PART 1: "The Amazon"
***
"Everybody comes to Hollywood. They wanna make it in the neighborhood."
Count me amongst "everybody." I grew up with visions of bright lights and brighter stars. Coming here and "making it" had long been a dream of mine. And those dreams would soon be coming true.
I was twenty-four when I sold my first script, a young, inexperienced writer who got really lucky. Last month at this time I was sitting on a folding chair eating leftover Chinese take-out with my girlfriend, err... ex-girlfriend. Now I was eating a filet mignon dinner that cost more than a hundred bucks a plate in the company of high-powered studio bigwigs. I was here. But that didn't mean that I'd made it yet.
This was the fourth power dinner I'd had in the last week with the director and executive producer to discuss the "vision" of the movie. It pretty much consisted of the two of them haggling back and forth over artistic integrity versus what would bring in the big bucks. Well, the movie was targeted as a big-budget blockbuster, so I was pretty sure artistic integrity would be going out the window shortly.
After the first round of drinks and appetizers I excused myself to the restroom. After freshening up I flipped open my cell phone and held down the speed dial to my ex-girlfriend. We were still friends, and she was happy to hear from me, and I filled her in on what was going on. She patiently listened to me vent my frustrations and then reassured me that everything would be alright in the end. We had been pretty close, even if not very serious about each other. So when the opportunity to come to Hollywood had arisen, we parted amicably and promised to keep in touch. Neither of us harbored any illusions about maintaining a long-distance relationship, especially not in Hollywood. Still, it was calming to talk to her again.
After a few lewd comments from me about old times and a laughing remark from her to avoid all the Hollywood hookers, I snapped the phone closed and strode purposely to my table. I was a Hollywood writer now... as long as the film didn't end up in development hell.
I had just gotten settled into my seat and re-entered the conversation when she walked through the door. My jaw locked up and my body went still. The two studio bigwigs stopped to see what I was staring at. My High School sweetheart. The beauty from my past, now in my present; and I had no idea what our future held.
*****
HIGH SCHOOL, SIX YEARS AGO
My hands flew over the keyboard in a rhythmic rat-a-tat-tat while Andrea lounged on my bed, trying to finish our math homework. I should have been doing the assignment as well, but I hated Math with a passion, and I knew she'd let me copy her answers later.
I paused every now and again to stare at her, sprawled face down on my bed and propped up on her elbows as she read over the math book. Incredibly clear violet eyes were partially hidden behind stylish black glasses. I had never seen eyes of that perfect color, neither before nor ever since. Perfect cheekbones and a great complexion made her the envy of even the prettiest cheerleaders. A self-styled flower girl (it was a phase), she let her long dirty-blonde hair just fall straight, a daisy she'd picked that morning tucked behind an ear. A lifelong vegetarian, she munched on a carrot stick while I let my dirty mind get the best of me. The white lacy top was baggy on her thin frame, hanging a little loose at the neck to show off some very interesting cleavage. She never wore a bra. Some post-modern feminist thing, but I had no complaints. Skin-tight jean shorts hugged her ass and led down to luscious legs. Every so often, I would stop and ogle her just long enough to get my fill, but not quite long enough that she noticed and scolded me for staring.
I finished tweaking the general plotline and the main character bios, and I waved Andrea over to read what I'd written so far. It was an action-adventure in the Rain Forest, a kind of Indiana Jones meets Beverly Hills Cop, except with a female Axel, and a little of James Bond's girl-banging thrown in for good measure. The girl finds a map to a lost treasure and drags along her experienced adventurer friend. Hilarity and chaos ensues.
Andrea quickly scanned everything and then let out a sigh of barely concealed disgust. Her nose wrinkled as if smelling something rather foul.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Where to begin?" She threw up her hands. "This plotline just panders to the masses. The heroine's boobs are bigger than her brains and she keeps getting herself into situations where the guy has to rescue her. Meanwhile, he keeps sleeping around with every other chick they meet, and it's unrealistic that the girl wouldn't care since you've written her to have a buried crush on the strong hero. The plot has bigger holes in it than the Titanic, and defies every point of logic."
"So, it's perfect as a Hollywood blockbuster."
"Unfortunately... yes..." She turned and flopped back onto my bed. "Don't you ever want to write a truly great work of art? Something with literary complexity and rich emotion? I mean, it's not like it would be such big deal nowadays to make the GIRL the hero with the big guns and acrobatics?"
"I need to get my foot in the door first. Give the Hollywood studio heads what they want. Then once I've got a few hits under my belt, I'll have enough power and freedom to write REAL stories."
"Hollywood? Why the hell would anyone want to work for a big-budget studio monstrosity? Hollywood is a cesspool of recycled garbage and casting couch sperm. That's why I'm going to Broadway. Someday I'm going to be a star. And you'd better be right there writing me the most amazing PLAYS."
We spent the next hour arguing over the motivation of the main characters and the choices they made. She seemed to find it somewhat ridiculous that the male hero was incapable of considering the consequences of his actions beyond the next five minutes. I tried to defend that aspect as part of his charm. Andrea just laughed and told me the hero was a moron, so he must have been modeled on me. She punched me playfully on the shoulder.
I just smiled and turned back to re-editing my script. Andrea was the ultimate theatre geek. She'd been in every school play since grade school and devoured the works of great playwrights at every opportunity. I'd joined the tech crew at the beginning of my freshman year just to meet people. We became casual friends rehearsing for that first school play, and found a connection with each other. She was loud, gorgeous, wild, opinionated, and absolutely fascinating. I'd developed a crush on her from the moment we met. In those days, Andrea was the most perfect woman on the planet. Line up every supermodel and famous actress alongside her, and I would pick Andrea every time. To this day I still don't know what she saw in me, though.
We had a few classes together, became study pals, etc. It took me almost two years to work up the courage to ask her out. When I finally did she just yelled at me for taking so long.
From that moment we were inseparable. My first French kiss had been with Andrea in my friend's basement. I had sneaked a hand to the outside of her boob before she slapped me away that time. Her developing curves had been the images of my every fantasy. My first love.
There had only ever been one bump in the road. A cute cheerleader, jealous of Andrea in that catty High School way, had decided to seduce me to prove a point. I knew what she was up to, and yet my brain short- circuited in the face of a set of round tits and tight ass. If I had one fatal weakness, it was that I had absolutely no control over myself if a hot woman started coming on to me. Fortunately Andrea came by my house to visit, and caught us before things got out of hand. The best part? Andrea's solution was to keep her boy always satisfied so I'd never need to stray.
