The Big Time

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...you know the rest.

This story may NOT be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use.

This work is complete fiction; celebs don't act like this in real life…probably.

Any copyrighted names, works, or whatever are products of their respective owners.

Comments and suggestions are welcome and wanted. Please send any thoughts you may have .

Chapter 4: The Segue

7:34 pm. Thursday, May 29. Torbin Estate. Bethesda, Maryland.

Joseph staggered into the dining room clutching a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He stumbled into a chair at the end of the table and put his bottle down. "See? I'm here on time for this stupid thing. Where the hell is Sharon?"

"Yes sir. I don't know, sir," replied John. He neatly laid out the silverware on the long oval dining table.

Rosa backed out of the kitchen carrying two exquisitely prepared meals. She carefully placed them at each end of the table and then stood near the door to the kitchen. John pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket and lit the two green candles standing in the center of the table. He almost began pouring a glass of wine for Joseph, but he decided he was just being redundant.

"Hey! Wine and Jack are always a good mix. Pour it!" ordered Joseph. John sighed and poured a small amount into Joseph's crystal glass. "Keep pouring." John filled the glass. Joseph took a big gulp of the wine, splashing some of it on the white tablecloth.

A few minutes later Sharon walked into the room. "Good evening John," she said as she took her seat at the opposite end of the table from Joseph. "My my Rosa, this smells delicious."

"Thank-" said Rosa.

"Good evening to you too," snapped Joseph. "You're late."

"You're on time. Did you run out of vodka before you could drink yourself silly?"

"As a matter of fact I did. But fuck the vodka. We're supposed to have dinner together at least once a week. Let's eat so we can leave each other alone to wallow in our own self pity," said Joseph.

"You are so goddamn pathetic. What the hell did I ever see in you?"

"I can't figure it out either. You don't care about anything but you. No, I take that back. You care about yourself AND money. That's it!" yelled Joseph.

"You should talk! The only thing that ever mattered to you was your work!" shouted Sharon.

"That's not true," said Joseph through gritted teeth.

"Oh please! Look at yourself! When you lost your job you acted like your life was over!"

The phone began ringing and John left the room to answer it.

"That was months ago. I can get a new job," replied Joseph unsteadily.

"Nobody wants a forty seven year old incompetent," Sharon shot back.

Joseph threw his wine glass at the wall in a rage. "Oh really. Nobody wants a forty five year old fat cow of a woman either!"

John reentered the room and cleared his throat as loudly as he could. The two fuming spouses turned their heads towards him. "I've found Michael."

Sharon looked back at Joseph. "Good luck trying to find someone to replace me. Without paying for it, of course," said Sharon as she turned and left the room. Joseph simply grabbed his bottle of whiskey and stormed out.

Rosa sighed and picked up the plates of food. "Always such a waste."

John slowly sat down at the table. "They won't be back in here any time soon. If they won't eat the meal you prepared then I will. I'm starving."

Rosa put the plates back down. "I suppose you're relieved now that you know where Michael is?"

"You're not?" said John.

"I was never worried about him."

John sighed. "I've always loved your cooking."

"So where is he?" asked Rosa as she blew the candles out.

"He's staying at the Hilton in Los Angeles, suite 9035. One of their most expensive rooms from what I've been told."

"Sounds like he's done well for himself."

"That's not the half of it. It seems he's been spotted alongside some famous faces," said John as he put a carrot slice in his mouth.

"Like who?" asked Rosa, now substantially more interested.

"I'm not sure that you would know them. I had no idea who they were," answered John.

Rosa put her hands on her hips. "Oh please, John. You know how much I love movies. Who was Michael with?"

"I don't know, I can't remember the names too well. One started with a 'K' I think. Kris, Kristy, Kirsten maybe? One of them I think was in those science fiction movies Joseph likes so much, Natalie something. The other one was Jennifer, um, Anderson, I think," said John.

"Kirsten Dunst?! Natalie Portman?! Jennifer Aniston?! You must be kidding John!" exclaimed Rosa.

"Jesus you make me feel old. You know all of them?" John began cutting the chicken up. "And I'm not kidding. It was a dear friend gave me that information."

"Who?"

"He's the editor of the Arts & Entertainment section of the LA Times. He told me this in confidence so don't go around advertising what I just told you."

"That's amazing that Michael knows those people. I have to get him to introduce me to them," thought Rosa aloud. "When is he coming back?"

