Starlet's Web (The Starlet Series, #1)

by Carla Hanna

  “I love the dress, Franz. You’re amazing. Thank you!”

  “You’re eighteen now so you can finally show off your so very hot assets.”

  Franz zipped me. He twirled me in my bare feet. We did a salsa, a little shuffle. I kissed his cheek. He beamed with pride, smiling appraisingly.

  Manuel was in the doorway, clearing his throat.

  Franz frowned and sulked as he cleaned up his artist’s tools.

  “I think you look hot!” I said to Manuel. He wore a black stretch knit fitted cotton tee that showed off his strong chest and biceps and dark jeans with a handsome belt. The belt had an interesting buckle that was mostly covered by the hem of the tee. His chest seemed bigger than normal and his waist was thinner. The jeans were perfect but had some bling on them, which I knew he hated. The shoes seemed nice, too.

  Wow, I thought to myself. A tingle ran down my spine.

  “Thanks,” he grumbled.

  Franz raised his eyebrows at me, afraid to point out that Manuel needed some more work. “The hair? Could I?”

  “Oh, of course, Franz. Thanks.” I answered. I pointed to the chair and glanced at Manuel. “Manuel, please sit here. Franz will only take a minute.”

  “What? No.” Manuel did not budge from where he stood. Now the torch discharged hostility. Poor Franz.

  “Manuel, be good. This will only take a minute and it won’t kill you. Please, for me, for your mom’s scrapbook.”

  “Fine,” Manuel pouted and slammed his body down into the chair. Franz and I ignored his little temper tantrum. I put on my jewelry and shoes.

  Franz wet Manuel’s hair, put some gel in it, plucked his eyebrows, dusted his face and was done within five minutes. Manuel was agitated and his body was tense.

  “Thank you, Franz! Manuel, you look great.”

  Manuel did not look at himself in the mirror and stormed out of the bathroom. I shrugged an apology to Franz and kissed his cheek. Then I followed Manuel into the kitchen.

  “Manuel, why the hostility? You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes I do. It’s your birthday.”

  “No. I’d rather not go with you if you’re going to be mad the whole time. It’s hard enough for me to go in the first place since I get so nervous. Seriously, Manuel, what’s wrong?”

  He sighed. “I’m just not sure about your birthday present and got into an argument with my mom. She thinks my dad and I ganged up on her. It’s just…” He shook his head. “This day isn’t going well.”

  “It’s okay if you bail. I’ll come home right after they sing me Happy Birthday and cut the cake and then we can celebrate my birthday together.”

  “No. Just stop going on about it, Marie!” He immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m your boyfriend and am coming to your party. I love you.”

  Franz was coming to my party, too, so we left when he was ready. I figured Manuel made his choice and I would not take on any responsibility for his brooding. Holding hands, but not speaking to each other, Manuel and I walked with Franz outside to the waiting limo.

  “Where’s my driver, Sashi?” I asked the driver. I needed to be sure he was legitimate.

  The driver responded in broken English, “He’s sorry he could not make it. He left you this note.”

  The note said,

  “Happy 18th birthday, Liana Marie. I’ve seen many of your birthdays and am sorry to miss this one. Please don’t offer anyone a ride with you. Be safe. I took vacation and will drive you soon. — Sashi.”

  I read my texts from Sage and confirmed that Sashi would not be driving me.

  We all got into the limo and the new driver closed the door behind us. The trip to Malibu was quiet. Franz tried to fill the silence with ideas for what I’d wear to my summer awards shows. Manuel had his arm around me and kissed me several times but I could tell that he didn’t want to look at me since I appeared differently from the girl he loved. That same girl was me, but I was also Marie Michael, the actor, or more accurately, I was Muse.

  The first part of the party was at my favorite sushi restaurant off the PCH in Malibu. It was in a small strip mall with a grocery store anchor. I loved their black cod with miso, sea bass wrapped in bacon, and shrimp tempura sushi with filet mignon on the top. It was a small place so I only invited forty people for an intimate dinner. In planning the event, this was the part of the night I anticipated. Everyone there was special to me. I stayed in the same seat throughout the dinner and sat between Manuel and Mom who flew down for my birthday. She floored me when she gave me the title to our house on Flathead Lake in Montana. I loved going to our lake house, and it was now mine.

