All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  “I’ve decided I’m not going to California with you to finish shooting,” I told him.

  He looked surprised. “Why not?”

  I shrugged, pausing to swallow. “I don’t want to leave Duke alone for such a long time. He barely had time to get used to me, and I left him for a week. The poor thing must be so confused. Besides, I miss home,” I confessed, laying my head on his shoulder. “I guess life on the road is not for me. I’ll just wait at home for you to get back.”

  “Like any good little woman should?” he teased me around a mouth full of chips, dodging the elbow aimed at his ribs.

  “I’ll never be anyone’s good little woman.”

  “Hmmm... Maybe not that little,” he mused, sliding a hand to stroke my butt discretely. “Just perfect.”

  Since there were some scenes that needed to be filmed in darkness and candlelight, we all worked late into the night. The actors shot scene after scene, never complaining, never showing how tired they were. As Blake told me, work was work. They didn’t have to do it every day, but when they were in the mode, they had to be a hundred percent sharp and professional.

  When Mark finally announced the filming was over for the day, we all scattered away to our dens, at the pace of exhausted snails. Blake, me, Sandra and Mark stumbled down the hill to our boat houses. After we said goodnight, Blake had to boost me up onto the deck from where we crawled together up the ladder to the bedroom.

  “I need twelve hours sleep,” I mumbled, kicking off my sneakers. “I can’t imagine why I am so tired, since I just sat there, while you guys did all the work. I don’t know how you do it, film the same scene over and over again, remember all the lines... I wrote the damn thing, but after a day like this I can’t remember my own name, let alone the dialogue.”

  Blake laughed, as he began to undress.

  “It’s my job to remember them, as much as it’s yours to create them. I couldn’t do what you do either, create a story, characters, a great plot.” In his boxers, he put his clothes on a chair. “Let’s grab a quick shower together, to save time. What do you say?”

  I squinted at him across the room.

  “Okay, as long as you don’t get any funny ideas.”

  One of his eyebrows arched. “Define ‘funny’.”

  “Whatever you have in mind that put that glint in your eyes.”

  “What glint?”

  “The one you have when you devour a juicy steak. I mean it, I’m too tired to do anything but sleep,” I said as he took my hand and dragged me along to the bathroom.

  “Then I’ll have to revive you with one of my famous shower massages.”

  Twenty minutes later I was feeling incredibly reinvigorated. The shower massage was indeed amazing, and educational, since now I knew what a ‘happy ending massage’ was. And even though it was past midnight, my fatigue had diminished considerably.

  “So, what do you want to eat?” I asked, donning a T-shirt and cotton shorts.

  Blake was still in his boxers, rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

  “I don’t know, but it has to be fast. I’m really sleepy, and we have to be up at dawn, as you know.”

  I rubbed my forehead, thinking as fast as the late hour and long day allowed. Finally, I said, “French toast and cocoa? I know it’s more suitable for breakfast, but it’s all that comes to mind.”

  He nodded. Wrapping an arm around me, he steered me to the small galley.

  “You know, this is nice,” he remarked while he whisked the eggs.

  I was just pouring the milk, but at this I turned to watch him inquisitively. “What’s nice?”

  “You, me, together. Waking up next to you every day, smelling your shampoo in the shower... Morning sex comes in handy too,” he added with a wicked grin, but his eyes were serious as they stayed locked on mine.

  Something warmed inside me, a glowing rainbow of emotions that grew more vivid with each heartbeat. I felt my lips bloom into a smile, and hoped my eyes were expressive enough to convey the depth of my feelings for him.

  “Yeah, it is nice.”

  He brushed a finger gently over my cheek, still gazing at me intently. When he spoke, his voice sounded gruff and a little amazed at what he was saying.

  “I’m in love with you, Kendra.”

