Back on track now, hope to finish series by end of the year. Feedback and suggestions always welcome.
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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 20 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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I sat across from Angelina Jolie in my office. Angelina was wearing a white "wife beater" t-shirt and a pair of tattered blue jeans as she stared at me with a sort of dissident gaze, absentmindedly flicking the ash from her cigarette onto the carpet of my just-cleaned carpets. I didn't want to bring up the issue of not being able to smoke in an office building in California, I had bigger fish to fry.
I rested my head on my hand as I sat in my chair across from her in my wooden desk. We had been sitting like this for about five minutes, ever since she had walked in, sat down and looked at me. She looked like a spoiled child, her over-puffed lips stuck almost in a permanent pout. With a sigh, I decided to break the ice.
"You know why you are here Angelina, because of the request of the United Nations," I said to her. Angelina just nodded - though she had been my client for the past three months (she had come to my firm when her husband Billy Bob also signed with us), I had hardly spoken to her. She was so hot right now that I really didn't even have to try and sell her, so any project that wanted her as the lead got faxed to her mansion. If she liked it, she took the script. Otherwise, I never saw it again.
But the reason she was here today was different. Since being named the UN Goodwill Ambassador in August, Angelina had moved from the silver screen to the world of politics - there was quiet murmuring and whispers of disapproval that someone who was known to be as promiscuous, openly sexual and a bad example for some kids with her vices, would be chosen as a "goodwill" ambassador. The more conservative countries had made enough of a stink about it that the UN had called my office and asked that I "work with Angelina to make her more presentable for the world". And while I thought that the whole position was just a figurehead, I figured that this kind of free, good publicity only comes along once in a great while, so I might as well make the most of it. I had brought Angelina in to ask her how she felt about an etiquette or manners class. Hence, the pouty expression.
"I know that we haven't exactly become chums since you joined the firm," I said, "But the UN holds some of the biggest political weight in the world, and politics eventually trickle down to Hollywood. That Oscar may be hot right now, but if you piss off the wrong people then you may find yourself back making movies like 'Hackers',"
"Fine. If you want me to stop smoking, I will. I'll get away from acting so sexually aggressive in public, even though it really is no big deal, and I'll quell those rumors about me and my brother by not appearing with him in public anymore. But I am NOT going to a fucking manners class," Angelina said, stubbing the cigarette out on the fabric armrest of the chair.
I winced a little, knowing how expensive that chair would be to get re-upholstered, but shifted my attention back to the problem at hand.
"Look Angelina, you don't have a choice here. As your agent and friend I will NOT let you squander away the chance for some incredible PR for helping the UN. Think about it on the trailers - 'Oscar Winner and Humanitarian Ambassador Angelina Jolie'. What could be better than that? It shows you are a great actress AND you care about people," I said, trying not to come off as sounding too crass. The truth was, without abiding by the UN's request, Angelina may become in effect blacklisted from Hollywood. This wasn't about any marquee display, it was about her career. Unfortunately I couldn't tell her all this or else she would think I was a nut.
"I'll think about it Dean, that's all I will say," Angelina said, getting up to go. "I've got lunch with Billy Bob right now, so I have to go. Give me a call later about it,"
I watched her go and went ahead and made the decision for her, calling up all the manners schools in Los Angeles and asking their recommendations on what to do with someone as notoriously wild as Angelina. I finally decided on a resort style manner school way out near San Pedro that was not only isolated but highly recommended by even the other companies competition.
I heard later that week from them that, after they placed a call to Angelina's house to confirm her arrival time, she had gotten into a vicious shouting match with the woman on the phone, but had eventually caved in and agreed to attend the classes. I breathed a sigh of relief and quietly mused at my desk about my new "title" - Dean Simonds, agent to the Ambassador. I liked the sound of that :)
But things didn't go exactly as I had planned - the school Angelina was attending, called Proper Woman Academy, said that Angelina had been asked to leave not even two weeks into the training. When pressed for details, the obviously shy woman on the other end of the phone made up some excuse about having to go and cut our conversation short. As I hung up the phone, I was puzzled as to what could have POSSIBLY caused a school known for it's commitment to "refining ladies" to kick Angelina out. I decided to hear it straight from the source, so I got Angelina to come in the next day.
Unlike before when she had been resentful and arrogant towards the idea of being taught anything (don't think this was just one of Angelina's traits...it happens in almost all of my clients, sadly), now she had an heir of a disenchanted child about her; that is, she acted like she KNEW that the manners classes were good for her but that she was too proud to admit to it.
Angelina took a seat in the same chair she had sat in a few weeks earlier and folded her arms across her chest, her breasts resting gently on the crooks of her arm. Angelina wore just a light gray men's work shirt underneath a thick and heavy leather jacket, and a pair of black form fitting dress pants, of which the outfit blurred and obscured her renowned curves and numerous tattoos.
"So what happened? How did you get kicked out?" I asked her, my hands folded on the desk in front of me. I felt like I was her father, lecturing her about doing poorly in school. "Angelina, could you answer my question please?" I asked again.
Rather than responding, she just looked around my office. After a few seconds, she got up from the chair and began walking around the room, oblivious to me completely. I was now getting a little angry.
"Look Angelina, you may be a big star but when you are in this office, you are just another client and you need to answer my questions. WHY did you get kicked out of that school" I asked, now standing up from the chair, for what reason I don't know (perhaps my anger made me rise).
Angelina continued walking around the room slowly, running her long fingers over anything that caught her eye. I saw she was paying very close attention to my wall of photos, most of which had been of my father with various stars from the 60s to the late 90s. She spoke at last though.
