3 comments/ 7613 views/ 0 favorites Romantic Novelist: Beverly Hills By: AudreyHepburn "Yes, yes," the woman said, "this is really good. I'll even ask you for more". Audrey resisted opening her mouth in surprise. She was sitting on a comfortable leather chair in the quaint office of Gabrielle West, a popular literary agent for publisher localized within Beverly Hills, California. Audrey had finished her first novel, completed during a trip to Las Vegas with her boyfriend, a romantic story set in Old Las Vegas and her new agent ate it up like a good meal. She sat on a large chair behind a mahogany desk, a well-dressed, executive-looking woman with her hair made up in a French twist and crimson lipstick. She put down the manuscript over the table and smiled. She uncrossed her legs a la Sharon Stone. "Miss Rose, this is a splendid novel and it doesn't even seem like it's your first," Gabrielle said to her, " how did you manage to do it?" "I was inspired," Audrey Rose replied, "and I've read a plethora of romantic novels in my thirty years. Do you really think it's good?" "Oh, my dear, it's just what we're looking for at the moment. You're novel is passionate, steamy but at the same time romantic. I'll never see Las Vegas the same way again. You made it into a colorful den of shady characters: Mafia lords, Mafia wives, Hollywood stars, gamblers, adventurers. And the romance between the film actress and the bad boy gambler is wonderfully done." "How long should I wait before I can write my next novel?" "I'm tempted to say at once, my dear," Gabrielle suddenly took out a cigar, as if she had just enjoyed an orgasm and wanted to smoke, " but really, I don't like to put pressure on my clients. You're a terrific writer, obviously very talented but I will respect your working at your own pace. Just as long as you don't take too long. At most a year." Audrey could not believe it. It was like a dream. She was finally, finally being published! Her book would grace the shelves of the romantic section in bookstores across the country! She brushed her hair to one side when a strand fell over her forehead and smiled gratefully at Gabrielle West, who rose from her seat, ready to announce something evidently important, the way a lawyer does during trial. "Now about payment, royalties, a book tour and all that good stuff"........... Beverly Hills was beautiful. As Audrey walked out of the three-story office building and onto the street toward her car, her eyes feasted on the opulence of the vicinity. In sight was Rodeo Drive, with its chain of pretty shops, one after the other like beads in a necklace: Chanel, Dior,, Victoria's Secret. And the women going to these stores were fashionably dressed themselves, and possessed a leisurely, contented look. They were beautiful women, thin women in dark sunglasses that were oversized. Some wore large sun hats made of light yellow straw material. Some were sandals and simple but chic outfits. This was Beverly Hills and these were the paragon of California cool. Audrey wondered if she'd run into Paris Hilton, Angelina Jollie or other celebrities. Audrey had never been in Beverly Hills before. She'd only heard about it, seen it in magazines and films like "Pretty Woman". Before it had only been a lot like a teaser, now she'd seen the whole thing. Audrey felt she was not looking shabby in the least. She had bought a little black dress inspired by Audrey Hepburn, that timeless fashion icon, that cute outfit from the opening scene in "Breakfast at Tiffany's", except hers was considerably shorter and showcased her smooth, white stockinged legs. On her head was a black-and-white hat, an accessory she felt necessary owing to the heat and intense sunlight. Her eyes, too, were shielded in sunglasses. As she turned a corner, she caught sight of a strangely familiar face. Audrey had found her silver Audi but now she was motionless as she stared at the young lady approaching her in the street. She was striking and garbed in white, her dress oddly business-like but at the same time elegant and leisurely. When Audrey finally took notice of the distinctive features of her face, and the strands of red hair in a sensible ponytail, she knew just who it was. They embraced and kissed one another on the cheek. "Audrey Rose, since when do you walk by Rodeo Drive at one in the afternoon?" the woman said, with a jovial air and carefree laugh. "It's good to see you Michaela," Audrey replied. "Whatever are you doing here?" "Well, I've just come from my publishers. They are printing my new novel in a month's time. I'm taking care of that business part of it here." "You must be kidding. You're writing novels? I would have never believed it. But come, let's go to a cafe and catch up."................ * * * * "Then I'm going on a book tour: Seattle, Boston, San Francisco, New York, Chicago, Miami, Washington D.C," Audrey said to her as she sipped her cappucino. It was still very hot outside but the cafe was pleasant and they sat outside on a white linen table with a view of the street. All the while, Michaela looked as if she'd die of envy right there and then. "Really, Audrey, this is a surprise. I didn't think you had it in you," she said, in a way that although appeared half-insulting, made it appear casual and somewhat innocent. Audrey did not know what to make of it. Was she implying something? How petty could she be? She had always been like this. High school was hell for everyone - except for Michaela, the daughter of a wealthy family who were in film production. By the age of fourteen, Michaela had traveled almost everywhere in the world. "And what are you doing now, Michaela?" Audrey inquired, biting on a small croissant. "I'm in television and film, of course," replied she, with a triumphant smile, "it's really a lot of work. My agent is always finding spots for me in soap operas and movies. I have to take frequent flights across the world for some of them. And that always makes me feel like I live nowhere in particular." "But you live in Beverly Hills. You can't get any lovelier residence than that. Listen, Michaela. It's been lovely chatting but I really should get home. My boyfriend is there and we need to do some work around the new place we just moved into." "Oh, you have a boyfriend....and you live with him. Where exactly?" "Redondo Beach, a small beach city not far from LAX." She was such a bitch. Did she actually believe that after she had stolen my first boyfriend, thought Audrey, that I'd pine for him for the rest of my young adult life? "I could never live near the beach. It's so middle-class". Audrey rose from her seat, as if she had a spring under her seat. She furrowed her brow and stared at Michaela with angry red eyes, looking as if she was about to devour her right there and then on the table, irregardless of an audience watching. "Listen, I'm sick of your haughty and conceited rich girl bit. You don't need to lord it over everyone. You have no idea what real life is like and you're full of yourself," Audrey bellowed, " I've always thought you were a bitch and I don't know why you bothered to even talk to me in the street" Michaela was speechless and put a hand over her mouth. "Don't act surprised. You see, I'm middle-class and this is how we express anger. You, on the other hand, will express it by staring at me as if I just committed mass murder in this cafe and later you'll think you've always been right about me. That I'm trash and that I don't know anything. You'll blab to your stuck-up rich bitch girlfriends about this incident as part of your regular gossip and laugh. If you're angry you'll probably see your shrink." "Audrey, wait," she said, "please, forgive me. I -" But it was too late and Audrey had stormed off, headed toward her Audi. * * * * It was funny. Anger had lead Audrey to get into bed with her boyfriend, as if the fury itself was an aphrodisiac. She had come home to see him moving an armoire and sofas in the apartment, wiping sweat from his brow, shirtless and wearing only sweat pants. The minute their eyes met as she walked through the door, Stephen knew what was about to happen. Immediately, they were in each other's arms. Audrey removed his sweat pants with a quick tug and Stephen, in a sudden frenzy, unzipped her black dress, nearly tearing it like one small piece of cloth. Audrey had worn panties and bra to her trip to Gabrielle West's office and that made Stephen growl impatiently. They kissed passionately, their mouths open wide. No time for small, butterfly kisses or even much of any sort of foreplay. Audrey felt Stephen's cock getting hard against her thighs and she knew he would make this rough and quick, like the wild recklessness of sex between an Indian man and a squaw. It was not long before Stephen pulled down her panties, sliding them down her smooth, average-sized slim legs and removed her stockings. "You're wearing too much for this kind of thing," he said, laughing. "Less talk more fuck," Audrey said to him, her breath becoming ragged. "Whoa, Audrey, man, what's come over you? I've never seen you like this. Not that I don't enjoy it but -" She shut him up by tossing him into the carpet-less floor of their new apartment. The smell of paint, which Stephen had been applying to the walls, was strong and unpleasant. It even made Audrey want to scratch her eyes. Everywhere on the floor were buckets of paint paintbrushes, rolled up carpets, newspapers and trunks and valises. They were on a spot that was just pure wooden floor. It felt slippery beneath Steve's butt and Audrey could see if they weren't careful, they'd slide across the living room like dying magnet decorations on a refrigerator. Audrey was nude now, and Steve's blood stirred as he saw her breasts heaving, her