  I almost gave in to the cliché of dropping the milk carton. My eyes traveled slowly up to meet his, searching, incredulous, and my lips parted soundlessly. This was a shock. In all the time we were together, all the intimacy we shared, it had never occurred to me his feelings could go so deep. And, as a self-defense mechanism, I hadn’t allowed myself to think or analyze what I felt for him. But now, as I gazed into the gray depths of his eyes, for the first time I saw the love and need in them. I saw the reflection of my own feelings, things I’d kept buried, maybe even blocked from my mind and heart. I’d focused so hard on living the present I’d missed the fact that Blake and I could actually have a future together.

  “It would be nice if you said something.”

  His words, tainted with nervousness, snapped me out of my musings. Slowly, deliberately, I put the milk carton on the table, took a fortifying breath, and turned to face him.

  “How do you know you’re in love with me?”

  My question took him aback, but after a moment he recovered. Moving close to me, he took my hands in his. He spoke softly, choosing his words carefully, as though he was answering not only me, but himself as well.

  “I know it because I want to spend every moment with you, and I think about you all the time, day and night. All my plans, present and future, include you. When I make coffee in the morning, I make it light because I know you like it like that. I even started to put the toilet seat down,” he added with a lopsided smile. “I find myself reaching for you in the night and wake up panicked if you’re not there. Your smile is the first thing I look forward to in the morning. And my most beautiful memories are the ones I’ve built with you.”

  There was a long silence after he finished speaking. Our heartbeats couldn’t be heard, of course, but somehow the air pulsated with the bond that was forging between us in this magic moment. I felt a tear slide down my cheek, and its twin glittered in my soul. They weren’t tears of sorrow, but of wonder, of joy, of happiness so powerful it could consume me. I abandoned myself completely to it, to the miracle of having this amazing man love me, truly love me.

  Taking his face between my palms, I stared up into his eyes.

  “If this is what love means, then I’m in love with you too, Blake. Madly in love. The reason I’ve asked you why you love me is because I’ve never experienced any of this before. I write about love and relationships, but the truth is the only men I’ve ever loved were those conjured up by my imagination,” I confessed, making his lips twitch in amusement. “I dreamed of a man like you even before I met you, but never in my life had I imagined you could love me back.”

  He pressed his lips against my forehead and drew me to his chest, holding me close.

  “I’ve never felt this either, Kendra, for anyone. I thought I was in love a few times, but now I realize that wasn’t the real thing. This is,” he said, tightening his embrace. He took my chin between two fingers and angled my head to look at my face. “What we have is not only special, it’s real. And we’re not going to lose it for anything, ever.”

  I’ve heard there are times in a person’s life when one lives in total bliss, on a pink cloud surrounded by a haze of sparkling happiness. I’ve always thought that was only material for online dating ads, but to my amazement, I was now up on that pink cloud, loving every second of my life with Blake.

  Two days later we were at the airport, the entire cast and crew scattered about, waiting for our flights. Blake and company were going to Copperville to finish filming, and I was going home to Malibu. I was glad that, in the airport pandemonium, no one had recognized Blake yet. Of course, with a bearded face, aviator sunglasses and a dark cap, he was relatively inconspicuous—as much as a tall, b
ronzed and mouthwatering guy can be. Sandra, Mark, and the rest of the team were similarly attired. There seemed to be a code for stars undercover.

  Blake and I sat close together, talking about the movie, and even discussed taking a small vacation after his return. My plane was the first to depart. When it was time for me to board, Blake pulled me into his arms for a lengthy kiss. When he finally let me go, the others were whistling or making lascivious comments. With flaming cheeks I said goodbye to everyone, then rushed to the gate.

  The flight was long, but I passed the time reliving the days spent with Blake, making plans and researching some exotic places where we could go after the filming was done. When we finally landed against the background of a gorgeous California sunset, I was more than ready to get home, curl up with Duke and sleep until tomorrow.

