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"Oscar Night" by Jennifer Brock A flippant remark by a mild screenwriter to an obnoxious TV reporter snowballs into more than he had bargained for, at one of the most glamorous of events! This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons alive or dead are purely coincidental, mostly. *** David Fine was still reeling with the sudden fame of having a second novel on the Bestsellers' List, and now his adapted screenplay for his first novel, "Sublimation," had been nominated for an Academy Award. His agent had negotiated the sale of the film rights to allow him to submit the first treatment before the studio shipped it out to other screenwriters, and the producers actually liked what he did with it, and now it turns out the academy liked it too! With the film for his second novel "Condensation" already under production, David felt like he'd finally made it. L.A. was completely unlike the small Ohio mill town he'd spent most of his life in. His agent had found him a nice little bungalow in the Hollywood hills, but he was having trouble fitting in with the west coast scene. He'd only made one new friend so far - Claude Marsh, an up and coming fashion designer, who had arranged to do the costumes on "Sublimation." He was a big fan of the novel and jumped at the chance to share in bringing his cherished characters to life. David and Claude met in an early production meeting for the film, and ended up forging a fast friendship based on mutual appreciation of the other's work. Claude also helped David out socially, helping him hobnob with Hollywood society, occasionally fixing him up with models from his runway shows as his escort to the fancier events. Claude quickly called to congratulate him when the nominations were announced. The Oscars ceremony was a whole new level of Hollywood social event, and David was completely out of his element. In his congratulatory phone call, Claude tried to calm him down. "Relax, David. I can help you out every step of the way. I can give you pointers on what to say to the press; I think I can get Maritza, you remember that leggy brunette you appreciated from my Milan show, to accompany you down the red carpet. And I insist on making you a custom tuxedo, appropriate for the biggest night of your life." David accepted all of Claude's offers, which would ultimately lead him in a direction he'd never expected. *** So, when the big night arrived, Claude showed up at David's townhouse in a rented limousine, accompanied by Maritza, a tall Venezuelan model he remembered seeing in one of Claude's shows. She was stunning, in her three-inch heels she was taller than David, so he had to tilt his head up to see her eyes, so dark they were nearly black - they captivated him when she smiled her hello. She was dressed in a shimmering gold gown that was suspended only by the thinnest of straps that crisscrossed in the middle of her back. It slithered gracefully down her every contour, and she had contours aplenty - Claude bucked the trend of using famine-stricken heroin addicts shaped like thirteen- year-old boys as models, preferring softer more feminine curves for displaying his creations. The long wavy brown hair that he remembered from the catwalk was piled up on top of her head, allowing her shoulders to be appreciated, with only a few corkscrew tendrils escaping from the knot. Her jewelry for the occasion was a pair of glistening ruby earrings in a teardrop shape, with a matching pendant that rested where David's eyes lingered. She was light years out of his league - there was no way a vision like her would ever be interested in a regular date with a nobody like him, but at least he had this one special event to enjoy her company while he could. Claude interrupted the tableau to pour Maritza a glass of wine and show her to the sitting room where she could wait, while he herded David into the bedroom with a garment bag: "Let's get you dressed." The tuxedo that Claude had designed was a bit unorthodox, but David trusted his friend's taste. The shirt was crisp white linen, with six vertical pleats on each side of the front buttons. Its gold cufflinks had small square rubies which nicely echoed his date's jewelry. Instead of the usual black, the jacket and pants were of a deep red wine or maybe more of a cranberry colored soft woolen blend. The cut was very flattering on David's rather average figure, but he was a little uneasy about the color. "Are you sure about this, Claude?" His friend was very reassuring. "Trust me on this. Would I steer you wrong? Color is the next big thing. Besides, when you make your entrance you'll be on the red carpet, and its color is so bold, you'll look just barely tinted in contrast! The tie and cummerbund are black, if it's any consolation." "But I look like a pimp!" "No you don't. You look fine. You're just nervous about the award." Eventually, Claude was able to convince him that he'd fit in just fine at the awards, and David was able to calm down. A pair of pointed-toe black Italian calfskin shoes completed the outfit. Claude had originally planned on tying David's longish hair back with a ribbon into a little ponytail, Revolutionary War style, but he decided not to push his luck, and just ran a few drops of gel through to slick his hair back. When Claude brought him out to his escort, David noticed that Maritza had been flipping through the manuscript he'd left out on his desk while she was waiting for him to get ready. She looked up when they entered the room, gave him the once over, and clucked her tongue in a sound of approval. "Very sharp. I like the color." Realizing she'd been caught looking at his papers, she added "I hope you don't mind me peeking. Claude got me hooked on your other books to help with my English, and I couldn't help myself to see what your next one will be." Knowing that this angel liked his words banished all thoughts of his new suit. "That's ok, but that copy's just a draft with notes from my editor written all over it - it'll be better when it's finished. I'll make sure you get a copy. Your English sounds fine to me. I can't hear any accent." "I've been working in America since I was fourteen, but sometimes when I get excited or nervous, you can tell I didn't speak English as my first language." Claude wanted to pout, since David never let him read his drafts, but let it go. He hurried them out to the car, where the driver was looking bored, rushing to hide the issue of Variety he'd been reading. In Hollywood, everyone's secretly a frustrated actor. Claude told the driver to let David and Maritza off at the red carpet, and then take him to his home in Brentwood where he'd be hosting a party to watch the awards. Claude didn't like attending big Hollywood media events like the Oscars, where he couldn't be the center of attention since so many movie stars would be there. He wished David luck when they arrived at the Chandler Pavilion. *** The Red Carpet was a whole new experience for him. Taking Maritza's arm, he tried to ignore the sea of flashbulbs and walk on past. "Who are you wearing?" he heard the paparazzi shout. David wasn't sure if they were talking to him, but his companion knew what to do. "Claude Marsh," she called out, giving a slight twirl. Of course, neither of the couple was an A List celebrity, so the reporters really didn't care. Further down the carpet, the TV reporters crowded the ropes. David knew he wasn't famous enough for them to bother, so he was ready to just stroll past when he was stopped. "You there in the Santa suit! Aren't you that writer guy?" He turned. It was Jane Waters, the notorious "fashion reporter" from that Hollywood news cable channel. She made her name as an insult comedienne back in the eighties, so her fashion reports tended to consist primarily of her making fun of what people were wearing. Unfortunately for our hero, she had found