All right, it was a little crass but I made myself laugh. Savannah clearly didn't see the funny side. “I'll pass, thanks.”
She grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table and gave a little squeak when she saw what time it was. She gave another, bigger squeak when she saw all her missed calls.
“Shit, I was supposed to be at work two hours ago to take in Mrs Reed's daughter's flower girl dress. She's going to kill me. I am so fucking fired!” she said. I opened my mouth to reassure her but she shushed me, “Don't talk, you'll make things worse.”
That put me in my place. She dialed Mrs Reed's number and talked to her, apologizing profusely. “I'm so sorry. My dog had a seizure and I had to rush him to the vet. I left my cell at home so I couldn't contact you,” she said, adding fake tears for emphasis. It was a creative lie, to give her credit. She preformed it very well. It wasn't surprising to me when Mrs Reed seemed to lap it up. “Oh thank you so much Mrs Reed, you're so kind. I'll be over as soon as I can. Bye!” she said. She hung up and gave me a disgruntled look when she saw that I was eavesdropping, “What are you looking at?”
“You're quite an actress,” I said. For a moment I imagined what it would be like for Savannah to be my leading lady. She had the looks and the talent. She had the tits and the ass. Something told me that she wouldn't be the easiest to work with, however. Directors didn't usually dig the diva type. You couldn't afford to have an attitude until you had hit the big time. Then you had free reign. She rolled her eyes.
“And you would know. Look, I need to get ready for work. Is there a polite way to tell you to fuck off or will I just have to be rude and say it straight?” she asked. I grinned.
“Say no more.”
It was a shame that I would never see her again. She was spunky and I liked it. She didn't even want my number.
Savannah
One night stands were just not for me. It was a fact that I had spent my whole adult life trying to argue with, but I always lost. It wasn't because I was a clingy bag of emotions. No, the last thing I wanted was the white wedding, little picket fence and three kids fantasy. The thought made me shudder. I was no prude. I guess I was just not suave enough to pull off a true one night stand. The build up and the sex were always great, but that was it. Then you had to deal with the sleeping arrangements and the awkward goodbyes. One person always wanted to hang around for a little too long. Sometimes it was me and sometimes it wasn't. Either way, it was hell.
I knew that sleeping with Dane was a mistake as soon as I woke up. He looked just as sexy in the daylight, but everything came flooding back to me. I remembered what an arrogant ignoramus he was. How could I have let him fuck me like that? It was going against every principle I had. At the same time, the sex was the best I'd had in years. I didn't fully regret it, though it wasn't my proudest moment. I'd just have to move on and get along with my life.
It turned out I wasn't as fucked as I originally thought I was. I'd worked for Mrs Reed before and she'd been satisfied with my standard, so she didn't mind me being late. Besides, taking in her daughter's flower girl dress didn't take much time. It was a very straightforward job. I got it done faster than I'd expected and left, feeling better with some money in my pocket. At least she wouldn't complain to the agency about me. Her house wasn't far from where I'd left my car last night so I was able to stroll over to it without much trouble. It hadn't been clamped and I didn't have any tickets. For once, life was on my side.
“Oh my god, Sav! Is that you?” God damn it. I'd been hoping that no one would see me. In my haste to get to work I'd thrown on whatever I could find, which turned out to be a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt I hadn't given back to my ex. My hair was messy and I hadn't even had time to apply any mascara. Still, I'd been spotted so now I couldn't run away. I turned and saw my friend Rochelle, dressed immaculately as always and laden with shopping bags. Just the sight of her made me angry.
“Hey Rochelle, how are you?” I asked sheepishly. She pulled me into a painfully tight hug that latest just a tad too long. Her perfume was overpoweringly musky, strong and sensual. Obviously more expensive than the cheap body sprays I used to smell decent. She was doing well for herself. “I'm great sweetie,” she said, releasing me from her grip, “How about you?”