  I took a cab to my place, where I found Mrs. Finch watering the plants in the front yard. As I approached, I saw Duke lifting his head, sensing an intruder. When I called out to him, he went berserk and started to run toward me, tongue waving, tail flying. His muddy paws hit me right in the chest, and he knocked me on my ass on the grass, where we hugged and frolicked happily, under Mrs. Finch’s indulgent gaze. As the housekeeper chattered and Duke licked adoringly every exposed part of my body, I could only grin widely and admire my green and lavender castle. There was no place like home. The only thing missing now was my king.

  When I woke up the next morning, I experienced the same pang of panic Blake had described, when instead of him I found Duke’s hairy ass next to me in bed. My heart skipped a short beat, but then I began laughing and scratched Duke behind the ears, receiving a loving kiss that left half my face covered in saliva.

  “Well, you’re not Blake, but I still love you. I wish you’d stop French-kissing me though,” I told him, rolling onto one side.

  Duke took no notice and started to chew playfully on my hand. After a few minutes, I dragged myself to the kitchen to make some coffee, then walked out to the front patio. I sat cross-legged on the divan, thumbing through the morning newspaper and listening to Duke gulp down a can of dog food.

  As it turned out, I didn’t get beyond the first page, which featured a large photo of Blake and me, sharing that big sloppy kiss at the airport.

  “Well, shit,” I said on a resigned sigh, frowning at our faded jeans and unkempt appearance. “I wish the first photo ever taken of us as an official couple was a little more glamorous.”

  21

  The next couple of weeks went by painstakingly slow. What was supposed to be six to eight days of filming turned into fifteen, because of Mark’s perfectionism. But I talked with Blake on the phone every day, and he assured me every hour of work was worth it. The movie was almost finished, and it was shaping up to be a masterpiece.

  Meanwhile, I started working on a sequel to The Diary, in parallel with the romantic comedy I was writing. I didn’t usually tackle two projects at the same time, but I needed to occupy my days with something, to make Blake’s absence more bearable. The only thing that shadowed my happiness was the reluctance I sensed from my parents, during our weekly conversations. They never criticized me, but I felt their reserve regarding my relationship with a movie star.

  The fact that we were always in the newspapers didn’t help. Though none of us had ever talked to a journalist about our relationship, the more we kept quiet, the more intrusive they became. One paparazzo approached me at the mall, asking if I was the Kendra Kensington, Blake Tyler’s girlfriend. I told him no and walked quickly away, hoping that was that. No such luck. The next day my makeup-less face was in one of the most obnoxious tabloids, under the headline: DOES THIS PALE LOOK SIGNIFY THE END OF THE KENSINGTON-TYLER ROMANCE?

  I kept telling myself the reporters and media people would stop harassing us, that only the novelty of our relationship made it a fresh and juicy piece of gossip. But every time I saw an article about it, it bugged me. I felt these people had no dignity. Where had integrity and respect gone to? Probably Eden, with Adam and Eve’s ghosts, next to Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

  Like me, Blake was trying to make a joke of the paparazzi’s absurdities and kept reassuring me they would become bored soon and leave us alone. And to think some stars loved this kind of life, even did outrageous things only to be forever in the spotlight... I would’ve given anything for peace and privacy, but if that was the price I had to pay to be with Blake, I didn’t think twice about it.

  When he finally arrived in Los Angeles, I was beside myself with excitement. I wanted him to come to Malibu right away, but to my surprise, he insisted I come to his townhouse in L.A.

  “I just realized you’ve never been here,” he said, his voice sounding tired and scratchy on the phone. “We’ve been away from each other more than we’ve been together. Now get your sexy ass in here.”

  “What about Duke?” I asked, cradling the phone between my shoulder and cheek, while I rummaged through the closet, trying to decide what to wear.

  “Bring him over. It’s about time I met him. Write down the address.”

  I grabbed an eyeliner pencil and a makeup removal tissue and scribbled down his address and directions on how to get there.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Let yourself in. I’ll probably be dead asleep in the tub.”

  Blake’s townhouse wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Although I knew he was a simple, modest man who enjoyed simple things and didn’t feel the need to show off his wealth, the house surprised me. It was quite small when compared to the other houses in the select neighborhood, where even the grass looked expensive and the view of the sun sinking beyond the palm trees was spectacular.

