running and chasing after me. I have to speed my way quickly. I barely don't know what it is that they wielding in their hands and it might be knives or axes or anything that American Chainsaw crappy scary stuff. These things have happened before, and they can easily happen to me as well. Run, Tori, run—my conscious and instincts guide and steer me. I make haste here and straight away.

I am wearing high heels today. I didn't want to put them on. Courtney poked fun at me back at our apartment that I looked funny and silly in a knee-high blue skirt matched with a turquoise colored-like shirt that has lovely purple and green stripes marked and emblazoned all over it. I had first worn flat shoes with this. "Put on those clack-y, feisty, and taddy bit sort of Teddy Bear looking highs of yours, girl," she had snorted out at me while giggling and sniggering out to herself. I agreed with her, and I did like she told and instructed me to.

I try my best to move as fast and charily as I can. I pass my way into the following street, and it is here that I gather and hastily pick up my speed all the more high and nippy. Yes. I must toil and endeavor my best until I leave those strange and frightening-looking men behind me. I quickly and instantaneously sneak my way into another quiet and desolate street. At least it is all quiet and calm here. It sure and definitely is. Once I am here—just so I don't attract the attention and awareness of those gruesome men following me behind, I quicken and step up my pace, gracefully mild and chaste-fully considerate on the other hand. What a relief this definitely must be for me!

Just as I am about to head off into another street; a man, large and muscular-like looking, looms up straight into my view suddenly and abruptly to hit and crash me. I have not seen him or even suspected his presence and being here. What is he looking here at this early hour of the evening? I am thinking this when Mirth, my bothersome and snappy-doggy-sort-of spy-enjoying conscious steps in much to my discomfort and annoyance: What are you also looking for here yourself, Tori, at such an early awful hour of the evening? I don't want to answer her back—or else mine would be angry and disrespectful or even insulting words. I simply tell her: Shut up, you dirty Mirth! If you don't have anything to do, you better seal yourself up in that troubled brain of mine and seek something else better and significant to do.

Honestly speaking, I am shocked. This man here—he is terribly and wonderfully handsome. He reminds me of Charles. Charles was one of the most wonderful and dazzling ever beautiful creations that I have ever met. And so is this man. Wait a minute...could he be his unquestionable and handsomely brother? I can't tell that for now.

I shrink away from the man. He is holding a small beautiful dog in his hand—a nicely growing up puppy I should rather say clear-cut—and the moment he notices me flinch and recoil away from him, he sets it down carefully and steadily slow so that he walk over to me with his hands thrown high and soaring up into the air. Is this a total surrender from him or what?

"Sorry to frighten you, miss. I want you to know that I am a very trusted man and there is no hell way on earth I could be capable of injuring and hurting you."

All American psychos overuse that to lure in their victims. How so true are his words? I look and examine him again. Yes. He is neatly and impeccably dressed. In a neat and exquisite black suit even. Is he going for some function? With whom precisely? His girlfriend, of course, you silly girl! That must be Mirth. She better behave herself for he own good and benefit. Seriously!

"Who are you?" I ask him quietly and with an icky-echoing tone. I gulp down my throat straight just after this. Has he made out already how nervous and fearful I am?

"I am Rhys Ty Jonas. I want you to know that you can always trust and have faith and confidence in me. I mean no any sort of harm to you—honestly speaking."

"I am Tori Wolf. I am just coming from work now, and I am going to take my leave straight off if you don't mind that."

"Wait...wait...please," he begs and entreats me. I stop and turn around to him. At this point in time, a chilly and icing-up breeze of wind gusts past me to hurl and toss away my long, cutely brown hair away from my face. Chestnut brown hair that is! Just so I am concise and spot-on with what I am saying and describing here. "Where are you going please? I would like to take you there personally."

"Don't bother. It isn't all that far even. I will be there in like less than an hour," I say this with an intensely glad and extremely happy smile. Hmmnnnn! That was quite a little bit kind and polite of him. Or should I say very highly generous and angel-hearted? Whatever term it is that you like any better—the man is agreeably kind and compassionate to me.

"These streets have proved out to be dangerous time and again. I know why you were taking flight when I ran into you and you still have that piss-scared and terribly-awed look on your face."

He must be right. These streets are known to be part of the dreaded Bailey-Way Boulevard. They might be perilous and ticklish like that nearby notorious place itself. I might never know. Just two days ago, a teen aged somewhere between 13 and 15 had his expensive phone and thirty dollars cash snagged and grabbed away from him by violence and menacing threats. Following this, the gone-wild-and-satanic gang that thronged and grouped about him stabbed and jabbed him with a sharply knife to his excruciating death. He was discovered and found dead, with blood having depleted and emptied up from his entire body just by bleeding and oozing out helplessly. Shit! Would I like anything of this awful nature to also happen to me? Hell way no! I wonder if even the poor kid wished himself anything that dangerous and life-threatening. Of course, he possibly and truthfully did not.

