All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  Jesus! Any other woman would have jumped his bones by now, and here I was analyzing his epidermis. Maybe I was an iceberg after all. Lucky I was off men at the moment.

  “Um, sorry to disturb you,” I said, talking to the whiskey glass in his hand. “I just wanted to let you know I couldn’t find a seat on the same plane as yours, but I managed to book a flight at 7:45, so I have to rush to the airport.”

  He raised his eyebrows, then looked at his Rolex. “You mean today? It’s a long flight. Are you sure you want to make this trip alone?”

  I gave a little nervous laugh. “There will be other people in the plane. Besides, I want to get there as soon as possible, get to that Cheap Inn...”

  “Economy Inn,” he corrected me, his lips curving.

  “Right, and sleep for two days. Then I’ll get back on track and start hunting for a house.”

  He studied me for a few moments, slowly swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I guess I’ll see you in Los Angeles then. Have a safe trip.”

  “Thanks. You too. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  I lifted my suitcase and walked to the elevator, still feeling his eyes on me. I wondered if he was as eager to help me find a house, now that I’d made it clear our relationship wasn’t going to become personal. I just hoped I wouldn’t be forced to get another agent.

  5

  The flight was miserable. The changing of so many time zones in such a short period left me physically and mentally exhausted. I tried to sleep on the plane, but the constant hum of conversation prevented me even from dozing off. The seat seemed more uncomfortable with each hour that passed. By the end of the fifteen hours or so spent in a flying metal box, I thought I was going mad.

  When the landing was announced, I tore myself from my nerve-wracking slumber and pried open my eyes. From my window seat I saw that dawn was breaking, bathing the sky in magnificent tones of pink and gold, against the lingering blue. The lights of Los Angeles came into view, colorful and bright, growing larger with each second we came closer to the ground. In spite of my fatigue, my heart began beating a little faster. My blood pumped with excitement. I glanced at my watch, but realized the time was no longer right. I did a mental calculation and thought it must be around 5 a.m., but I was so tired I no longer trusted my judgment.

  I went through the checkout process like a zombie, barely remembering to collect my luggage. Even though it was extremely early, the airport was crowded. There were people everywhere, heading for the exit, hugging loved ones who’d come to pick them up. My eyes flashed from face to face and I felt a jolt of sadness spearing through me. Nobody was waiting for me. I knew absolutely no one here, in this foreign place. All at once, loneliness seemed to choke me. I felt like a fragile butterfly swallowed by this storm of people.

  I knew I was overly-emotional because of the entire ordeal of the past days, and somehow that knowledge helped calm me down. I began taking long, ample breaths, while I walked toward the exit, dragging my suitcase behind me on its portable wheels. I spotted an ATM and made a detour to check if the deposit from MBM had been transferred into my bank account.

  The relieved breath I let out when I saw my balance was audible. The money had been transferred! It had occurred to me more than once that a delay in this department would be fatal, because it would leave me completely penniless, at Danny’s mercy. But thankfully, I no longer needed to worry about it, since the $1,000,000 was now in my account.

  I withdrew $1,000, knowing I was now on very dangerous grounds and it wasn’t wise to carry so much money on me. Not that Chicago was all that safe, but at least it was my territory. I knew what neighborhoods to avoid, I knew my way around the city. Here, I was completely out of my element. I had to remember it every second.

  When I stepped out into the sunshine and looked around for the parking lot, I couldn’t stifle a cough. The air was humid, kind of smoggy, though the morning coolness still hovered around me. Mostly everyone wore summer clothes, shorts and T-shirts. I felt overdressed in my suit jacket, as I finally managed to find a row of cabs.

  I approached one and climbed into the back seat, after shoving in my suitcase, then asked the middle-aged driver to take me to the Economy Inn on Sunset Boulevard.

  “Sure thing, Miss. Don’t you wanna put that in the trunk? It takes an hour or so to get there,” he said, in a voice made melodious by a Latin accent.

