Clueless

Somehow, they look larger than life on TV. Beverly Hills homes, I mean. Up close and personal they're magnificent for sure, but up close and personal, you can see their little flaws: spots of weeds in the otherwise exquisitely manicured lawns, sections of withered ice plant gathered around a busted sprinkler head, spots of rust on a wrought iron security gate. One had shutters that were perhaps a few months beyond needing a fresh paint job, while its mailbox was recently decorated by bird doo. But where else might one happen upon a chance encounter with Paris Hilton or Ashton and Demi taking out their trash.

Can't tell the players without a scorecard, though. And it seemed the guy sitting on the corner was just the man to help. Unfazed by the celebrity around him, he sat in a metal folding chair, stringy long brown hair growing out beneath his now retro California Angels ballcap, torn blue jeans and a "Why Beer is Better than Women" T-shirt ("I'm With Stupid" must have been in the wash). He sat there sipping on his bottle of Aquafina, next to his makeshift "Celebrity Maps, $20" sign.

"20 Clams? For a map?" I protested as I walked up to Maps Guy. "Mind if I have a look first?"

"Last person who undid one of these maps couldn't fold it back good. Had to eat the cost of it. "

Cost? A buck maybe?

"Sell me one for ten?"

"Tijuana's south of the border, pal. You wanna map or not?"

"So this'll show me where all the celebrity houses are?"

"That's what it says." Somehow Maps Guy didn't seem that much the expert of his product. "Hadn't gotten any complaints."

"Well, OK, I'll take one." I parted ways with my twenty dollars, and took off down the street, nose in my map as I began my Celeb Quest. I quickly discovered, however, that the most recent "star" on the map list was Morey Amsterdam, who died ten years ago.

Oh well, musta been the B-list section of Beverly Hills .

Disappointed, I made a half-assed effort to pick out what turned out to be the former houses of the likes of Soupy Sales and Tom Bosley, then opted for an outdoor café on Rodeo Drive for lunch. There a gum-smacking waitress met me with Maps Guy-like disinterest. Understandable. I was, of course, no movie star.

"How you doin', darlin'?", I asked her, on vacation and overly full of myself.

"What'll it be, sir?" The "sir" was more of the Server's Handbook variety. She didn't exactly say it "with feeling", though.

"Cheeseburger. Medium well. Side of Fries. Michelob Light."

"How do you want that done?"

"Med..."

"Right, right, medium. You said that. Sorry."

"Aren't you going to chastise me for what I just ordered?"

"Why?"

"This is California. You know? Health conscious? I'm surprised a cheeseburger was even on the menu!"

"No, I wasn't." A pause. "It's not too busy, this oughtta be up in just a few minutes."

"Hey, do any famous people ever eat here?"

Sigh

. A roll or her eyes accompanied her not-so-subtle exhale. "Yeah, sure. This is Beverly Hills. It's no big deal. If you want to see celebrities when you're done eating, you can buy a, whatever they call it, Map of the Stars' Houses, and you can find where people live. I hear they're a rip-off though. Haven't been updated in a while."

"Hey, thanks for the local knowledge", I said with a wink, and feeling like a total dumbass.

I got a call from my pal Freddie who'd seen Laker Coach Phil Jackson at dinner before. We'd split up briefly since he had plans to visit his sister while we were on the West Coast. He was in the middle of explaining how he thought he'd just seen the Gubernator and wife Maria until he realized they were celebrity impersonators, when SHE came into the café and sat down at a table across from me.

"...and so they were opening up some car wash. Hilarious. People actually believed they were the real thing."

"You did, didn't you?" Gorgeous blonde hair, deep green eyes, pouting lips. Staring at...MOI? "Hey, Freddie, I gotta go. My lunch just got here and..."

He didn't wait to let me tell him who I just saw. "OK, later, dude."

"Bye".

Why was she staring at me? Looking a little pissed off to boot? Feeling a little bit ballsy, I met her gaze, cocked my head, and shrugged.

"Whatchoo lookin' at, Willis?" After all, what's more charming than an impression of an undersized, washed up child actor who didn't even rate a mention on my map?

That earned a nod and the hint of a smile. As the waitress came over to take her order she waved her off, got her sexy self up off her chair, and came sauntering over to my table.