her next victim. She called him over. Not knowing how to get out of it, David went back to where Jane was set up. "Yes, I'm David Fine, the writer guy. This lovely lady is Maritza Delgado, one of the shining stars of the catwalk." She wouldn't be distracted. "Whatever. I want to talk about your red suit. What happened? You lose a bet or something?" "No. A friend of mine made me this." David was confused. Claude had told him this was fashionable. "Is your friend a lounge singer? You look like you belong in a piano bar at a two-bit hotel by the airport. No sane man would dare wear anything but a black tuxedo to a prestigious event like this!" Now she was lecturing at him like he was five. "Don't you see all the other people going into the auditorium? Look around - all the men are in black tuxes. The only color you see is in the gowns on the women. Whatever gave you the idea that you could wear a red suit?" "It's a very dark red," he tried. "Not dark enough, Buddy. Maybe you book guys don't go to too many black tie affairs, but the dress code is something everyone in Beverly Hills knows." "Well, my tie _is_ black." He was getting flustered. "That doesn't matter. All the other tuxes on the actors, producers, directors, everyone, including the other writers that don't get out much, are black. Let's look around." She pointed to other people processing down the red carpet: "He's in a black tux; he's in a black tux; and even that little fruity actor and his boyfriend over there are in black! But you do see a whole rainbow of colors on the women that are with them. She's in a blue Versace gown; she's in a beautiful lavender Donna Karan; there's a silver Vera Wang, over there's a classic beauty in a vintage Halston in a more exciting shade of red than yours, and here's a lovely golden Whatshisname gown beside you. In fact, if you wanted to wear a different color than black, you should have just worn a gown and you'd fit in perfectly." She laughed at her own joke, a dry braying that couldn't be ignored. David was getting irritated, wondering why she wasn't off bothering some real famous person, instead of picking on some poor novelist, even if he is wearing a pimp suit. He couldn't let her know he actually agreed with her that wearing a red tuxedo was a mistake, so he thought he could toss off a witty sound bite and beat her at her own game. "I'll tell you what, Jane. If I'm nominated again next year, I'll wear a gown. But now I've really got to get into the theater." He turned to Maritza and walked boldly on down the carpet. Jane was dumfounded and couldn't come up with a reply fast enough for her camera to catch. His casual remark would come to haunt him. Watching at home on the widescreen television he'd rented for his Oscar party, Claude was dumbfounded. That cow knows nothing about fashion! How could she do that to poor David? He didn't deserve her mockery. And to forget Claude's name was the biggest insult of all! But at least David had gotten the last laugh. Or did he? For the rest of the night, every time she interviewed a man, she'd comment on the blackness of his tuxedo, and ask each woman if she thought her gown would look good on "a stupid writer guy." He hid his anger behind a mask of "congenial host," and the six appletinis that he consumed during the red carpet portion of the program rendered him nicely toasted by the time the actual awards rolled around. But inside, he plotted his revenge. He was going to have to find some way to make that no-talent "fashion critic" eat her words. If David did get nominated again the next year, (and the buzz about "Condensation" was good enough that it just might happen) Claude was going to have to design his best creation ever, one that would knock Jane Waters' support hose off! *** David didn't win. The prize for adapted screenplay went to a couple who'd turned a news article about flooding in the Heartland into a movie that focused on one family's struggle to save their farm from the rising waters of the mighty river. He graciously applauded his opponent, but couldn't help but be disappointed. Maritza shared in his loss. When the clapping was over, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. "You should have won. They do not know what they are doing, voting for that mud picture!" She then kissed him, giving his earlobe a nibble. "I will just have to see what I can do to cheer you up when I take you home." She punctuated this sentence by giving the top of his thigh a playful squeeze. Were there other awards given that night? David couldn't tell you; his brain was stuck in an image that it couldn't release - a beautiful, sexy model was flirting with him, and promising... things. She was gorgeous beyond anyone he'd ever been with, and the idea of a one-night stand with her was occupying all his attention. He really had no idea what was going on onstage, and didn't applaud with the rest of the crowd when he was supposed to. As the Lifetime Achievement Award was being presented, Maritza had to nudge David to stand up with the audience to show respect for the gifted director whose films had brought appreciation to generations. She was worried, since he hadn't been paying attention to all the spectacle going on. It seemed as though he'd become withdrawn and depressed after he didn't win. He was a good man, and she didn't like to see him sad. Although less rugged than the men she usually dated, there was something about him that interested her. He was cute in his way, if a little soft and short for her taste. But he was sweet and smart, and from the way he wrote the characters in his books she could tell he really understood women. And the way Claude had talked of him; she knew he was a good friend. There was real potential there. Her plan was that she'd check out how good he was in bed that night, and see if it would be worth pursuing anything long term. Unfortunately, their evening would have a different ending. When they left the pavilion, their limo driver had some difficulty working around the traffic, which allowed them some time for conversation. Maritza leaned over onto his shoulder and tried talking to him about all the movie stars she'd seen, but David was so nervous he just made one word comments, and she couldn't really draw him out. Neither of them was really feeling up for going to anyone's after party. Thinking he was still down, she turned and kissed him firmly and deeply, thinking it could get his mind off his trouble. He was shocked, and at first he responded a little stiffly, but then he realized that he was blowing it with his dream girl, so he relaxed and returned the kiss. One kiss led to another, and soon it didn't matter that he was having trouble talking to her. He reached out his arms and held her, although he wasn't confident enough to let his hands explore her exciting contours very much. But faster than either of them realized, the limousine pulled into David's driveway. David was flustered and clumsily broke the embrace like a teenager whose father had just turned on the lights. The driver came around and opened the car, and David steeped out and then turned to give his date a hand getting out of the car. He asked clumsily, "Would you like to come in?" She giggled at his awkwardness and reminded him that she'd already told him she was coming in. He had absolutely no experience with women this forward, so he blushed. Maritza found it cute and charming, but then noticed the driver standing there and had to whisper to David that limo drivers usually get a tip before they leave. He blushed again, grabbed his wallet, and gave the driver a twenty. Having been paid, the driver thanked them, tipped his cap and drove off. David escorted Maritza to the door, and almost couldn't find the right key, but when he took hold of the doorknob, he saw that the door wasn't locked. This wasn't good. Upon cautiously entering the house, he saw that Claude was there