The Catalyst: Book One (The Pop Stars)
Danielle Blanchard Benson
Copyright © 2012 by Danielle Blanchard Benson
Smashwords Edition
The Catalyst: Book One (The Pop Stars)
Copyright © 2012 by Danielle Blanchard Benson
Cover Artist: Jack Wallen (Copyright © 2012 http://monkeypantz.net/?cat=127)
Photographer: Branislav Ostojic (Copyright © 2012 www.depositphotos.com)
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-1-4660-6310-5
Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously; any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from The Making of a Star: Book Two
I would like to thank Janne, Stephanie, Mandy, Nikki, Alicia, Magali, Sonja, Guillaume, Manon, Jordane, Nicolas, Renaud and the rest of my crew in Versailles who put up with this starving artist at some of the worst times in my life.
My “Write or Die” chicks (Indie Chicks Anthology 2011) who know who they are but that isn’t enough as they need to be named so thank you Cheryl S., Cheryl B., Christine D., Dani A., Carol L., Shea M., Heather, Lizzy, Linda, Sarah, Julia, Michelle, Melissa S., Melissa F., Anne, Barbara, Christine K., Donna, Sibel, Katherine, Suzanne, Talia, Mel, and Prue.
Last but not least, all my fans who have stuck by me and my extended families on II/IWU/CIC/WEW and all the other Facebook groups I belong to and the people who in them who have given me sound advice. I’m not sure what is above us but I’m sure She/He has something to do with this gift so You get equal treatment with my extended family.
Cancun, Mexico
Damian Phillips moved in a dream-like state. He couldn’t believe this shit was happening yet again.
Sleep had come so blessedly easy for him that evening until Erika awoke him in a panicked state. Her anxiety alone was enough to rouse him from what had been a decadently pleasant dream.
Damian’s schedule had been light that day and since he hadn’t any night scenes, decided to retire early that evening. Fortunately, for him, he had missed the tragedy but the aftermath had been no less than spectacularly bizarre enough to spook him for awhile.
He turned in time to see Ava being questioned by the lead investigator, Detective Ricardo Gomez. She looked so scared and innocent, like a small child, and he had never recalled her looking more beautiful than she looked that night. He remembered all the different reasons why he had fallen in love with her in the first place just by looking at her and it wasn’t good seeing as they both were dating other people at the moment.
She returned his stare for a beat but as far as he was concerned, time seemed to stand still.
Suddenly he shook his head, trying to free himself of every emotion and wanton thought of Ava as he realized that Chyna had begun a one-sided conversation with him.
“. . . Can you believe this shit, Ian? I mean, how unlucky is this film shoot anyway? First, there was Montezuma’s fucking revenge going around and then that goddamned accident which resulted in a crew person losing a leg and now this! Damn, I know I haven’t had a lot of film work but this is just fucking ridiculous if you ask me.”
Detective Gomez looked up from his questioning of Ava and stared at the two fair-haired Americans standing next to one another, deep in conversation, although to be honest, the guy looked disinterested to say the least.
He hated to admit it but as good as it was for local businesses, it was just a bad idea for these American companies to travel south to what was once such a beautiful and prized land to ruin it. After this horrible crew left, there was another yet film planned to shoot there in Cancun and shortly after that, Spring Break would be imposed on the locals yet again; just another reason for irresponsible, stupid gringos to get drunk and inevitably get in trouble.
Detective Gomez hated these clueless Americans, who always decided to give him unwanted and unnecessary advice, thinking they were damn near forensic experts just because they digested a few hours of CSI and Court TV.
He looked down at his notes before approaching the pair.
“Senior Phillips and Senorita Bleu, I presume?” he inquired in his careful English.
“Yes, that’s correct,” Chyna spoke up in a throaty, sensual voice.
Damian only managed a sarcastic smirk.
“Am I correct in the assumption that neither of you witnessed this horrific accident?”
“You sure are cuz I was in bed, Detective. However, what I don’t seem to understand is how it happened in the first place. . .”
Damian blocked Chyna out as she continued to occupy the Detective’s time by doing what she did best—that would be to run her mouth incessantly. Once again, his gaze drifted towards Ava who looked so lost. Both Dominic and Erika tried to console her but she had shied away quickly.
“Detective, I’ll be right back,” he said and left their side.
Damian walked over and stood at Ava’s side. As he reached her, they stared into each other’s eyes, completely mesmerized. Words weren’t exchanged as he took the opportunity to take her into his arms. She did not fight his embrace but instead readily accepted it. He could feel her trembling body pressed against his. She wanted to cry or scream but it took all her will power to control all the emotions she desperately wanted to release.
“It’s all right. We’ll figure something out, won’t we?” he offered quietly in her ear.
“I don’t know—will we?” she responded softly.