hair in disarray and her eyes burning with a frightening intensity he'd never seen in her before. "Fuck me," she said to him, "fuck me." Up until till that moment, she had never even said those words to him. She mounted him like she were mounting one of those mechanical bulls in a rowdy country-theme bar. Straddling him, she felt Stephen's enlarged cock slide easily into her wet slit. She gasped and moaned as he began to pump into her. For an endless time, she tilted her head back and cried out wordlessly, screaming her lungs off, bouncing above him wildly. In her lustful abandon, she had not noticed, and neither had Steve, that the door to the apartment was wide open. They were giving people who passed by in the street quite a show. Audrey cupped her own breasts and her high pitched cries fell sharply over the street and some pedestrians turned away in shock. Stephen felt she was in total control, and he had been so surprised and aroused that he came not long afterward. When Audrey reached climax, she shut her eyes and felt a breeze. It was then when she realized she'd left the door open. "Oh fuck," said Stephen, turning his head around and looking toward the street where an old man and woman quickly jogged past them. Audrey quickly closed the door. She tried to steady her breathing. "You aren't yourself, Audrey," Stephen said, trying to relax himself, "can you please tell me what that was all about?". Audrey did not reply and instead began to put on her clothes. Stephen lay there nude, waiting for her response. He was returning to his normal state slowly. As he followed Audrey with his eyes, he noticed she was beginning to shed tears down her cheeks. She had never been a noisy crying girl, like those melodramatic girls he'd known before. Audrey cried silent tears, subtle tears, always trying to be discreet and unnoticed. "What's wrong? You have to tell me. You look so upset." "I ran into an old high school - companion. She was never a friend of mine. She was the richest girl in school and had her own little following of brats". "You mean like "heathers", spoiled cheerleader-type, popular elitist girls?" "Worse, spoiled ninnies with money" "So what happened? You two had a fight? How did you even see her?" "I ran into her in the street after leaving my publisher's office. I met Gabrielle West, the Beverly Hills agent I told you about. She invited me for coffee and were having a conversation that was so-so for the most part. I told her about my first novel being published soon and I asked how she was doing and then she began to do her "I'm so much better than you" bit and that drove me to call her a bitch." "You called someone a bitch in Beverly Hills?" Stephen said and did not resist the urge to laugh. "Oh, it was awful. I mean I was awful. I made a scene and then I stormed out of there. All that was missing was for me to dump coffee over her Dior dress." "Listen, Audrey. You're entitled to your feelings. The real problem here is not your little buddy there, the real problem here is you did something disgraceful and tasteless in the area where you are getting published. They will see you going there often and remember you for your little hissy fit." "It was not a hissy fit. I had to tell her. Someone had to. No one did in high school. Oh, I know it was a terrible thing to do and I could have behaved with more tact but I didn't want to take it anymore. I didn't want to sit there and take her sly little insults anymore. You understand, don't you?" "Sure. But now they'll think you're an angry writer." "Well, I'm going to be able to write better if I feel things strongly, won't I? Now come on, we have to get this apartment looking great before nightfall." * * * Their new apartment was pretty when the paint had dried and when all the furniture pieces were in place. The living room was in dark green, sort of resembling a Victorian home, and a large coffee table was weighed with two small statuettes of African deities, a god and goddess facing one another and three large books. On the walls were Steve and Audrey's collection of art: Steve's copies of Picasso and Warhol and Audrey's Degas, Monet and black and white photographs of Audrey Hepburn. When they had finished their work, they treated themselves to an intimate and quiet candle light dinner. Too tired to make love afterward, they talked about the future. "I'm going to help you if you let me, Steve," Audrey said, "why don't you write for my agent Gabrielle West. She's terrific. She's very kind and recognizes quality work when she sees it. She lets you work at your own pace and promotes you in grand style." "So I see. Look at the list of cities you're going to visit on your book tour. Even a cruise in the Bahamas when you get to Miami, Florida? Isn't that excessive? When will I see you again? Not till the holidays? Man, that's ridiculous." Audrey bit her lower