sitting on the couch! David regretting giving him a key that time he went on a book signing tour and needed someone to water his plants. Claude was very excited about something. "Oh good, you're home! We have to get started as soon as possible on a plan! A year is scarcely enough time to get you ready. Oh, Maritza, I didn't see you there. Could I get your jewelry back, since you're here anyway? It's on loan." David tried to ask, "Claude, what are you doing here? I have no idea what you're talking about, and you seem more than a little drunk. Can I call you a cab?" Maritza just stood there, getting irritated that her plans were being interrupted. But Claude wasn't listening. "I've got some preliminary sketches here! We'll show that ignorant bitch she doesn't know who she's messing with! When we're done you'll be the hottest thing ever to strut down the red carpet!" David looked from his friend to his date and back, trying to figure out how to get the crazy drunk guy out of his house, and not ruin his evening. "Claude, I'm not sure what you're going on about, but I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow. But you're a little drunk, so I'm going to get you a cab to take you home. Maritza, I'm sorry. Once I get him out of here we can..." Claude cut him off. "What? You think you have a shot with her?" He laughed. "She's a professional body, and can get guys with professional bodies! You barely eat right, and you never work out! You're a bag of Jell-O; there's no way she'd be interested in you. Besides, you're a brilliant novelist and she's an airhead model; you can do so much better than her." Seeing Maritza starting to fume, he added, "Don't take it personally, Sweetie. All models are airheads. You make great arm candy for an event, but you sex on wheels types go through guys like water, and I don't want you to hurt my friend. I'm sometimes your boss so you'd better do what I say." That sent her over the edge. "You want my jewelry back? Fine. Here it is!" And she unclasped her necklace, pulled out her earrings and threw them at Claude. "Hey! You made this dress, too," she shouted and, reaching around behind her back, she unzipped her dress and let it drop to the floor. Dressed only in her stockings, high heels, and the smallest pair of panties David had ever seen, she stepped out of the gown, bent down, picked it up, and threw it at Claude. "Here, you can have this back, too!" Then she went behind the couch and fetched the overnight bag she'd left there earlier, and stomped off into the bathroom. David finally took a breath when he was shaken out of his stupor by Claude's comment as he held up the garment that had been thrown at him. "This style wouldn't work on you. Yours will need more definition." "Mine? My what?" "Your gown, Silly. The one you promised Jane Waters you'll be wearing next year! That's what I came over for - so we can start planning your outfit." Finally, David understood, and he was flabbergasted. "You came over here in the middle of the night to interrupt my date with an incredible woman, because of a joke I made with a fashion reporter? To plan an outfit for an event a year away? That I might not even get nominated for? Claude, you're a great guy, usually. But you're just going overboard on this way too soon. Wait until next year to bother me about this, if Jane Waters even remembers. Now I'm going to call you a cab, and send you home, and then I'm going to try to make it up to the girl in the next room." Maritza's heels clacking back down the hallway gave her away. She was wearing a simple little black dress that covered a little more shoulder, but showed a lot more leg than her gown did, and had let her hair down. Her bag was slung over her left shoulder, and her cell phone was in her right hand. She loudly snapped it closed. "Don't bother calling a cab for him. I had them send two - one for me, one for him." She walked over to where David was sitting and leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "I'm sorry, but I am just too mad at him right now. Angry sex can be good sex, but it is too animal for your first time with me. I think you need it soft and gentle when you are sad like this about your award. It will take me hours to fall asleep now, and I have to fly to New York in the morning." She snatched a paper from the stack of sketches Claude was holding and wrote on it with her lipstick. "I will have my phone on when I'm not working. Here is my number." She took his face in her hands and kissed him again. She pulled on his bowtie and untied it, undid his top button, and tousled his hair. Don't be sad, David," and she thickened her accent to pull his name out as Dah-VEED. "You will see me again." And as a mischievous smirk came to her lips she threw in, "So, what did you think of my breasts? Do they suit your taste?" Dumbfounded, David had to take a moment to answer. But then he was saved by a beeping horn, as two taxis from apparently the most efficient car service in LA County had arrived at his driveway, and his guests had to go. He would have liked to walk Maritza to her car, but he had to partially carry Claude to his. What a strange night! It was a pity about losing the award, though. *** It took a couple weeks for Claude and David to go back to the way things were. One apology after another, followed by a free lunch at this new Italian place was all it took for Claude to patch things up with David, letting the issue about wearing a gown at the next year's awards go, for the moment. David screwed up his courage to call Maritza three times, but always he got her voice mail. It was very disappointing! He had thought that he had a shot with her, but maybe she really was out of his league after all. Fortunately, David was able to work out his frustration energies by throwing himself into his work. He spent most of his waking hours sitting at his word processor, implementing the changes his editor had requested, and he actually thought it made the story better. After another week had passed, he got a call. It was Maritza. A cascade of words quickly poured out: "David, I'm sorry. I just got your messages. The first weekend I was here, we went out dancing to a bunch of new clubs, and I left my phone in one of them. Then I was so busy I forgot about it, but my agent had to track me down - I'm staying with some friends from the catwalk, and she didn't have the number here, so she had to catch me at the catalog shoot and tell me to turn my phone on, and then I realized it was missing, and we had to go all over town trying to remember where I left it. And then we found it, at this place where the owner was really nice and remembered us - six sexy models in our tiny club dresses can really make an impression on a guy! But the battery was dead, and my charger was in LA, and I tried to borrow Nikki's charger because our phones are the same brand, but mine is a better one so the little thing on the end of the wire wasn't the right shape for the little hole on my phone, so we had to wait until we got a day off and I could get a new charger, but the catalog wasn't going well; the photographer wanted to try something weird with fans blowing around, but the hairdresser got mad that she didn't have the right spray for windy styles, and tried to walk out, but then the designer said the wind was a stupid idea, and they all fought while we stood around, so it took extra long and we never got a break, but at least we got paid for the extra time, so there was a good thing in there almost! So finally yesterday we went shopping and I got a new charger and the little book thing says it has to go overnight, so I plugged it in and turned it on today when I got out of bed and there were twenty-nine messages, so I had to go through them, and half of them were from my agent, and some were from friends who wanted to know if I was in town, and one was from my mama, and one was an apology from