“What ever happened, I know it wasn’t your fault. You don’t have a malicious bone in your body. After everything we’ve been through in the past year, don’t you think our lives ought to get better? It seems like where ever we are, tragedy is sure to follow.”
He felt her whole body sag within his arms. “I know and I hate it. God, I would love to know why I want and need you so desperately in my life although I fight what I am feeling every step of the way.”
Ava suddenly disentangled herself from Damian’s arms and looked at him before breaking into laughter at the most inappropriate time.
“What’s so funny?” he feigned innocently.
“Nothing. Everything. How the hell did our lives become so fucked up?” she inquired softly.
“I don’t know about yours but mine has been screwed up from day one. How could it not be with a mother like mine?”
Ava glared at him coolly. “Okay, when did everything between us become so jaded and complicated?”
“Ask me that in the morning when I can give you an intelligent and well thought-out answer.”
Damian grabbed Ava’s hands and held them within his own. They stood there, mesmerized by each other as if they could see into one another’s souls. Their glare was finally broken when Detective Gomez walked over to them with a couple of his minions in tow.
“Senorita Martín, I’m sorry to inform you but this doesn’t appear to be an accident after all. There were eleven rubber bullets in the weapon you fired . . . but the last bullet in the gun was real.” Detective Gomez explained.
“I d-don’t understand—”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” Damian interrupted a flustered Ava.
“I’m not trying to say anything at all, what I am stating that Senior Hernandez—Senior O’Flannery’s body double—was murdered.”
Summer of 2003
Los Angeles, California
Ava Martín walked into Calienté like she owned the place.
She looked sexy yet inaccessible in a black spaghetti-strapped top and white, silk jeans that clung to every curve of her body. Her very modern outfit was finished off with a pair of black, patent leather Christian Louboutin platform heels.
Calienté was an upscale, fusion Caribbean-Mexican restaurant in Century City where the young, beautiful, Hollywood elite liked to see and be seen. The clientele was strictly professionals involved in the entertainment industry, whether they were actors, actresses, singers and songwriters, producers, directors and executives.
Ava was a true and natural beauty, despite her fashionable wardrobe. She was one of the fortunate, blessed with pedigree genes; an original ice queen sans the requisite blonde hair and alabaster complexion.
She was the perfect blend of alluring and exotic in the looks department.
At 5’4 and one hundred ten pounds, she was lithe and firm but womanly with her thirty-two inch bust, twenty-four inch waist and shapely legs. Her deep olive complexion allowed her a year round glow and complimented her long dark auburn hair, pale green eyes, cute button nose and bee-stung lips.
Ava was the daughter of Senator Nicolas Martín II and former supermodel-turned-socialite Anna Desruisseaux-Martín. She was also the sister of hotshot Hollywood agent, James Martín. It was a well-established fact that she was a woman who knew all the right people and therefore considered a very hot property indeed.
Neither her looks nor her social registry played on her mind as she approached the table where her boyfriend, Tyrone Porter, sat stoically.
Ava and Tyrone were considered one of the perfect couples amongst their friends and a young woman like Ava had all the right friends.
Her two BFF (Best Fuckin' Friends—none of that Best Friends Forever bullshit) were Chyna Bleu, Princess of pop—soon to be Queen once Madonna hung up her hat and decided to retire—and Jenna Kensit, supermodel and daughter of Academy Award winning actress, Carolyn Kensit, and Kit Kensit, English rock star royalty supreme.
Ava blocked all this out of her mind as she embraced Tyrone before taking a seat directly across from him.
“Jesus, you had to have us come here during the lunch crowd, didn’t you?” Ava remarked as a handsome waiter immediately made his way over to their table.
“Well, it was the only free time I had. I am a working actor, you know,” Tyrone replied before addressing the waiter. “The lady will have a margarita, no salt, and I will have a Glenlivet and soda.”
“Sounds serious,” she responded after the waiter was out of hearing distance. “Ty, is everything okay?”
Tyrone stared at her, his body oozing confidence and sexuality—a sultry combination from the hue of his mocha complexion and lean ripples of muscle that were visible through the lightweight cream-colored Sean John silk shirt and charcoal gray slacks he wore. “Of course everything is okay, Ave, stop worrying so much.”
She could tell everything was indeed not okay by the way he used her nickname in such a patronising manner. Something was, indeed, very wrong.
Ava suddenly remembered Chyna telling her about a similar incident to this one with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, pop star Damian Phillips. He’d dumped her in an upscale, crowded restaurant during the lunch hour so she couldn’t possibly make a scene for fear that she might tarnish her spotless and squeaky-clean reputation. Could the same scenario be happening to Ava this time?
