GLASS_ A Standalone Novel - Arianne Richmonde Page 0,24
my “brand.” The accidental sex symbol who dresses like a boy. Minimal makeup, minimal effort. Doesn’t give a damn.
I contemplated the new direction I was taking in my career. For the first time in my life I considered what it was to be famous and more importantly, the money that would come with it. Able to pay my bills, help out my brother. I tasted it like the metallic taste of blood—dangerous, bad for me. But I wanted it anyway. I needed it.
And I was going to go after it.
Hollywood, here I come.
7
STAR LENT ME HER custom-made, sky-blue Porsche, which had a very fancy, integral GPS system. I had no idea where I was going so I drove blindly, following Snoop Doggy Dog’s instructions (yeah, really), until I ended up on Mulholland Drive in the Hollywood Hills, where Daniel was staying at a friend’s house. The friend was away indefinitely and had lent Daniel his home for as long as he needed it. My dream had me so convinced it was real that I was surprised that he was not staying in Malibu near me, “just up the beach a ways.”
As I approached a pair of enormous iron gates, I hesitated, but they magically opened so I knew I’d come to the right place. The house was a swanky, Mediterranean style villa, with steps leading up to it, circular balconies, and a sweeping driveway big enough to accommodate a good forty or so cars. There were neatly trimmed hedges, Versailles style, and views looking to the mountains in every direction.
Daniel was standing on the steps, waiting for me. He was dressed in black. He often dressed in black. It suited his intense disposition. I could make out his pectoral and chest muscles beneath his T-shirt, his strong, tanned forearms—tanned from being here in LA—I supposed. He stood there, legs apart, not smiling, but his penetrating gaze told me he was glad to see me.
I pulled the car up and got out, swiveling my legs around as if I were wearing a short skirt—then remembered I was just wearing skinny jeans.
“It’s seems incongruous, doesn’t it?”
I cocked my head. “What does?” It was that awkward moment; the kiss on both cheeks. When we were rehearsing none of us ever did the thespian air kiss with Daniel. He didn’t like it. He used to say, ‘We see each other every day, for Christ’s sake, save the lovey dovey daahling kisses for opening night.’
But he stepped down, put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Welcome to La La Land where you and I don’t belong.”
“How do you know I don’t belong here?”
“Because I know.”
“This place is outrageous,” I said, doing a three-sixty. “So flashy!”
“Did you bring your swimsuit? There’s a heated saltwater pool with cascades, and God knows what.”
I hadn’t brought my swimsuit, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel being undressed in front of him, so I purposefully left it behind. “I forgot,” I said. “How long are you staying in LA, then?”
“Only a couple more days. As I said, I’m bailing on the movie so there’s no point being here longer.”
“You could catch a few rays. Hang out a while.”
“I don’t ‘hang out,’ Janie, you should know that by now.”
I smiled. “Yeah, I should know that by now. A girl can dream.”
He turned to me, took me by the hand, and stared me in the eye a full ten seconds (which felt like a millennium) and said, “What do you dream about, Janie Juilliard?”
I could feel myself turning beet-red, from my toes all the way up to my hair, which felt like it was standing on end with the charge of electricity between us. You, and little else. “This and that.”
He pulled me by the hand, leading me into the enormous circular foyer that shone marble, and twinkled with crystal chandeliers, and vast floor to ceiling picture windows. He had never held my hand before—well, once, just to lead me upstage during rehearsal, to show me where to stand. His hand was warm and firm, and I tried not to grip it too hard. His other hand he slid around my waist. I could sense myself tingling all over. “Well, I dreamt about you, Janie, last night.”
What?? I couldn’t answer, my mouth parted in shock. “And?”
“I was fu . . . following you,” he said, and he swallowed hard. He narrowed his cerulean-blue eyes, locking his gaze on mine as if he were reading my thoughts.