your stupid friend, and there were three from you, and when I heard how sad you were in the last one, I realized I hurt you by mistake because I wasn't there for you to call even though I told you to, and I had to call you back, but I can never get the different times between the east coast and the west coast right, so I hope it's not to early for you for me to call now. I'm really, really sorry." Then she paused for air, and David was overwhelmed with new information. But he knew he should say something. "That's ok. I've been focusing on my work, and was able to finish making my editor's changes to that book you saw me working on. It sounds like you've had a rough couple of weeks! I never would have imagined how tough your job is." She was insistent. "You are being too nice. I was rude. I told you to call me, but then I wasn't there to answer the phone. I will have to do something to make it up to you when I get back to California, but that's not for another month." David had a brainstorm. "Now that I think about it, my publisher's office is in New York. I usually send my manuscript with a courier service, but I could hand-deliver it myself, and visit you while I'm there." Then, remembering who he was and who he was talking to, he added, "if you're going to have any free time, and wouldn't mind spending some of it with me?" "Yes, I would like to see you again! I will be very busy for another week, but I will be free for the next three weekends. Call me when you know your schedule. I promise I will answer my phone, or return your message faster this time! Now I am very happy and excited! Thank you for cheering me up! I hope to see you soon, Cutie!" When he got off the phone, he was in a bit of a daze. What had just happened? He made a date with a model and she said yes? He couldn't believe it. Then the panic hit him. He had a date, and he was going to mess it up somehow. He knew even less of the New York scene than he did in LA. How far do you go on a second date? Was she expecting sex? Would he be any good at it if she was? What was he going to wear? She'd only seen him in formal. That gave him an idea - he'd get Claude to help him get ready; he knew models, he knew New York, he could tell him what to wear. *** So it was that David found himself twelve days later in the lobby of a Manhattan apartment building. Following his friend's advice, he was wearing a grey silk shirt, a pair of sharply creased khakis, and a navy blue blazer. For luck, he had on the same shoes he wore to the Oscars, the shoes he wore when she kissed him, since there was nothing else in that outfit that he wanted to wear ever again. Feeling three nervous beads of sweat running down his back, he inhaled sharply, held his breath, and pressed the button for her friends' apartment number. An unfamiliar female voice came through the intercom, "Hey baby, come on up!" and before he could say who he was and who he was there for, the buzzer sounded, and he rushed to open the door. After a painful ride in the world's slowest elevator, he made his way to a door. Fighting the panic, he knocked. The door was opened and David came face to face with a pair of remarkably tanned breasts rushing towards him that were barely covered by some filmy fuchsia thing that was held up by silver threads. They nearly crushed into his face as he was being embraced by some stranger. The moment became even more awkward when she stepped back and said, "You're not Blake." Now that he had a better look at her, he saw that she was a tall, willowy blonde with sparkling blue eyes and a confused look on her face. Besides the gossamer top, she wore a tight white skirt about three inches long, from which an impressive pair of legs ran down to high white platform heels. "Hi," he said. "I'm David Fine. I'm here to pick up Maritza. Is this the right place?" He could almost hear the light bulb going on in her head. "Oh! Hi. I'm Sam. Sorry about that before. I thought you were someone else." She then called out to the room behind her, "Hey, Ritz's guy is here!" As she realized that David was still standing in the hall, she opened the door wider. "Come on in and take a seat. Meet everyone. She's not ready yet." David stepped through the door and looked around. The apartment was smaller than he'd expected, from what he'd seen of Manhattan apartments on television. Sam led him through the foyer and down a short hallway, where it opened up into a living room where seven people were sitting on three overstuffed couches. Feeling the need to make amends for her mistake at the door, Sam acted as hostess and introduced everyone. "Over there are Amanda, Laney, Brendan, and Troy," indicating the people sitting on the couch to the left, pointing out each one as she named them. Amanda was a thin, pale redhead wearing a tight emerald green silky dress that looked like a negligee. Laney was a delicate Asian woman with waist-length black hair, wearing a bright red cropped tank top that showed off the sparkling jewel in her navel and a pair of ridiculously low-cut and impossibly tight jeans. Brendan was a ruggedly handsome man hanging on Laney's arm. He must have been at least a foot taller than David. He was wearing gray slacks made out of some kind of shiny material, and a blue shirt with a wider collar than anything in David's wardrobe, with its top two buttons unbuttoned to show off a smooth, muscular chest. Troy was a tall, lithe black guy, with a shaved head and gold hoops in both ears. His black jeans were almost as tight as Laney's, and his charcoal silk shirt was completely unbuttoned, revealing a set of muscles that were as hairless as Brendan's. David figured that they all must be models, too. There was something in the way Troy looked him over that made him very uncomfortable in a way that he sometimes got from Claude's boyfriends. Sam continued with the introductions, "And over here are Nikki, Kendra and Chance," pointing at the other couch. Nikki was one of those rail-thin models that look like teenage boys or heroin addicts, yet somehow she made that look work. After first noticing her brilliant yellow dress covered in shimmering sequins, his gaze was then drawn to a tousled mass of hair the color of spun honey spilling down over her shoulders, but then her soulful amber eyes captivated him and David had to let out an unconscious gasp. Kendra was a tall, lean brunette in a knee-length black dress that seemed to be made of lace, and he caught himself wondering if it was really that see-through or if it had some kind of lining the same color as her tan. Chance had his arm around Kendra and flashed a peace sign when his name was mentioned. He wasn't as muscled as Troy and Brendan, but he had the same kind of impossible good looks - sparkling blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass, and short, spiky brown hair with blonde tips. He was dressed more like a regular guy than the other two, in what appeared to be a pink and black bowling shirt and a pair of black chinos. Laney was the first of the group to speak up. "What's that you're holding? Most guys bring their dates a gift, but that doesn't look like a bottle of wine or a bouquet of roses. That better not be a box of chocolates! Do you know how wrong it is to bring candy to an apartment full of models?" He looked down at what he was carrying. "No, this box here is a copy of the manuscript I just sent to my publisher. Maritza had peeked at a draft of it when she was at my place, and I'd promised to let her read it when it was done." Nikki chimed in. "I think she did say you wrote books. What's it about?" "It's a character study about a newly widowed woman trying to find her place while fighting to keep her kids from being taken away." He would have continued, but her confused expression let him know not to. Amanda tried to contribute. "Books are silly. I tried to read that wizard boy book everybody was talking about, but it