The waiter delivered their drinks and Ava’s icy façade slightly cracked as she took a healthy swig from her margarita. Her heart was thundering in her chest and too many emotions were bubbling too close to the surface—she desperately needed to get a grip on the current situation at hand but how could she?
She cleared her throat before she inquired, “Are you leaving me?”
Tyrone’s brown eyes stared deeply into hers. “I’m afraid so but please don’t take this the wrong way. Ave, you are a wonderful girl—all my friends brag about you all the time. They think you are one sexy mother—”
“Please, watch your language, we’re in public,” Ava cut off dramatically.
“Girl, you know what I mean. I can’t help it cuz I want you to know how lucky I knew I was when I was with you.” Tyrone paused before he swigged from his Glenlivet and soda. “But that’s not enough anymore. I need a woman to want me, to understand me and unfortunately, that woman can’t be you.”
Ava involuntarily clutched at her collarbone with a perfectly manicured hand before quickly resting it on the table. She felt like she was going to be sick and no matter what Tyrone told her from this point onward, the feeling would only continue to get worse.
“Listen, I know you’re a career girl and I respect that. It was the reason why I stepped to you when we attended UCLA. You’re beautiful, intelligent, opinionated and ballsy—you’re the perfect woman, from the outside.”
“I don’t understand you at all!” Ava wispered angrily. “If I am so perfect, so cosmopolitan, then why are you dumping me? Don’t get me wrong—I can deal with the fact that you are leaving me, what I don’t understand is why you chose to tell me at Calienté? You know this is one of my favourite restaurants!”
“Well, I’m not going to pretend to be a saint, Ave. I am leaving you for another woman but I wanted to tell you why so we could have closure—”
“And what the fuck is so great about closure?! My God, Ty, you sound like a bitch, you know that?” Ava’s green eyes paled several shades as she tried to calm herself down. “So, who is she?”
“Jenna and I are going out,” he stated proudly.
“Jenna, as in American male fantasy Jenna?”
“Yes.”
“As in everything is natural including the blonde hair, blue eyes and C-cup boobs Jenna?”
“That very one.”
“Jenna, as in Kit and Carolyn Kensit’s daughter, Jenna?”
“Is there another?”
“Jenna as in . . . my . . . best . . . friend . . . Jenna?”
“Goddamn, woman, yes, we are talking about Jenna fucking Kensit, all right?” Tyrone finally snapped angrily.
“Last time I checked, ‘fucking’ wasn’t her middle name,” Ava retorted coldly. “How could you do this to me? Have you no shame? Have you no human decency what so ever? I grew up with the girl for Christ’s sake—she and Chyna are my best friends!”
“It just happened,” Tyrone said and he shook his head sadly as if she were the one behaving badly. “See, I knew you were gonna trip about this but what Jenna and I have is real. Baby, I wish it could have been with you but it just wasn’t meant to be—let it go.”
“Why her?” Ava inquired softly.
“We just clicked. Damn, woman, some things just can’t be explained,” Tyrone finished his drink. “Look, Jen wanted us all to be cool and stay friends. I came for her. If it were up to me, I would have texted you cuz I knew you were gonna trip. She may look like the ice queen but she has more passion in one finger than you have in your whole goddamn body. There, I said it! I’m tired of tip-toeing around you. Yes, you are a gorgeous woman, Ave, but you’re too fuckin’ frigid.”
Ava could barely hear through the fog surrounding her head.
“Frigid,” she said as if it were the most profane word in the English dictionary.
“Yeah. I need a sexual woman and most of the time, you’re either too busy or you’re not in the mood. Jenna understands where I’m coming from and we were there for each other. Our relationship just came about and I don’t regret it at all. She’s been there for me in ways you never could. She likes me to hold her and she likes to be on my arm. All I am is an ornament—your house nigga to take home to mommy and daddy. Well, that’s not enough. I need a woman who wants to be with me for me.”
“God, you’re completely pathetic, you know that?” Ava stood and nearly knocked over her chair in the process as she grabbed her oversized Prada bag. “You always were an asshole, Ty. You know what, fuck you.”
“Damn it, Ave, don’t make a scene, we can talk this out—”
“Talk? We have nothing else to talk about as far as I’m concerned. I have nothing else to say to you, you sorry son of a bitch. I don’t believe you would do this to me—you humiliate me in public and then talk about my bedroom skills as if we were on an episode of Jerry Springer! Did it ever occur to you the reason why I didn’t like sleeping with you was because you couldn’t make love? Every time we were together, you acted like you were auditioning for Ron Jeremy’s job. If Jenna likes that kind of sex—more power to you and her, you bastard.”
