by Laer Carroll
Uh, oh. Her ‘Irish’ was up. Poor Daddy!
Nicolas captured the hand she’d released.
“Relax. He told me.”
Rayanna withdrew her hand. Bad mistake, Daddies. Now she’s mad at both of you .
“Yes, Allan,” said Miri. “What did you find out?” Now she was unhappy with Allan.
Sandrine interfered before matters descended into a woman vs. man situation.
“Please tell ME what you found out. A smart move on your part, I might add.” Now it was Sandrine who was subtly sympathetic.
Not much, Allan admitted. There was not much to tell. Miguel had said that too much detail was as bad as too little when faking a background.
“Well,” said Miri, “why don’t you ask Sandrine anything you want to know? You have her right here.”
Sandrine said, “No, I’ll not be interrogated. At any rate, I could lie. Miri, why don’t you have your brother do his own investigation? I’m sure he can find out about anything sinister about my background.
“Now, the real subject you all want to know about is not my past. It is my future. In particular, do I have any sinister designs on Bethany? Am I perhaps a sexual predator?
“No. She is simply one deserving person of many. I have a foundation which finds and administers bequests to various deserving persons and organizations. Allan, I’m sure you can find out plenty about this. Or, Miri, your brother.”
That foundation had been created for the usual reason people practiced philanthropy, to do some little bit to make the world a better place. But it was also partly to ease her conscience for taking a fortune from some long-ago ancestor who might still be alive.
The visit lasted not much longer. Sandrine was charming, gracious, but a rock who’d not be moved by anyone who pressured her.
·
Shortly afterward Bethany got her own apartment. It was small, cozy, and less than a mile away from her mother’s and step-father’s home. It was right across from BurbankHigh School, two blocks from her several favorite restaurants. A few blocks further east was the entrance to the indoor mall.
She also perfected her identity as Ming Yao, with Miguel’s help. She got a few jobs as Ming, starting with a couple at C&R. Miguel approved her hiring, but only after Kendall had interviewed her and checked out her background.
It felt very strange to talk and work with Ken when she was someone else. She kept having to check her normal impulses toward him. So she took jobs with other companies.
Being a mercenary (for that basically was what the Ming persona was) was interesting but not super satisfying. It was not going to be a career.
Her body guard work was uneventful. Miguel told her this was how she knew she was doing her job well. “Interesting” was a curse not a blessing when it came to people’s safety.
Twice she did have confrontations with stalkers of celebrities. They all ended quietly and without any violence. Also, rare with stalkers, they magically lost interest in stalking anyone.
She also had a confrontation with an expert team of three would-be kidnappers for ransom. This also ended with no outward fuss. The three accepted a court-appointed attorney but pleaded guilty. They meekly accepted prison, telling all of their confidantes that they wanted to be sure they were somewhere safe from her. But they would not tell what had happened that night that made them so terrified.
She became a very popular body guard who could take almost job she wanted.
She got several job offers for more violent jobs, most out of the country. The word had gotten around how desirable she was for those kinds of jobs. For at outings with Ken, Miguel, and the rest of the C&R crew she’d proved to be a phenomenal shooter with any weapon, short-range or long.
She could also sneak and hide better than anyone, they found, practically “disappearing off the face of the Earth” as Anson once said. Miguel (as only the shapechanger could tell) was highly amused. He knew that this was exactly what she did.
So she “left on a long job” after a few months. But she did tell Miguel he could always call on Ming Yao if he had an emergency. Or on Wonder Girl (as he called the superbeing part of her) if he had a REAL emergency.
More fun was being a gofer for celebs. It paid well, especially since Bethany had gotten such a good reputation. And no wonder: everyone felt happier and healthier and more full of energy after an afternoon or evening with her to “facilitate” their hours.
Being a gofer (at least for Bethany) was not just drudgery and boredom and being insulted and looked down upon. She genuinely found most celebrities interesting and enjoyed the ingenuity of making their outings more satisfying.
Well, there were a few celebs whose only job was being celebs. They liked her but not vice versa. And hypochondriacs were made unhappy because they ceased to have any maladies whatsoever about which to brag/whine.
·
It was time to lose her virginity.
Bethany decided this the week after Thanksgiving. The fireteam’s “East Coast Contingent” came home the day before and left that Sunday. In between they visited with their families and each other .
Saturday afternoon, evening, and night they spent in Santa Monica, using as their home base the beach house of a friend of Lihua’s mother. They swam, rambled the Santa Monica pier and the Third Street Promenade, ate lunch at a Chili House on the Promenade and dinner at a restaurant atop a hotel with a view of the sunset outside their window, walked the Promenade and talked late into the night in the beach house.
There was much to talk about. Their oath to keep in touch by email had faded under the daily pressures of college life.
One of the topics was sex, naturally.
Bethany alone was the only virgin. All the others had lost that dubious status as much as two years ago. In college each had at least one tentative romance or hope of it.
Bethany HAD had sex, just not intercourse. She’d let several boys get to second base. That was enjoyable but also frustrating because she’d not been able to let herself go further.