  “It’s okay, I’m very comfortable,” I replied around a yawn.

  As the car slalomed through the busy traffic, at first I wondered what was so special about L.A. I expected something more glamorous than the industrial district we were passing through, which looked like any other I’d seen. But as we advanced to the center of the city, the sunlight began to brighten, and so did the landscape. The famous California palm trees and exotic vegetation bordered the streets, while glossy green hedges delineated properties. The architecture was diverse, ranging from ordinary houses to luxurious mansions, and on to extravagant villas with flowery balconies. Larger than life billboards advertised anything and everything, showing the new-comers how one could live the good life in the land where everything was possible.

  I stared fascinated through the window, almost forgetting my exhaustion. I was finally here!

  The Economy Inn was a tidy little building, with a sunny, beige facade. Fresh paint had been applied over extensive graffiti. I’d already called and reserved a room before leaving London, but I had nothing to worry about. There was a multitude of hotels and motels lining the streets.

  I paid the cabby, took out my luggage, then walked into the building. After I registered at the reception desk, the plump blonde girl handed me the key to room 7 and pointed me to the right direction, on a corridor with hospital white tiles and hospital white walls.

  I didn’t notice much of the white and yellow room, other than the two essentials I needed really badly at the moment: dark drapes, which I pulled immediately to block out the sun, and a large bed made up with beige sheets. Inside, it smelled nicely of furniture polish and cheap floor cleaner—I recognized the lemon smell, since I used the same product. The place was no palace, but at least it wasn’t a dump.

  I left my suitcase propped against the wall in a corner, next to a narrow sofa and an ancient TV sitting on a small, scarred table. My suit was now unrecognizable—wrinkled, sweaty, and stained with some apple juice, which a toddler had spilled over me on the plane. I undressed and threw all my clothes onto the sofa. I didn’t think I’d have the energy to shower, but I was sure I couldn’t sleep without washing, so I dragged myself to the bathroom.

  Yellow and small—what a surprise there! But there was a generous stash of clean towels, and the water was hot. I moaned as I got into the tub and let the shower spray down my body, washing away the aches in my muscles. I scrubbed my skin with handfuls of liquid soap, then shampooed my hair twice and brushed my teeth.

  When I emerged from the bathroom I felt better, but even sleepier. I half-dried my hair with the hair-drier I found on a shelf, then pulled on a T-shirt and panties. I had the presence of mind to text my mom and Danny telling them I had arrived safely and I was going to be in touch tomorrow. Then I switched off the phone, crashed onto the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  I awoke disoriented and dizzy, feeling my bladder was about to explode. The room was dark, so it took me a few moments to remember where I was. When I did, I sat up very slowly, then staggered to the bathroom. After I used the toilet, I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wake up. Outside the tiny window I saw that twilight was descending over the city, enhancing its magnificent colors.

  It must be past 9 pm, I thought, padding back to the room, barefoot. That meant I’d slept for more than twelve hours. Come to think of it, I felt considerably better. I sat down, rotating my head and shoulders cautiously. The cramp in my neck was gone, as was the soreness in my body.

  “I’ve had enough of traveling to last me a lifetime,” I muttered, as I switched on the bedside
lamp and reached for the TV remote. The image was slightly shaky and faded, but it didn’t bother me, since I wasn’t a TV addict. I left it on a movie channel, more to fill the silence in the room than a need to watch anything. When I turned my cell phone back on, I noticed its battery was nearly dead, so I plugged the charger into the wall socket next to the nightstand. It was 9:20 p.m., so I took my wrist watch and set the correct hour.

  I rolled out of bed and went to the windows to open them widely. Since they overlooked the parking lot behind the hotel, there wasn’t much to see. However, it reminded me of the first thing on my agenda: I needed to buy a car tomorrow. But even more urgent than that was getting a meal. My stomach growled at the thought of food, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours. That explained the dizziness.

