Champagne Wishes and Career Dreams

A triangle of light blue sky piercing grey clouds with a white burst. Steel ocean and thick foam; rocks cutting through at points like aggressive barnacle covered whales. Moss covered cliffs meeting the sea in a kiss of spray. Waves rolling in an impossible rhythm, shouting with a muted fury, a thundering roar of the gods. Humans, just specks on fragile fiberglass boards, braving this, attempting to conquer this.

I flew back to Northern California in all of her rugged glory, for the holidays to spend time with the twins, who were home from school at UC Berkeley, and my mother. Ruth and Cecilia came from San Francisco to join us by the beach as per usual. Ruth’s family, conservative, old-school Asian American Christians, disowned her back when she was a rebellious and angry baby dyke and Cecilia’s parents, divorced, never seem to live or be anywhere closer than ridiculous European locations. Both girls grabbed me in a tight hug when we reunited in Monterey and Cecilia whispered Welcome home! in my ear. I didn’t say it out loud but I no longer felt this was home.

Christmas was quiet and stormy; Mother Nature having decided to wash the earth clean getting a head start on a fresh beginning for 2010. We had a lovely family dinner on the covered balcony, heat lamps blazing and an ocean mist swirling. I was entirely distracted the entire time, replaying a different dinner in my mind. Dinner with Margot Whitney.

She arrived at my door promptly at 8PM. Kim answered the door and for once couldn’t say much. Tripping over herself she ran down the hall to my room. She found me sitting on the edge of my new wrought iron Italian campaign canopy recently purchased from Anthropolgie, staring at the Fendi booties I resurrected from the Paris trip.

As Kim burst in she giggled Ms. Whitney here to see you!

I laughed and grabbed my turquoise alligator clutch, heels tapping as I followed her out of the room. Margot was waiting for me in the living room. Of course she looked incredible, dressed in a black Prada tux-style jacket, her long legs clad in Rock & Republic brushstroke skinny jeans, startling eyes rimmed in smokey liner. Leah was stretched out on the couch, a cigarette behind her ear, unabashedly checking out Margot. Navy eyes followed me as I crossed the room, and Leah winked, the left corner of her mouth curving up and her dimple deepening with pleasure at my blush.

I said awkward goodbyes to the roommates and followed Margot’s perfect ass out the door, down the winding stairs to her 1956 black Porsche Spyder (yes my jaw dropped). I slid into the leather seat, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly through my mouth. The butterflies were wreaking havoc on my stomach. We sped off, Sam Sparro’s Black & Gold filling the silence.

I don’t really do small talk. I don’t believe in it...I don’t really believe in wasting time. Margot finally said.

I agree. I replied, relieved she had said something and turned on at the same time by her incredibly easy bluntness. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, that bright topaz tiger eye, and grinned.

Arriving at the London in West Hollywood, valets immediately opened our doors, greeting Ms. Whitney who shook their hands, tipping each of the bumbling men generously. As we made our way through the sleek and chic white lobby to Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant, this continued--everyone knew who she was.

We were immediately escorted to a private room, which was elegant and at the same time opulent in its gilt, mirrored, and marbled decor. A bottle of Veuve was waiting, chilling in a silver bucket.

Margot dismissed the host with a casual flick of her head and we were left alone. She popped the champagne herself and gave me another one of her penetrating gazes.

To Louise Laurent, and her complete lack of fear.

I gulped down a sip from the crystal glass, unable to look away.

So you are a writer Louise. You are here to make it happen, live the dream, etc etc. Correct?

Correct.

Well I want to help make this dream come true. I have no idea about your talent but you have something almost better: balls. The way you interrupted today was...unusual. Do you have anything I can read?

I worried for a moment when I pulled out my samples I had been keeping on hand I would have to literally dust them off from all the time they had been just sitting in my bag. Luckily I didn’t have to suffer this. I passed my work to Margot.

Excellent. I will read it tonight. Now tell me about you. I am fascinated to know more.

And so we wined. We dined. We went through the entire Chef’s tasting menu but time seemed to stand still. Margot was interesting and dynamic and funny and sexy and completely intoxicating.

After dinner Margot grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the restaurant to the elevator. Tipsy from the champagne and wine I stumbled slightly behind but didn’t question where we were going. She hit the button for the roof and grinned at me mischievously. I wish I could say that confined to the small space of the elevator I said something charming or clever, or that I became a sexual beast and shoved her against the wall, kissing her with wild abandon. But I didn’t. Instead I stared at her, drinking her in, quietly watching the way her black eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks each time she blinked.

The elevator made a bing and once again Margot grabbed my hand, pulling me onto the deserted rooftop deck. If I was speechless before, now I became positively mute. I stood still, watching her walk with an easy and sexy swinging pace past a glittering aqua pool, roaring fire, and white cabanas. Panoramic views of LA surrounded her as she leaned on the glass, the only thing separating her from a steep free fall to the city below. Arms spread, gripping the glass, she turned to smile at me over her shoulder. This was a smile that literally just dripped sex. I felt mesmerized, as though she was the charmer and I was the cobra, as I was pulled--rather than walking--to her. When I finally closed the gap, which seemed an endless and slow journey, her topaz eyes pierced me. Margot took my hand and an electric current arced through our bodies.

She lightly ran her hand up my arm leaving goosebumps in its wake. Her hand, strong and sure, continued its journey to my shoulder where she tugged down the thin strap of my flimsy top, while looking at me and smiling a very small, very coy, smile. Continuing on, Margot’s hand grasped the back of my neck and pulled my face to hers. While her other hand climbed my buttons, slowly releasing them from their confines she bit my bottom lip.

This is wrong... I said on a sigh into her mouth.

I know. Doesn’t that make it feel even better?

Her hands tangled themselves into my hair and she pushed me against the glass barrier, the LA city lights twinkling brighter than stars all around me. My shirt, now completely unbuttoned, fluttered in the cool breeze and her hands snuck expertly inside; one hand on the small of my back pushed me against her tall length of body, while she bent her head to lay her lips on my neck.

Wait... I tried again more firmly Wait. I can’t sleep with you...you’re my boss.

Haven’t you ever heard of sleeping your way to the top? She smiled but there was an edge of darkness in her bottomless eyes, pupils dilated with arousal.

I can’t...I don’t want to do it this way. I just...I have to go.

And I ran. My heels clicked as I quickly escaped, rapidly buttoning my shirt and jumping into the elevator. I took a deep breath as I punched the lobby button several times. When the doors reopened I sprang out and hustled out the front door where a valet quickly hailed me a cab. I jumped in sighing with relief. The old driver asked with a heavy accent if I minded if he smoked. We both rolled down our windows and lit up, and I let out a gust of breath on a plume of smoke, letting the cold air hit my face hard.  I pondered the Northern California waves, and their violent and repeated crashing against the cliffs...

So work might be a little awkward when I get back from my holiday break.

Always,

Louise