"Your love scenes just aren't up to much," said the director. It hit her in her stomach like a red hot burning arrow.
"Maybe you just need a break, Katie," he said gently, knowing that an actress' confidence is integral to her performance, and if he ruined her confidence, his film would be in tatters.
"We have had a fairly strenuous filming schedule. Take a week off - relax, don't do anything stressful. Then come back and we'll try again."
On the way home in the limousine, she was on the verge of tears. The year before she had been hot property in Hollywood, on the cover of every magazine in sight for months, dating the hottest guy in the world and even nominated for an Oscar. But then her world had slowly fallen apart. She had millions in the bank thanks to her skilful agent, a beautiful Malibu house overlooking the ocean - happiness was all around her.
But that bastard Donnie had dumped her the week before his upcoming action flick - purely, it would seem, to boost his box office.
She had loved him - or thought she had - but after a two year romance, apparently his personal profile, and the publicity for his film, were more important to him than she was. God she hated dating actors. Sure, they looked good, but their souls were as deep as saucers and they loved themselves like no other group on earth. Donnie had spent two hours getting ready before they went out anywhere - longer than she ever had.
And here it was: she was so desperately lonely. There were hundreds of people around her - makeup, costume, actors, extras, techies, agents, assistants, public relations, reporters, photographers - but she was so very alone. And it seemed that it was chilling her love scenes. Callie Dalbrathe, the celebrated director, could see there was something wrong with her. And now she had been all but thrown off set. It wasn't as though she was unattractive. She was a frequent cover girl, after all. Back home, in her bedroom with its massive bed and glorious sea view through the wall of windows that opened out onto a sun drenched balcony, she looked at herself in the mirrored wall. She hadn't lost her looks - she was still only twenty five.
She popped the button on her tight blue jeans and slid them down her long, smooth legs, tossing them onto the nearby chair. She unbuttoned her blouse and removed it, standing there in just her underwear. She stroked her hands over her curves - there wasn't anything out of place: her well formed breasts were tucked softly into her white lacy bra, her flat stomach led down to her perfectly formed abdomen with the gentle rise of her mound covered by yet more expensive French lace. How could any man not want her? She reached behind herself and unhooked and tossed aside her bra.
Her nipples hardened slightly when exposed to the marine breeze that came through the open windows and she brushed her fingers against them, feeling them harden even more. Men liked her breasts - she knew that much: there were sites on the internet devoted to her breasts. But apparently men preferred them in two dimensions. As she touched herself, she felt a real longing for a strong man to touch her instead. That would cure her love scenes. If she didn't have such an empty space in her heart, she would sizzle on screen.
But where was she going to get a man? Actors were no good - she'd proved that countless times, hundreds of tabloid stories formed the evidence. What she needed was someone without an ego, someone who would love her, not just lust over her. Someone who would cry out her name Katie, Katie... Rather than any of her sultry characters of the silver screen.
Her the panties were the next to go. She didn't even bother to pick them up. She was too busy thinking of her perfect man, sliding her fingers between her legs and imagining they were his, feeling the slight wetness between her warm, soft labia. She pulled the covers back from the bed and lay down on the cool silk. Her hands stroked herself softly, not urgently, just softly, as she fell asleep, dreaming of her lost love.
-
In the morning, she woke up and showered, hearing the phone ringing as she soaped the previous night's dried moisture from her skin. It was bound to be her agent - asking her what was going on, why the shooting schedule had been altered so as not to include her for another week. For once, she didn't want to talk to him. She was tired of the whole thing - as Callie had said, she needed a complete break, away from everything. She needed to get away from Tinsel town, that was certain. But where to go?
She didn't want to go anywhere renowned as playgrounds for the rich and famous - not Aspen or Monaco or St Tropez or Martha's Vineyard. She needed to be normal, ordinary. She needed to go to somewhere that they wouldn't believe it was her, to relax where the mantle of Hollywood was forgotten. And more than anything, she needed to get away without anyone knowing about it - especially her agent. If she told her agent she was going on holiday, she was pretty sure there'd be a quiet phone call to the paparazzi. Her agent considered any publicity good publicity. She knew where she wanted to go - to a very ordinary place - but where it was she had no idea whatsoever.
Where was her ideal man? Was there someone in the world currently just going about his ordinary everyday business without the stress of fame or fortune? Was he there, wondering when he would meet his ideal woman? Or was she too late, and he had been picked up by someone who clearly wasn't right for him?
How would she find him? It would be a chance in a billion for her to just run into her perfect man. She went into her study - a glorious room full of books, which she hardly ever had time for nowadays. There was on one wall, a huge map of the States, a multi-cultured celebration of her country. She picked up a drawing pin, closed her eyes and walked to the map, placing the pin in the first random place she touched. If she was relying on chance here, then she'd better start using it.
The pin was stuck in Montana, in a small place called Wellingford. Without telling anyone at all, Katie Jennings, movie star, put on jeans and a faded T-shirt, got in her open top Mercedes and drove. She parked it three blocks from a used car dealership and walked the rest of the way to buy a fairly ordinary looking red Honda. The dealer had been shocked when he saw her, but when she told him she was just a look-a-like, he bought it first time. Why would Katie Jennings be buying a Honda, anyway?
And she was free. Free to just drive away from her troubles - and who knew who she'd meet? She drove through the day and the night, up into the mountains and beyond. She had to stop every now and then, but she managed to keep a fairly low profile, going with the whole look-alike vibe. It worked a treat - if she didn't hide herself behind sunglasses, it was more likely to be a look-alike than her. People accepted it with a smile.
It was getting on into late afternoon that she drew into Montana, and she had to admit that she was extremely tired from the long drive. Her concentration wasn't great, so she didn't see the red light at the crossroads seemingly miles from anywhere. Smash. Thankfully she wasn't going too quickly when she hit the red Ford pickup - she had been wandering along singing Elvis songs, and admiring the glorious world, such a beautifully isolated place, where no one from Hollywood would ever come. What splendour they were all missing!
She noticed at the last moment and jammed on her brakes, the tires screeching but unable to hold onto the road. Her little Honda crunched into the back of the pickup. Damn. And she was still at least a hundred miles away from her destination, Wellingford.
"You all right, Miss?"
The driver of the red pickup was first out of the carnage. His tank of a vehicle hadn't received nearly so much damage as her little Honda, though.
"Uh...yeah," she said, looking up into his benevolent face. "Oh my God," she stammered, "I'm so sorry..."
She managed to get the door open and climb outside.
"It's all right," he replied with a smile, "no harm done. Number of people round here - had to be a chance in a billion you hitting me like that."
She looked at him, puzzled. "A chance in a billion?"
"Well...I don't much go in for math. Odds have gotta be up there, though."
He had an enchanting smile and dreamy blue eyes that just oozed sensitivity.
"How far's the nearest town?" she asked him.
He frowned, "some thirty miles back the way you came, I'm afraid."
"Oh," it didn't look as though she was going to get to Wellingford.
"You won't get any repair van out here before Monday, either," he said regretfully.
She nodded, it was a Friday evening. Folks up here wouldn't move at the weekend. She heaved a huge sigh - here was her going on a grand adventure, but it was all over far too soon.