  My guests moved about the room so that everyone had a chance to chat with me and meet Manuel. The music was low, so I didn’t have to yell or struggle to hear the conversation. It was perfect.

  Next was the main birthday event. In the same shopping center, we transformed a large, empty retail space into a hot dance party. The birthday party was more of a Muse promotion than anything else. I recognized some of the set’s props in the decorations. We invited close to four hundred people and the press, of course.

  Manuel did great the whole night. I introduced him to everyone and never left his side. He smiled but was definitely out of his element. He still had a hard time looking at me and mostly peeked at my chest when he did look at me. Being with Manuel made the night much better than any event I had gone to alone.

  The party planner took me from Manuel to the center of the room for me to receive my birthday cake and blow out the candles. The cake was a several-tiered light pink fondant with white bows. The number “18” was on the ribbon of the bow. It was a beautiful cake. Everyone sang Happy Birthday and then I blew out the candles to a rushing sound of camera clicks. I smiled for the cameras and thanked everyone for celebrating with me.

  I slowly made my way back to Manuel. He had not left the place from where he was standing with me before the cake presentation.

  “You ready to go?” I asked Manuel.

  We could barely hear each other even though we were right next to one another. He practically yelled, “Can we do that? It’s your party?”

  I took his hand and headed toward the front door. The music was not as loud there. I said, “Exactly. It’s my party and I can do whatever I want.”

  He questioned, “But shouldn’t you stay? Do you want a piece of your cake?”

  I said, “I can’t eat cake. But you can get a piece if you’d like.”

  “I’d rather go, but I don’t understand why you want to leave your own party. I can see that you’re having an amazing time.”

  I watched him , felt his unease, and shook my head. I always left these parties early because I didn’t like them. I was uncomfortable, hiding my nervousness. But he watched me and had decided that I was having a great time. I was an actor. Self-promotion was the key to getting a good role, key to success, and a very important, integral part of the business. Even though I was free from some contracts, I was bound to Muse. I had a responsibility to enjoy my own party.

  He probably worried that this was far better than prom. I was used to the scene. I did like the people, but I couldn’t compare it to the prom or to being with him. This was different, but not better.

  I explained, “Rule #1: the people in this business are in this business because they want, seek, and must have attention. Psych studies have shown that 50-60% of Americans see themselves as introverts, not extroverts. You have an entire room full of extroverts here, with the exception of us, who are energized from the crowd. You and I are drained from it. Rule #2: the extroverts here will not notice if we leave my party. Rule #3: Hollywood parties are excessive and indulgent. That does not mean they are better than other types of gatherings with friends.”

  Manuel was still not convinced. “What about Franz?”

  “Mom is dropping him off on her way back to the airport.”

  Manuel finally smiled. “Okay, let’s go,” he said confidently.

 
As we walked out the front door, camera lights flashed in such a burst that Manuel stood motionless with his eyes blinded. Photographers yelled at him, asked me questions, demanded to know who he was. I was confused because I was sure my publicist would have given them facts about whom I was dating. Nevertheless, I spoke immediately to help poor Manuel.

  “Hey, one at a time. I’m happy to answer questions about my boyfriend,” I commanded.

  I stood patiently, holding Manuel’s hand and smiled until the photographers became civilized. I observed Manuel. He stared at me. I let go of his hand and put my arm around him. I reassessed his mood. He still stared at me.

  I did not raise my voice and continued to smile. “This is my boyfriend, Manuel. We’ve been best friends since preschool and grew up together in Santa Monica. We attended our high school senior prom and started dating.”

  Again, I smiled as I finished the sentence, looking pretty, blinking quickly so the photo wouldn’t show my pain.

  A photographer I knew asked politely, “Marie, good for you. It’s nice to see you happy. How long have you been dating?”

  “We’ve been dating since March. Prom was the weekend after the Constantine’s Muse wrap party.”

