They meet at a party. In Hollywood, that is usually how these things happen.
At somebody's mansion, high in the hills on a late August night, where the city is a vague, distant glow, and you can sort of see the stars - that is where they meet.
It is a mundane sort of thing - a mutual half-friend makes the introductions, they shake hands and look each other over and declare their pleasure in meeting the other and that is that.
A thousand tiny white lights have been thrown over the landscaping and around the pool, the better to obscure the stars and keep the focus where it should be - on the ground.
He tries, though, to see past and up to the sky. He is craning his neck, seeking out Orion - The Southern Cross is out of view in this hemisphere - but from the northern view, he's never quite sure what he's seeing. If he is being honest, he is a little weary of L.A. at the moment. Stars are people and the Milky Way is a chocolate bar - it's all upside down.
"Looking for something?" It's the woman in the silver dress, the not-an-actress-but-still-a-big-deal whose name he can't remember. He can remember the imagined look of her without the dress, but not her name. God, he's a terrible person.
"Not really. Never can see the stars in this town. Not properly."
"Something of a delightful irony, isn't it," she laughs.
"Don't tell anyone else, though, they might have your head."
"Don't worry about my head, I can take care of myself. Karl, right?"
"Yeah. Sorry, I - I forgot your name."
"Forgiven. You were distracted by the dress."
"Thank God it's dark out here, or else you'd see me blushing."
"Too bad. I think I'd like to see that."
"You still haven't told me your name."
"Now that I've got your full attention - it's Dani."
"I'll be sure to remember this time."
night breezes seem to whisper
He calls her, and it goes something like this:
"Dani, short for Daniella, it's Karl."
"I see you've cyberstalked me."
"Man invented Google for a reason."
"I'm looking at your IMDB page right now."
"Do I pass?"
"Oh, was this a test?"
"That's the impression I was under."
"Well, then. A gold star for you."
"I'll take a date instead."
"Oh, you will, will you?"
"You and me and a ridiculously sporty car and Highway 1. Whaddya say?"
"Sounds like a plan. Or the beginning of one."
"Oh, trust me, it is just the beginning."
birds singing in the sycamore tree
"I've been warned about you," she says, over wine and sandwiches and a picnic blanket.
"Warned?"
"It seems you have something of a reputation."
"For what exactly?"
"That's where it gets really - weird. Apparently you're a really nice guy. And something of a nerd."
"I prefer the term intellectual badass."
She falls back laughing and he follows her down. "Are you even real?" She touches a finger to his lips.
"I sure hope so."
"You feel real."
"What a relief. Now about that nice guy thing - "
linger 'til dawn
"Point well proven. You're not a nice guy at all." The deadpan delivery is ruined by a giggle as his fingers tease the bare skin just below her ribs.
"Somehow, I don't think you're complaining."
"Nope. Not a single complaint."
"Good." His mouth follows the path of his fingers, down, down. "But just in case you didn't quite get the point."
"Just in case," she agrees, twisting her fingers into his hair.
dream a little dream of me
They meet - again, much later - at a party.
The hostess introduces them - they've been very good at keeping it quiet - they shake hands, he undresses her with his eyes and cracks a joke about celestial bodies.
It is a memory, a promise, a secret written on her skin.
Everyone laughs.
Everyone goes their separate ways. And that is the way it goes in Hollywood.
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timeasmymeasure
This Lovely Ballad
Date: 2010-11-15 08:48 pm (UTC)They meet at a party. In Hollywood, that is usually how these things happen.
At somebody's mansion, high in the hills on a late August night, where the city is a vague, distant glow, and you can sort of see the stars - that is where they meet.
It is a mundane sort of thing - a mutual half-friend makes the introductions, they shake hands and look each other over and declare their pleasure in meeting the other and that is that.
A thousand tiny white lights have been thrown over the landscaping and around the pool, the better to obscure the stars and keep the focus where it should be - on the ground.
He tries, though, to see past and up to the sky. He is craning his neck, seeking out Orion - The Southern Cross is out of view in this hemisphere - but from the northern view, he's never quite sure what he's seeing. If he is being honest, he is a little weary of L.A. at the moment. Stars are people and the Milky Way is a chocolate bar - it's all upside down.
"Looking for something?" It's the woman in the silver dress, the not-an-actress-but-still-a-big-deal whose name he can't remember. He can remember the imagined look of her without the dress, but not her name. God, he's a terrible person.
"Not really. Never can see the stars in this town. Not properly."
"Something of a delightful irony, isn't it," she laughs.
"Don't tell anyone else, though, they might have your head."
"Don't worry about my head, I can take care of myself. Karl, right?"
"Yeah. Sorry, I - I forgot your name."
"Forgiven. You were distracted by the dress."
"Thank God it's dark out here, or else you'd see me blushing."
"Too bad. I think I'd like to see that."
"You still haven't told me your name."
"Now that I've got your full attention - it's Dani."
"I'll be sure to remember this time."
night breezes seem to whisper
He calls her, and it goes something like this:
"Dani, short for Daniella, it's Karl."
"I see you've cyberstalked me."
"Man invented Google for a reason."
"I'm looking at your IMDB page right now."
"Do I pass?"
"Oh, was this a test?"
"That's the impression I was under."
"Well, then. A gold star for you."
"I'll take a date instead."
"Oh, you will, will you?"
"You and me and a ridiculously sporty car and Highway 1. Whaddya say?"
"Sounds like a plan. Or the beginning of one."
"Oh, trust me, it is just the beginning."
birds singing in the sycamore tree
"I've been warned about you," she says, over wine and sandwiches and a picnic blanket.
"Warned?"
"It seems you have something of a reputation."
"For what exactly?"
"That's where it gets really - weird. Apparently you're a really nice guy. And something of a nerd."
"I prefer the term intellectual badass."
She falls back laughing and he follows her down. "Are you even real?" She touches a finger to his lips.
"I sure hope so."
"You feel real."
"What a relief. Now about that nice guy thing - "
linger 'til dawn
"Point well proven. You're not a nice guy at all." The deadpan delivery is ruined by a giggle as his fingers tease the bare skin just below her ribs.
"Somehow, I don't think you're complaining."
"Nope. Not a single complaint."
"Good." His mouth follows the path of his fingers, down, down. "But just in case you didn't quite get the point."
"Just in case," she agrees, twisting her fingers into his hair.
dream a little dream of me
They meet - again, much later - at a party.
The hostess introduces them - they've been very good at keeping it quiet - they shake hands, he undresses her with his eyes and cracks a joke about celestial bodies.
It is a memory, a promise, a secret written on her skin.
Everyone laughs.
Everyone goes their separate ways. And that is the way it goes in Hollywood.