Dane: Hollywood's Finest

by Wilde, Delilah

  “No, I didn't mean it that way. I was just using it as an example.”

  “Yeah well, I've had plenty of examples of what kind of person you are and I'm not fucking interested. Not for all of the money and opportunities in the world,” I said, “Stop the car now and let me out!”

  “Can you calm your tits? I'm like a block away from your place!” he snapped. There was no way that I could put up with him any longer, even if it was only for another block. I would end up slapping him.

  “If you don't stop the car now I'll jump out of it!” I said. It sounded extreme but I wasn't lying. I needed to get away and I needed to get away now.

  “Jesus! OK, you're fucking crazy so I'll stop,” he said, pulling the car to a screeching halt. As soon as I stepped out the door a flash nearly blinded me. A bunch of men with cameras had appeared from nowhere.

  “How do you know Dane?” One yelled.

  “How long have you been sleeping together? How do you feel about his reputation as a ladies man?”

  “Miss, we're prepared to offer you an exclusive!”

  They were gathered around in such away that I couldn't budge. I couldn't escape. It was like being in a parallel universe. All I could do was stand there, my feet frozen to the ground in shock. Suddenly a hand grabbed mine and I was pulled back into Dane's car. I shut the door as fast as I could and he sped away, the paparazzi cameras flashing violently behind us.

  “I'm sorry about that,” he said, “I don't know how they found us.”

  Driving a Porsche around town didn't exactly help us to appear inconspicuous. I didn't even know that we had paparazzi in our town. I turned to Dane.

  “Why did they want pictures of me? They were asking so many questions,” I said. He nodded, a frown on his face.

  “They tend to do that. I'm sorry. They always want to know who it is that I'm fucking. It's really stupid,” he glanced back in the rear view mirror, “They don't seem to be tailing us but you never know with them.”

  “They want to know who you're fucking? But you're not fucking me, I told you that!”

  Dane groaned in exasperation.

  “I know that but they don't. As far as they're concerned you're the hot news story. I don't know what kind of shitty publications consider the women I'm fucking to be news but there you go sweet cheeks. That's how they work,” he said, before begrudgingly adding, “You could probably get your own reality show now if you wanted.”

  Was he serious? This was all so unreal, but he spoke as if this had happened to him a thousand times before. Those photographers had spoken to me like I was a star. A star they were determined to get a story out of. I had hated every second of it.

  “I don't want a reality show!” I said. The idea of it was horrific. Imagine being followed around 24/7 without being given a shred of privacy. It was inhumane. Dane smiled.

  “Christ, you would never fit in in Hollywood. There isn't a person there who wouldn't give their left kidney for a chance at fame,” he said, “You really don't have any interest? Not even getting the chance to wear nice dresses and go to award ceremonies and shit?”

  “I wear nice dresses anyway and I watch award shows on TV. All I want is to be left alone!” I insisted. Dane gave a low whistle. Had he really not met a girl who didn't want to be the next superstar? I found it hard to believe.

  “You really are something else baby,” he said. I wished he wouldn't insist on using his stupid pet names on me. It made me think that was what he called all of his girls. For all I knew he did. Even the paparazzo had called him a ladies man. The last thing I aspired to was to be a notch on some stupid movie star's expensive belt.

  “Don't call me baby. I want to go home,” I said, “It was nice of you to help me out there, but please. Just take me home Dane.”

  Dane shook his head.

  “That's a bad idea.”

  “A bad idea? What the fuck are you talking about?” I said. I hated the authoritarian tone in which he spoke to me, like I was beneath him. Well, I wasn't some silly young groupie.

  “Savannah, this is a small town. I guarantee that the paparazzi will be waiting for us when we get to your place,” he said, “It's just not safe.”

  “I don't believe you!” I said, “You just want me to go home with you so we can fuck again.” Dane rolled his eyes.

  “Don't flatter yourself, princess. I'm trying to help you out here but obviously that means nothing to you. Let's go to yours and see what happens,” he said. I nodded contemptuously. Hopefully when I got out of the car I would never have to see that stupid, handsome face again. Paparazzi in my neighborhood? What a joke.

  As it turned out, Dane wasn't exactly wrong. In fact, as we approached the apartment block we immediately spotted a huge crowd waiting outside. That had never happened before but I tried to reassure myself.

  “It's a block party,” I said, “People are just hanging out. It's not paparazzi.”

  Dane didn't say a word. He let me see for myself. A chain of lights began to flash. People rushed dangerously close to the car in an attempt to get a glimpse and Dane. Dane and his newest squeeze. It was mostly strangers but some of my neighbors were there, telling the paparazzi my name and everything they knew about me. It was Hell, and I hadn't stepped out of the car yet.

  “Do you still want to go home?” he asked and for once his tone wasn't mocking. My hand was on the door handle and I felt conflicted. There would be no way that I could get through that crowd alive. Then again, I wasn't sure if I could spend the evening with Dane and come out alive. It was like choosing between getting shot or getting stabbed when all I wanted was a peaceful passing. Still, the choice was clear to me.

  “No,” I said, “I want to go with you.”