lip. "Oh, not you too. You must support me on this. I love you and it's going to kill me to stay away from you but I'll be back in no time and we'll make up for it of course." Stephen looked away, his gray-blue eyes catching the light of a candle. He drank the last portion of red wine. What was he thinking? Was it possible he was jealous of her, her own boyfriend? Audrey sighed and felt in a sense, worse than she had been feeling after her first visit to Beverly Hills and her run-in with Michaela Money Queen. She wanted to say something to comfort him, to let him know she was not a different person. One book. It was just one book.The fulfillment of a dream. How could he not support her when she had told him about this dream countless times before and felt sure he shared her dream. "Come with me to see Gabrielle. Show her your manuscript. Isn't it finished yet?" "No not yet. I'll think about it. I thought I'd get myself a different agent but we'll see. Listen, I'm fine. I'm happy for you, really. Just worried a bit. You're so...so passionate. I don't want to lose you." Audrey touched his thigh, in a gentle, nonsexual way. "No, Steve. You'll never lose me. You'll only lose me to death someday. I love you." * * * * Back to Beverly Hills. Audrey in her black gown, this time altered a bit to look like a jacket and skirt. The climate had changed dramatically. It was early summer but today the skies were clouded in greyness and a light rain began to fall. Audrey felt she was already late, having agreed to meet Gabrielle West at exactly noon. Didn't that woman eat lunch? She certainly didn't look like one of those skeletal anorexic models that flaunted their bones all across restaurants and lounges in LA. Gabrielle was a sturdy looking woman, with a voice as deep sounding as Kathleen Turner' and with the confidence and sensuality of Sharon Stone. She had of late even taken to having her hair cut androgynously short. Audrey parked her Audi by the dreaded shops of Rodeo Drive again, purely owing to the awful fact there was no parking to be found elsewhere. She prayed she would not run into Michaela once more. But it was not to be. No sooner had she began to walk toward the office building by way of the stores that she ran into the familiar red-head, again in a chic, expensive dress, a scarf on her neck and carrying various shopping bags. "Do talk to me for a bit, will you? I think we should," she said. Audrey sighed. "You shouldn't say a word to me after my scene at the cafe, Michaela. I'm sure I hurt you and offended you deeply. And because I did not apologize -" "Listen. I've had my bouts of anger too." Was she serious? She was! There was no anger in her face. She even felt it had been nothing at all. Somewhat relieved but confused, Audrey looked at her and smiled dimly. She scrutinized her face further and did not see the same Michaela she had seen previously.She could not have changed overnight but she seemed as if she was sincere in her words. Perhaps something had triggered it. "You need not apologize, either," Michaela continued, "I should apologize to you. I know I treated you quite badly in high school. I stole Tony from you and I made you out to be some trashy, hopeless girl who'd go nowhere in life and for that I'm sorry." "It's quite alright," Audrey said, "and his name was not Tony." They shared a laugh. Michaela's laugh was different, too. Sweeter-sounding. "He was not Tony? Who was he then?" "And to think you used to swear you loved him to death. No, his name was Tyler. He was an artist and I just loved that about him. I've never kept in touch with him. think he moved to Boston and went to college there." "Oh, we were such fools. And still are. Forgive me. I am a bitch like you said. This is why I don't have any real friends like you must have. I have only false friends, fair-weather friends. If I didn't have a trust fund or credit card, they'd never visit me." So that was it. She was beginning to evaluate her life and her friends. She must have reached the age of thirty since she had last seen her that day at the cafe. Audrey smiled and took her hand. "You're really not that bad. I'm sure you're friends are not bad either." "Oh, but they are. You would call them worse things then what you called me. Listen, I've been reading your book -" She had been reading her book! "Las Vegas Lover. Oh, Audrey, it's terrific. I wanted to cry when Jon didn't show up at the airport and arrived late. Then it was so romantic how they agree never to see Vegas again and liberate themselves from its trap of greed and vice and they fly off to live together in an apartment in New York. It made me consider how utterly lovelorn I am. My fiance is cheating on me and I've said nothing just so I'll marry him because my folks want me to because he's rich. I want to find happiness and free myself from the love of money." "You'll never