really met Lilia Purcell and she’d been… okay. Nice. I mean, God, she was gorgeous. Just thinking about her pushing me back on the bed during the audition started a train of thought that was definitely not conducive to getting up. Well, not all of me.
I frowned at the tent that I was pitching under the sheet and tried to ignore it. I looked at my phone to see what time it was. Oh yeah, I’d turned it off. I needed to get an adaptor for my charger if I was going to be able to use it, and I needed to find an internet café so I could email Clare again. She’d be sending out search and rescue if I didn’t stay in touch regularly. I rolled my eyes – her overprotectiveness could be really irritating sometimes, even though I knew it came from a good place. I wondered what she was doing now. What time was it there? I didn’t know. It was eight hours difference, but I couldn’t remember if London was ahead or behind. Whatever.
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched the room spin slowly – I must have had too much of Rhonda’s expensive bourbon last night – by which point I’d been awake for about 36 hours. I fumbled for my jeans. They were lying in a heap on the floor where I’d dropped them last night. My case was in the corner, still packed, so I rifled through it and found a black t-shirt that was slightly less creased than the rest. At least I wasn’t going to need a jacket – it was a balmy seventy degrees every day. I didn’t have any particular plans but I thought I’d head into town – wherever that was – maybe do some sightseeing while I was there.
Rhonda said she was working on getting me some more auditions, but for now I was free of responsibility or commitment. It felt good.
It was exciting, too, the thought of being on the loose in Hollywood, home of the world’s hottest women – and Lilia Purcell. Hmm, best not to think about her – stick to reality, not fantasy. I suddenly realized that I was starving. I wondered what the protocol was for rummaging through my agent’s fridge. Maybe I should find a coffee shop instead.
But more than food, I wanted a shower. I pulled on my jeans, not bothering with the buttons, and stumbled off to the bathroom.
“Dios mio!”
A short, dumpy Hispanic woman was staring at me in horror. What? I didn’t know who was most shocked but when she started to back away from me, crossing herself as she went and clasping her hands in prayer, I reckoned it was probably her. Shit! She must have thought I was some sort of intruder!
“No! Wait”
She turned and ran, screaming as she went.
Shit! What if she called the police?
“What the hell is going on here?”
Rhonda. Thank God.
She strode up the stairs and gaped when she saw me.
“Miles! What are you doing?”
“I… I was just going to have a shower. And… and she… that woman… she just started screaming!”
Rhonda looked bemused for a second and then smiled.
“Adelita,” she called to the quaking woman hiding behind her, “this is my house guest Miles. Miles, meet Adelita, my housekeeper.”
“Er… hi. Nice to meet you,” I stammered. Could that have been any more embarrassing? I made a grab for my jeans before they headed further south and I caught the fearful look Adelita threw at Rhonda before she mumbled something in Spanish. Rhonda replied and Adelita’s stance relaxed. She nodded at me, smiled shyly then wandered back down the stairs muttering to herself.
I was still holding up my jeans and feeling like a complete twat.
“Er, is everything okay?”
Rhonda smiled broadly. “Oh sure! First she thought you were a rapist and then she thought you were my lover…”
I was pretty certain my face was the color of a London bus.
“…which surprised her considerably since she knows I’m a lesbian.”
“Oh!” I croaked, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears. “Right.”
“Go take a shower, Miles, we need to talk,” said Rhonda, still smiling to herself.
Shit. That was
I frowned at the tent that I was pitching under the sheet and tried to ignore it. I looked at my phone to see what time it was. Oh yeah, I’d turned it off. I needed to get an adaptor for my charger if I was going to be able to use it, and I needed to find an internet café so I could email Clare again. She’d be sending out search and rescue if I didn’t stay in touch regularly. I rolled my eyes – her overprotectiveness could be really irritating sometimes, even though I knew it came from a good place. I wondered what she was doing now. What time was it there? I didn’t know. It was eight hours difference, but I couldn’t remember if London was ahead or behind. Whatever.
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched the room spin slowly – I must have had too much of Rhonda’s expensive bourbon last night – by which point I’d been awake for about 36 hours. I fumbled for my jeans. They were lying in a heap on the floor where I’d dropped them last night. My case was in the corner, still packed, so I rifled through it and found a black t-shirt that was slightly less creased than the rest. At least I wasn’t going to need a jacket – it was a balmy seventy degrees every day. I didn’t have any particular plans but I thought I’d head into town – wherever that was – maybe do some sightseeing while I was there.
Rhonda said she was working on getting me some more auditions, but for now I was free of responsibility or commitment. It felt good.
It was exciting, too, the thought of being on the loose in Hollywood, home of the world’s hottest women – and Lilia Purcell. Hmm, best not to think about her – stick to reality, not fantasy. I suddenly realized that I was starving. I wondered what the protocol was for rummaging through my agent’s fridge. Maybe I should find a coffee shop instead.
But more than food, I wanted a shower. I pulled on my jeans, not bothering with the buttons, and stumbled off to the bathroom.
“Dios mio!”
A short, dumpy Hispanic woman was staring at me in horror. What? I didn’t know who was most shocked but when she started to back away from me, crossing herself as she went and clasping her hands in prayer, I reckoned it was probably her. Shit! She must have thought I was some sort of intruder!
“No! Wait”
She turned and ran, screaming as she went.
Shit! What if she called the police?
“What the hell is going on here?”
Rhonda. Thank God.
She strode up the stairs and gaped when she saw me.
“Miles! What are you doing?”
“I… I was just going to have a shower. And… and she… that woman… she just started screaming!”
Rhonda looked bemused for a second and then smiled.
“Adelita,” she called to the quaking woman hiding behind her, “this is my house guest Miles. Miles, meet Adelita, my housekeeper.”
“Er… hi. Nice to meet you,” I stammered. Could that have been any more embarrassing? I made a grab for my jeans before they headed further south and I caught the fearful look Adelita threw at Rhonda before she mumbled something in Spanish. Rhonda replied and Adelita’s stance relaxed. She nodded at me, smiled shyly then wandered back down the stairs muttering to herself.
I was still holding up my jeans and feeling like a complete twat.
“Er, is everything okay?”
Rhonda smiled broadly. “Oh sure! First she thought you were a rapist and then she thought you were my lover…”
I was pretty certain my face was the color of a London bus.
“…which surprised her considerably since she knows I’m a lesbian.”
“Oh!” I croaked, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears. “Right.”
“Go take a shower, Miles, we need to talk,” said Rhonda, still smiling to herself.
Shit. That was
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