gave her appointments to accompany business men from out of town to dinner. Well, she thought that these men might be lonely in a strange town and again, you never knew who you might meet or who he would know. Although she had no control over casting herself in roles (good, meaty roles, character roles, roles for a serious actress), she was in control in the way she spent her own time: dressing, washing, eating, dating, she even had control over her bathroom habits, thanks to psyllium husks, colon cleanse and spirulina/aloe vera cocktails. There was only one thing over which Meringue had no control and as much as she tried there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Meringue was in love, deeply in love with a wonderful man, and whenever he wanted her, wherever he wanted her, she would be there for him. Because she loved him. How she adored Manny Kofsberg.
*
Devon and Adrian
The Park Hyatt sat on its perch on Avenue of the Stars, hanging over the violently busy Olympic Boulevard. Olympic was not so much of a treacherous route anymore, not since the torn up 10 freeway had been repaired from the destruction of the 7.8 back in ’94. Golden in the sunlight, amber in the shadows, the hotel awaited its guests, visitors, prey. For it was so easy to be seduced by its decadent shades and hues. Fox, the famous studio neighbor, was the only real ‘city’ in Los Angeles. Made up of giant boards with made to measure towns, murals and painted streets, shells of buildings, painted perspective, fronts. All front, all faux, Shallow Town.
Devon and Adrian entered the marble-clad, rug-clad, orchid-clad lobby of the Park Hyatt. Out of the heat of the sun, the light was easy on their eyes, the air cool on their flushed skin. Adrian headed to the reception desk. Devon stayed beside the gargantuan royal blue and lemon yellow ceramic tub of blooms posing unselfconsciously in the centre of the lobby. There was no place for self consciousness in Los Angeles. Devon momentarily lost herself in the sweet color and vision of the orchids. Gazing into the heart, into the most intimate place of an orchid, she understood why this particular flower had no fragrance; it was almost too beautiful, too sculptured, too incredible a vision to have any room left for scent. But she could hear its passion, heartbeat, it’s very breath.
Adrian’s hand lightly brushed her shoulder. She reached up and grabbed his forearm, taut, golden hairs spun menacingly across the protruding veins. Her heart began to pound as they headed for the elevator which damply spat them out onto the fourth floor.
Inside the room, taupe walls and gauzy curtains in shades of creamy coffee, shadows played across the silken walls. This was a pseudo-virginal room, a fresh experience to the people who entered. New to Adrian. He placed the signed copy of her book inside the bedside table next to the bible, took her bag, a stiff, chocolate Hermés envelope and placed it on the beige and taupe striped chenille chair. He moved to her, creating a circle around her throat with his hands, pulling her body gently towards him, inches apart, their breath combining, each feeling the heat from the other.
Beads of perspiration had formed along her upper lip, like a row of auditioning chorus girls, each one anxious to be chosen from the line-up. One was selected, the victor, leaving the others behind, slowly melting its eager, winning way across her flushed lips. Adrian bent his head, licking it away, ruining its success. He sucked on her mouth, her tongue fighting its way inside of him. She won, and they were lost inside their sweet, wet, blended breath.
Devon eased out of their embrace.
Smiling slyly, she whispered, ‘that was all very romantic and sweet but can we get real now?’
Adrian looked deep into her eyes, a quizzical furrow spanning a miniscule moment in time, swiftly flew from his brow.
*
Devon and Adrian
The Park Hyatt sat on its perch on Avenue of the Stars, hanging over the violently busy Olympic Boulevard. Olympic was not so much of a treacherous route anymore, not since the torn up 10 freeway had been repaired from the destruction of the 7.8 back in ’94. Golden in the sunlight, amber in the shadows, the hotel awaited its guests, visitors, prey. For it was so easy to be seduced by its decadent shades and hues. Fox, the famous studio neighbor, was the only real ‘city’ in Los Angeles. Made up of giant boards with made to measure towns, murals and painted streets, shells of buildings, painted perspective, fronts. All front, all faux, Shallow Town.
Devon and Adrian entered the marble-clad, rug-clad, orchid-clad lobby of the Park Hyatt. Out of the heat of the sun, the light was easy on their eyes, the air cool on their flushed skin. Adrian headed to the reception desk. Devon stayed beside the gargantuan royal blue and lemon yellow ceramic tub of blooms posing unselfconsciously in the centre of the lobby. There was no place for self consciousness in Los Angeles. Devon momentarily lost herself in the sweet color and vision of the orchids. Gazing into the heart, into the most intimate place of an orchid, she understood why this particular flower had no fragrance; it was almost too beautiful, too sculptured, too incredible a vision to have any room left for scent. But she could hear its passion, heartbeat, it’s very breath.
Adrian’s hand lightly brushed her shoulder. She reached up and grabbed his forearm, taut, golden hairs spun menacingly across the protruding veins. Her heart began to pound as they headed for the elevator which damply spat them out onto the fourth floor.
Inside the room, taupe walls and gauzy curtains in shades of creamy coffee, shadows played across the silken walls. This was a pseudo-virginal room, a fresh experience to the people who entered. New to Adrian. He placed the signed copy of her book inside the bedside table next to the bible, took her bag, a stiff, chocolate Hermés envelope and placed it on the beige and taupe striped chenille chair. He moved to her, creating a circle around her throat with his hands, pulling her body gently towards him, inches apart, their breath combining, each feeling the heat from the other.
Beads of perspiration had formed along her upper lip, like a row of auditioning chorus girls, each one anxious to be chosen from the line-up. One was selected, the victor, leaving the others behind, slowly melting its eager, winning way across her flushed lips. Adrian bent his head, licking it away, ruining its success. He sucked on her mouth, her tongue fighting its way inside of him. She won, and they were lost inside their sweet, wet, blended breath.
Devon eased out of their embrace.
Smiling slyly, she whispered, ‘that was all very romantic and sweet but can we get real now?’
Adrian looked deep into her eyes, a quizzical furrow spanning a miniscule moment in time, swiftly flew from his brow.
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