Rochelle and I were a very particular kind of friends. If she died, I would have gone to her funeral but if she got dumped I'd probably feel great. We'd met at design school and been the two most promising students in the class, though my work was always a little more creative than hers. Yeah, well creative didn't sell. The last I'd heard of Rochelle was her collection at New York Fashion week going down a storm and this year's IT girl wearing it on the red carpet. It was sickening. I hated myself for being so envious, but I couldn't help it.
“I'm good,” I said, trying to defer attention from my career, “So, shopping spree huh? Did you get anything nice?”
That question was a mistake. Rochelle insisted on showing me every single item she got and explaining why she got it (including gum). Six designer lip glosses because she just couldn't chose between them. A knitted sweater that cost more than my car. A pair of earrings with diamonds as big as marbles because cubic zirconias really aren't the same. There was a plethora of other items and I had to nod and smile at all the right times. Hearing her describe things that I would never be able to afford made me feel like garbage, but god knew there was no interrupting the woman once she got going.
Finally, she pulled out a short stack of glossy magazines.
“And I picked up these because my new collection is being featured in all of them. God Savannah, can you imagine what our eighteen-year-old selves would think if they saw us now? They would be amazed at all we've achieved,” she said, her eyes glimmering. Christ, she really was pushing it now. Maybe her teenage self would be happy, but teenage Savannah would be pissed off.
I glanced down at the magazines.
“Mind if I take a look?” I said, because it seemed like the polite thing to say. Also, I was feeling nosy. I'd avoided Rochelle's collection up until now, but curiosity finally overtook my envy. Rochelle nodded eagerly, handing me one of the magazines.
“Page twenty two,” she said, “There's a six page spread.”
“That's great,” I grinned, flicking through the pages. My hands were shaking at the unfairness of it all. It wasn't Rochelle's fault. She was a talented designer and she'd gotten the right break. Where was my big break? With each year that passed it seemed less and less likely that I would make it big.
I flipped past the sex tips, the make up tutorials and the many advertisements. I stopped at page twenty, just before Rochelle's spread because something caught my eye. It was the celebrity gossip.
“It's page twenty two, honey,” said Rochelle, sounding mildly annoyed. I ignored her and stared at the page in front of me. Celebrities had never interested me. I had never understood the appeal and so I read about them as infrequently as I could possibly manage. Maybe that's why I was so surprised to see Dane in the center of the page. He was leaving a hotel with some blonde on his arms. She had her head down but he was looking up, smirking at the cameras. Just like he'd smirked at me. The caption read 'He's got a type: Action hero Dane Reynolds caught cavorting with another mystery blonde. We predict sales of bleach are about to sky rocket!”
Jesus Christ. He was someone. Rochelle peered at the page.
“Dane Reynolds is just gorgeous, isn't he? You know since New York fashion week I've been meeting celebrities left right and center, but somehow he's escaped me. You know I've heard he goes drinking in this town? Isn't that crazy! Imagine running into him,” she sighed, “He doesn't seem like the settling down type, does he? I suppose the good looking ones never are. Anyway, here's my spread.”
She forcibly turned the page and made me look at her designs, though I was still shaking from what I had just seen. Imagine running into him? I wanted to say 'imagine getting fucked by him' but I figured I'd keep it to myself. I wo
uldn't believe me.
Rochelle's designs were not very different to what she had done in design school, though there was less puckering around the zippers. She used a palette of steel grays, cool beiges and khakis accented by leather panels. Combined with the models' messy hairstyles and minimal makeup it looked great. That was the truth of it all. Rochelle was glossy magazine material. I was not.
“Wow, it all looks amazing,” I said, genuinely this time, “I'm so happy for you!” She pulled me into another fragrant hug.
“You have no idea how much it means to hear that! Jesus, I spent all of design school competing with you. To tell you the truth, I don't think I won very often. It's crazy to believe that I got to fashion week and you didn't,” she said. I couldn't stop myself from frowning. After all, what else could I do?