was just so much easier to watch it as a movie." He would have gone into his usual diatribe about books vs. film, but instead opted for the politer route. "I've had two books made into movies. Did you see Sublimation?" Sam cut him off. "Hey! That's where I remember you from. You're the guy who took Ritz to the Oscars! Remember when we saw her on TV, guys?" Nikki added the part David didn't want anyone to remember, "Yeah, you were the guy in that red suit. You said you'd wear a gown next year." Troy's eyes widened. "Really? Do tell." And Nikki gave a more or less accurate account of his Red Carpet encounter with Jane Waters. David had never felt more out of place in his life. These were not his people. What was he doing here? What had ever made him think he could be a part of Maritza's life, when she was one of the beautiful people and he was still the dumpy bookworm he was in high school, who could never hang with the cool kids? Amanda, wanting to contribute to the conversation, decided to change the subject. "Hey, something you probably don't know is that two of the people in this room used to go out with Ritz. I bet you can't you guess which two of us it was!" David answered cautiously. "It's got to be Chance and Brendan, right?" "Nope. It was me and Troy," she giggled. "You weren't paying attention! I said it was two of *us* - giving you a hint that I was one of them, since I didn't say 'two of them.' Didn't Ritz tell you she goes both ways?" Now the panic was really hitting him. The incredible person that he'd gotten his heart's hopes wrapped around is attracted to a woman and an apparently gay guy? What does that say about David's image? This was just too confusing and very uncomfortable, and he could tell that they all were laughing at him not with him. He wanted to run, to get back to his old safe boring life, forgetting he ever met these people! Then, he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see his angel coming down the hall. There she was - a vision in a silky wisp of a little black dress - thin straps slid down her shoulders to a deep plunging neckline around her perfect breasts, and the soft fabric clung tightly to her waist, then softy pleated outward to ruffles that danced down from her hips. Her legs were bare, and her feet were scantily shod in a pair of tall sandals. Her hair was a loose mass of brown waves, and her eyes sparkled a smile when they met his. Although he wasn't panicking anymore, his heart still raced. Maritza loved being able to grab his full attention just by entering the room. This one definitely had possibilities. She giggled at his wide-eyed stare. Trying for the easiest way to snap him out of it, she sashayed right up to him, leaned her head down, tenderly grabbed his face, tipped up his chin and kissed him deeply and thoroughly. Her friends, who had been peeking in from the next room, made various gasps and whistles and other sounds of surprise. But it gave her almost as much of a kick to shake them up, so that was an extra treat. She released him and let him breathe. "Um, wow. Hi," David stammered. It was unbelievable - someone like her was actually interested in him! As the blood started flowing back to his brain, he remembered. "Here. I brought you a copy of my manuscript, like I promised," and handed her the bound sheets of plain white paper tied with a red ribbon that he'd been holding. "Thanks. No one's ever given me a book that hasn't been published yet before," she smiled and looked around for a place to put it. She shouted back to the party room, "I'm setting my book on the hall table here. None of you are allowed to read it until I do, so don't touch it." Dismissive laughter answered her. They weren't what you'd call readers. She grabbed a small black handbag from where it hung on a peg in the hallway and led David out the door. He was surprised Maritza didn't have a coat or a wrap or something, since the weather wasn't quite spring yet. Maybe he'd just been in California too long. Soon, David was showing Maritza to where he'd left his cab waiting. When he opened the door for her, she decided to reward her gentleman with another kiss before stepping in. As she pressed close to suck on his tongue, David noticed that the brisk air and her filmy dress had combined to perk up Maritza's nipples. His memory flashed back to the time he saw her nearly naked in his hallway, and he felt himself perking up as well. He hoped she didn't notice, and helped her into the cab, planning to run around to the other side and avoid embarrassment. No such luck. She grabbed his neck as she sat down and pulled him in after her. He closed the door. She told the driver an address then spent the rest of the ride molesting her date. He was a better kisser than she'd expected. She decided that this thing might actually work. David was surprised to find out that her favorite restaurant was a Thai place. He'd have thought she'd go for something South American, but her explanation was that if you're in the city where all the corners of the globe come together, why go somewhere just like home when you can explore the world instead? Seeing her slurp spicy noodles made her look different in David's eyes - doing something sloppy and indelicate seemed to make her more like a real person than an unattainable ideal, but at the same time she was just cuter than he had ever realized. Without Gorgeous getting in the way, Cute can really shine. Over dinner, they discussed how each of them ended up in their respective careers. Maritza had been discovered by a photographer scouting locations for a fashion magazine. He came to the small coastal city where she lived to check out whether there was anything in the landscape that would be new or different, and when he was shooting some pictures of the beach he noticed her sunning herself with a couple of friends. She was only thirteen, but he could see her potential - the camera clearly loved her. He took her and her mother to Caracas for a series of test shots, had her sign some papers, and got them a meeting with one of Venezuela's biggest agencies. The rest is history. So far she'd been a in the business for eleven years and didn't regret it. She had done work in America and England and France and Italy, and had filed papers to become an American citizen to make it easier to wait around between jobs, and her friends had taught her enough of the culture that she rarely stood out as a foreigner when she didn't want to. At twenty-four she had doubts that she'd ever be an internationally famous supermodel. If you don't hit big before you're twenty-five, you never will. David's opinion was that she was just being modest, but he really had no idea how the modeling business works, despite all the times Claude had tried to teach him about the fashion industry. And it did make him a little self-conscious to realize that even though he was eight years older than his date, she had seen far more of the world than he had. David, for his part, had played a more active role in his discovery as an author. He'd gone to college to study chemistry, but while he was at school the processing plant in his hometown closed down, and he'd really been looking forward to going back after graduation. So he switched majors in his junior year to journalism, hoping to get a job with the old-fashioned small town newspaper. Reality was a sharp slap in the face when he found out that a major publishing corporation had bought the local paper years ago, and now all that the local office produced was a couple of pages of regional stories, and the rest of the pages came from the corporate headquarters. He tried to get a job writing for those few pages, but there were no openings. The best he was able to manage was writing occasional freelance human interest stories, so he had to take a meaningless job as night manager of a department store to pay the bills. He couldn't just leave town and