Tyrone shook his head. “If that’s the way you want to play it, fine. Ava, I am not going to do the shouting match because that is what you want and I don’t intend on you getting your way for a moment longer. I’m man enough to admit that perhaps our sex wasn’t up to par because you made sex seem like a chore and my heart was rarely in it. Now, you have freedom to go out and find a man who can thoroughly please you . . . the way I have found a woman who satisfies me . . . in every way.”
His calmness over the whole situation angered Ava more than she thought she could stand. She stormed out of the restaurant before overwhelming emotions caused her to make a scene and as soon as she was comfortably behind the wheel of her 2003 BMW X4 sports utility vehicle, she began to feel better.
There was nothing Ava loved to do more than drive. She slipped in some aggressive rap-rock, Linkin Park’s Hybrid Theory fit the bill, and drove all over the west side of Los Angeles. Although she was supposed to head back to the office after her lunch meeting with Tyrone, she was no longer in the mood to work. She immediately called Traci, her administrative assistant, and told her she would not be back in the office for the day but could be reached on her Blackberry if any pressing issues arose.
Tyrone was right about one thing: although Ava was as well known for her cold and calculating attitude as she was for her family name and lineage, she was an intelligent, driven young woman who had a job that most people would murder to have. She was head of production at Glass Ceiling Productions. Her bosses: Erika Stenfeldt, Cristal Englund-Carter and Elin Johansson-Nordstrom, owned the company, therefore, she reported directly to them.
It was her job to wade through the thousands of scripts they received each month and come up with several projects that could potentially be worth making into films.
It was actually Ava’s ingenuity which had found the book that turned into a script, Crazed, Faded and Manipulated, the project which had been a bona fide hit for Glass Ceiling Productions that summer although Erika had taken the credit.
The film, which paired red-hot stars Bijoux Hughes and Ben DiMera with pop star couple Damian Phillips and Chyna Bleu, had earned over one hundred and twenty million so far and the summer was far from over.
Thanks to Ava’s innate sense of what would be popular with the public, Glass Ceiling Productions had Crazed, Faded and Manipulated in the bag along with the other Bijoux Hughes vehicle, Digital Hard Drive, the first installment of the blockbuster trilogy scheduled for a late Autumn release. The film, which paired the young, gorgeous star with her then-fiancé-now-husband, Rick Riordon, as a dynamic duo who must battle evil and save the earth, was destined to be a cult classic similar to the Matrix Trilogy and one of the highest anticipated films of the year.
Ava couldn’t grasp the irony of the whole situation. Her career was very successful and at the tender age of twenty-five, she had money and prestige while her love life was a complete and utter failure.
She continued to make her way down the highway, Linkin Park was eventually replaced by the depressing, metal-heavy sound of Britney Mann, which was later replaced by the moaning, sexual rock of Kirk Becker, followed by the moaning, sexual pop of 54U. Just thinking about the boy band reminded her of Chyna. Her mobile phone began to go off, the ring-tone was Chyna’s first U.S. number one hit, “Come & Get It”, and she immediately answered her phone.
“Hello.”
“Hey, girl, what’s up? It’s your best friend. Remember me, ghetto Barbie?” Chyna greeted on the other end.
“Of course I do, honey. So, what’s up with you, sweetie? Are you in L.A.? I’m desperate for some company,” Ava responded solemnly.
“When do I ever call your cell phone if I’m not in L.A.? Drop by my Beverly Hills pad in twenty, okay, sweet stuff?”
“Should I bring anything?”
“Just a bottle of Grey Goose vodka—I’m out. We’ll indulge on my famous Cosmopolitans and you’ll tell me all about your problems.”
Ava perked up. “Coolio, I’ll see ya in a bit then.”
“Bye, chickadee.”
* * *
Ava faced her best and appraised her briefly before embracing her warmly.
Despite Chyna being two years her junior, they had been best friends for as long as either one of them could remember. Their friendship was a mixture of love, mutual respect and binding family secrets which neither spoke openly about with one another. They only knew they were the closest things to being sisters and never took for granted the relationship they had with one another.
Ava hated to admit it but when Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Shakira, Jessica Simpson and every other blonde pop star came up with their sense of style, they had obviously taken a good look at Chyna and borrowed quite heavily.
She was the original bottle blonde, blending old-Hollywood sexuality with modern-day femininity. Her silky, wheat-coloured mane fell to mid-back, accentuating satin-soft skin, a healthy peaches and cream complexion, unbelievably intriguing steel-blue eyes, high cheekbones, a snub nose and pouty, full lips.
The body that went with the face was just as stunning.
At 5’6 and one hundred and twelve pounds, Chyna had long legs, naturally generous breasts, a firm ass and abs that would make Janet Jackson proud.
She was the ultimate sex-goddess with Madonna’s chameleon ability, Charlize Theron’s beauty mixed with Halle Berry’s luscious curves and fashion sense.
