Hollywood Stardust Supporting Roles - Wilson and Giselle (18 page)

“
What’s your poison?” Slate
motioned toward the photo.

“
I want something
different, something with some bite.” Everything presented to him
seemed trite, done before. He longed for something
unexpected.

“
I think you have enough
bite for everyone.” Slate shook his head. “Especially
Willow.”

He exhaled. “She called me a Scorpio.”

“
How dare she call you your
own astrological sign?” Slate tucked his notepad back into his
pocket. “She’s such a meanie.”

“
It was the way she said
it.” He stopped in front of the next photo. The artist quite
literally took a picture of nothing. A big black square hung on the
wall, creating a hole in the middle of the show. With a bit of
metallic paint it might have potential, as long as the artist had
the vision.

“
Aw, did Randy get his
feelings hurt?” Slate raised his voice as if he were talking to a
baby. “She’s having a hard time.”

“
What’s wrong with her?” He
stared into the nothing. Maybe the artist was trying to depict
potential rather than emptiness.

“
Everyone goes through ups
and downs, some downs are just lower than others.”

Damn it. He glanced at his friend. The few
times he met her, their encounters were always the same. She would
materialize, he would try to speak, something strange would come
out of her mouth, leaving him no choice but to comment and she
would walk away. “She’s back in your office, meeting with Jade.” In
his distraction with his own situation, he neglected to pick up on
the significance of the Jade meeting, especially if Jade was
interrupting one of her art performances.

“
Yeah, Jade, her landlord.
Go grovel, it will do you some good.”

Money woes, one of the world’s great
equalizers. “I’ll take this one. It speaks to me.” He strode
through the gallery, stopping short outside Slate’s office at the
sound of her voice.

“
I don’t have any money
left, and you can’t keep extending my rent payment,” Willow
whispered. “It’s not right, everything is off balance.”

He put his back to the wall to listen.

“
Don’t worry about the
rent, it’s fine.” Jade’s tone was one of compassion and authority.
“Right now we are working on the barter system. Just keep me in
products and tea and we are fine.”

“
I can’t do that. I just
need to sell a little more at the shop.” Her voice was broken but
not destroyed. “I did a little research.”

At the rustling of papers he inched toward
the doorjamb trying to spy what she would produce.

“
What’s this?” Jade raised
one of the documents.

“
There are companies who
will give loans to people in need.” She let out a nervous chuckle.
“Funny the people who need the loans the most are the ones who
can’t get them.”

“
Willow, these are loans
designed so that no one ever pays them off.” Jade shook her
head.

A shudder ran though him at the thought of
the interest rates alone. Those loans were no joke and lured in
desperate people who needed money fast and under the most dire
circumstances.

At his realization, he glanced at the time
and resumed his eavesdropping.

“
Hey, I didn’t mean for you
to spy. What are you some kind of creep?” Slate came from the other
direction and pushed him into the office. “Look at what I found
lurking about.”

He stumbled into the room and his head spun.
Once he regained his footing, he gave Jade a half-hearted wave and
glanced at Willow. If possible, her light complexion was even
paler, almost translucent. He recognized her pallor. It was the
same look he saw whenever someone honestly needed funds. Somehow he
needed to tell her he had her stay of execution, and it would only
require one year of her life.

Jade narrowed her eyes at them.

“
I wanted to grab something
to show our peeping Randolph.” Slate went to his desk and picked up
his tablet computer.

Both Jade and Willow focused on
Randolph.

“
I don’t believe Willow
should take out one of those high interest loans.” With all the
attention on him, he did the only reasonable thing and brought
sanity to an insane situation. The vice around his head seemed to
tighten and he rubbed the back of his neck. “She needs to create as
much inventory as possible for her shop because that is the only
sure way she will have money coming in.”

“
I need the loan to buy the
materials to make my inventory.” Willow lifted her chin.

“
Not if Jade is letting you
take a break on the rent.” He returned his hand to his temple
swearing he felt the pulse of pain through his
fingertips.

She hugged her papers to her chest. “My
supplies are very expensive.”

“
Willow’s morning tea
actually works. I feel great.” Slate looked up to the ceiling.
“What’s it called?”

“
Activi-tea.” Jade went to
Slate and hooked her arm in his. “We also loved the one you call
Boo-tea.”

The vision was a bit too nauseating and he
returned to the matter at hand. “There are many grades of
materials, just change some of it up to save money. It’s done all
the time. I think the issue lies in not knowing your true
profitability and not having a focus on your product offering.”

“
Some say when you are out
of quality you are out of business.” Willow’s eyes
widened.

“
There are others that say
the same about money,” he countered.

Silence encompassed the room.

“
Slate,” Jade
whispered.

“
Hey, I really did want to
show you something, and wanted to talk to you about the artistic
co-op. Look at this.” Slate basically shoved the tablet in his
face. “Remember that artist who creates those murals in the middle
of the night in little hidden spots? They call him the Mural
Man.”

He nodded and restrained any reaction to the
article and the picture. Instead, he kept his focus on Willow.

“
Whoever it is struck again
last night and painted over some graffiti.” Slate stood next to him
and enlarged the picture. “Wonder what this art would be worth.
It’s different. I definitely need to get someone like him involved
in the project.”