go find a better job somewhere else because he had family obligations. His grandmother was in a local nursing home, and he was the only family she had left locally. He couldn't just abandon her like all his cousins had. His grandmother had taken over when twelve-year-old David's parents had died, so he wanted to stay close to her. Once when he was visiting the home, he was talking with her neighbors, since old folks tend to have a lot of stories in them, and one could be worth interviewing for one of his puff pieces. This one old guy, Mr. Sylvester, told a sweet tale about how he'd gone off to war with a picture of his girlfriend to keep him company every night, but it had gotten lost the day before a big battle where he got shot in the leg, and when they shipped him home, she married him. David didn't think the paper would want to buy Mr. Sylvester's story, but he wrote it up just for practice. As he was writing it, he thought of various ways the story would have been more compelling if events were changed. Rather than trying to submit his modified story as journalism like some notorious writers, he realized that he was now writing a piece of fiction and having fun doing so. He kept revising and rewriting the story until the only remaining element of the original is that it happened during wartime. On a whim, he sent it off to a literary magazine and they accepted it. A few more stories followed, and then he was contacted by a publishing agent. They wanted to know if he had any larger works. He didn't, but he had some ideas. He spent a couple years working on his first novel, and sent it off to them. His agent found a publisher that liked it, hooked him up with an editor, and he earned enough to quit his day job. His second novel was much easier to write. As he was finishing it, two major events happened. First, his grandmother had a stroke and couldn't recover - her passing hit David greatly. But then he got the call that Sublimation had been optioned for a movie. After a meeting where he was able to convince the producers to give him a shot at adapting his own screenplay, he decided to leave Ohio for good and move to Hollywood. It still felt very new to him. *** After comparing histories, they realized that they really did have quite a bit in common, coming from smaller towns to make it out in the big wide world. Then they noticed that they'd finished eating an hour ago, and the restaurant would want their table back. Maritza suggested moving the conversation to David's hotel room. While he rummaged through the mini-bar, she kicked off her shoes, threw her purse in a chair, and snuck up behind him. "It was sweet of you to try to be a good host, but we don't need anything from there," she said, taking his hand and pulling him upright. "What we want is over here," and she led him over to the bed. She sat him on the edge of the bed. Then she did a sort of shrug and a wiggle, and suddenly her dress was at her feet and she stood there in front of him absolutely, completely, wonderfully nude! Her perfect breasts bounced at him, and David reached out to take hold of her magnificent hips, but she waggled her finger at him and pushed his arms back, "No, no! No hands!" He leaned forward to kiss her, but she backed up and he early fell over. From his new vantage point, David could see that her body was completely devoid of hair. Wow. Maritza noticed him staring and giggled. She stepped up so she was straddling his lap, and took the rubber band out of his little ponytail. "I like hair I can run my fingers through," she said, and started unbuttoning his shirt. David fought the urge touch her, remembering her admonishment. He reached up his face and kissed her collarbone. "Good boy. Follow the rules," she encouraged him. It was weird - even though he was the only one with clothes still on, she was completely in control of the situation; he was surprised to realize that he liked it. He'd never quite been comfortable having to assert himself with women, even in a relationship it just felt uncomfortably aggressive for him to insist on taking charge all the time. Sitting back and passively letting Maritza drive just felt right. When she had his shirt removed, she then pulled his undershirt off over his head, and pushed him down onto the bed, spreading his arms out to his side almost like a crucifix. She played her fingers across his mat of chest hair, and wrinkled her nose slightly. She bent down and kissed him full on the mouth, then nibble-kissed her way down his neck to his chest, taking extra time to run her tongue around his nipples and give them each a sucking kiss. Spitting out a hair, she said, "Have you ever though about waxing?" David just made a happy moan in response. She continued working her way down to his navel, where she stuck her tongue in and made a slurping noise. Then it was time to continue undressing him. She turned around and gave David a view of her magnificent bottom while she pulled off his shoes and socks, then surprised him by sitting on his stomach to unfasten his belt. He couldn't see what she was doing, but he heard unzipping. He craned his neck and kissed the small of her back. She let out a surprised gasp and nimbly dismounted him, rolling over to bring her face to his for another deep kiss. She then got up and walked to his feet, and pulled his pants off by the cuffs. He lifted his legs to make it easier for her. She told him to move up and lie on the bed completely. Seeing this exquisite goddess before him, he felt very inadequate lying there in only his boxers, seeing his pale body, with what looked like the beginning of a beer gut, exposed to the world. How could someone like that possibly be interested in this? His thoughts were interrupted when she crawled in on top of him and smiled. "You deserve a reward for being so patient," she said, and placed her right breast near his face. David took the hint and gently kissed around it, spiraling in towards the bull's-eye. He nibbled around the areola, slipping just the tip of his tongue into each kiss, but when he got to the actual nipple he brought his lips close without actually touching, and softly blew on it. Maritza was impressed - she'd expected him to just crudely suckle; David was clearly not as innocent as he seemed. She involuntarily let out a small moan. It felt so good, she shifted and let him have a go at her other breast, which he took care of in the same expert manner. She kissed him in appreciation, and then moved around so that she lay next to him. Placing her hand on his now noticeably tented boxers she asked in mock surprise, "What have we here? This deserves a closer look." She flipped around and kneeled beside his hip, then slipped her left hand inside his waistband and carefully took hold of him, and pulled his boxers down with her right - if she'd just ripped them down, his "things" might have been damaged. She let go and finished taking his shorts off. She gave his penis a small kiss, just behind the tip, being careful to avoid any of his fluids, just in case. She then carefully opened a condom and unrolled it onto him. "I won't let you inside me without one of these until we're sure we're a thing and you swear you won't sleep with anyone else when I'm not there, and also if you get tested for everything and show me the test and it says you're all clean." Noticing a confused expression on his face she added, "I don't mean to kill the mood, but my job depends on my health being perfect." "No, that's ok. I understand," David's confusion was really from trying to figure out where she got the condom. He wasn't expecting they'd be going this far on a second date, so he hadn't been carrying one, and she was completely naked, with nowhere to carry one - unless... To banish this train of thought, he sat up and took her in his arms. "And I really hope we do become a thing. You are incredible!" he said pulling her into a tender