Ava just didn’t think it was fair that after nature had blessed Chyna with such favourable genes, she had been given yet another: the gift of song.
It was a fact: Chyna Bleu and Christina Aguilera were the only two blonde, solo pop stars who could sing, without the help of talented studio producers and executives “working their magic”. They definitely could hold their own with fellow heavy weights Mariah Carey, Céline Dion and Whitney Houston.
Chyna had been the overwhelming commercial success of the two talented chanteuses. She had the “it” factor to an unusual extent not to mention she didn’t over-sing, like Ms. Aguilera, and preferred the breathy style Ms. Carey had made famous with a high note hit every now and then.
Her first album, Blonde Ambition, introduced European, Australian, Asian, Canadian, Central and South American fans to the superstar for the first time and managed to sell over six million copies despite never being released Stateside.
Her second album, Chyna, had already reached multi-platinum success as Britney Spears’ ... Baby One More Time was just being released.
Her third album, Bombshell, was released the same week as Oops, I Did It Again and initially, Britney’s album did better of the two. The third week, Chyna’s album bumped Britney’s album thanks to the throbbing and sexually charged single, “Get It On”. Overall, Chyna’s album ended up selling eleven million copies, two million copies more than Britney’s.
Her most recent album, Platinum, came out the same week as ‘N Sync’s Celebrity and after weeks of the albums competing against one another, Chyna’s single, “Make Me Feel Like A Woman” finally bumped ‘N Sync’s album out of first place.
After selling more than forty-five million copies of her albums, Chyna was a very wealthy woman. She owned an ostentatious eight-bedroom, seven-bath Beverly Hills pad that also included a fully stocked gym and an Olympic-sized swimming pool. She owned another beautiful ten-bedroom, eleven-bath estate in Orlando. Her parents owned a restored plantation outside the New Orleans city limits. Her older sister, Carina, who was also her manager and accountant, owned a home of her own bought with Chyna’s money in La Jolla.
Although the media loved to compare Chyna to Britney—they were of similar age, both bottle blonde-haired women from Louisiana and dated pop stars—she laughed off the assessments, knowing that it was a friendly competition as far as she was concerned. The media liked to refer them as the two Princesses of Pop, waiting expectantly to see who would eventually take the title of Queen of Pop from aging Madonna.
Chyna’s music and fan base were completely different than those of her counterparts because she possessed the coveted eighteen to thirty-four demographic, her music continued to sell year after year, despite the fall of teen pop. She had successfully crossed over from the high school pop-tart market and firmly into the adult contemporary; she also sang and co-wrote songs that were incredibly catchy and usually went straight to the top of the charts.
All of this information left Ava’s mind as she watched her best friend, cigarette in hand, as she made a pitcher of Cosmopolitans.
She took the cigarette from her best friend’s fingers and took a quick drag. “I thought you quit.”
Chyna smiled devilishly. “I was supposed to but . . . I just haven’t gotten around to doing it yet. My voice coach is going nuts. She says I am slowly blowing my pipes but then I quipped, ‘Whitney Houston smokes and she sounds as good now as she ever did’.”
Ava shook her head as she let out a small chuckle. “I can see you saying that too.”
“What about you, Ms. California? I thought you did quit.”
“I did. I have but after today, I needed a drag on something.”
Chyna laughed in a sexy, throaty way as she poured them each a martini glass-full of the red, alcoholic beverage. “Don’t tell me, trouble in paradise?”
“Fuck you, Chi. That is so not funny.”
Chyna’s face instantly became serious. “I was kidding. Tell me that Ty did not do what I think he did.”
Ava, always one to control her emotions, refused to let the tears fall as she replied, “Well, he did.”
“Oh my God.”
“And he’s found a replacement too.”
Chyna raised an expertly shaped eyebrow questioningly, “So soon?”
“Yeah, our best friend. Can you believe that shit?”
“No fucking way! Ty is going out with Jenna?”
Ava nodded her head wordlessly.
“That two-faced bitch! I spoke to her last week and she didn’t mention one damn thing to me. She mentioned something about wanting me to come by to meet the new beau she’s dating but she wouldn’t tell me his name. No wonder,” Chyna explained heatedly.
Ava bit her bottom lip nervously. “Are you still going to go?”
“I had to take a rain check. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon for Tampa. Boyfriend/girlfriend time with my favorite blond, blue-eyed pop singer.”
Ava couldn’t help but roll her eyes cynically. “Oh, you’re going to see Damian, huh? Well, if you run into someone you’d think I’d be interested in, give me a call.”
Chyna gave her a look. “No offense but it isn’t really my style to be looking for someone for my best friend. If you want someone else to fill your bed, take some well-needed time off work and come with me.”
