Status: in progess
Californification
chapitre 1
The year was 1917. California was a bustling hub of movie stars, champagne, and the old Hollywood elite. Enter Jaime Gavergnon, fifteen years old and a foreigner to the West Coast. Jaime had just moved from upstate Pennsylvania with her mom, Ellie, an up & coming actress who had just booked a role in Hollywood's latest & greatest horror flick. They were out here for the whole summer, and Jaime couldn't help but wonder what she was supposed to do. She could accompany her mother to the set, but even that would get boring after a while. There was no beach, only the pool at the hotel they would be staying at. She supposed she could shop, but still. Jaime sighed. Their plane had almost landed. She spied the partially constructed "Hollywood" sign atop a large hill. RIght now, it just read "Holl-". The land was barren, save for a few trees. She fidgeted with the string of pearls around her neck, which suddenly felt too constricting. She was used to spending her summers with cool breezes, lush foliage, and English trail rides with her horse, Lucky. She also had to leave behind her beau, 17 year old Marcus. They had been together for almost a year, but had split knowing they would be spending so much time apart. He was going south to Tennessee to work at a horse barn. Jaime's fists inadvertently clenched at the thought of him sipping sweet tea and lemonade with some prissy Southern belle in a dress shaped like a cupcake.
She reached up and slowly let her auburn locks out of their loose bun, so they landed at her chest, slightly tousled. The pilot announced they would be touching down in 5 minutes, and she saw her mom put down the script she had been studying the whole flight, adjusting her reading glasses and golden hair.
"Well...we're there!" She stated, trying to start pointless conversation.
"I know." Jaime subtly rolled her eyes and turned to look out the window at her new home. She pulled her cozy blanket closer around her and scrunched up her nose.
"What's wrong?" Asked Ellie, as if she was oblivious to the various complaints Jaime had previously made regarding the situation.
"Nothing..." Ellie shrugged and didn't press the issue, as usual. One thing Jaime loved about her mother: she knew when to keep quiet. As they gathered their bags and entered the silver Rolls Royce that was waiting for them, they both donned black Chanel shades, as was the style since Audrey Hepburn wore them in April's Vogue. Looking out the window, Jaime hoped to find something interesting, yet nothing appealed to her.
"It really is a swell town." Ellie remarked wistfully. Jaime halfheartedly mumbled an agreement.
"Maybe you'll meet a nice boy, wouldn't that be fun!" Laughing, Jaime nodded.
"That'd be something, alright." Although she was a petite 5 foot 4 size two, her shoulders speckled with freckles and with big doe eyes the shade of late fall amber and long eyelashes, she never seemed to attract stares. Marcus and a boy named Eli had been her only steady boyfriends. Maybe she set her standards too high, but she didn't really care. If a boy wanted to court her, they would have to make the effort.
Seemingly satisfied with Jaime's reaction, Ellie turned back to the window, admiring the city as they drove down Sunset Boulevard. Shortly, they were at the hotel. They would be spending the next three months at the Hollywood Tower Hotel, near Burbank, on the west end of Hollywood. Visited by the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Fred Astaire, it was only the swankiest place in town- and their stay was completely paid for by her mom's studio, Metro Goldwin-Meyer, or MGM for short. As they stepped into the foyer, Jaime turned on her heel and raced back to the curb, but the car had already pulled away. Her startled mother followed suit.
"What, Jaime, what!?"
"My....my key....dad's key...it was on the seat..." Jaime stuttered and her usually pouted lips hung open. The key she was referring to was her late father's, who had passed away when she was only three. The key, along with his eyes, hair, and cheekbones, was all she had left of the man her mother had once loved. It was a still-shiny, ageless rusted gold key, engraved with his initials (PIL, for Philippe Isaac Lancaster). It had been his service key when he was working at the Ritz in NYC in his youth, where he had met Ellie when she stayed there between auditions late summer of 1901. It was love at first sight, and the eighteen year olds got married within three months. Eyebrows furrowed, an unusual facial expression for someone so obsessed with being wrinkle-free, Ellie laid a hand on Jaime's bare shoulder.
"I'm so sorry. I can call the company if you want, I think I have the number..." She muttered, fishing around in her purse for the mysterious paper.
"No, no, I don't wish to cause anyone trouble." Jaime begrudgingly said, tears now brimming her eyes. She shrugged her mother's now ice cold pale hand off, avoided her worried expression, and headed back to the doors, knowing deep inside inside that the lost key was a bad omen for her summer.
She reached up and slowly let her auburn locks out of their loose bun, so they landed at her chest, slightly tousled. The pilot announced they would be touching down in 5 minutes, and she saw her mom put down the script she had been studying the whole flight, adjusting her reading glasses and golden hair.
"Well...we're there!" She stated, trying to start pointless conversation.
"I know." Jaime subtly rolled her eyes and turned to look out the window at her new home. She pulled her cozy blanket closer around her and scrunched up her nose.
"What's wrong?" Asked Ellie, as if she was oblivious to the various complaints Jaime had previously made regarding the situation.
"Nothing..." Ellie shrugged and didn't press the issue, as usual. One thing Jaime loved about her mother: she knew when to keep quiet. As they gathered their bags and entered the silver Rolls Royce that was waiting for them, they both donned black Chanel shades, as was the style since Audrey Hepburn wore them in April's Vogue. Looking out the window, Jaime hoped to find something interesting, yet nothing appealed to her.
"It really is a swell town." Ellie remarked wistfully. Jaime halfheartedly mumbled an agreement.
"Maybe you'll meet a nice boy, wouldn't that be fun!" Laughing, Jaime nodded.
"That'd be something, alright." Although she was a petite 5 foot 4 size two, her shoulders speckled with freckles and with big doe eyes the shade of late fall amber and long eyelashes, she never seemed to attract stares. Marcus and a boy named Eli had been her only steady boyfriends. Maybe she set her standards too high, but she didn't really care. If a boy wanted to court her, they would have to make the effort.
Seemingly satisfied with Jaime's reaction, Ellie turned back to the window, admiring the city as they drove down Sunset Boulevard. Shortly, they were at the hotel. They would be spending the next three months at the Hollywood Tower Hotel, near Burbank, on the west end of Hollywood. Visited by the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Fred Astaire, it was only the swankiest place in town- and their stay was completely paid for by her mom's studio, Metro Goldwin-Meyer, or MGM for short. As they stepped into the foyer, Jaime turned on her heel and raced back to the curb, but the car had already pulled away. Her startled mother followed suit.
"What, Jaime, what!?"
"My....my key....dad's key...it was on the seat..." Jaime stuttered and her usually pouted lips hung open. The key she was referring to was her late father's, who had passed away when she was only three. The key, along with his eyes, hair, and cheekbones, was all she had left of the man her mother had once loved. It was a still-shiny, ageless rusted gold key, engraved with his initials (PIL, for Philippe Isaac Lancaster). It had been his service key when he was working at the Ritz in NYC in his youth, where he had met Ellie when she stayed there between auditions late summer of 1901. It was love at first sight, and the eighteen year olds got married within three months. Eyebrows furrowed, an unusual facial expression for someone so obsessed with being wrinkle-free, Ellie laid a hand on Jaime's bare shoulder.
"I'm so sorry. I can call the company if you want, I think I have the number..." She muttered, fishing around in her purse for the mysterious paper.
"No, no, I don't wish to cause anyone trouble." Jaime begrudgingly said, tears now brimming her eyes. She shrugged her mother's now ice cold pale hand off, avoided her worried expression, and headed back to the doors, knowing deep inside inside that the lost key was a bad omen for her summer.