kiss. "Hey! I didn't say you could use your hands yet," she teased as they broke the kiss. She pushed him back down and straddled him. Then she raised herself up and guided him into her - it was a nice fit. "Okay, you can touch me now," as she laid down onto him and started slowly rocking her hips. He easily matched her rhythm, and used his freed hands to stroke her breasts and gently knead her buttocks as they rose and fell. They moved in synchronized harmony, which was a new experience for Maritza. She was used to guys who were all about hard, fast pounding thrusts, like having sex with a locomotive. But David was soft and slow, building intensity gradually, and he did something whenever he was in to full depth that made it jump or swell up or something and it just hit the right spot inside her. Sex with David wasn't the kind of competition it is with some guys, where they're always checking and asking how they were doing, to make sure they were "the best she ever had." Instead, he was just feeling what she was doing and responding to it. She didn't have to fake enthusiasm, either. Her real noises were enough to show that. David had been holding himself back to make sure of her satisfaction, but finally he let go on her third orgasm, making it a true climax. This wasn't sex - this was making love. This guy could be The One. They embraced tightly and shared a kiss. She carefully got up and went into the bathroom and got a towel, then carefully took off the condom and cleaned him up. She picked up his undershirt from the floor and pulled it on over her head, then handed him his boxers, and slipped under the covers. David was exhausted from pulling out every technique from his repertoire, but cuddled up with a beautiful woman in his arms, he had a great deal of trouble falling asleep. It was like one of those moments when you think reality might be a dream and if you fall asleep in the dream you could wake up back in the lonely, miserable, empty reality you're supposed to have. Eventually, the soft breathing of the one beside him lulled him to sleep. When he woke up, she was still there. It wasn't a dream. He had room service deliver a nice breakfast. He learned that she takes her coffee black, and that the previous night's sex was not a fluke. But eventually she had to leave, and he had to get to the airport. She was still beautiful, even in yesterday's clothes. She promised to call him when she got back to Los Angeles in a couple months. *** When he returned to California, David made a commitment to get himself in better shape for when he saw Maritza again. Remembering something she had said, he asked Claude what he knew about waxing, but Claude was in one of his moods. "Are you asking me because I'm your gay friend, and the gays are into grooming?" "Not exactly. I'm asking because you're my style guru." "I suppose that is an acceptable reason, Grasshopper. Now when dealing with unsightly body hair there are several things to consider. What areas were you thinking of waxing?" "I think it was mostly my chest hairs that were bothering her." "Her? Aha! Better grooming wasn't your idea originally, and you're doing this at the behest of some female? And here I thought my good habits were just rubbing off on you." "Yeah, my date with Maritza went well, and I'm hoping I can see her again, but I thought I'd try to fix a few things about my appearance. It's hard enough that she's so much younger, but she's also a professional gorgeous person. It's very intimidating. But I figured it would be a good gesture to at least make some kind of effort at improvement." "That sounds wise. But don't sell yourself short. You're quite a catch: decent guy, best-selling novelist, academy-nominated screenwriter, general C-List celebrity. I'd make a play for you myself if you weren't stuck on that whole vagina thing. But anyway, back to grooming. If you only take the hair off one area, you might look like one of those cheap gorilla costumes, where there's a hard plastic chest surrounded by fake fur - it's not a good look. So you want to do all the adjacent areas, too. Chest leads to shoulders and stomach, shoulders lead to arms and back, stomach leads to legs and crotch, back leads to butt." "That's like everything! I don't want to get rid of all my hair! And what do you mean 'crotch?' I'm definitely not waxing my pubes!" "It really looks bad when only one zone is hairless. Trust me on this one. Ok, sometimes if you leave a little patch of pubic hair it's ok, but you definitely want to get the hair off your genitals." "No way! The last time I trusted you I wore a pimp suit! I am definitely not letting someone pour hot wax on my balls." "It might not have to be hot wax. Of the nine standard methods of hair removal, only one of them involves hot wax. But really, didn't you think Maritza's hairless genitals looked sexy? So could yours." "What? Aren't you supposed to be gay? Why were you looking at the naked crotch of the woman who maybe could be my girlfriend?" "Way to commit there, Casanova. Anyway, she must have turned you stupid or something. You completely forgot how you met her. She's worked shows for me, and I insist on using girls who are clear-cut. It prevents mishaps when showing lingerie or swimwear. Just in case you're curious, I also insist they be free of tattoos and body piercings so as not to distract from the fashions. Oh and I seem to have guessed correctly that you got a peek at her smooth goodies, so way to go, Stud. But we're straying. You've got your nine methods: shaving, chemical depilatories, tweezing, power tweezing epilators, hot wax, cold wax, sugaring, lasers, and electrolysis. With your coloring, I'd recommend laser hair removal. It doesn't hurt as much as wax, and is more permanent, but more convenient than electrolysis. If you skip shaving for a few days and let your stubble grow they can even do your face, and it would be smooth and nice for when your girlfriend comes back." "I guess I'll just have to trust you on this one." So three days later, Claude got David an appointment with an esthetician he knew, and took him to the office personally. He had signed David up for full treatment, and he was feeling a little guilty about having an ulterior motive for wanting David's body completely hairless, but he rationalized it with the thought that it truly was a better look than partial smoothness would be. The place seemed to be the epitome of the Beverly Hills lifestyle to David. The attendants all looked like bikini models or fashion dolls come to life. The receptionist gave him this lemon grass/green tea smoothie to drink while he was waiting. When a technician came and took him into a room, she turned around and had him strip off his clothes and lie on a table covered only in a strategically placed towel. Then she put special eyeshades on his face and put in a pair of earbuds that played relaxing music. In the back of his mind, he smelled smoke and felt a tingling, but he didn't care. He was almost asleep when the tech rolled him over to do the other side, and he didn't even realize that his towel was gone. When it was all over, he sort of felt sunburned all over, but then an attendant came in and massaged some kind of anesthetic ointment all over him. This was a pretty swanky place - he hoped the bill wouldn't be too steep. Then she switched to a different kind of lotion and rubbed it into his face. Then she handed him a little shopping bag with bottles if the stuff she just put on him, and told him he could get dressed as she left the room. David realized that he had just been totally naked in a room with a girl massaging him all over and hadn't felt embarrassed or excited or anything - that music must have put him in some kind of hypnotic state, or maybe it was drugs in his drink or the ointment. He went back to the waiting room and found Claude signing some papers at the desk. The receptionist made a follow-up