  Dane gave me that smug smile and we drove off into the horizon. What had I gotten myself into now?

  Dane

  Taking Savannah back to my house meant nothing. I fucked girls at home all the time. It was just more comfortable that way. Most of their houses weren't as nice as mine anyway. There was always the fear of taking home a clinger, which had happened a few times, but security usually got the message through to them. I wasn't a relationship guy. I wasn't even a friends with benefits guy. I was a doggy style on the first date kind of guy who had never called a girl back in his life. It was what worked for me.

  Even so, knowing that I was taking her back after we had already fucked once was scary. Usually girls made me feel like a kid on Christmas morning with a big pile of perfectly wrapped presents waiting for him under the tree. It was great at first, but once I'd torn the wrapping off and gotten what I wanted I moved onto something else. A kid gets and Xbox for Christmas and two weeks later he wants a tablet. I had a supermodel on Saturday night and on Sunday morning I wanted an actress. It was no different.

  Then why did Savannah fascinate me so much? I already knew all that there was to know about her. She liked my fingers in her pussy and her tits in my mouth. Lots of girls liked that. She didn't seem like the freaky type. Yet I found myself glancing at her as I drove and wondering what was going through that blonde head of hers. She was like no girl I'd ever been with before.

  Most women in Hollywood weren't as stupid as they were known to be. Some of the most shrewd people I'd ever met were wannabe reality stars. They knew to keep themselves in shape and dress to accentuate that shape. They knew that they should always be agreeable, pleasant and laugh at men's jokes. The last thing most Hollywood men wanted was a challenge, especially if it came in the form of a six foot blonde with tits to die for. No, these girls knew what they were doing. They played dumb and twirled their extensions around their fingers as the casting agents fell at their feet. Most of the chicks I'd banged had been like this and to be honest, it drove me crazy. The sex was great most of the time but not being able to have a conversation made for a boring time outside of the bedroom. They were giving me what they thought I wanted. Savannah didn't give a shit what I wanted. She was rude, spiteful and not afraid to put me i
n my place. It really was intriguing.

  I saw her eyes widened as my house appeared in the distance. I owned an old vineyard about thirty minutes away from town, on a cliff out of sight from most of humanity. It worked well as a retreat when I was sick of Hollywood. I thought of it as a humble abode but seeing it through Savannah's eyes made it seem rather grand. It had wrought iron gates, marble pillars, the works. Even a girl like Savannah couldn't hide how impressed she was.

  “It's nice, isn't it?” I said, as we pulled up to the gates. It made me feel good that she liked it. Her opinion mattered to me for some godforsaken reason. Savannah wiped the look of surprise off of her face and shrugged.

  “It's fine, if you like that flashy look.”

  “You do. Your panties got wet just looking at the gates, didn't they? Have you ever fucked a guy with his own gates?” I teased. She rolled her eyes at me and refused to answer. I wasn't sure if she enjoyed my banter or not. I liked to maintain that she enjoyed being teased, but it was so hard to tell. It was the only way I could think to communicate so it wasn't like I had much of a choice, “Sorry, too far? I'm sure you've fucked plenty of guys with gates. Sorry for saying that,” I leaned out the window and typed in the key code. The gates opened slowly, creaking as if they were from a Gothic novel. Savannah liked reading. She probably went for that kind of thing.

  We pulled up and I parked the car in my garage. If the four flashy cars I had laying around were as impressive as the house's exterior, Savannah didn't show it. She was taking care to control her facial expressions now. As soon as I turned the engine off she turned to me.

  “You have a guest bedroom, right?” she said. I raised my eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I have four and I've only fucked in three of them so you're in luck!” I said and she sighed. My jokes weren't funny but I'd be damned if I wasn't going to try. Savannah's smile was so beautiful but I saw it so rarely. I would obviously have to try harder.

  “If you're going to be creepy about it I'll just call one of my friends,” she snapped. I didn't want that. Normally I loved being alone but tonight was different. Tonight I wanted company and Savannah's was the only company that would do.

  “Don't do that,” I said, a little too quickly,” I'll be good, I promise.”

  “All right, but you put one foot out of line and I'm out of here!” she said.

  When we got into the house Savannah insisted on being shown her bedroom.

  “I'm not here to hang out with you,” she said. I didn't argue. There was no arguing with that crazy chick. Not if I wanted her to stick around.

  “All right, all right! Cross my heart, I won't be a dick. Come on, I'll show you the guest room,”

  I said. In an out of character move of respect I lead Savannah to the furthest room from my own bedroom. It was the best room too. The real estate lady had called it the 'spring suite'. It had bright blue walls, a large window with white lace curtains and a large windowsill perfect for sitting on and watching the day go by. There was a four poster bed straight out of historical novel patterned with florals and soft, designer patchwork pillows. Savannah took it all in and had a glance at the en suite. The room alone was nice than her apartment would ever be.

  “This will do fine,” she said, without so much as smiling, “Thank you Dane. I'll see you in the morning.”

  She looked at me expectantly. What was I, a fucking bellhop? I wasn't about to disappear just like that. I folded my arms.

