“I will be, even if I have to sprout wings and fly.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you when you get here. Oh, and, Kendra… Congratulations,” he said seriously.
“To you too, Danny. You made this possible. Thank you.”
I put the phone on the nightstand, still feeling as though I was in a dream. A marvelous dream that overshadowed all the misery and agony of the past months, when I’d struggled with my self confidence, with the impression that all I wrote was crap, with writer’s block and all the nightmares every artist has to overcome. But now I felt like a new person. It wasn’t just the one million dollar advance—though that would surely improve my lifestyle drastically and get me out of the small apartment I rented on a month-to-month basis in downtown Chicago. It was the euphoria of having my work appreciated, turned into something tangible to reach millions of viewers.
A movie! I lay back with a heartfelt smile that stretched my face and made my chest expand with joy and fulfillment. I wondered what actors the producer would cast to play Hunter—the broody, sexy cameraman with a troubled past, and Serena—the feisty but ingenuous broadcast journalist. I smiled to myself, remembering the short summary of the script word for word: A captivating modern-day romantic suspense tale set in Transylvania—a love story is born on a background of fierce history, in a ruined castle formerly belonging to The Blood Countess— the most prolific female serial killer in history. The two strangers assigned by a TV network to make a documentary about Countess Báthory embark on a journey of mutual discovery, then stumble upon murder and horror.
It could be a spectacular movie with the right settings and actors. It was all about atmosphere, and chemistry, and tension. I had done a ton of research about Countess Báthory when I’d written the novel, then the script (urged by Danny, who said it was brilliant and very filmable).
When I wrote, I always imagined my characters in 3D, saw their faces, saw them moving, speaking, heard their voices. I frowned a little. What if the movie didn’t exactly capture my vision of the story and the characters? What if they chose actors I didn’t like, or didn’t find suitable for the roles? Danny would say that for a million bucks I shouldn’t give a damn, but I did. After all, it was my story and no one could bring it to life better than I. I had to make sure I was involved in every aspect of the production process. But the movie was to be produced in L.A… I hoped they could at least find a real castle, not just improvise a studio set. Oh, well. I gave a little mental shrug. I’d always wanted to visit L.A., and now I could afford it.
I had to tell Richard. Just as I reached for the phone again, I stopped. This wasn’t just some piece of ordinary news to be told on the phone. This had to be told in person and celebrated with mad sex and gallons of champagne! I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Richard would get an early wakeup call, but I doubted very much it would bother him.
****
Twenty minutes later I was rushing down the two flights of stairs, my hair fluttering behind me, still damp from the hasty shower. I stood on the sidewalk waving at taxis, careful not to get splashed by the puddles of a rainy April. To my relief, a cab rolled to a stop in front of me. I bent to look inside through the open window, and saw a middle aged woman with thick eyeglasses and gray hair pulled back in a bun.
“Are you free?” I asked her.
“Sure am, hon. Hop in! Where to?”
I gave her Richard’s address as I fastened my seatbelt, trying not to bump her considerable bulk with my elbow.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes, hon,” she assured me, skillfully slaloming the car in the busy traffic. “Is that where you work? You’re so pretty, I reckon you must be a model or something. You kinda look like Morticia Addams, especially in that tight black dress and red lipstick.”
I laughed lightly. My mother always said she’d given me an exotic name because she knew I would inherit her exotic looks. Mostly I had, but I always thought of myself as a more washed out version of her gypsy-like beauty. My eyes were the color of dark chocolate, while hers seemed black as pitch. My hair was falling straight over my shoulders, unlike the unruly mass of curls I envied my mom for. Our coloring was different too, because while she resembled a caramel statue, I had my father’s pale, translucent skin. It worked for me though. Actually, the cab lady was right. I liked to think of myself as a more telluric version of Morticia Addams—sans the gorgeous, passionate Gomez, and the zillions.
“Thank you,” I said. “No, I’m not a model, just a writer. And this is where my boyfriend lives.”
“He’s a very lucky young man.”
“I hope he feels the same.”
Richard was no Gomez, but in the twelve months or so since we’d been dating, he was a nice alternative to loneliness. Like me, he was thirty, single and weird. We had a comfortable relationship and, although we didn’t exactly have much in common, we didn’t spend enough time together to let that bother us. We went out three or four times a week, sometimes spent the night together—though each of us valued our privacy and we weren’t pushy or clingy. I guess anyone would find this kind of relationship boring, but it worked for us.
As a matter of fact, I should start spicing up things between us right this morning, I thought, smoothing my dress over the thigh-high black lace stockings I wore underneath. I had a key from Richard’s apartment, so I intended to just let myself in, and into his bed.
When we reached his building, I paid the driver—adding a generous tip—and climbed out. Richard’s neighborhood was a scale up from mine, with well-groomed buildings and a lot of polished windows. However, there was always a shortage of parking places. This was the reason I’d opted to take a cab instead of my ’95 POS Volvo—which stood for Piece of Shit, and did not match my glamorous appearance this morning.
I walked into the building and took the elevator up to the 9th floor. I knew Richard wasn’t supposed to be at work before nine, so we had plenty of time. His job as a criminal lawyer kept him busy and decently paid, especially since he’d opened his own practice.
When the elevator stopped, I smiled at my reflection in the mirror and stepped out. I took Richard’s key out of my purse and inserted it into the lock as silently as possible. I was sure he was still asleep, but I didn’t think he’d mind being awakened earlier.
As it turned out, I was wrong in both assumptions. The moment I entered the apartment I realized two things: Richard was not asleep, and he was not alone. Judging by the noises coming from the bedroom, he was either watching a porn flick, or he had company. I stood motionless, struck dumb and still by this discovery. I even stopped breathing, while my heartbeats accelerated madly.
Then I was jarred out of my shocked stillness by a particularly high-pitched moan. Feeling as though clouds of steam were coming out of my ears, I walked to the bedroom and pushed open the door. For a moment, I just stared stupidly at the way Richard and his blonde, huge-breasted partner were tangled. It crossed my mind that he’d never been this inventive and… energetic with me. Then the adrenaline kicked in, and with it, a wave of fury that made my pulse and breathing go into overdrive.
“You motherfucking piece of shit!” I screamed, advancing into the room, clutching my purse like a weapon.
The rocking stopped abruptly. The blonde let out a girlie scream, but my attention was all on Richard. His eyes were as big as saucers, as he was trying to yank a sheet to cover himself.
“Kendra… It’s not what you think,” he stammered. “I-I can explain…”
“You whore-fucking, cock-sucking, pencil-dick son of a bitch! Is this why you never had enough energy for me?”
I grabbed the first handy thing—which happened to be an inoffensive stack of files—and threw them at the bed. Sheets of paper spread everywhere, but without doing any damage.
“Kendra, listen to me…”
“Shut up, you lousy, cheating louse! And you,” I turned to the blonde, who was uselessly trying to cover up her tits. “I hope he’s better with you tha
n he ever was with me. I haven’t faked it so much in my life as I did with this lousy bastard!”
I whirled around and stormed out, slamming the door as hard as I could behind me.
I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek. For more details about Celebrity and the rest of my books, please visit MelindaDeRoss.com
Sacked! Page 18