“I was kidding,” Ava responded softly before she sipped from her Cosmopolitan. “To tell you the truth, I can’t possibly take any time off work at the moment, I’m swamped.”
“Lies, lies, lies. You could hang out with Damian and I—we’d all have fun. We could attend a cheesy Austin Phillips concert, maybe run into some Backstreet Boys . . . you never know.” Chyna sipped from her Cosmopolitan before she laughed out loud smugly.
“What’s with you?”
“I am just so happy that Damian and I are so over all that break-up-just-to-make-up stuff. Seriously, our relationship is stronger than ever.”
Ava raised expertly shaped eyebrows dubiously. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, cuz basically Damian got tired of me and him being compared to Giselle and Leo. You know the on-again/off-again stuff,” Chyna ranted cynically. “We had that total dysfunctional thing happening and then we, like, sat down and talked. When we were getting along, we were being compared to Justin and Cameron—I don’t know why because they are a miserable looking couple. I mean, don’t people understand how hard it is to be a high-profile couple?”
“Yeah, only Ty and I didn’t have that problem, I mean, not really. Yeah, people knew who Ty is because he’s in the movies but I was just his girlfriend. I never pressured him to do anything. In fact, I gave him his goddamn space and that was the problem in the first place. He didn’t want a girlfriend like me because I was too cold and didn’t show him enough affection in the first place.”
Chyna laughed out loud. “That just means you weren’t lovin’ on him the way you shoulda been. Well, sweetie pie, I can’t help you with that cuz that was never an area Damian and I fought about. We were just these two, young, randy creatures that can spend every waking moment in bed with each other. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that he’s best friends with Casey who is a super freak in the bedroom. He gave Damian and I some pointers and oh my God—the sex between us has never been hotter.”
“Oh great, I’m hearing about the bedroom activities of the Chyna Bleu and the Damian Phillips—quick, someone get me a tape recorder so I can sell my story to Fact or Fiction,” Ava drawled sarcastically.
“Ha-ha, that is so not funny,” Chyna chided before she sipped from her Cosmopolitan. “Seriously though, I am worried about you. What are you going to do?”
Ava finished her Cosmopolitan and poured herself another. “I have no fucking clue.”
“Then seriously, come with me to Florida. It’ll be so much fun. I’ll call some people and we’ll just have a completely relaxing time. We can swim and snorkel and you can unwind and chill the fuck out. You need some time on your own in a stress-free environment. It’s just what you need to get your shit together, bring some closure to everything that has gone down so you can move on.”
“Nah, that’s okay, really. I am really way too busy at work. Plus, I’d feel so out of place, I mean, not being a bottle blond and all. Between you two, we could provide enough bleach to brighten all the world’s white clothes,” Ava joked quietly.
“That is really cruel, Ave,” Chyna whined like a puppy before she stuck her tongue out. “I could really find someone to set you up with—all isn’t lost if you change your mind. Casey is dating now but Kendall’s free—”
Ava rolled her eyes yet again. “Stop trying to set me up with 54U members, okay? I’m not interested in anyone at the moment. I just want to be by myself.”
“Fine,” her best friend pouted before she perked up. “Hell, I’d set you up with Damian if it would put a smile on your face. You could take him off my hands for a night and he’ll show you how us blonds have more fun. You’d really enjoy him in bed. He’d teach ya how to fuck and then you could win Ty back.”
“Is all that peroxide finally eating away at your brain? I don’t want Ty back, Chi. I just wanna go home and listen to some vintage Sade while I smoke a few cigs and drag my raggedy ass to bed. I have a big day tomorrow and I don’t plan to spend all my time worrying about Tyrone fucking Porter. He dumped me and that’s cool. Not that I have ever been dumped before but there is a first time for everything, right?”
“Save the speech for someone who’s gonna buy it—you’re my best fucking friend for Christ’s sake. I know you’re hurting.”
Ava sipped from her Cosmopolitan in silence.
“Goddamn it, Ave, I know how you feel about crying in front of strangers but why can’t you ball in front of me? It would help if you’d get angry and then got sad. You’d heal so much faster. You gotta clear all that shit out of your mental rolodex so the next hot stud can come along and really sweep you off your feet. You won’t solve anything actin’ like you’re tough shit.”
“I gotta go.” Ava downed the rest of her Cosmopolitan in one swallow, stood and embraced Chyna quickly. “I need to be alone and as much as I know you’re trying to help me, it isn’t working for shit. I gotta get some stuff figured out and then I’ll feel better about this whole freakin’ situation. Tell Damian I said ‘Hello’ and have a safe flight to Florida, okay babe?”
Chyna kissed her cheek softly. “Okay, sweetie, you take care too. Tell your parents I send my love and honey, chin up. I don’t want you killing yourself over his black ass—believe me, he isn’t worth it.”
