Chapter 9: Elizabeth Hurley
Standard Disclaimer:
You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...blah blah, you know the rest.
This story may be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use, but PLEASE leave my email/name on it! That's all I ask!
This is Part 9 of an ongoing series. Yes I know the celebs don't act like this in real life, but this is a fantasy after all.
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Stretching my legs out in front of me and yawning quietly to myself, I settled in my seat for a long ride. I was headed over to England to meet with Elizabeth Hurley about landing a role in another film. Elizabeth was often times called one of the most beautiful and most photographed women in the world, and given the publicity she received in the British tabloids, it was not hard to see why. Some of the actresses I have dealt with while I was out in Los Angeles, famous or not, have been major bitches. They think that because they say two lines in some low budget comedy, they are the next Barbara Streisand.
But that was what was unique about Elizabeth. Right after I took over the firm, she called me up to introduce herself and offer her condolences on my father's death. Apparently she had been extremely close to my father (In more ways than one, I'm sure). Since then, she had been just like a long time friend, not being demanding at all towards any acting or modeling work that came along. And more importantly, she always seemed like a down to Earth, normal girl and I admired her free spirit attitude. She knew that she was attractive and she knew that she was famous, but it didn't seem to phase her in any way. That made dealing with her extremely easy to deal with and on a more personal level, made me like her as not only a client but a friend.
The flight from LA to London was a long and tiring one so I slept for most of the plane ride. When we finally landed, I was amazed to see Elizabeth there waiting for me at the terminal. She was dressed down so as to appear like a normal person, wearing a beige sweater that hid her curves for the most part, and a pair of semi-baggy blue jeans. Her feet were inside a pair of ragged tennis shoes and to top it all off, she had a blue baseball cap on. Still, when I saw those soft blue eyes, I knew it was her. I got my luggage and we walked out to her car (a very nice silver BMW Z3) without incident, driving out of the airport and back to her apartment in the upper rich portion of London.
As we were approaching the gate to enter into the building, a young girl came running up, gushing about being a "huge fan and could she please have an autograph". This was one of the few times I had ever seen any of my clients handle their fans, but Elizabeth was very cool about it. She smiled and made the autograph out to the girl on a blank index card Elizabeth carried in her purse. The bitter cold London wind almost blew the card out of Elizabeth's hands, but my reflexes were too quick and I caught it as it was just about to slip away. Handing it back to her, Elizabeth smiled and said thanks.
Making our way through the gate and up the stairs to her loft, Elizabeth explained the index card.
"I adore my fans, but sometimes they are ill prepared. So I carry a stack of blank index cards in my purse just in case they don't have something they want signed," she said, unlocking the door. This was a very kind and smart idea and I was amazed that she would go to such lengths for her fans. I brought in my luggage and collapsed on the couch. Even though it was only 11 in the morning, it felt like 4 AM back on Los Angeles time. Despite the sleep I got on the plane, I was still exhausted. Laying my head back on the couch, I slowly began to drift off to sleep. Elizabeth stood over me and smiled, leaning me back on to the couch and propping my head on a pillow.
I awoke later that afternoon around 5. Sitting up, I looked around. I could hear Elizabeth doing something in the kitchen, probably fixing tea or a late afternoon snack. I stood up and stretched, straightening out my rumpled traveling clothes (a long sleeve shirt and a pair of comfortable khaki pants) and slowly looked around Elizabeth Hurley's apartment.
The living room area was quite spacious, with very high ceilings that were supported by thick wooden beams. The floor was also hard wood, covered in many places by very thick asian style rugs. The furniture was fairly sparse, although very expensive, with only a coffee table and the couch and a few floor lamps. I wondered how much of this was hers and how much was Hugh Grant's, her former long time boyfriend. Making my way into the kitchen, I could see that Liz was preparing a delicious smelling tea.
Sitting down at the table, she walked over to serve me the tea. I saw that she had showered and changed, and was now wearing only a bath robe. The robe was very elegant looking, a light pink color with white trim around the hems and cuffs.
We made chit chat over tea, talking about Hollywood and relationships and what not. I told her of my past involvement with Alyssa Milano, and like a sister, she was very sympathetic.
"Dean, Alyssa is a sweet girl. I've spoken with her at a few parties," Elizabeth said, sipping her tea. "But if you are anything like your father, it will take a special kind of woman to make you happy," she said with a smile.
After tea, we began discussing what had actually brought me across the Atlantic: work. We spent over 5 hours discussing scripts that I had brought with me. The problem wasn't finding one she liked, it was finding one she didn't like, and we both finally deciding on a comedy with a still undetermined cast. I was cleaning up my briefcase when Elizabeth got out of her chair and stood up, a smile on her face.