  Uh, oh. I said something they didn’t expect. Photographers were nudging us and shouting out questions, questions about Byron and about Manuel. I checked out Manuel. I did not want him to hit anybody. He’d get sued.

  I grabbed his hand and took off towards the limo. I ran in the darn stilettos, pulling Manuel with me. I opened the limo door and rushed inside. Manuel followed me and slammed the door closed.

  ~ THE GIFT ~

  It was the wrong limo. Manuel and I both gaped at a man and a woman doing it, mostly clothed. The man slid off the woman to the side and the woman covered herself. I recognized both of them immediately. The man was Byron. The woman was the lighting specialist.

  Stunned by the absolute ridiculousness—the improbability—that this was happening, I laughed. It was the same response I had when the guys lost to me in strip poker or when I felt uncomfortable at an inappropriate comedy show.

  “Happy birthday, Marie,” Byron smiled, not at all embarrassed. “So you’re still with Manny?”

  “Yep. Hi, Claire, this is Manuel, my boyfriend. I’m sorry to barge in.” I chuckled again. “I thought this was my limo.”

  Manuel frowned. I kissed him. He was tense.

  “This is your limo. I was borrowing it. I just got here. Claire and I saw each other in the parking lot. I saw your driver smoking outside and had Claire give him $100 to be back in fifteen minutes. He let us sneak in. I thought this would be a comfy place to shack.”

  “You know he’s a prick, right?” I said to Claire. The three of us chuckled. She did know and didn’t care.

  Byron defended himself, “It figures you would leave your own party. You always leave early. Sorry, though.”

  “So just now,” I asked, “what was going on with the photographers? They didn’t know who Manuel was and my publicist should have clued them in. They went crazy when I told them we started dating at our senior prom.”

  “Damn, Marie.” Byron said, “Now you’re the one with your foot in your mouth.”

  “What? I’m…”

  “Richard wants us to be a couple for the premiere,” Byron explained.

  “Oh. Well he should have asked me, so I could say, “No way.” Thanks for the heads up, late.”

  I smiled at Manuel and squeezed his hand. He was as stiff as a statue. But I still felt the hilarity of the moment and shook my head laughing.

  “So this is just too much. I’m stuck here with my boyfriend, with you guys half-naked, and a gaggle of photographers who saw us get into this limo. The driver is out counting his money. I’ve already messed up the premiere’s spin, and I want to go home and have a nice quiet night with Manuel. Any suggestions on how we’re all gonna get out of here?”

  They laughed. Not Manuel, poor guy. I tried to snuggle into the statue.

  Claire moved away from Byron and he casually pulled up his pants and surveyed the limo’s bar. He poured drinks.

  Manuel watched, shocked.

  “Don’t worry about it, love.” I said to Manuel out loud. “He’s an ass. Everyone has seen it.” The three of us laughed again. We were having fun now.

  “Easy solution to being stuck in this limo together,” Byron said. “We’ll take you home.” He handed everyone a drink.

  Manuel grumbled to Byron, “You’re an asshole.”

  Just then, the driver got in. “Time’s up,” he announced.

  I answered back. “Byron told me your arrangement. Now take us home immediately. Byron will be paying you for the car tonight.” I eyed Byron. He shrugged a ‘sure.’

  “Wait,” Claire interrupted. “I’m going to Marie’s party. Baby, call me anytime, and we’ll finish what we started.” Claire crawled onto Byron and kissed him passionately. She put his hand in her crotch. “It’ll be waiting for you.”

  She licked his lip and then left the limo. So much hostility emitted from Manuel when Claire passed him that I worried he might shove her out of the car. Photographers shouted at her over the percussion of camera clicking. Any humor I felt from the drama changed to fear that Manuel would lose it.

  Then we left.

  Byron finished Claire’s drink and got into the bar again. He gave Manuel another drink and lit a cigarette. He asked, “So you two are lovers? How long have you been dating?”

  I knew what he was exposing. I answered as confidently as possible, “Since our disaster night together, Byron, of course.”