“See, I’m buzzed tonight so I’ll let you get away with that comment.”
They exchanged several more goodbyes before Ava got into her SUV and drove exactly three miles to her own home in Beverly Hills. Unlike her best friend, her piece of property was a modest, two-story, three bedroom, and two and a half bath cottage with a kidney-shaped swimming pool and no home gym. The property had been in her family for the past forty years, when it had initially been bought brand new by her paternal grandmother, Madeline O’Brien-Martín.
She suddenly realized with a heavy heart she would have to tell her family about her and Tyrone’s demise and all the sudden, their break-up was looking that much worse to her.
James, her brother, would be cool about it. He had never been all that crazy about Tyrone and would support her no matter what.
Her mother, the great Anna Desruisseaux-Martín, would not be so understanding.
Anna was from the south. She had been a Southern Belle who had grown up amongst the black bourgeois class, and it was important to maintain a certain type of lifestyle and decorum.
Although Ava’s mother was half-French, which had allowed her nearly all the privileges of her white counterparts, she had been queen at one of the oldest black colleges in Louisiana. After graduating from college summa cum laude, she had begun a successful modelling career. Her mother had been widely in demand because of her fair skin, silky black hair and blue-gray eyes, startling features and stunning physique.
Anna had married Nicolas three years into her modelling career, at the age of twenty-five. She had considered herself an old maid but to this day, her parents had a prosperous and happy marriage. Anna was pampered and Nicolas was as in love with her as the day he’d married her.
Ava lit a cigarette from a pack her brother’s current flame had accidentally left at her home and inhaled deeply. She realized her father would be just as torn up about the breakup as her mother.
Since both her parents shared the common bond of mixed heritage, they were quite comfortable with whom ever their children dated but they had both grown quite fond of Tyrone.
Her father had been brought up in a two-parent home with a Dominican father who had come from a wealthy family and his Irish-American starlet wife who had fallen in love with him from the moment they met. Her grandparents had been married up until the day they died in a train accident several years ago on the east coast.
Although her mother had been raised in a single parent home, she had always known her father and was very much family oriented.
Ava and Tyrone had been a couple for the past four years and now she was suddenly all alone.
She realized she hadn’t been single since she was seventeen and a smile suddenly crossed her face.
Being single meant never having to answer to anyone.
It meant trying a variety of men and God knows after her dismal record of sexual intercourse with three men, she could use a bit of selection.
Being single meant her life belonged to her again.
Of course being on the outs with her parents would suck.
The sooner they knew she and Tyrone weren’t a couple, the better off she would be.
Ava stubbed out her cigarette, grabbed the cordless phone and began to dial.
Her mother picked up after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hi, Mom. I’m surprised the maid didn’t pick up.”
“What do you think your Father and I are? Slave drivers? The help have gone home for the evening—you know I never could stand to have a live-in—seems like such an invasion of privacy. How are you, darling? How’s sunny California?” Anna wondered pompously.
“It’s okay. How’s Washington, D.C.? Been to any society functions lately? Have you been kissing up to the First Lady or what?”
“Don’t be crude, Ava, really! Laura and I have had some very nice times together. She is completely brilliant I tell you.”
“That’s what you said about Hillary but in this case, why don’t I believe you? Besides, you can ease up on the flattery mom—dad’s an Independent not a Republican.”
Her mother was silent for a beat. “Your father didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Ava wondered softly.
“Well, your father and the President had a long conversation. He needs California, and the Republicans don’t have any Senators from the state. Your father thought about it long and hard and he’s decided to switch parties. He’ll be running as a Republican in the next election and the push will definitely help the President. Your father is influential in the state and where he goes, a lot of well known and wealthy California constituents will follow. Of course we realize most of you movie people won’t but thank God you don’t control the whole state.”
“That sucks. You mean I have to tell all my colleagues and friends that my Father is so uncool and has decided to blow the friggin’ President? Mom, why didn’t you say anything? Couldn’t you have at least tried to persuade him not to switch party lines?”
“Ava, darling, that is your father’s business and I whole heartedly support his decision,” Anna explained arrogantly.
“Only because it means that Laura will invite you to more White House functions. I can’t believe I have two big phonies for parents.”
“Now you watch your mouth, young lady. You are free to disagree with the decisions your father and I make but that gives you no right to disrespect us,” Anna snapped coolly.
“You’re right, mom, I’m sorry. Listen, I didn’t call to fight, I called because I saw Chyna this evening. She sends her love to you and Dad.”
“Well, you tell her the feelings are reciprocated.”
“I will.”
“You don’t sound very well. Are you sure there isn’t anything else wrong? Last time I spoke to James, he said you were busy as usual.”
“I am. I’m so busy, in fact, Tyrone left me for Jenna. Apparently, I’m a little too independent.”