Rochelle gasped when she saw my expression.
“Oh, no, no, no! I worded that wrong. What I meant to say is that I can't believe I made it to fashion week before you. Yeah, before you. Come on honey, it's inevitable. I'm sure once you get up there I'll be old news and all the movie stars will be dying to wear your gowns,” she said, without a hint of sarcasm. She was being patronizing of course, but I liked to hear it anyway. No matter how unrealistic it all was.
We said our goodbyes and she reiterated what I fantastic designer she thought I was. She even left me keep the magazine.
“That way you can pull out the picture of Dane and stick it on your wall,” she teased.
Chapter Two
Dane
Being away from Hollywood was pretty great. Sure, I still got recognized but small town fans were a lot easier to deal with. A lot of the time, they didn't even approach me. I just heard them whispering and saw them pointing. The ones that were brave enough to talk to me always got my best smile and a photo to use as their profile picture. It was nice and relaxed. Hollywood was a whole different story. I'd have to return in a few weeks but for now I was enjoying my time off. Another thing I especially loved about small towns were the women. Girls in Hollywood were all right, but most of them had boob jobs before they'd turned twenty one and considered eating a piece of fruit a treat. It was so dull. Small town girls had character. It didn't feel like I was fucking the same girl every night.
I returned to The Black Horse the next night. It was my favorite kind of bar. Quiet, with good drinks and better conversation. Good old Jack knew exactly what he was doing and always had a crazy story or two to tell. He liked hearing about my adventures on set and he especially liked hearing about my escapades with women. Who could blame him? After all, there were a lot of them.
“Hey Dane,” said Jack, as soon as I stepped in. The only other patrons were a group of girls. They were sitting where Savannah and I had sat yesterday at the booth. Judging by the fluffy tiaras they were wearing and penises that they had face painted on, they were having a bachelorette party. I hoped they hadn't recognized me but, judging by the way they had all looked up as soon as I entered the room that wasn't likely.
I tried to ignore them and took my usual seat at the bar. “Hey Jack,” I said, “How's it going buddy?”
“Pretty good,” he said, beaming, “That redhead at the bachelorette party gave me her number!” “Sweet, how bout a drink to celebrate?” I asked. Jack grinned.
“What'll it be?”
I ordered a shot of whiskey to get started with. I'd always preferred beer, but tonight something was telling me to try some whiskey again. As soon as I slugged it down I knew why. It tasted like Savannah's tongue had felt in my mouth.
“So, did that girl get home all right? You know, the mean one with the insane rack?” asked Jack. I laughed at his apt description. Savannah was mean all right, but those tits made up for it. That was without even mentioning her ass.
“She did,” I tried not to brag but I couldn't help adding, “I escorted her right to her bedroom door.” Jack put his hand on his hip and shook his head at me in disbelief.
“How did I know? Jesus Christ, I thought we finally found the one smart girl in the world who won't drop her panties for you. I guess I was wrong,” said Jack. Jack, bless his heart, was much more relationship oriented than I was. He was only thirty but already divorced. He'd married his childhood sweetheart as soon as they could legally do it. They'd split up after six years when she realized that actually, she liked women as much as he did. Ever since Jack had been trying to replace her, no matter how much I tried to convince him to play the field. He disapproved of my wild antics but couldn't stop asking about them. I expected that he liked to live vicariously through my adventures.
“Yup, dead wrong. How about another whiskey and I'll tell you all about it,” I said. Jack sighed and nodded.
“How was it?” he asked. Just remembering it almost made me hard but I managed to reel it in for now. If I didn't fuck someone else tonight then I would definitely be jerking off later.
“It was fucking mind blowing. I don't know, in my experience the bitchiest girls always fuck the best,” I said. Jack handed me my drink. He was leaning forward now, obviously fascinated. “Oh yeah? Why's that?” he asked. I knocked back my drink.