  Blake’s house was completely ordinary—rust-colored brick with a patch of front yard and an adjoining garage. Nothing fancy, just neat and tidy. I let myself in using the alarm code he’d given me, then ushered Duke inside, unclamping his leash. He sniffed around cautiously, looking curious but not scared.

  The interior of the house fit the exterior: earthy colors, little furniture and some tasteful antiques that filled the space harmoniously. It was a man’s house, no doubt about it. Everything was in shades of brown, black and white. No trace of a female influence, no pink slippers in the hallway or fussy paperweights scattered about. No magazines on the coffee table in the living room, just a big-ass TV and a massive sofa, with cushions so large one could get lost between them.

  As I continued to snoop, Duke followed me in silence. He seemed to love playing spy. We discovered the kitchen, which was done in tones of shiny beige and looked barely used. Then we climbed the wooden stairs, admiring the old, curling railing and thickly carpeted steps. Feeling it was rude of me to intrude like this, I decided to make my presence known and called out Blake’s name. When he didn’t answer, I opened the first door I saw. It was an office of sorts, with only basic furniture: a medium-sized desk, a very comfortable-looking chair, a PC and printer. This room also appeared to be rarely used.

  When Duke nudged my hand with his nose, I closed the door and moved on to the next.

  “Now this is a manly bedroom, if ever I’ve seen one,” I said, taking in the king-size bed, flat-screen TV and the clothes strewn on the floor.

  In the dim light I spotted a bag lying in a corner of the room, half unpacked, and a few other clothes scattered over an armchair. The drapes were drawn, and a single slice of light came in from what was probably the bathroom. As I walked toward it, my heart raced for no apparent reason. Well, it was only that I’d missed Blake so much and I’d envisioned the moment of our reunion hundreds of times in my mind. Yet here I was in his house, and he wasn’t even there to greet me. Talk about an anticlimax!

  Feeling peeved, I pushed the bathroom door open, then stopped short when I saw him lying in the large, oval tub, his eyes closed, bare chest rising and falling with each breath. Drops of water glinted in his wet hair and on his skin, which looked as delicious as caramel in the soft light. It made me want to lick him all o
ver, then let him do the same to me, until he was hot and hard inside me, throbbing with the lust that made my own knees weak.

  When his gray eyes opened, I bit my lower lip involuntarily. His lips stretched in a smile, lighting up his clean-shaven face.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey,” I replied, feeling absurdly shy. “How are you?”

  “Great, now you’re here. Is this the famous Duke of Kensington?” he asked, as Duke stepped inside, nose working like a vacuum cleaner.

  “Yep.”

  “He’s a big fellow. Aren’t you, boy? Come here, let’s shake paws.”

  I giggled, which seemed to reassure Duke that everything was okay. He walked toward the tub and sniffed politely at Blake’s wet, outstretched hand. Deciding he was friendly, he gave it a reluctant lick. When he tasted shower gel, he snorted and sneezed, bursting the bubble that had landed on his nose.

  Blake and I began laughing.

  “He’s mad about soap bubbles,” I said.

  “That’s obvious,” Blake replied, taking some foam and throwing it at Duke, who went berserk, snapping his jaws at the fragile balloons, his paws slipping on the wet tiles.

  “What shall I do with him?” I asked, after the hilarity subsided.

  “Take him into the kitchen and see what he’d like from the fridge. Leave the back door open for him. The backyard is a mess anyway, so there’s not much damage he can do. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I took Duke downstairs, gave him a piece of ham I found in the fridge, filled a bowl with water, then left the back door ajar. When I returned upstairs, Blake was just coming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped carelessly around his hips. As I moved toward him, he reached out and grabbed me by the waist, crushing my mouth with his. It was a sizzling kiss, one that melted away all the memories of the days and nights we’d spent apart, talking only briefly on the phone, trying in vain to diminish the distance between us.