“Well, things like that tend to happen when you neglect a man in order to have a career. I have told you time and time again to get your priorities straight. What the hell is important to you, Ava? Producing pieces of violet garbage that get your father into hot water or finding a nice man and settling down?”
“Where the hell did this anti-feminist crap come from, Mother? I love my job and we make our films for adults who should have the common sense to decide what they want and don’t want to see. You know, it’s funny—you’re always giving me shit about my job but you never say anything to James and we’re both in the same crappy industry.”
“You knew I liked Tyrone. I think you purposely sabotaged that relationship because what ever your father and I seem to like isn’t good enough—isn’t hip enough for you. Well, if you feel that way then why don't you start dating white trash like your cousin.”
“That’s enough,” Ava sighed quietly. “Look, I’m going to get off the phone before I say something I regret. Mom, I love you and Dad and take care of yourselves, all right? I’ll speak to you both very soon.”
“We love you too, darling. And speaking of events, your Father is due in L.A. in a couple of weeks. There’s a political dinner being held by the mayor and our presence has been requested. But first, we’ll be stopping off in Miami. Governor Bush is appearing at the Republican Conference for the Hispanic-American Constituency and your Father’s very excited about all the new-found opportunities which seem to be coming his way. Our phone hasn’t stopped ringing since he switched parties.”
“I bet. Everyone loves a turncoat, especially Republicans.”
“I’ll ignore that little dig and bid you a good night, dear.”
“Good night, Mom,” Ava responded before pressing the off button on her cordless.
Part of her wanted to call her brother to see what he made of the news but she could already hear his sarcastic response to the situation.
“Why is it so surprising dad switched parties?” James would wonder cynically. “Dad is in love with Mom and Mother is in love with power, prestige and money. There’s more cash in the Republican Party than being an Independent. So, being the good little pussy-whipped slave that he is, Dad switched parties so he can keep mom in an endless supply of Chanel, Prada and Jil Sander—end of story.”
Ava couldn’t help but chuckle. Was it no wonder she had a problem with men? She was terrified of becoming a carbon copy of her Mother, who had never had a more intense relationship with a man’s bank account rather than the person themselves, their Father included.
Anna was selfish, vain and adored the sound and smell of money.
Ava wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a large shot of Grey Goose. She downed it and waited for the blessed feeling of the alcohol to numb her. All she wanted to do was get to that blissful place that alcohol provided so she could sleep peacefully.
Her body had been aching to rest all day long.
After she had slipped into a short lace baby-doll teddy she had never worn for Tyrone, she slipped beneath silk sheets, ruffled her pillows and lay her head down slowly. Before she could form one coherent thought, sleep had taken her into another world.
Tampa, Florida
Damian awoke from a peaceful slumber although the feeling that began to take hold of his body after his eyes opened was less than pleasing.
Why the hell did he do this to himself?
So you can prove to yourself that you are better than Chyna.
So you can prove Chyna is too good for you.
So you can piss Mommy off.
Buzz! I’ll take none of the above for one thousand, Alex!
As he began to look around, the previous night’s revelries began to sink in.
He had spent the early evening on the phone with his best friend, Casey, and it was then that they had devised a plan to hang out together. Shortly afterwards, he took a walk on the beach, bumped into one of his famous neighbors and made plans to meet up at Tabu, a popular Orlando club owned by the Backstreet Boy member, Howie Dorough.
Damian and Casey were joined by some other boy band members that night and they had several rounds of drinks together. Their pictures were taken by some second-tier entertainment magazine and shortly after midnight, Damian and Casey had left and gone to Ingénue, their fellow member Kendall’s club, also located in Orlando. Damian had drunk too much and a stunning brunette had walked right up to him on the dance floor and sexed him like he had never been sexed before while still clothed. The brunette—Candy, Cathy, what ever the fuck her name was—had driven his 2003 midnight-blue Cadillac Escalade back to Tampa and fucked him in the foyer of his two million dollar home while his black Labrador, Busta-Rhyme, had watched.
He shook his head, trying to block out the thought, stood slowly and made his way to the bathroom.
Once inside, his spinning head took over and shortly after he’d finished urinating, he knelt down and literally puked half his life away.
After he finished, he took a shower, brushed his teeth, shaved and slipped on a terry cloth robe before he rubbed the steam away from the mirror.
He vaguely felt like a human being and upon gazing at his reflection, he resembled one too.
His flaxen hair, slicked back from his recent shower, almost seemed to give him a dangerous edge. Combined with a light tan from the year-round Florida sun, aquamarine eyes that resembled the ocean in a Bahamian paradise, sculpted cheekbones, a slender Teutonic nose and full, kissable lips, he gave handsome a whole new meaning.