Lost In Pacific Time

The network rented a private plane for me, mostly because they wanted me to film me leaving Los Angeles and thought a private plane was the way to go. Renovations on our offices had started yesterday and everything seemed on track. I arranged for a driver to pick me up in a black Rolls Royce Phantom so that I could look a lot more important than I actually am. Of course it wasn’t a car I’d actually buy, no one who owned a Rolls Royce actually drove it, they had a driver. If I had enough money for a driver, I think I’d have a house big enough that I would never have to leave. It was too early in Los Angeles, the only people out where tourists taking pictures on Hollywood Boulevard to beat the other tourists and afternoon sun.

The car drove onto the tarmac and Ralph the driver opened the door for me. I led Dolce and Coco onto the stairs to the private jet as fresh from New Zealand Tyler, Jeff, and the new guy Bill filmed me. The inside of the plane was pretty small but it was only me going on this trip, me and my dogs. Dolce and Coco got to roam free and explored as I flipped through a stack of magazines I brought with me. I preferred magazines to novels, they were more visual and I’d always been a visual person plus I didn’t have the attention span to read a novel.

Except the whole entire Twilight Series but I would exactly say reading three thousand or so pages of vampires and werewolves made me any smarter or worldly. As an interior designer known for glamour, I was notorious amongst my staff for being an everywoman at heart, an everywoman with a pretty awesome closet. I indulged in The Jersey Shore, Real Housewives, and Kardashians because I needed a break from being glamorous when I was alone and who doesn’t love a good show down where tacky extensions are being pulled out of each other’s head and tables are being flipped. It seemed for every glamorous thing I did at work I had a tacky counter reaction at home and sometimes, between you and me, I have Paris Hilton’s music stuck in my head.

It was strange thinking that I was now like them, like The Jersey Shore, Real Housewives, and Kardashians. I had my life broadcasted across the airwaves and people watched, a lot of people watched and I loved them for watching. Sometimes I would even get fan art, and I had them framed by my framer and put up in my office. This one girl wrote in looking for relationship advice but I just told her she didn’t need any from me and dropped it off in the mail. I was now getting around ten hand written letters a day and I loved it but it was really time consuming to write back to each and every one of them. If I were a lesser/smarter woman I would’ve had a generic reply format created in my computer where all I had to do was insert people’s names and print it out.

I dug around in my deep purple ostrich skin Birkin bag. It was new; I went into the Hermes store with cash in my pocket thanks to cashing in my “Decking Out Tinseltown with Ambrosia Li” paycheck, and I got put onto the “reduced waiting list” which was a huge jump from “regular person waiting list”. Well they weren’t actually called that but it was the difference between the sales lady saying “expect it in a couple months” to “pick it up next week”. I’m pretty sure the only people who can get a no waiting list Birkin are people in the same company as Angelina Jolie. Finally I found my invite, I had RSVP literally yesterday and the current principal, Dave Derpak, said that he would overlook my tardiness because he was sure that I had been busy. Well not really, I was just seeing how long I could hold out before I finally gave in. He also said wished I had been in town when school was still in-session because then they could’ve honored me at the AP Arts Showcase as a former alumnus of the AP Arts program. Principal Derpak must not have looked at my grade twelve report card because then he would’ve seen that I got sixty percent overall due to absences, thanks to someone who had a free block during the same period, but a perfect five out of five on my AP portfolio.

I loved my hometown, it was where I grew up and every time I was in town I’d be overcome with nostalgia. I still find Vancouver as fancy as I did when I used to look up at the penthouses a top the fifty storey apartments downtown. There was definitely a more laid back feel to Vancouver than Los Angeles maybe even more beautiful. The scenery was just as great as it looked in the scenic shots from the Stanley Cup Finals. I could look at the beautiful ocean and non-smoggy skies forever. The people weren’t so bad either, no one was over botoxed and they guys looked like guys should and had real jobs not part-time actors.

Vancouver as a rich person was totally different when you had money as opposed to when you were a broke teenager. When you were rich everyone looked less rich, even when the plane flew over the houses big enough to see from the sky. I could see the blue square pools, and the large uneven roofs on a bed of very green grass. Three hours mustn’t have been that long because soon I saw YVR and the plane flew lower and lower until the wheels hit the tarmac. I held Dolce and Coco’s leashes with one hand and my Birkin bag with the other hand as I walked down the stairs. On the ground I saw someone waiting for me in the standard YVR uniform.

“Hi, there Ms. Li, I’m Harold” said the guy in the electric golf cart or whatever it was the airport people used to get around in.

“Hi, Harold, I’m Amber” I reply as she places my vintage Louis Vuitton steamer trunks in the back seat of the cart leaving Dolce, Coco, and I to sit in the passenger seat with him.

Harold climbs in the driver’s seat and we begin to move towards the inside of the airport. “Whenever YVR receives a celebrity of your caliber we try our best to meet their individual need.”