  I started to order something from room service, when I remembered I’d seen a burger place very close to the motel, maybe less than five hundred yards. Though I was reluctant to go out at night, I decided this was an occasion to check out the surroundings. Besides, I desperately needed a walk after all the inactivity of the past days. Usually I jogged at least three times a week, and exercised nearly every day. Pilates, yoga, aerobics, or simply my own kind of dancing—which I wouldn’t do with anyone around, ever—were daily activities for me. I needed to get back in shape.

  I went to my suitcase, rummaged through my things, and chose a pair of jeans and a stretchy red T-shirt. As I slipped my feet into the only pair of sneakers I’d brought, it occurred to me I needed a new wardrobe to fit the new climate. I transferred my wallet and other essentials from the black purse into a comfortable messenger bag, which I strapped across my chest. After tucking my phone in my pocket, I scooped my hair into a ponytail and went out, locking the door behind me.

  I stood a moment on the sidewalk, trying to orient myself. Cautiously, I started to the left, where I remembered seeing the fast food place. When I reached the corner, I nearly bumped into a youth who couldn’t be more than fifteen, but already had the inbred air of a future pen resident. The seat of his jeans nearly reached his knees, and his skinny arms were covered in tattoos.

  “Hey, Mom, whatcha doin’ all by yourself at this time o’ night? Might bump into the big bad wolf, a pretty lady like you...”

  I walked on without acknowledging him, looking straight ahead. My impulse was to roll my eyes and tell him to fuck off, that I was old enough to be his mother, but I knew the best thing was to ignore his type. When I noticed from the corner of my eye he was trailing me, I took a firmer grip on my bag, as I stopped for the traffic light. Thankfully, it went green instantly and I crossed the street, heading straight for the burger place. As I was opening the door, I noticed my follower had given up on me. Thank God the guy’s attention span was short! I didn’t really feel intimidated, but kids today could be more dangerous than adults, with all the controlled substances going around, and laws that weren’t harsh enough with minors.

  The place was noisy and crowded, smelling of tasty, poisonous, delicious junk food. Not that I didn’t take care of my health, but now and then—usually at least three times a week—I felt the acute urge for grease and salt, fake meat and fries, onion rings, and God knows what substitutes were in hamburgers. I didn’t work out for pleasure, but from guilt, and to keep my ass fitting in my skinny jeans.

  I ordered a double cheeseburger, fries and Sprite, then found a table in a corner. As I sat waiting for my food to arrive, I took my phone out and dialed my mother. The hum of voices around me was quite loud, but not enough to block a phone conversation. Mom answered after only a couple of rings. I spoke with her, then with Dad, told them my first impressions of the place, and confirmed once more I was very excited to be here.

  I tried to alleviate their worries by telling them how nice people were here—liar, liar, pants on fire! I hadn’t actually met anyone, and had spoken only with a cab driver, the receptionist at the motel, and my fifteen-year-old admirer. But my parents didn’t need to know that. It was enough that my mother worried about everything, and my dad was borderline paranoid. I didn’t want to further provoke their state of mind.

  “So tomorrow I’m going to look for a car,” I said, mouthing my thanks to the waitress who brought my food. “My first impulse was to buy a second-hand one, but then I thought ‘What the hell?”. I deserve a new one. Most miraculous of all—I can afford it!” I said, grinning.

  Dad chuckled. “I can’t argue there, but I do hope you won’t spend all of your money on a Ferrari or something like that.”

  I laughed. “Geez, Dad, what would I do with a Ferrari? I only want a decent car to move around, that’s all. My focus now is getting a house, but from what I’ve seen so far, the prospects are discouraging. Prices are sky-high around here.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something, sweetheart. Just don’t rush into anything,” he said.

  “I won’t. I have to go now, Daddy. My food is here and my stomach is rumbling so hard I think everyone can hear it. Love you, guys.”

  “We love you too, baby. Take care, and enjoy your dinner. And remember what I told you about getting a gun,” he added seriously.

  “I will look into it,” I promised, rolling my eyes. “Bye.”