"Fine," I tell the handsomely and good-looking man before my on-alert eyes. "I will let you take me where I am going." I wonder. Isn't he even afraid of handing over a lift in his vehicle to total strangers that he does not know? Mirth is quick to snap and bark at me for contemplating this. Better you be appreciative and very much thankful of what the good Samaritan here is doing to you, you thoughtless ingrate. Yeah—yeah! I have heard enough already, Mirth-y! Thank you for that sweet-most notification for your very own piece of information.

Once settled and entrenched down inside the car, Rhys has me hold and catch his dog for him. I love dogs and animals, but not then all of them. Ever since I was five or six, I played and stayed with a lot of them such that my bond and attachment to them burgeoned so great and fiercely to describe and relate here. It still now is a tiny mite bit. Only that for the moment, I do not stay and dally about with a handful of pets and animals. Maybe when I am finally in my own house and dwelling, I will think twice about raising such up. Courtney? She detests and abhors the raising of any form of pets in our own apartment. And can you imagine what her horror-most class and variety of household pets are—stinking and freaking awful cockroaches. Whenever she is in the kitchen or toilet, and I hear her scream out so loud and alarming like she has actually been paid to do it for some nameless range of horror flick, say 'Scream With All Your Might and Get 10 Bucks For It', I easily and without much trouble or thinking know and even get convinced that she has in all reality and truth seen a freaking horrible and grisly-like cockroach. They are everywhere, I guess. Even in the White House? I don't expect so.

"So where is it that you work, Tori, huh?"

"The Young's! You have ever heard about us?"

"Of course! I stay and reside here in Las Vegas. I am a Software Developer with Qitera."

"Really? I could not have imagined and thought that all up on my own."

"I know The Young's. You are into advertising and marketing there, I presume."

"You presume or you are very confidently and much certain and positive about it? I mean that is what we are really and obviously into."

"Okay. So what do you do there at The Young's?"

"I am just an ordinary receptionist."

"Ordinary?" He laughs out load at that. Of course! Do you expect anyone to admire and envy your very small job title there at that shitty damn structure called a firm? People kill and bewitch each other for Company Managerial chairs and thrones in big, grand mammoth skyscrapers and here you are, Tori, comfortable and happy about being a Z-paid receptionist? Grow up, silly girl. Then he adds, "You are a professional receptionist, Tori, and not just any ordinary place worker there."

"If you think so," it is all I have to let out to him. Seriously!

"And how do the guys there treat you?" He looks at me as he says this and then quickly glances away from me the instant I scowl and make an astonished face at him. What was that supposed to mean really? I am no V.I.P please...and I get no any special treatment for simply being myself. I enjoy doing my work for the sole love of it and then go back straight home and relax and play some celebrity interview tapes that I have recorded and taped on in a particular day. That is just my life. Boring, then exciting, then lonesome, then full of people and activity, then...then...then...

"Like a human being fellow worker is supposed to be treated and handled. Some people can be really mean and nasty. But they are not worth being on my V.I.P long list either."

"You mean no guy has ever proposed to you there at Young's?"

Is that the way you talk to a stranger, Rhys? I want to shout and yowl out mad at him like I have gone bananas, but then Mirth is quick to act and restrain me from doing so. Damn her! Rhys here better be taught how to talk to a lady...I mean how to talk to a stranger lady that he doesn't even freaking hell know. If it were not for Mirth being present, I would have exploded and detonated badly fuming like a freaky scary tornado bomb.

"Absolutely; does that surprise you in any way?"

"No. But you are too beautiful to be single and left all on your own just like that. It is like all the men have no eyes to see and sight you. Well, if they don't, you probably have me then." The way he is talking all this to me, he is making it seem like he is merely being playful and jocular with me. I can't tell and decide for sure. Is he really being playful, or is he not being this? I don't know...I don't even wish to know...Right now what probably matters most of all things is that I get my way to Sugar Spray Inn and chat and have a word or two with Keyshawn Gibson. I have not more than an hour to spend and relax with her. After that, she will head off to her hotel and then fly off back to Los Angeles where she stays with her boyfriend and three cats. They must be a perfect and very magnificently wonderful family, I am guessing to myself—are they not? They sure and definitely are!

Rhys and I don't talk much either. We just fool around with our relationship status before he drops me off at Badin Way. The highway isn't all that busy and bustling up. There are a few cars speeding here and there, this direction and that opposite other. The traffic lights are all sparkling and blazing up blindingly and dazzlingly. The scene and spectacle itself is just wonderful and heaven-like to look and stare at.