“I think it's because they have all this pent up energy that they have to get out. The insults are just foreplay to them. Once you get them alone, they turn into crazy nymphos who worship cock. That makes sense, right?” I said. Jack rolled his eyes.
“That can be your thesis subject,” he said, “I'm sure it'll go down very well with feminists across the world.”
Before I could offer a rebuttal a felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a tall, slim brunette with olive skin and freckles. The only thing hindering her beauty was the white veil on her head and the giant dick drawn on her cheek in sharpie.
“Excuse me, are you Dane Reynolds?” she asked. Her friends were watching giggling in the background. As if she had to ask.
“Yes,” I said, fixing my best movie star smile, “That's me.”
She looked back at her friends and squealed before looking back to me.
“Um, this might sound weird but would you like to have drinks with us? I'm getting married tomorrow so we're just celebrating and, well, I've always been a huge fan of yours. Ever since Bounty Hunter 2,” she mumbled. Ah, that made sense. Bounty Hunter 2 was one of my earlier movies. It contained three times as much gore as the first film, but somehow I knew that wasn't why she liked it so much. It was also the first movie that I'd appeared naked in. I'd gained a lot of fans from it.
I peered at the bride's friends. They were all pretty hot and most likely single. If they weren't it didn't matter to me. I'd probably screw the bride too if she was up for it.
“Sure sweetheart,” I said, “I'll have a drink or two.”
The other girls actually screamed when I made my way over to the table with Rachel, the future bride. They were obviously big fans. The other four introduced themselves though I forgot their names as soon as they said them. That was all right though. All I had to do was smile, flirt a little and quote my movies and they were in heaven.
Sitting with the bachelorette party was a stark contrast from sitting with Savannah. She had been insulting, irritated and unaware of my movie star status. These girls bought me drink after drink, sang my praises and and laughed at every stupid joke I told. It was nice, I guess.
Rachel got to sat next to me because she was the bride, though the other girls complained at first. “Don't worry ladies,” I said, “There's plenty of me to go around.”
They all screamed delightedly and stopped complaining. We were on our fourth round of drinks and talking about how we filmed love scenes when things got interesting.
“It must be so awkward being naked with a stranger like that,” said the redhead who had given Jack her number, “Especially in front of everyone when you know it's being filmed. I couldn't do it.”
I shrugged.
“It's nothing. Once you do your first one they're not scary at all. The set is always closed so only the people who rea
lly get to be there see it. Though I think a few interns snuck onto the set of my last love scene,” I said, and they all laughed, “They give you a little sock to put your cock in to make sure that you stay decent. Kind of ironic really because you feel more exposed with that shit on you than if you were butt ass naked. It's weird as hell but it's just the way things are.”
Rachel leaned into me, exposing a lot of her cleavage in her tight tank top.
“Do you ever get turned on during the scenes? What with all the beautiful actresses and everything?” she asked. One of her friends told her that she couldn't ask that but Rachel shushed her.
“Nah, it's all right. To be honest there's so much adrenaline pumping that getting my dick wet is the last thing I'm thinking about -for once!” I said. They all burst into peels of laughter again and one of them ran to the bar to get me another drink.
Under the table, I felt a hand move from my knee to my thigh, snaking its way up. I kept a straight face, wondering if this was just a joke on Rachel's part. When she gave the crotch of my pants a firm squeeze I knew that she wasn't kidding.
She gave me a demure smile as her friends continued to babble on about my shitty movies. Normally, I would have found some way to get her alone and maybe fuck her in the back room. Jack wouldn't mind too much, though he'd complain a little. Some people might say that it was an immoral thing to do but I didn't really care. Rachel wasn't married yet and she'd come onto me. Her relationship was none of my business. It was rare that I turned down pussy when it was served up to me so easily like that.
However, it seemed that tonight wasn't a normal night. Without even thinking I took Rachel's hand away and put it in her lap. She looked at me in surprise and I shook my head. Not tonight.
Dane: Hollywood's Finest Page 3