Vegas, Baby

James Dean

Have you ever seen Rebel Without a Cause? 

For a lot of my friends, their introduction to Hollywood romances began with Zac Efron in High School Musical but for me, it was watching James Dean as Jim Stark. He was handsome and brooding, the ultimate in-need-of-saving kind of guy and the first man I ever looked at and thought, "Mhm, I want a piece of that." It's just a shame he died at such a young age. Then again, he never aged and in my eyes, always remained that tortured soul that I adored so much. 

You could say that I have an infatuation with Hollywood. Old school Hollywood, to be exact, not any of this modern day crap. I mean, where did the glamour go? Where did all the stars go? Where did all the Greta's, the Marilyn's, the Lauren's, the Katherine's and the Lana's of the age gone by go? Sure, Angelina, Charlize and any of the Jessica's are gorgeous but they don't have any of that pizzazz the screen sirens of the forties, fifties and sixties have. None of them could pull off Lauren Bacall's 'You know how to whistle, don't you?' line. 

And let's not even talk about the men of today! Give me a little Clint Eastwood, Steve McQueen or Marlon Brando over Zac Efron any day of the week. 

That's kind of why I found myself taken aback when I met James Saylor. Granted, at the time, I didn't know that he was an actor on the cusp of megastardom, I just thought he was an attractive boy who made my heart flutter in a bar in South America. He was a fun distraction for an evening, who then turned into a week-long distraction, who then turned into an escape, however briefly that lasted.

I remember the first night we met. God, he was stunning with his dark hair, green eyes, thin lips, expressive eyebrows. His was cool like McQueen but seductive like Connery and instantly had me under his spell, drawing me in like Sidney Poitier. James Saylor was, and still is, every young woman's dream but that night, God, he made me feel like I was his dream, his one and only dream. The way he looked at me, smiled at me, touched me... he wanted me.

Admittedly, it was hard to believe that someone like James would ever pick me out of a crowd. Compared to the girls I was travelling with, I was a plain Jane; he would have had his pick of exotic girls- Portuguese, Spanish, Ukrainian, French, Italian- girls with more confidence and flair than I could ever possess but that night, from across the room, he noticed me. Not that I knew he had. The first I knew of James Saylor, it was when he spilt his beer down my white dress and apologised profusely, asking, "Can I get you a drink to make up for it?"

Nodding, I followed him to the bar and watched as he ordered two beers, one for me and another for himself. He clinked my bottle with his and grinned boyishly. "So, what's your name?"

"Nina Taylor," I introduce myself, doing the very British thing of holding my hand out for him to shake. "Nice to meet you, uh..."

He laughed. "James Saylor?" He replied, his tone making his name sound like a question rather than a statement of fact. When I simply nodded in response, he frowned briefly before smiling genuinely and hopping up onto a bar stool and motioning towards the one I was stood next to. Perching myself on the edge of the chair, I push my hair over my shoulder and scan the room. "So, Nina Taylor, what brings you to South America?"

"Just doing some travelling before heading home and thinking about uni," I explain. I'd taken a gap year after finishing sixth form academy and decided to fly away for a while, getting out from under my parents' scrutiny. "What about you?"

"Work," he cryptically announced. 

An awkward silence followed. Deciding to scan the room, I watched as the group of girls I was travelling with danced like no one was watching. Noticing James' gaze falling on Alba, the Spanish firecracker I had the pleasure of sharing a room with, I rolled my eyes and dropped my shoulders. Of course, it made sense that James would be interested in someone like Alba; if I were a man, I'd be hitting on her. 

"I can introduce you, if you want," I suggest to James. When he narrowed his eyes and a deep crease formed between his eyebrows, I laughed and pointed at Alba. "You were eyeing her up. You're exactly her type so if you wanted, I could introduce you."

James made an 'O' shape with his mouth and shook his head. "No, that's ok. I'm actually more interested in you. Otherwise, why would I have wasted my beer, spilling it down that very pretty dress of yours?"

"Excuse me?"

"The second you walked in, my heart stopped," he said in what sounded like an honest revelation. Butterflies went wild in my stomach when his dimples winked at me. "I told my friend, 'I need to know that girl,' but I didn't know how to approach you so-"

I cut him off. "You decide to ruin my dress instead of using a really cheesy pickup line?"

"Well, yeah," he laughed, the melodic sound making my heart flutter. "Just out of interest, though, would this have works: 'Are you a parking ticket? Because you have 'fine' written all over you.'"

I scoff. "Tragically, yes, it probably would have. Apparently, I have very low standards."

"Huh," James muttered. "In that case, there's hope for me yet. Ok, so how long are in here for?"