“
I may have another way to
help you.” Without acknowledging Slate, he lifted his chin toward
her. “A different kind of proposal.”

“
Honestly, Mr. Van Ayers,
I’m not interested in anything you have to offer.” She reached into
her bag, pulled out a little jar and held it out to him. “I do
believe you need this though. Rub it on your temples for your
headache, and later you can tell me if I skimped on my
ingredients.”

He took the jar. How did she know he had a
headache? “Maybe we should talk in private.”

“
Or not at all.” She spun
back around to face the desk.

“
Come on Birthday Boy,
let’s go get your party started.” Slate corralled him out of the
office.

“
I’ll be right there.” He
watched Slate stroll down the hall and resumed his position with
his back pressed against the wall, once more glancing at Willow and
at his watch. They needed each other and he had only a little more
time before his life had insufficient funds.

Kim Carmichael

FROM OUTSIDE THE CLUB, the pound of the deep
bass music vibrated through Owen Blakeley’s body. Too many years
had passed since he ventured to one of these places. The music, the
smoke in the air and the general disarray coupled with the
kaleidoscope of people would serve as the perfect inspiration.

“
You know I need your help.”
Blake pointed to the renovated old warehouse in the heart of
downtown LA flooded in purple lights. “Come on, let’s do
this.”

“
Club New Moon. Are you
sure?” His head tailor, Sam Palmer, shook his head. “I think this
looks like a better place to find a communicable disease rather
than inspiration.”

“
New moons are a sign of
change, renewal, a revolution.” Blake charged forward, stopping at
a tinted window. “Drink some alcohol, it’s a natural
antiseptic.”

The window slid open and a man wearing
leather, chains and more makeup than most women donned on the
runway barely glanced in his direction. While tempted to ask the
man who he was wearing or where he got his particularly interesting
jacket with the multitude of buckles and spikes, Blake opted to
hand over a hundred dollar bill, and without a word held up two
fingers. A moment later two yellow neon wristbands were thrust in
his direction. He handed one to Sam and they made their way past an
extremely large man who appeared ready to kill and through an
oversized door.

At one point this warehouse might have held
priceless works of art, maybe machinery, or even government
experiments. Who knew what ghosts, muses and secrets lurked around
the space?

As they made their way through the wide-open
area, he took in the array of people. Along with the buckles and
chains came the denim, women in corsets and lace, boots and heels
of every configuration. The fashion industry was missing out. This
place was where the trends needed to be set, in the underground, in
the unconventional, not by corporations choosing colors and fabrics
based on market research and overstock.

“
I’m not dancing with you.”
Sam elbowed him.

“
Quiet.” He needed to absorb
the atmosphere.

Sam followed. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to
interrupt the peace and quiet.”

For quite some time he wandered around,
bobbing and weaving through the crowd until they made their way
toward the back with a huge bar and some tables. He spied an empty
one and took a seat.

“
I can’t sit here.” Sam
shoved his hands in his pockets and bent down. “I’m wearing a Blake
original.”

“
No one told you to wear a
suit to a nightclub.” Blake kicked the opposite chair out from
under the table to give his employee the hint. “At least you know
where you can get another one…at cost.”

“
Screw you.” After taking
his time to assess the chair, Sam sat and a grimace took over his
face.

“
You’re not my type.” Blake
scanned the area, turning around to make sure he took in
everything. What he noticed most about the scene was the
creativity. Anything and everything was fair game, from fetish wear
to more traditional styles, vintage to what modern could be. The
possibilities were a far cry from a suit and a tie. Though his
designs were some of the best around, he could only push the male
corporate uniform so far.

“
What can I get
you?”

A feminine voice broke through his study
time and he turned toward it.

He swore a beacon of light shined down upon
the woman and the background completely disappeared.

Before him stood the living incarnation of
what he envisioned when he decided to start his women’s line.
Curves for days were outlined to a tee by a black corset
embroidered with blood red roses, while perfectly smooth white skin
led up to a heart shaped face with luscious lips and light eyes.
Her stark makeup only enhanced her delicate features and gave her
that edge he craved. Shining red hair served as the cherry on top
of her delicious offering.

“
Do you have a wine list?”
Sam asked.

“
Sure, I know it by heart.”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “White or
red.”

Blake tore his focus away from the bounty
bursting forth from her corset and glanced down at her shoes.
Stilettos. If she could navigate the club in those shoes, what
could she do on a runway? Of course he would have to teach her how
to stand.

“
Red.” Sam let out a
huff.

“
And you?” At last, the
goddess turned her attention to him. The choker at her neck was
interesting, a mix of leather and more roses. Maybe a vintage cameo
with a silk ribbon would suit her better, especially if she put her
hair up.

“
What?” He could deconstruct
the choker, make it high end, use some different material, maybe
even metal.

“
What would you like?” She
tapped her foot.

If he answered honestly, he would most
likely be rewarded with being impaled on one of those amazing
shoes. “You shouldn’t fidget like that. It does nothing for your
clothes.” He wanted to take her all in without any distraction.
“Wait, let me rephrase that.”