  I began eating ravenously, making plans in my head for the days to follow. I chewed thoughtfully and looked at my phone again, wondering if I should call Danny. But he was probably still on the plane. Besides, I had texted him, so he would call me when he could.

  After I finished eating, I sipped my drink slowly, looking around me. Californians seemed just like everyone else, but I was amused to think I’d expected them to act or look as though they were from another planet. I smiled around my straw, realizing I was displaying all the ignorance of a country girl experiencing her first taste of a metropolis.

  When I left, I looked to see if any suspicious characters were lurking around, but I didn’t spot anyone other than pedestrians, who seemed to walk purposefully to pursue their business. I would’ve liked to walk more than the few hundred yards to the motel, but it was now past 10, and I didn’t want to take any chances.

  I returned to my room, consoling myself with the thought that I’d be busier than I wanted within the next few months. I undressed, put on my pajamas, then dug into a hidden pocket of my suitcase to take out a pack of chocolate cookies. I always had a stash somewhere. No one knew I was a sweetaholic. Well, I wasn’t, actually. I just did a lot of physical and mental effort, so I needed sugar for my health. I could never work without a snack of sorts. True, there were times when I found myself eating, then writing a sentence, then eating some more, which wasn’t really productive. But now I had my addiction under control. I only allowed myself a few cookies a day, and never ate after 8 pm.

  Remembering that rule, I looked down guiltily at the biscuits in my hand. One time didn’t count, I told myself firmly, as I sat cross-legged on the bed and switched on my laptop. These were unusual circumstances. I needed my strength. Happy with this reasoning, I bit into a crunchy, sweet biscuit, closing my eyes in ecstasy. Some people needed coffee, others needed sex to get that punch in the gut that puts your entire body into motion. I needed sugar, and could see nothing wrong with that, as long as I worked my ass off to keep myself slim and healthy.

  I accessed my email, frowning at a name I didn’t recognize: Sam Pavlovich. Curious, I opened the email and read:

  Hello Miss Kensington,

  This is Sam with Dream Beach Homes.

  I saw that you looked at some beautiful homes on our website, DBH.com.

  Do you have any questions about these homes? Would you like to go see any of them? I'd be happy to set up an appointment with you.

  Please let me know how I can help with your home search.

  With Appreciation,

  Sam Pavlovich

  I rolled my eyes, immediately sending the email to the spam folder. I heard realtors were generally a pain in the ass, so I didn’t give this much importance. I had accessed a
number of real estate websites in search of an affordable house, so I had no recollection of this website in particular.

  Having slept most of the day, I didn’t feel drowsy at all, so I decided to continue my virtual house hunt. I put on some music—I couldn’t do anything without music—then bent over the keyboard, shaking my head on the addictive beat of Nickleback’s ‘Burn it to the Ground’.

  Almost two hours and six cookies later, my energy was totally spent. My back ached like hell as I stretched, and my ass had fallen asleep long ago. I rubbed my eyes, convinced they would start bleeding if I stared at the laptop screen for a single minute longer.

  I yawned hugely for the umpteenth time. I was about to close the website I was looking at, when I stopped dead. I didn’t know how I’d missed it, except that I was tired and used by now to seeing only prices in seven figures. But there it was, a house for sale in Malibu at a price I could actually afford!

  6

  By the time I finished my shower the next morning, I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the house. First of all, one couldn’t buy a dog house in Malibu for that price. Second of all, the ad didn’t even have pictures of the property, which told me it had to look really bad. However, it was worth checking out, so I called the realtor to ask if I could see the house. Vicki—that was her name—was very polite, and said she could show me the property today if I wanted. I explained about only having arrived in Los Angeles and not having a car, but she offered to drive me.

  “That’s awfully kind of you, Vicki,” I said, thinking she must be desperate for a sale. The house was on the market for one hundred and forty-two days, and judging by her eagerness, no one had visited it in a long time. The fact I had no competition was good, but also raised more question marks. I was more and more curious about this mysterious house.