free yourself from that, I love money, too," Audrey said, "but you shouldn't let it rule you and enslave you. It's like drug addiction or alcoholism. We all need money to live comfortably but think of how much better you'll be if you prioritize friendship and love. I'm sorry to hear your fiance is unfaithful. Just don't marry him. Screw your folks and their expectations. You're a grown woman and you decide what's best for you." Romantic Novelist: Beverly Hills "I am sorry I was never a friend of yours. You're a nice girl. I wonder if it's possible if we can still be friends. I need someone like you now in my life." "I'm not a saint, I'm a writer and we have lots of flaws," Audrey said, " so don't put me on a pedestal or anything like that. I'd love to be your friend. You can meet me and Stephen for dinner tonight if you can get away. I'll give you my address. We'll talk about how you can change your life. Ah, here comes my agent now. I guess I'm really late for her to have to walk out here to meet me." "I'm surprised, Miss Rose, you're always so punctual," Gabrielle said, shaking her hand. "This is a - friend, Michaela Stanford," Audrey said. Michaela and Gabrielle shook hands briefly. "Shall we go to my office and discuss your book tour?" "By all means. Michaela, we'll meet up for dinner won't we?" "I'll be there." * * * * * Stephen was quietly absorbed in his girlfriend's novel, reading a page toward the back he selected to read at random, fueled by strong curiosity to see for himself just what made her writing so engaging. Plus, he felt he had to read it at one point or another, being her boyfriend, sharing in her triumph: Jon and Lola were alone again. The bright lights of Vegas no longer held any charms for them. They were staying at the Sahara, drinking champagne and hearing an Elvis record. This was to be their last night in Las Vegas. Jon sported a silver satin shirt, which made him glisten in a soft, silvery glow, and dark trousers. He handed Lola a single rose. She was looking every bit like a rose herself, donning a red backless gown which draped over her hour-glass figure beautifully. "To the most beautiful girl in the world, and the sweetest," he said. "I had no idea you were such a romantic, Jon," she replied, taking a whiff of the rose's fragrance. "Well I'm just full of surprises. Here's another." He retrieved a dainty velvet green box from his coat, which was hanging from his seat by the window. Upon opening the lid, Lola's eyes beheld a sparkling diamond on a gold band. It was not a heavy or ostentatious ring, nor was it miniscule. It was the right size for her finger, as if Jon had measured it to exactitude. "Will you make me the happiest man the world has ever known by accepting to be my wife? If you want we can marry right here in Vegas or we can marry anywhere in the world you want." Lola was speechless, and for her to be speechless was a rarity. Elvis' muscular voice romanced the night air. The pink, red, green and yellow neon lights, in a dizzying pattern of color, filled the view from their hotel window. Lola felt her heart beat wildly in her bosom. Never in two lifetimes would she have imagined she'd fall so deeply in love and so soon. But everything was so right. And she had come to know that Jon was, deep down, a good man, a man who needed to settle down and change his life's direction. Vegas was killing them both. If she accepted his proposal, they could live life away from the venomous glamour of Sin City, away from the roulette tables, from the soulless slot machines and away from the no good-doers everywhere. "I shall marry you, of course," she said. The kiss they shared was hotter and more impassioned than any kiss that had ever been kissed in the silver screen. Clark Gable needed to take lessons from Jon. Their lips were drunk on the wine of their passion. Tongues dueled, their hands sought each other's flesh in distinctly sexual hunger. But this time, their act of lovemaking would be one born of love, not lust. Truth be told they had succumbed to lust in previous times, but now their passion was mingled in the feelings of profound love for one another. So when they removed their clothes and stared into each other's eyes, there in the semi-darkness of the room, they felt now a more glorious, magical alchemy of feeling wrought by their newfound love. Oh, the promise of a happy life together. Jon expertly kissed down her throat which made Lola tilt her head back suddenly and she produced a sonorous moan. Her body was on fire, feeling the heat already, knowing that Jon would ravish her multiple times until their bodies were coated in sweat and they were locked in a tight embrace before sleep would descend over their spent bodies. Down her neck his mouth went, trailing kisses as if her body was marked with a visible line. He laved her navel and continued to rain kisses over her