Sharon takes a deep drag from her menthol cigarette while she lies by the pool at The Beverly Hills Hotel. Her publicist and best friend had just left after a long meeting to discuss the direction she wants to take in terms of public knowledge of her private activities.
Her friend put in minimal effort to change her mind, knowing that ultimately it's an impossible task once her mind is made up. It was dangerous, it could backfire, she offered every possible warning she could muster but Sharon dismissed them with a stern look that spoke volumes.
This is a go.
Period.
One phone call to that paparazzi and there would be a green light and a fat check lining his pocket from the magazine buyers sure to salivate at the chance to run the story. Forming a circle with her lips, she blows a few rings of satisfaction with her smoke as she replays what she felt was sheer brilliance from a few days ago in her head, the day that Keanu Reeves had the nerve to choose anyone over her.
A sultry smile falls across her face as she remembers gliding down her stairs, raising on the balls of her bare feet as she went. The pavement was cold to the touch from Los Angeles' version of winter temperatures that day. Reaching the bottom, she made a diagonal across her sharp, Bermudagrass lawn, her gold silk jacket flowing behind her as she moved.
The man behind her hedges was crouching over his camera bag, cleaning his lens, when he heard a sharp crack and looked up.
"Ouch!" Sharon exclaimed, rubbing the bottom of one of her feet after walking across a brittle twig hidden in the grass.
The photographer saw her and shot up to a standing position. Afraid to move, too afraid to even take his eyes off of the gorgeous blond he was hunting from behind her hedges, he froze in place, holding his camera close to his body. Without moving his head, his eyes dart side-to-side as he tried to gauge how he could make the fastest escape while retaining his camera equipment.
"Hey!" she called out to him.
He moved his head, then, snapping his neck in sharp, jerky movements to the right, to the left, then briefly down at his bag of equipment still on the ground at his feet. Crouching down over the bag, he frantically tried to disassemble things and shove them into the black canvas.
Sharon's pace picked up, the strands of grass covering her red-painted toenails. "Hey! I'm talking to you," she tried again.
He scrambled, abandoning his bag and turning around, his belly jiggling and his camera swinging haphazardly from his neck as he ran toward the security fence. He reached up for the horizontal iron bar across the top of the gate, wrapping his plump fingers around it in an attempt to pull himself up. His feet dangled a couple of inches off of the ground as he pedaled an imaginary bicycle, finally losing his grip. He tried again, this time putting his dirty work boots up on the vertical bars and trying to walk himself up.
Sharon was a few feet away now, stopping to snort at the pathetic sight. He wasn't going anywhere and they both knew it.
Resigned, he turned around, with heaving shoulders and terror in his eyes. "Now Ms. Stone, let's not get hasty here," he started, rapidly blinking as he continued to eye each direction for possible exits. "My boss knows where I'm at and he'll know if anything happens to me."
"A-HA!" she guffawed, forcing her eyebrows as high as they'd go and staring him down. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you?"
Stuttering, he pulled at his shirt collar.
"What's your name?"
"I was let in past your gate, I'll have you know. I did not break in."
"Your name!"
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning
Fanfiction"Come here," his voice is gentle again. She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