Not that she’d been denied relief. She’d given one boy a blow job and two others hand jobs, and they’d returned the favor. And of course she’d learned to pleasure herself before she got too desperate.
All the week after her friends had left for the East Coast Bethany felt down. It was as if parts of herself had been cut away.
The decision almost made itself in mid-bite on a stake out while waiting for a Runner to come home to a safe house in which he’d been hiding. She found herself idly planning just how to go about having “losing it.”
Sandrine Ascaride began looking at all the interesting single men she knew or came to know at the various parties, premieres, fashion shows, and such which she attended.
·
“So, are you an actor, too? ”
Sandrine had just been introduced to several people at a movie premiere in the BurbankMediaCenter, the center of the movie industry in Southern California, the successor to Old Hollywood. The two young women and one of the men had said they were actors. Soon they’d wandered toward the bar, leaving her with a tall slightly older man dressed in jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, and sandals.
“No, director. And what do you do?”
“I’m one of the idle rich. You know, parasites on society, brainless, self-satisfied, and indolent.”
He laughed. “Well, think of it this way. Someone has to do it. And think of all the material for snide remarks you give the rest of us.”
“I do provide a service, don’t I? What does a director do, and what have you done lately that obsesses you?”
“I’ll bore you. I’d rather hear about you.”
“I’m boring. I insist you talk about yourself. Talk to your heart’s content. The instant you bore me I’ll tell you. I’ll yawn, decoratively. Like this.”
She put an elegant hand over her mouth and pretended to yawn.
“Very well. But let’s freshen our drinks and go outside. I imagine there’s a spectacular v
iew.”
There was indeed. They had earlier migrated from one of the several cineplexes in Burbank center to a restaurant atop the tall tower next to them. “Outside” was a wide balcony along one side of the restaurant.
They leaned on the edge of the balcony, looking south and west. A crescent moon was sinking in the west. Below them, beyond a foot-wide bed of greenery, the wide Golden State Freeway was gold-lit and flowing with vehicles going northwest toward San Francisco or southeast toward Los Angeles.
“I’m always struck,” he said, “by the way our creations can look so beautiful far away and so ugly close up.”
“I’ll not let you wiggle away from the subject. What does a director do?”
He turned to face her, one elbow still on the balcony edge. He was quite handsome, part Anglo and part something else, perhaps Amerind, perhaps Spanish, with black hair perhaps two weeks beyond a haircut.
“We’re bosses. There’s been a lot of blabbing lately about us being auteurs, creators. Some of us are, I’m sure, those who are as much writers as film-makers. Me, I’m just a boss. I try desperately to get everyone running in the same direction, hoping we can preserve the writer’s vision before we run out of money and the studio’s patience.”
“You don’t think you’re creative?”
“Creative in figuring out how to get things done. Mostly by encouraging those who work for me. I’m like an orchestra conductor. I try to synchronize everyone. But creative the way a writer is? No.”
“I think you give yourself too little credit. To recognize creativity you must be at least a bit creative yourself.”
“Going on the principle that it takes one to know one? Bless you, my child.” He ran the fingers of his free hand lightly up her arm. The fine hairs there tickled and she felt her nipples and groin tingle.
Maybe he’d be the one.
Armand Jones and she dated on and off for a time. She visited him on a movie set and watched him work, then joined him while he relaxed with some of the crew and some of the actors for a catered lunch. He liked to have her sit hip to hip with him on a saggy couch in a back room of miscellaneous furniture and props which he’d decreed a break room.
She noticed how he kept his authority and distance and at the same time let everyone be familiar with him. Anyone from the lowest to the highest could make suggestions.
“I’ll steal good ideas from anyone,” he told her.
They went to dinner a few times, talked. She found he was from Texas but had gone to Oxford on a scholarship, so knew England and especially London well. He coaxed her into talking about an early life in France and being a school-girl in Montreal.
She gave just enough detail so that he could fill in the blanks, a technique Miguel had told her was a good way to build a cover identity. It made others do most of the work. The cover was convincing because the others had used their own experiences to imagine hers, and so the life they imagined for her was vivid and real to them.
On New Year’s Eve they went to a party at the five-star Hyatt in Old Hollywood. At midnight they kissed. The kiss deepened. She felt from inside him his body become excited, his member half-fill with blood. Her groin ached to receive it.
They broke the kiss and took a deep breath almost in unison.
“I want you,” he whispered in her ear, his words almost drowned out by the yells and laughs and noise-makers. Overhead through the clear dome covering the ballroom rockets could be seen bursting in the air.
“Yes,” she said.
·
He had a hotel room in the Hyatt. They took the elevator down to it, arms so tight around each other they could hardly walk. He fumbled the key-card into the lock and the door spilled open .
Inside, leaning against the door, he pulled her to him for another long kiss. Finally they broke apart.
“I have protection,” he whispered. “You OK with that? It’s the spray-on type.”
She giggled. “I have the spray-in type. And it’s already in place. Don’t stop!”