breasts. With both hands he kneaded her breasts and his mouth took in her nipples. Lola was panting now and she cried out Jon's name repeatedly. A rising tide of physical pleasure took over her and she knew that it would not be long before she would erupt like an active volcano. He lay her gently on the dark carpet, not bothering to take her to the more comfortable bed. She did not protest nor seemed to care in the least, for she, too, longed for their bodies to join as one with an urgency that could not be denied for long. This is damn good, Stephen thought to himself, and was even the slightest bit aroused, something which he did not expect to feel. It was after all a woman's book, a soft-core, titillating read that was also dressed up as romance. Now he was beginning to see why this sort of literature sold well. He went on reading. On her back on the hotel room floor, the lights of Vegas which became dim due to the lateness of the early morning darkness, Lola did not feel as if this was not in any way lascivious or wanton, like the vulgar roll in the hay between a prostitute and her john. She was aware that sordid business happened in Las Vegas, having seen it for herself during the time she was making her film. She knew also that prominent married men and their mistresses engaged in this sort of carnal act here, perhaps had even done so in this very hotel room. But she was beyond feeling any shame at all and that was because there was absolutely no need to feel so. She was in love. He was in love. They were expressing this love physically, in style, in a pleasantly creative way and it was so utterly liberating that it could not be sinful. She parted her legs for him, wet like a delta, her body needing him like oxygen. Jon groaned and panted, calling her name softly like a litany. They kissed as he leaned over her. She wrapped her legs around his long legs, and it was then when he began to slide his manhood into her in a swift, careless motion. In and out, in an exceedingly slow motion. Their breathing and moaning increased in volume. She threw her head back again. "I'm dying of pleasure, Jon," she managed to say. "No, I am, " he replied as he increased the speed of his thrusts. They were fucking. It felt as good as always and yet this time it was blessed in the beauty and the light of the love that bonded them as man and woman, a bond that could not, simply could not exist between other people they'd ever encounter for the rest of their lives. Stephen closed the book and put it on the coffee table of their apartment. Because he had been reading in silence, only the splash of waves by the beach was audible, and the sounds of occasional pedestrians, joggers and vehicles. Stephen sighed. It was no wonder why Audrey had enjoyed immense success with this debut novel. In a week's time, she would be traveling across the States to sign copies and discuss the book with fans and readers in various book stores.It was getting dark. Steve glanced at the clock shaped like a cat with the tail as pendulum which hung on the kitchen wall. It was six thirty. His stomach craved dinner. Where was Audrey? She had promised to make dinner herself and she even said she'd bring a friend. To Stephen's surprise, Audrey walked into the apartment, followed by a rather tall and slim redhead wearing a pretty and expensive looking dress. She even wore gloves. "Surprise," Audrey said, her voice filling the room, "Steve, this is Michaela Stanford. The Michaela I've told you about. We were in high school together. Her family is in the film industry and she lives in Beverly Hills". Because it made no sense to him and certainly did surprise him, Stephen only smiled an awkward smile and looked sheepish. Audrey laughed giddily. "You see, Michaela, I told Steve that we were almost like enemies. You were so mean to me in high school and then when we met again at the cafe in Beverly Hills, well, you know, he figured we'd have nothing to do with each other ever again." Michaela laughed. "Stephen, we're friends now, really," Audrey told him, " we made up. Truth is she needs our help desperately." "Oh, " said Stephen, "how so?" "Before we discuss anything other than pleasantries, let's have dinner first. Sit down next to Steve, Michaela, by the table over there and I'll make us some lasagna. You do eat that don't you? I have not taken in mind your tastes." "I eat that," Michaela replied, taking a look at the apartment. "Oh feel free to look around. Isn't it a lovely little place. Steve and I labored two whole days to get this place together." "It's charming." "Make yourself at home," Audrey said, her voice coming from the kitchen where she began to prepare the promised dinner. * * * * Audrey had outdone herself. For dessert, chocolate cake. She had some difficulty getting Michaela to eat it, for she begged Audrey to be more considerate of the fact she was