Don't drop, jaw. I reached into my pocket for my trusty Sharpie. Gotta have the autograph, you know. That stopped her in her tracks. "No, no", I said. I laughed. "Just getting a pen out of my pocket."

I could see why she might be a little jumpy, though. "Have a seat, I guess."

She'd yet to say a word to me. She sat down, giving me a bemused look. I wondered if something was bothering her, but dismissed the thought. What has she got to be worried about anyhow?

She bit her lower lip ever so slightly. I couldn't help but think how adorable it was. "So, what do you do when you're not busy..." I began to ask, but she cut me off with a finger to her mouth. Seems she didn't want me speaking, either. Just as well, I can hardly imagine the awkward conversation I'd be trying to make. Before I resumed digging into my cheeseburger I motioned to her to see if she'd like some, but she made a face like I'd offered her a pile of dogshit from my plate. Then I remembered she'd be voted World's Sexiest Vegetarian on some PETA online poll. Now who else but a "big fan" would know that?

Despite the gag order, I started feeling more comfortable with my Hot Hollywood Actress lunch companion, even giving her one of my "swave and deboner" looks into her eyes as I reached for my beer.

Bad move.

My beer was about three inches closer to me than I thought it was and before I knew it, a little less than 20 ounces of Mich Light covered the tablecloth and were quickly making their way to ruining somebody's pretty outfit.

No harm, no foul, fortunately.

She was out of her seat in a flash, long before the first drop dripped onto her chair. I lifted the gag order, stammering like Hugh Grant trying to explain to the cops why some hooker named Divine was giving him a blowjob in his car. "I...I...I'm so sorry, God, w-what a mess....."

She waved her hand and laughed, taking the chair right next to me.

Fuggedaboudit,

she said with a wave of the hand. Nice that she cut me a break. I suppose movie stars were people too, after all.

Well, Hugh Grant spilled orange juice on Julia Roberts/Anna Scott in

Notting Hill

. I got his stammering bit down. Maybe it's my lucky day. I finished my lunch. In silence, I needn't say. When I took my last bite, she gave me the universal "Let's go" cock of the head. While I probably should have said no, I wasn't about to.

I gave Indifferent Waitress a wink as we left the café. She remained disinterested and unimpressed. Good that I passed on the thumbs-up sign. Meanwhile, my date took my hand as we hit the sidewalk.

So where are we going?,

I wondered. I wasn't going to get an answer, either. Instead, I got an adorable Cher Horowitz crinkle of the nose as she started swinging our hands back and forth. She was either genuinely having a great time or totally fuckin' with me. Rather than question the moment I went with, swinging my hand in hers as if we were off to see the Wizard or something.

Great fun,

I thought. I was starting to feel a little giddy. Somewhere between "I just hit the game winning homer in the bottom of the ninth" to the time my gay brother scored front row tickets to Ricky Martin. What could possibly spoil this moment?

Oh, I dunno. Maybe your Rocky Balboa "Gonna Fly Now" ringtone?

Great timing. I looked over, as if to get permission to answer my phone. She gave another "I know I'm really cute smiles" and didn't seem to mind.

Text message from Freddie:

just saw barry scheck oj atty at b king he got a whoper c u

I quickly replied.

Kewl ask me about AS l8r.

I flipped my phone shut. Started thinking, thought, as we resumed our skip down the Yellow Brick Road.

Barry Scheck. OJ. Is she married to someone? If so, who? And is he a psychopath? Am I the next Ron Goldman, the "male companion" in the wrong place at the wrong time? Just where are we headed anyway?

What did she want from me?Maybe I was over-thinking, not ready to allow myself to simply enjoy this for what it was. Maybe I felt I was taking advantage of someone who might be vulnerable despite her celebrity. Maybe I WAS simply paranoid.

I can't do this,

I thought, starting to talk myself out of this whole encounter.

I felt a pinch in my arm as she clutched me just a bit more tightly. I wondered if she sensed there was an angel/devil debate about to rage in my head. I shot a glance toward her to remind myself what a beauty she was, when Shoulder Devil weighed in.

C'mon

, he said. You

know she's irresistible. She knows she's irresistible. She knows you know she's irresistible. She wants to have a good time with you. Do you want to have a nice time or not?

I think I did.

Let yourself,

I said to myself.

You're not the doomed male companion. And she's a big girl. She can take care of herself.