"I don't know, I didn't actually talk to Michael. But as long as he's safe, he's no longer my biggest concern."

"Michael isn't even his parent's littlest concern," said Rosa.

"Not much we can do about that, is there?"

7:12 pm. Katie Holmes's house. Los Angeles, California.

Ding-dong. Michael shifted, his arm falling across Katie's bare shoulders.

Ding-dong. Katie's eyes cracked open and she yawned.

Ding-dong. Michael stretched his arms and sat up. He turned his head and looked at the clock.

"Oh shit. I gotta go," said Michael as he slipped off the bed and began getting dressed.

Katie sat up against the head board and covered herself with the blanket. "You do?"

"Yeah, a friend is supposed to pick me up at seven for dinner," responded Michael.

"Do you really have to leave?" asked Katie.

"Yeah, I do. I made a promise that I would be there," said Michael, buttoning his shirt. "If I hadn't said the 'p' word, Katie, I wouldn't leave, friends be damned."

She smiled. "I like a man who knows how to keep his word."

He finished tying his shoes and went over to Katie. "As long as you keep that blanket right where it is, my promise streak will stay alive." Then Michael kissed her. She let go of the blanket and held his face with her hands. The blanket dropped, revealing her breasts and a hint of her bush.

"Far be it from me to break your streak," said Katie with a grin as she released him from her kiss.

Michael cast a long gaze at Katie's form. "Argh. You're killing me Katie, you really are. But I really, really have to go." Michael tore his eyes from Katie and began walking out of her room.

"Okay, Mike. Call me?" Michael turned his head to answer but found himself without words. She had grabbed a teddy bear and was holding it between her legs. It was just big enough to cover her breasts. Katie put her chin on the bear's head and gave Michael a sweet and innocent look. The only response he could muster was a slow nod of his head. "Bye!" said Katie. With such a sight before him, Michael could not move. He covered his eyes with both hands and turned around. Katie giggled as Michael bumped and felt his way out of the room and out of the house.

7:35 pm. Hilton Hotel.

Michael jumped out of the limousine and entered the hotel. He walked quickly over to the bank of elevators and pressed the up button. After a few moments, the silver doors opened and he went in and rode it up to his floor. He jogged down the hall and opened the door to his room. Michael took a quick look around. Finding it empty, he undressed and took a shower.

Five minutes later, he was pulling on a pair of boxers. He began fixing his hair (otherwise known as running a handful of mousse through it) when he heard a knock. Michael rinsed his hands off and went to answer the door. He looked through the peephole and saw Kirsten's face trying to peer through from the other side. Michael smiled and opened the door.

"You do know these things only work one way?" said Michael.

"I always think I'll find the one that's been installed backwards," replied Kirsten as she stepped into the room. Michael closed the door and looked Kirsten up and down. She was wearing a very familiar little black dress and holding a shoebox and what appeared to be a suit. She had on a touch of makeup.

"You look great. Is that the same dress you were wearing on that Sunday?"

"Yes. I didn't really get a chance to show it off last time. You're wearing pretty much the same outfit too, except for the boxers." said Kirsten. "So I figured I'd help you out a little bit. This is for you." She held up the suit. "This is also why I'm late."

"A suit?" asked Michael as he took it from her hands. He pulled the suit out of the plastic and examined it. "Armani? I can't accept this."

"You have to. We're going to a pretty swanky place and you have to dress the part. Besides, I told you I'd get you some new clothes when you came out here."

"You said a new shirt. An Armani suit is NOT a new shirt."

"Would you just shut up and get dressed? I want to see if I have as good an eye for measurements as I think I do," said Kirsten.

Michael nodded and headed towards the bedroom, Kirsten followed. He turned around and stopped her. "I can dress myself."

"Fine, but I get to UN-dress you later," declared Kirsten. Michael shut the door and began getting dressed. A few minutes later he held his hand out and asked for the shoes. Kirsten handed them to him and tried to get a peek but Michael shut the door too quickly. "Hurry up, I wanna see how you look."

"Kirsten, you have an extraordinary eye," called out Michael from behind the door. Then he opened it and presented himself to Kirsten.

Now it was Kirsten's turn to cast a flattering gaze. "Wow. You look so sexy." The dark gray suit fit Michael perfectly. Kirsten walked around him, admiring Michael as well as her handiwork. "I can't wait to show you off."