  “It's not even seven o' clock yet. You're not seriously going to bed?” I said. Savannah nodded. “I've had a tiring day.”

  “You haven't even eaten yet,” I said, quietly adding, “I was gonna rustle up something.”

  Savannah actually laughed out loud at that one. She had to hold onto her sides, she was laughing so hard. I failed to see the joke.

  “What's so funny?” I asked, as she continued to guffaw.

  “You? Cooking? I don't think so buddy!” she said, “The movie star wants to 'rustle up something' for me, what a fucking joke!”

  Ah. So she thought I was a spoiled diva type who only ate steamed chicken prepared by his personal chef. Well, sometimes that was what I ate but it was under much duress. Staying in shape came naturally to me but when I had to look extra ripped for a role Craig called in the professionals. In my personal life I liked preparing my own food. I hadn't cooked for a girl before and I was starting to feel sorry for offering.

  “I can cook,” I said, “I wasn't always wealthy.”

  Savannah just kept laughing. It was pissing me off now. I didn't need to take this bullshit. You didn't grow up like I did with absentee parents without learning how to cook for yourself. “Fine,” I said, “If you want anything I'll be downstairs.”

  I turned and walked out of the room without another word. Savannah's laughter stopped. I was already regretting inviting her over.

  That's what I got for talking to a girl after I fucked her. Nothing but trouble. At least she would be gone in the morning.

  Savannah

  It seemed so silly to me that a guy as macho as Dane would get so offended from me laughing at him. I had said so many bitchy things since first meeting him it seemed ridiculous that the cooking comment would get to him so much. When he stormed out of the room I actually felt bad.

  It wasn't that I thought that men couldn't cook. Of course not. It was the twenty first century and some of the best chefs in the world were guys. Dane just didn't strike me as the type to slave over a hot stove. I'd assumed that he had servants to do that kind of menial work for him. I certainly would have them if I was famous like he was.

  I was tempted to follow him downstairs but I stopped myself. It was his fault for taking my joke so seriously. Maybe if he was so sensitive about his skills in the kitchen then he knew he wasn't very good. He had said so many horrible, offensive things to me in the past and I had never received any sort of apology. If he wanted to be mad at me then that was his preoperative. It wouldn't be long before I was out of here and never had to see him again anyway.

  The guest room really was beautiful. I lay down on the bed and felt like a heroine from one of my favorite historical novels. The light of the setting sun streamed through the window, lighting up the room with its soft amber glow. All I needed was a prince charming like the men in my books. I already knew that was the one role that Dane couldn't play.

  I closed my eyes and let myself rest for a moment. The whole day had been so hectic that I felt like I'd done a triathlon or something. It was hours before my usual bedtime, but I couldn't help myself. I fell asleep.

  I dreamed of Dane. Not the Dane I knew, but the Dane in all the romantic comedies. Instead of insulting me constantly he pushed my hair away from my face and called me beautiful. He held me at night. He didn't want to fuck me and leave me. He just wanted to be with me.

  “I love you,” he whispered. My eyes snapped open and I was back to reality. For one beautiful moment the dream was still real to me and I felt myself glowing from the inside out. Then I sat up and saw where I was, though it was dark now. I remembered that the Dane of my dreams wasn't real. He was just a character made to sell movie tickets and I had fallen for him. I hated myself for being so stupid. Dane would never be like that with me. He would never be like that with anyone. He'd never loved a woman in his life so far and he probably never would. If he ever did it certainly wouldn't be me. It would be some blonde with impossible proportions and a face like a Barbie doll who would take him for everything he had if they didn't sign a prenup first. I'd be a fool to convince myself otherwise.

  Besides, I didn't want Dane. I mean sure, he was gorgeous and great in the sack but that was it. Our only connection was a sexual one and it would never grow behind that. Neither of us could afford to kid ourselves that we were anything more. Maybe he would find his dream blonde and marry her, maybe he wouldn't. His whole life was ahead of him and had endless glamorous possibilities. As for me? I'd probably meet a guy through work. He'd be older. Most young men didn
't get their clothes tailored. He wouldn't be hideous but he wouldn't be handsome either. He'd take a liking to me, the two of us would get married and I could give up my dreams of designing anything that mattered. He'd have some money to take care of me and that would make me stay when things got bad. I'd probably murder him before our tenth wedding anniversary if I was lucky. That was just the way that things were going to be.

  A gorgeous smell wafted through the bedroom door and caught me in the middle of my ridiculous train of though. It was aromatic and spicy, too exotic for me to recognize right off the bat. My stomach grumbled and I realized how little I had eaten today. I would feel like such an idiot going downstairs to Dane after our little argument, but I was so damn hungry that I knew I couldn't hold out for long. He hadn't actually made something tasty, had he? I figured he'd maybe ordered a nice Indian takeout for himself. I just hoped that he was willing to share with the bitch who'd laughed so hard at him.

  I got out of bed and padded my way downstairs as carefully as I could because the lights were out. The only light on in the house was coming from an open door downstairs. I could hear the sounds of the television. It had never occurred to me that movie stars would relax in the same ways that I did. It was oddly comforting.