As I looked back at her, she almost looked a bit sad. Not exactly the effect I'd like to have on her.

Can't be me though

. I was working to make myself OK with this, and starting to convince myself that was so.

We got to her house.

Hey, I thought, this was Kitty Carlisle's house on the map (God rest her soul).

She unlocked the door and disabled the security system. She turned to me and I pointed to my mouth meaning,

Well? Can we talk now?

Instead she walked over to me and kissed me. Once again, very

Notting Hill

. Also very nice. I hoped she didn't mind I'd put onions on my burger. Seemed she didn't.

What a movie title this might be. Let's see, there's Educating Rita, Being John Malkovich, Eating Raoul. Eating Raoul? FUCK! Driving Miss Daisy. Hmmm, Kissing Alicia Silverstone. Wow. Naaah, too much like Saving Silverman.

She pulled away from me. I think she noticed I'd made a diversion as I made a mental mouse click to imdb.com.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged.

Don't mind me.

I felt Shoulder Angel whack the back of my head.

You're kissing a beautiful woman, not some two-dimensional movie star. She's a human being. You've seen that already.

I reminded myself I was, too.

So fucking act like one,

I thought, chastising myself.

You know where this is heading. Enjoy it.

She pulled away from me and started to blush. She looked down for a moment, so I gently cupped her pointed chin and drew my lips once again toward her. We kissed again, briefly, as she took me by the hand. I finally gave in—there was only downside to resisting her—and I followed her as she led me to the back of the house.

The bedroom was hardly one of a Hollywood starlet. Medical equipment was everywhere. A grandmotherly aroma of Estee Lauder and pine needles. I looked at her, again a bit confused.

She took must have seemed like a "what the hell" look as ridicule, I think. Her eyes were welling up quickly and this time, pain and the hurt inside her was unmistakable. She made no effort to hide biting her lower lip this time as she began to cry.

"I'm sorry", I said. She didn't shush me this time, instead burying her face in my lap, sobbing. "It's OK, don't mind me. I'm an idiot. But I'm glad I'm here. With you."

Nothing too clever. But I meant it. And it seemed it was the right thing to say to her. I felt the intensity of her emotions. She wanted me, but I wasn't sure why. I finally stopped asking myself, right about when she stopped crying. The anguish in her eyes were replaced by

I want you,

as she unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her breasts. I started to forget who she was, taking a nipple into my mouth, and feeling her breathing become more rapid. My shirt was off, too. I can't quite remember when that happened, but I felt a shiver down my spine as she caressed both my nipples with the tips of her fingers.

No erection though. As it's commonly said, a man's dick has a mind of its own. Right now I wasn't sure I liked whatever he was thinking though. I think I had myself convinced this was all a good thing. Don't tell me HE had other ideas. Again, she sensed some discomfort, but she didn't take my initial lack of a hard on personally. She caressed my face.

It's OK,

She smiled at me, comfortee turned comforter.

I'm safe with you. Be safe with me.

I was convinced. My dick was too. I felt myself getting hard as I got the "SOMEBODY'S getting excited" evil leer from her. I reached down and pulled down her panties as she removed her skirt. We lied back down together totally naked, as I placed my hand on her inner thigh and massaged it gently, teasing her until I got the "you can touch it anytime now" blush and giggle. She was wet, and warm to my touch, I coulda sworn I heard her whisper "yes" ever so slightly. I went down on her, Alicia Freaking Silverstone, as she wrapped her swimsuit model legs around my head.

Can't wait to tell Freddie all about this, I thought.

How lucky am I?

I was unaware of my

cunnilingus interruptus

as my mind was wandering. She pulled back and burned a stare through me.

Stay here. With me. 'K

??

"I'm sorry", I said a second time. I wasn't sure I had a good I'm Sorry Face in my Expressions Arsenal and wanted to be sure she knew I understood. I wouldn't drift again for the rest of the afternoon. She felt incredible when I was inside her, my eyes closed and my smile wide. She nuzzled my neck with her nose and with soft kisses as I felt her squeeze me tightly. The deep pools of her eyes locked onto my gaze and would not let go, capturing my full attention. I gave all I could to her, thrusting myself deeply inside her, our bodies moving as one.