appointment, and told him he was all set. Claude claimed that he was paying for this to make up for the "pimp suit" incident, and David's mellow mood let him accept that. It was only after they left the building that David realized how long the procedure had taken; the sun had gone down while he was on the table. Eventually his mood shifted and David was able to check himself out. His chest was bare, like he wanted, but so were his arms, his legs, his rear end from what he could see in his bathroom mirror, his armpits were clear even though he couldn't remember changing his pose to allow the laser in there, and all that was left of his pubic hair was a little square patch just above his bald genitals, which did have the silver lining of appearing larger now without all the hair. His neck was smooth, and after a week his face still didn't need a shave. He felt weird without any hair, and called Claude to complain. "You had them do everywhere, man! I look like a little kid or something. It was just supposed to be a little chest hair, but I let you talk me into letting it snowball into this. When I go back there after it all grows out again, I'm going to be more specific about what they do." Claude paused for a moment. Would it be better to tell him or not? After all is said and done, he did still consider himself a friend to David. "It's not all going to grow out again. They're not legally allowed to call laser hair removal permanent, but it comes really close. Your follow-up appointment is just to catch a few stragglers. The best it would do if you stopped now is that you might grow back a few mangy-looking patches here and there, but not fully or evenly. I thought you knew." "Even the hair on my face isn't going to grow back? Ever?" "I've never seen you with a beard. Have you ever grown one? I've never seen any old pictures of you with one. Sorry, but Evelyn mentioned it as an option when I was making your appointment, and I just thought 'Hey, why not? No more shaving; no more whisker burn when you kiss your girl; what's not to love?' I really thought I was doing you a favor. I'm sorry." Claude was an excellent liar. He couldn't tell David his real reasons; not yet. But he really didn't think David would ever want a beard. At this point, the only real option David had was to accept it and learn to live with a smother body. He just hoped it didn't turn Maritza off. He though about calling her, but remembered that she'd said she'd be very busy for a while. He put his mind off it by moving on to the next step in his plan - getting into shape. He saw his doctor to get tested for all the things that could possibly earn him her rejection, and while he was there he asked about what he should do to improve his tone. The doctor recommended that he start with something small - walk a mile a day, switch to a high fiber/low fat diet, and add some kind of vigorous physical activity at least twice a week. With his body type, he'd be better off focusing on losing fat than on trying to add muscle with weight training. He emphasized that David shouldn't do anything drastic like a crash diet or going overboard on the exercise. Two months of salads, jogging, and swimming laps in the pool at his complex helped him lose twelve pounds and he was feeling better about himself. He'd mostly gotten used to being hairless, except when he'd get creepy looks from this old neighbor guy he'd sometimes run into at the pool. He'd taken to swimming at night to avoid him. The downside is that he didn't get enough sun to develop much of a tan, but then she'd never said he was too pale. *** When Maritza got back in town, David told her he really wasn't up for meeting more of her friends, so she invited herself over to his place for him to cook dinner for just the two of them. He accepted her offer, and figured it was some kind of bachelor test of hers to see how self-sufficient he was, but he wasn't worried. He wasn't one of those single guys who consist mainly on take-out food. He'd lived on his own for quite a while, and most of that was back home in Ohio in a little town without a lot of restaurants. She asked what kind of wine to bring, which was probably also another test, and he said to go with a dry white that wouldn't be too overpowering, but he wouldn't tell her specifically what he'd be cooking. He did make sure she didn't have any food allergies. She showed up at his townhouse on time. Unlike David, who was in his standard date uniform of an oxford shirt, a pair of khakis and his one good pair of shoes, she was dressed casually, which actually seemed to make it more intimate. She wore a pair of well-faded jeans that, while fitting well to her nicely rounded shape, weren't so tight they gave that "painted on" look, with a tooled red leather belt with a buckle that resembled an antique cameo brooch. A pair of matching red leather boots with four-inch heels covered her feet. Her top was a deep green silky camisole tank, with thin spaghetti straps and just a hint of lace at the edges, the kind of thing that might have been originally sold as underwear. Her loosely tousled hair didn't seem to be held in place by any product, flowing free in waves around her face and down the middle of her back. Her make-up was either subtle or very minimal. It only seemed like she was wearing some dark red lipstick and just a hint of eyeliner. Her jewelry was also subdued - around her neck was a twisted gold chain and she had plain gold circular hoops in her ears. Even though it seemed she was "dressed down," she was still exquisitely beautiful. Over her right shoulder was the strap of an enormous leather bag that looked to be some kind of military surplus satchel, and in her hand she carried a wine bottle. In her left hand, she carried a bouquet of daisies. Taking advantage of her full hands, David put his arms around her and gave her a deep, long kiss. Coming up for air, he greeted her. "Hi. I missed you. Let me help you with some of that," and took the bottle and the flowers. "I'd take your bag, but it looks monstrous! That's the largest purse I've ever seen!" "It's not a purse, you big silly! It's an overnight bag, with some things for me to wear tomorrow. You look good. Have you lost weight?" she teased as she followed him into the house. "Thanks. I have lost some. But it's mostly hair. You're looking fantastic yourself!" He motioned toward the living room. "You can put your bag in there. I'll take these to the dining room and meet you." She disobediently dropped her bag in the foyer and took advantage of his hands being full this time. She threw her arms around him and bent him slightly backward for a toe-curling soul kiss. She broke the kiss but didn't let go. "I missed you, too. But I hope you were kidding about cutting your hair. I liked it long," she pouted. "No, I didn't cut it; it's just pulled back so it wouldn't get in the way while I was cooking," and he tried to twist his head to show her the five-inch ponytail gathered at the nape of his neck. "The hair I lost was in ... other places." Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, really? Where? Show me!" She moved her hands to start unbuttoning his shirt, but he managed to wiggle away in the nick of time. He slipped to the dining area, where he placed the wine bottle on the sideboard, took out a corkscrew and opened it to let it breathe, and then went into the kitchen, where he set the flowers down on the counter, and turned around to see that she'd been following him. "Would you give me a hand? I've got a vase for these in the cabinet over the refrigerator, and you could probably reach it easier." "Not until you show me where you lost your hairs." She stood next to him and he felt short. In her heels, she was nearly a half a foot taller than him. Barefoot she was probably about five-foot-ten, which would still be taller than his five-eight, but with her boots on, he was a dwarf. He prob