So he didn’t.
·
Afterward they showered separately and dressed in hotel bath robes.
A bottle of champagne had been cooling in an iced tub. He opened it, poured two glasses, handed her one where she lay in a lounge chair looking out over the glittering city. He sat beside her, lifted his glass to hers, and clinked them.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you,” he said.
“And I you. So I checked you out to ensure you weren’t lying to me about, say, a stray wife or two, or felony convictions. Then I waited for you to make a move.”
He laughed. “You are not a brainless trust baby, are you? No, don’t answer that question. I had you checked out, too.”
“We’re both cold-hearted bitches.”
“No.” He gazed at her. She looked back.
What a pity she could never confide in him. Never marry him. Never live out her life with him.
Suddenly she felt horribly alone.
But only for an instant. Till her shapechanger body washed the feeling away.
“Umm,” she said. “I wonder if Room Service serves meals this late?”
“Let’s see,” he said, getting up to pad over to a desk and open a fat leather folder containing hotel info. “If they don’t, we can get dressed and find a 24-hour restaurant.”
·
Bethany’s gap year was almost half over now. She began to think about the future. She got college catalogs, pored over them, selected about a dozen colleges, filled out applications and sent them off.
As Sandrine she spent a goodly amount of time with Armand. Their sex was good and frequent. But both had schedules which took them apart. When they could they might hook up and spend the night together. It helped that she was a jet-setter officially and could see him wherever he was working.
“I think you travel more than I do,” he said one evening while they watched the sun set over an ocean and ate late dinner.
“Hmm, I suppose so. I have businesses all over.”
He grinned. “You’re pretty busy for a parasite.”
“Oh, that’s just the trust-fund baby neurosis. We have to fool ourselves into thinking we’re useful.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, that must be it.”
Chapter 8 - Entrepreneur
The money Bethany was getting as a gofer was good. To that she could add Ming Yao’s fees, though that was trailing off as she phased out that persona. She needed more money if she was going to college. Or to have a second gap year, a real possibility as time went by.
A trust fund as a gift from Sandrine was an easy choice but would not impress her family and friends. Or other people.
So she hired herself.
Sandrine Ascaride had a business-investment manager. It was not a full-time job, as he handled the money for several other investors. To him she sent a letter on Sandrine’s letterhead, following up with a phone call. So on a Monday morning Bethany presented herself to the manager.
“Hello. I have an appointment with Mr. Salinger. I’m Bethany Rossiter.”
The young man looked away from a flat screen monitor at her, looked back at it, and tapped some keys.
“Ms. Rossiter. You’re a tad early. Please sit. Mr. Salinger will be with you in just a few minutes.”
Beth had leafed only halfway through a week-old newsmagazine when a balding older man with heavy black-rimmed glasses appeared at one of the doors behind the secretary.
“Ms. Rossiter?”
Bethany rose, went to him, and shook his hand. She read his body: mildly and happily busy, mildly curious about her. She sat in the indicated chair.
He picked up a letter from his desk, glanced at it, then at her.
“I see you’ll be working for me as an agent for Ms. Ascaride. What exactly are your duties? Her letter is unclear.”
The Maelgyreyt part of her was amused at his attempt to exert control over her .
“I’ll be working WITH you for Sa
ndrine. My job will be anything I make it. That is not vague at all. I’ll have access to any and all resources at her disposal for that purpose.
“But my main concern will be to troubleshoot her businesses. When I find a problem, I’ll contact you for financial incompetence or embezzlement or any other financial problems. You’ll then consult with Sandrine on how to fix them.
“Other problems will be handled by other agencies. If I can’t find one competent to do the job, I’ll get back to her and she’ll take it from there.”
He looked at the flat screen on his desk.
“I’m somewhat concerned that you are a bit young and inexperienced.”
“Yes. On paper it looks that way.” She grinned. “Or on screen. But the public info doesn’t show the whole story. Surely you know Sandrine well enough to know she’d not hire someone incompetent. Or disloyal.”
He tented his hands.
“What are your competencies? Beyond your obvious academic achievements in school. And your dance background.”
She’d anticipated this question.
“Least of my ‘competencies’ is phenomenal skill with weapons and hand-to-hand combat. I also can get into places no one else can. Unnoticed.”
He raised his eyebrows. Clearly he didn’t believe her.
“Sandrine has witnessed me in action. Ask her if I’m exaggerating.
“More useful is that it’s almost impossible for people to successfully lie to me. Almost. But some people have no affect when they lie. You, for example, have almost none.
“Too, people who believe a falsehood, or have mental disabilities and can’t tell truth from falsehood, they can get away with telling me untruths. But for those there are other ways to find the truth. Cross-checking of information, internal consistency, and so on.”
He was a bit less doubtful.
“High on my assets is common sense and lack of impulsiveness. Understanding that the universe is enormously complex. Wisdom, in short.”
“Not a usual trait in the young.”
Bethany smiled. “Not a usual trait in most people.”
He spared a wintry smile at that.
“Very well. What do you need from me and my people?”