I felt her twitching around my cock, just enough to push me to the point of no return. I shot my load deep inside her, and she let out a cry. She continued to thrust, harder still, extracting every ounce of pleasure from my spent cock. I was still semi-hard as she dug her nails into my back, the pulses from her orgasm becoming faster. Her cheeks flushed and eyes closed, she thrust one more time before my dick reluctantly slipped out. As we finally tried to catch our breath, she laid her head down on my chest. I could feel the sweat from her hair. I squeezed her tightly and wrapped my legs around hers.

"That was nice", she finally spoke. "Really nice. Thank you." A warm smile smeared across her face.

"May I open my mouth now?" I chided playfully. "What can I say, you're welcome??"

"I didn't mean the...you know, I'm just glad you're here with me. I know this is probably pretty weird."

"Yeah, this doesn't exactly happen to me every day." I quickly lapsed back into Dorky Stargazer Mode. "Really, I can't believe what just happened. I don't know what to say. Ummm, I'm a big fan. Seen all your movies. Say, is Christopher Walken as cool as he seems?"

She started to laugh and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not Alicia Silverstone."

"Oh, you're not?"

"Disappointed?"

A near fatal pause. "Uh no. NOOO". I was trying too hard. "I mean yeah at first I thought you were, but then I realized you were much prettier than her." I hoped my sweetness would trump my flaw in logic.

She started to laugh. I liked seeing her laugh, even if it was at me. "Nice try, kiddo. Apology accepted. I get that a lot, I mean, the whole Alicia Silverstone thing. I think she's totally hot so I consider it a real compliment."

"Well, you are beautiful no matter what."

"Thanks, that's sweet." She pushed one side of her hair back behind her ear, which suggested to me she appreciated the complement. I was starting to pick up her non-verbal cues. Had a lot of practice in the last couple hours. "I'm Isabelle."

"My name's Steve. Tell me something, why did you..."

"My boyfriend. Fucker. Been cheating on me for the last couple months and I'm sick of it. Figured it was time to get him back. There you were. You seemed nice. You're cute. And today was your lucky day I suppose. I feel a little better now."

"You're gonna tell him about..."

"No, he'll never know, he'll never suspect. We're good."

"So you live here then."

"Yeah, for the next couple weeks at least. This is Kitty Carlisle's house, you know from...."

"...To Tell the Truth, I know."

"I was helping her out full-time. Such a sweet lady, god she was beautiful when she was younger. She wanted to live to be 100, didn't quite make it though. She passed away two weeks ago. I miss her a lot. She took care of me as much as I did her". That bite of the lower lip again. Cheating boyfriend and the loss of a dear friend is more than enough pain for one person. "Soooo, looks like I'm out of a job."

"Well, maybe you can be a stunt double in "Clueless II: The Wrath of Cher".

"Cute. Or, maybe I'll take it one day at a time and see what happens. And just so you know, my boyfriend's outta town for the next three days, and I'm still a little pissed off."

"I'll stop talking immediately."

"Hey, where's your Sharpie?"

"Still in my pants. They're hanging over there on that IV pole." Isabelle hopped out of bed and grabbed the pen from my pants pocket. "Lay on your tummy."

"What are doing?"

"Shush." I felt something tickling my ass. "There", she said, "you've now got the autograph of a TV star."

"Really?" I said, with Ricky Martin Front Row Ticket giddiness returning.

"Well, sort of. I was Cute Little White Girl in the Soda Shop on an episode of

Fresh Prince of Bel-Air

once. I even got Will Smith's autograph. What a sweetie!"

"He didn't sign your butt, did he?"

The slap on my behind said no. "You said you'd stop talking immediately, right?"

"Right."

"Good decision, Stevie!" And for the next three days, it definitely was. We had a great time. Even had lunch with Chuck Barris, you know, the host of

The Gong Show

. He lived next door. Unfortunately for me, Isabelle stopped being mad at her boyfriend, so 'round about the time he was heading back to LA, Isabelle and I shared a final kiss and parted company.

I think Freddie was over the fact we spent almost no time together on this vacation. He kept gushing over having seen Summer Glau at the grocery store while he was at his sister's.

Yes, Freddie, she eats, too, you know. Yes, you told me you got within three feet of her.

But, despite his celebrity coups: Scheck, a b-ball coach, a Mr. and Mrs. Schwarzenegger wannabe couple and a bona fide beauty, he was quick to acknowledge my Hollywood story was the one for the ages.