Hi, and welcome my latest offering of Michael or Mac.
Before you read this one, please check out the first nine, or you won't understand what is happening or why.
Wow Michael or Mac 10. This has been a real enjoyable series to make. I'm thinking there will be one more after this and the cross over continues with Isabel and James's story. There's no need to read both stories but it does give a viewpoint from different people.
Please note that many aspects of the story are written to fit and may not be true to the real events. I hope this doesn't ruin your enjoyment and am always happy he read your thoughts. Also I've put some French conversation, and not being a French speaker, I apologize if it's wrong.
All characters are over the age of 18 involved in any sex scenes.
I must thank HP48 for his time editing in this chapter. Both myself and the editors give our time to produce what follows, our only remuneration we get is from your comments and scores to show you have enjoyed what we have to offer.
I will forewarn you that there is a death of someone in this episode, and the aftermath. You will already know this if you are reading, Isabel the beauty next door. We do go a little past this and the effects it's has on James especially.
As always, your score counts, and if you would like to comment, please do. All comments, ideas, or just a thank you are always appreciated. I read each one and answer as many e-mails as I can. I've said it before, but if it wasn't for the readers what I do wouldn't exist.
Please enjoy...
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I am sitting in first class, and next to me is a sleeping Miley Cyrus. I smile at myself as I look at the woman I have idolized since we first met when I was seven. Our friendship is one I value and enjoy. We get on very well and naturally have become close friends. I recline my seat to make it into a bed and close my eyes.
Landing in France, we are fast-tracked through immigration and transfer to a helicopter. There's not much conversation I between Miley and me as we lift off. The helicopter's noise makes it difficult, and it's easier to look out the window, watching the French countryside zoom past.
As we land at the heliport in Cannes, a Limo pulls up next to us, and we are ushered into the back as our bags are loaded into the trunk.
"God, this is part of fame that sucks. We are in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, and we won't see any of it," Miley says.
"Don't see why not," I say, pulling my hat and glasses from my bag. "Dress down, hair up, glasses, and we can pass as anybody," I say.
Miley looks at me with an open mouth. "You're crazier than me, but I like it," she says with a smile. "I'm a little surprised you haven't asked me about flowers," Miley asks.
"Which question would you like? Is it about your ex, Liam, or me? Question?" I ask.
"Oh, that's what I like. Cut the bullshit. I guess we are close enough to be direct," Miley says with her usual smile.
"I wouldn't have asked at all if Emma hadn't brought it up the other night," I say.
"Hold that thought," Miley says as the limo pulls up outside our hotel and the door is opened.
The one good thing about being famous is that we didn't have to book in; we were whisked straight through and onto the top floor. I'm taken to one way, and Miley is taken the other.
The guy that's with me leans in. "We thought it would be better if your rooms were apart to stop rumours," he says.
"I doubt it will stop shit, especially how Emma couldn't make this trip," I reply. "But thank you for the consideration; it means a lot guys," I add. The guy smiles at my response and stops outside a door. He uses the key card to get in and opens the door, allowing me to enter first.
It's just a room with a double bed and a balcony overlooking a recreation area. Better than nothing, I think. "Okay, Mr. Carter, not what you are used to, I guess, but you will only be sleeping here. Your instruments arrived and are stored at the theatre where the premier is being held. Someone will be up to run through the itinerary and take you and Miss Cyrus out to dinner later; I suggest you get some rest now." He takes a deep breath to think if he left anything out. "Do you have any questions?" He finally asks.
"Is the restaurant open downstairs? I am starving for a bite now. Sorry, I'm still on US time, and my stomach thinks my mouth is playing games," I say.
"Ummm, yes, but we can send something up if you want."
"No, I need to walk and stretch my legs," I say, getting my phone out. "Hey, Miley, up for something to eat downstairs?" I hear the door close behind me and see the guy has disappeared.
"I was just about to order room service, but your idea sounds better. What room are you in?"
"Six ten, be quick; I'm wasting away," I say.
Less than five minutes later, there's a tap on the door, and I grab my card key and exit the room to an excited-looking Miley.
As the elevator doors close, Miley says. To answer your question, Flowers has nothing to do with you." The lift stops on the second floor, and some girls start to walk in, then freeze when they realize Miley Cyrus is in the elevator. "Come on, girls; we don't bite," I say. They look at each other before stepping in, and the doors close.
"So, what are you girls here for?" I ask to break the weird atmosphere.
Again, they look at each other. "Ummm, we are here to meet as many stars as possible and get photos and autographs," one girl says as the lift opens.
"Well, good luck with that," I say as we exit the elevator.
The two girls stop in front of Miley and me. They turn, looking a little embarrassed. "Is there any chance we could get your autograph and a picture with us?" The more forward one asks.
"Sure," Miley says, and we sign and pose for pictures before quickly making our way to the restaurant. We get seated quite easily, and I order a burger with fries. Miley goes a little lighter and gets a crepe thing. Our being in the restaurant seems to be getting a little attention. We sit chatting and sign autographs. It never gets too much, and people seem to leave us alone when our food arrives.
Food is done, I turn to Miley. "Fancy a walk along the beach?" I ask.
"Yeah, but how?" She says.
"See that woman over there with the headscarf?"
"Okay, I get it. We disguise ourselves," she says.
"Yeah, change of clothes simple, not over-the-top disguise, and we should be good," I say.
We walk back to the elevator and return to our rooms. Ten minutes later, we are at the elevators again and quickly descend to the lobby before walking straight out of the door and turning right toward the beach. "I can't believe that worked," Miley says.
"Yeah," is all I can say. Our hotel is about a hundred yards away from the beach, and when we get there, people ignore us as we walk along the water's edge. Miley loops her arm through mine, and we quietly discuss the performance.