I nod not really sure what to say, I’m not exactly a celebrity, I’m an interior designer but I guess it’s a slow month for YVR. I would expect this is I was Greg and going back home to Oklahoma but this was Vancouver, there were famous people in Vancouver like… I realized that this wasn’t exactly true, sure lots of famous people came from Vancouver but did they ever come back? I wasn’t so sure. Still I had no idea why I was being escorted from the plane. I planned on catching a cab and heading home to my apartment. Maybe they were going to screen me for drugs because I was a "celebrity".

“You caused quite a ruckus at the airport,” Harold said as we approached the entrance.

“Excuse me?” I ask finally seeing the crowds from a distance. They were usually reserved for people like Justin Bieber or the Jonas Brother but judging from their signs that said “WE LOVE YOU AMBER” they were for me. I guess they saw me too because the crowd started screaming, there were even paparazzi type people there snapping pictures and confused looking foreign people.

“They’ve been camping out since last Wednesday, apparently there were rumours that you were coming to town.” Harold replied. Yeah rumours that I confirmed on my show.

The security guards kept my fans from obstructing the car and getting hurt but it still took a lot longer than it should to get through. We passed the Starbucks and I wished I could go out to get some but considering the crowd that was six people deep that seemed like an impossible dream.

“Well thank you Harold for trying to make this as pleasant as possible.” I say as we stop in front of a waiting cab and my luggage is put in the back.

“No problem, Amber.” He replies as the cab begins to drive away.
______

Whoa. That was all I had to say when I saw Amber on the cover of Maxim. This was a drug store, weren’t they supposed to sell I don’t know pharmaceuticals not semi-inappropriate magazines. Young children could be flipping through pages of Amber in skimpy outfits, I’m sure they’ve seen worst. Hell, I’ve seen worst especially on those American Apparel ads but that didn’t stop me from wanting to drive around Vancouver to buy every single copy so that no one else would ever see Amber as a sexual object, my Amber. And when they guy beside me picked up a copy and put it in his grocery basket I wanted to punch him. Who knew what he was going to do with that magazine. I certainly didn’t want to know.

To say the least I was frustrated. In my mind, Amber had not met any other guys in LA she was focusing on her career. It was harder to imagine her like that when there she was on the cover in sitting on a bed a large white dress shirt so sheer that you could see that she was wearing a bright fuchsia bra. They tried to make her look like the girl-next-door but to me she really was the girl next door even though it was more the girl on the next street over. Written across her legs in bold lime green writing was “MEET THE HOTTEST NEW MEMBER OF THE MAXIM TEAM”

I bought the magazine anyway and took it home, making me no better than the other guys.

I was at my parents’ house, my mom was making dinner in the kitchen and I was sitting at the kitchen table. We were watching the news on the TV I bought my parents for Christmas. It was too big for the kitchen but my parents didn’t want to throw out the one in the living room so we mounted it onto the wall. The news is just winding down and this is usually the part where they do their filler material, like a monkey taking care of hyenas at the zoo or something.

“Interior Designer Ambrosia Li caused quite a frenzy at YVR when she arrived via private jet from Los Angeles.” said the female newscaster. “The Vancouver native is best known for her hit reality show, Decking Out Tinseltown With Ambrosia Li. Fans were eager to greet Ambrosia with bouquets of flowers and handmade signs but YVR security made sure the fans made no contact with the petite celebrity.”

“Is that Amber? What’s she up to these days? Acting? Modeling?” my mother asked me as she checked on the roast beef in the oven.

“She’s too short to be a model, she’s an interior designer” I reply listening to the story.

“YVR officials have said that they follow a general protocol when it comes to celebrities such as Ambrosia Li. Get them in and out as fast as possible.” Said a different girl as they showed a video of Amber waving to the crowd and the crowd screaming.

“You should call her, ask her if she’d like to come to dinner. The two of you used to be so close.” My mother said carving a slice of roast beef and popping it into her mouth. Ever since I told the family that Britney and I broke up they had each tried setting me up on a blind date, not one of them worked out. The girls were too … too giggly and impersonal. Was that the kind of women my family thought I wanted?

“She changed her phone number since she left for Los Angeles. It’s pretty hard to track her down these days.” I reply as the news moves on.

“Really have you tried?”

“Once or twice, I just want to see if she’d like to help me with my house.” I lied.

“She’s on vacation, I don’t actually think that she wants to work on vacation.” My mother says shaking her head at me. “Just ask her out, I mean to come here for dinner so that we can catch up.”

“Where would I find her?”

“Where you think she would be.” I think about it, I already tried that but it might actually work now that she actually was here.

Amber’s article was funny and sweet, she had taken pictures of her master bedroom and balcony. And hand scribbled comments with arrows pointing to various things in the room and in the very end she asked for readers to send in their questions to her at the Maxim offices.