  “Not prom?” He grinned at me and peered at Manuel. “You’re a lucky guy. She rejected me, as you know. But honestly, I don’t know if I could have your patience. She’s worth it, of course, but I’d get frustrated.”

  Manuel glared at him, “Shut up. She’s mine.”

  “I know. But she’s wounded. Has your love been enough for her?”

  Manuel fumed, “I’m warning you that I’ll kick your ass.”

  “Of course you will. But you’ll always wonder what I do to make her tremble.”

  I yelled, “Shut up!”

  “Marie, we both love you. We could work together, give you pleasure you’ve never known. I just participated for the first time about a week ago, made my friend’s wife have the best orgasm of her life, made her so happy. It was a win for everyone.”

  I shook my head, “There’s no possibility, Bryon. Gross!”

  “I could be like a director, coach him, tell him how I melt you.”

  “Shut the hell up!” Manuel bellowed. Anger erupted from him.

  Byron stopped talking and scanned his iPhone. Manuel did the same. I considered the possibility of having both of them at the same time. Tingles ran through my body. I blushed. Manuel studied my face. Then I noticed Byron’s eyes on me, too.

  Manuel asked, “You’d want to try?”

  “No,” I said definitively but my cheeks became hot, flooded with blood.

  Byron suggested, “Marie, you reaching climax is going to take a ton of time. Really, we both love you. You’d feel great.”

  “No! I belong to Manuel, only. What turns me on is the thought of making love. What’s gross is you guys sharing me. Got it?!”

  “Good,” Manuel agreed, “because I can’t share you.”

  I addressed Byron coldly, “And a little lesson, Byron. You were played. Here’s the situation you found yourself in, and please correct me if I’m wrong because I’ve seen it a dozen times: you’re at a party, drunk and smoking pot. A babe is all over you. You show interest. She leads you down the hall to a room. You go in to see a guy in bed with his almost naked “baby” or “wife,” whatever turns you on. They offer you ecstacy usually, not coke, meth or heroin because there’s too much ritual and mess with those drugs. No, they want an easy sell and repeat customer. You take the pill and get the pleasure. Then the next morning you wake up naked next to strangers and worry about who you scre
wed and who screwed you.”

  Bryon wrinkled his forehead and frowned with pain in his eyes. Manuel’s shoulders slouched.

  I continued, “You’ve been partying for a year now. You’ll continue to have your fun and be played for another year. You’ll have so many drugs in you that you won’t be able to get it up so you’ll find yourself at orgies and hot parties. Then you’ll find yourself sued, broke and all alone.”

  I shook my head at the absurdity of the conversation and looked around the limo. I pushed out every memory of what I had witnessed or experienced while in a limo. I hated limos.

  The driver dropped us off. Manuel and I held hands while I punched in the code at the front door.

  “Thanks for enduring that, Manuel. You do know how much I appreciate you, don’t you?”

  He smiled. He hadn’t said much the whole night. The GQ outfit altered him. But this life was a lot to take in all in one night. During my international party days, I had seen much worse than what we had just seen. Given that it was probably the first time he was blinded by photographers yelling at him and the first time he walked in on someone who proposed sharing his girlfriend, he did a great job.

  When I walked inside, the light in the kitchen was on. We turned down the hall to my room, and he switched on the hall light. Rose petals were strewn on the floor of the hallway and a lovely bouquet of red roses sat on a small table at the end of the hallway next to my bedroom door. Three hearts cut from red construction paper were taped to the wall next to me with words in his handwriting. The conversation hearts read: Be Mine, I LOVE YOU, and Happy birthday from your loving Latino boyfriend.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful, Manuel. Thank you!”

  I gave him a hug and kissed him. I was so happy. I kissed him again, starting to feel a warm glow in me.

  “How did you do this? You were with me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. Something was bothering him but he was happier than he was in the limo. He explained, “My mom. I gave her the code. We can change it if you want to?”

  “I trust Liz. Rules are rules, though. I’ll change it tomorrow and text everyone to call Sage for the new one. I’m not mad. I’ll have to thank her. It’s very special.” I kissed him again softly.