"Is that all I am? A trophy boyfriend?" said Michael with a laugh.

"Yep, got a problem with that?"

Michael pretended as if he was in deep thought. "No."

Kirsten grabbed his hand. "Our reservation is at eight. Let's go."

Michael checked his watch. "We're probably going to be late," said Michael as they left the room.

"I'll just have to drive fast, won't I?"

"Allen's not driving?"

"Nope. He's not a full time bodyguard, I wish he wasn't even a part time one. Simon is the one who hired him."

"When was that?"

"A long time ago, I think right after I did 'Interview with the Vampire'. He used to be around all the time when I was younger, but now it's pretty much only when I'm not here in LA."

They took the elevator down to the lobby and walked out into the warm night air. Kirsten fished a small set of keys out of her purse and unlocked her car with the remote. Michael looked towards the sound of a car honking and noticed Kirsten's ride; a shiny metallic red Porsche 911 Carrera 4 Cabriolet convertible.

"Where were you hiding this car we were at your house?" asked Michael.

"I wasn't hiding it. I just didn't get a chance to show it to you. Hop in." They both slid into the soft leather seats and Kirsten started it up. She pressed a button on the center console and the roof retracted into the back of the car. "Like it?"

Michael nodded. "Wouldn't mind being seen in this car." She pulled out of the parking lot and went towards West Hollywood. The place they were going to was called Le Dome, a French restaurant that was popular among celebrities.

Kirsten was not joking about driving fast. She weaved in and out of traffic like the Intimidator. "They don't hold reservations if you're late," she said when she saw the uneasy look in Michael's eyes.

"Even for someone like you?"

"I'm not Julia Roberts," replied Kirsten. Then with a determined look at the road in front of her she added, "Yet."

Minutes later they arrived at the restaurant. A red coated valet took Kirsten's keys and she and Michael headed through the iron gates. The front desk attendant greeted them with a warm smile and motioned to a waiter.

"Good evening Miss Dunst. Your table is ready. Please follow me," said the waiter. Michael and Kirsten followed her past the bar. Michael noticed the dome just above the bartender that apparently gave the place its name. He didn't see any particularly famous faces in the crowd; he guessed that these were probably movie executives or producers. After they were seated, the waiter handed menus to them and asked if they would like anything to drink.

"Water is fine," said Michael.

"Martini," said Kirsten.

Michael browsed through the menu. "I don't understand any of this."

"Never took French in high school?"

"Taking a language and learning a language are entirely different things. What's the French word for 'steak?'" asked Michael.

Kirsten closed the menu and put it down on the table. "Tell you what, I'll order for us."

"Alright, but no fish for me," said Michael as he put his menu down.

"You don't like fish?" Michael shook his head. "No fish at all?" asked Kirsten.

"Lobster, crab, shrimp, that sort of stuff is fine. Eating fish bugs me though. Reminds me of the guppy I used to have."

"What was he called? W?"

"No, F." replied Michael. "I was still near the beginning of the alphabet when I was five."

"That makes sense." The waiter came around with their beverages. He placed the martini on a napkin in front of Kirsten and a bottle of expensive water in front of Michael.

"Good evening, how are you doing tonight? The specials today include-"

"We're ready to order. I'll have the osso bucco with fettuccine and he'll have the soft shell crabs," interrupted Kirsten.

"Excellent choices, ma'am," said the waiter as he wrote the order down.

"Excuse me, but I didn't ask for this," said Michael, holding the bottle of water up to the waiter.

"You asked for water, didn't you sir?" asked the waiter, confused.

"Yeah, but not a bot-"

"Mike, that IS the water," said Kirsten.

Michael lowered his hand. "Oh. Um, never mind." The waiter smiled politely and left. "Apparently I have a lot to learn."

"Don't worry about it. I'm more of a take out Chinese girl myself," said Kirsten. "But I do enjoy the high life from time to time."

"I'm sure you do if you can afford that Cabriolet." Michael sipped his water. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why do some people call you Kiki?"

"It's just a nickname that my family and close friends call me."

"Oh."

Kirsten noticed the disappointed look on Michael's face. "Oh no Mike, it's not that you're not a close friend. You're more than a close friend. It's just, well, different between you and me."

"Really?" said Michael with a hint of sarcasm.

"Of course really. I've never had a relationship like this with someone I considered a close friend, or even a boyfriend. You know, things have never moved so quickly between me and a guy," said Kirsten. She put her hand on top of Michael's. "But I'm glad that they did."