presently on a diet; but in the end, she caved and ate owing to Audrey's sweet insistence. "It's no good being too thin," Audrey said to her, "enjoy life while you can. I saw a lot of walking skeletons in Beverly Hills and you are more alive than they are." "Oh, it's not that. I just don't normally eat dessert but what the hell," Michaela said, "it won't kill me. It's very good cake." " Steve, Audrey is in a precarious situation," Audrey told Steve, who was drinking the tea that accompanied the cake, " you see, she ...well, do you want to tell him, Michaela or should I?" "I've recently discovered my fiance has betrayed me with another," Michaela replied flatly, and she felt relieved rather than shamed to say it. "I'm sorry," was Stephen's reply. "No need to be. He's an a-hole. He's no good. I should have known better than to allow my parents to push me into it." "Into what?" Stephen said and his eyes widened a bit. "I'm royally screwed, " Michaela bemoaned, " I meant pressuring me into a marriage of convenience. They want me to marry him for his money and social standing. They are so certain we will make a fine team and they've invested so much into this." "Wow, a marriage of convenience? I had no idea those things still existed. You mean almost like an arranged marriage? That's like out of the 19th century." "Oh, it's awful, especially because I know he's cheating on me and will most likely continue to do so through the marriage. He's an arrogant and self-centered bastard and I've been putting up with him. I can't say anything. I'm so afraid. So afraid to stand up for myself, so afraid to anger my family and his family. If I marry him, I'll be miserable for the rest of my life. If I speak against the marriage, I'll lose everything. I may even be disinherited. I'll lose my friends - " "You can't let them win," Audrey said, the volume of her voice increasing, seeing how hurt Michaela was, " you have to let them know how you feel. You must dare to even tell your folks that the fiance they believe to be so perfect and right for you is cheating on you. Tell them you will marry the man you feel best for you and money and status will not be the priority. Love will be the priority." "Oh, Audrey, it's so easy for you. You speak your mind and you're so passionate. I've always been the "good girl" and complied to my family's wishes. I've even become quite comfortable in the Beverly Hills lifestyle. I have so much fun playing tennis in fine country clubs, traveling all over the globe, having friends in high places, partying with movie stars - " "The friends you've made are superficial and don't love you for you," Audrey said, " you told me so yourself. You're lonely, Michaela. You need real friends who will love you for you. You need to be around warm and compassionate people, hard-working people. You need to live a life that is less shallow. And as for love, that's something you can offer to a man who will offer the same." "You're so right, I know. But where will I find the courage to stand up to my folks? Would you dare to help me out with all this or must I face it alone?" "It is far better we support you on this, Steve and I. Listen, we are going to do the following," Audrey had never been more dictatorial, " we are going to confront your folks and your fiance in a seemingly casual social situation. Invite them to a surprise rendezvous in Beverly Hills. You pick the location and tell Steve and myself about the location." "There is only one place for something like this, " Michaela said, " and it's the Beverly Hills Hotel. What do you intend to do?" "In the presence of your fiance you will tell you're folks that you have decided to end the engagement and even the relationship for the reason that he is cheating on you. Do you know much about the other woman? Do you have any solid evidence of his unfaithfulness?" "Actually I don't have physical evidence. I know her. She's in the same charity group I'm part of. I know she's from an affluent family from New York and she has an apartment in Hollywood somewhere. I think she comes to LA on business and leisure. I've seen them sneak off into hotels, going into restaurants, kissing in her car, kissing in his car, driving off on a limousine and so forth. Damn, I should have taken photos." "Is it too late to do that now? Do they meet one another often?" "They do. But I can't take photos and follow them around. If they catch me I'm in trouble." "Then I'll have to do that. Steven and I." "Oh, no, Audrey. I can't ask you to do something so dangerous." "Think nothing of it. I'm very discreet. Right, Steve?" "Very. She's almost like a spy or secret agent." They laughed. Michaela did, too, her laughter like a tinkling of glasses. "So don't worry about a thing. It will be an adventure and an experience. And God knows Steve and I need more of that to become good writers." (To Be Continued)