"So am I, Kirsten. Meeting you has probably been one of the best things that ever happened to me." They gazed into each other's eyes for a few moments.

"So, what do you think of LA? Have you been having a good time?"

"Yeah, it's an interesting place," replied Michael. "With a lot of interesting people."

"Like who?"

"I've met more celebrities than I'd ever thought possible. It's actually really strange, there's been a lot of weird coincidences."

"Oh?" asked Kirsten. She sipped her martini.

"Yeah. One encounter especially. Are you close to Eliza Dushku?"

"We're good friends, yeah."

"Talked to her lately?"

"Not in the last few days. Why?"

"Well," said Michael, scratching his chin. "Tom told me about a little encounter he had with Eliza. In Chicago actually."

"I take it that he didn't just get an autograph?" guessed Kirsten.

"That's one way to put it. Another way is to say it is that he's now Eliza's bitch. Anyway, the other coincidence was meeting her on my way to LA. I had a stopover in Chicago and she happened to be on my plane. The seat next to me actually."

"Did you get an autograph?" asked Kirsten flippantly.

"No, and if you two are good friends, I'm sure I won't need to elaborate," answered Michael. He sipped his water. "Is Eliza in the movie?"

"I don't think so."

"Does she have family in Chicago?"

"Not that I know of. She's from Utah. What's with all the questions?" asked Kirsten.

"She gave me a different story than the one she gave Tom. 'Course, I had no idea at the time that she was lying and neither did Tom. I'd really like to know what her deal is," said Michael.

"What exactly happened between her and Tom?" asked Kirsten.

Michael rubbed his chin. "Let's just say that I'm a little scared of Eliza now."

Kirsten smiled. "Good."

"What do you mean, 'good?'"

"Tom needed a little attitude adjustment. Eliza was perfect for the job," said Kirsten.

"What job?" asked Michael. Realization crept over his face. "You mean you sent her? Jesus, you celebrities ARE weird."

"Don't worry, you'll be one of us soon," said Kirsten in a faux evil voice.

"Ha, not bloody likely. Once Simon realizes just how much of a scrub I am I'll be well on my way back to anonymity," scoffed Michael. "So you just asked her to teach Tom a lesson? You didn't ask her to do anything to me did you?"

"No," said Kirsten innocently. "But that doesn't mean she won't."

A little while later the waiter brought two delicately prepared plates of food to the table. He placed the soft shell crabs in front of Michael and the ossa bucco in front of Kirsten. "Another martini?"

"No thank you, just water please," replied Kirsten.

"She'll have another," said Michael. "I'll have a coke too." The waiter took the orders down and walked away.

Kirsten looked at Michael. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Hey, you ordered the food, I'll order the drinks." Michael looked at his plate. "This is interesting."

"Good too," said Kirsten as she twirled her fettuccine with her fork.

8:48 pm.

Over a slice of strawberry cheesecake, Michael and Kirsten continued their first, official, unchaperoned date. The conversation ebbed and flowed like good conversations should. Michael was pleasantly surprised by Kirsten's ability to stay sober. By now she had four drinks, and aside from being a little flush in the cheeks Michael could hardly discern that she drank at all.

"That's what she said? Really?" asked Michael.

"Yep, Britney actually has a really dirty mouth. She even smokes now I think," replied Kirsten. She spooned the last chunk of the dessert into her mouth. "I love cheesecake."

"You sure do," said Michael, noting that his dessert fork was as clean as it was when they arrived. Then he felt something poking his inner thigh. He looked down and noticed Kirsten's bare foot slowly sliding back and forth. "I didn't even get any."

"I've got something much sweeter than that cheesecake," said Kirsten as she put pressure on Michael's cock with her foot. Blood was quickly rushing out of one head and into the other.

Michael roughly grabbed a waiter walking by the table. "Check. Now."

"Yes sir, right away sir," said the startled waiter. He hurried off to get the bill. Michael reached for his wallet.

"Hey! I took you out," said Kirsten as she continued to massage Michael's cock. "You're not paying."

"Yeah, right. I don't care what you're doing with your foot, I never let the woman pay." Suddenly Michael winced in pain. "Okay! Okay! You can pay. Owwww!"

Kirsten smiled sweetly at him. "Good," she said as she pulled a credit card out of her small purse.