Shine a Light
Gardens and ***s
The next morning I was trundling down the elevator to Breakfast in the Hotel Restaurant. I had woken up early surprisingly, especially after having that dream again. I shuddered at the memory that flashed across my unconscious mind night after night. Marcus was supposed to ring me to take me out around LA today but I would be surprised if he could actually see after the state he was in last night. A petite pretty waitress sat me down at a table and scurried off to get me some tea as I glanced over the menu, not particularly interested in anything it had to offer.
Ordering some toast I momentary looked across the room hoping to catch sight of him happily eating with his friend. There was no sign of him, it was quite early and the only people who seemed to be up were elderly tourists waffling down English breakfasts. I sighed as my toast was placed in front of me. I suddenly felt a vibration in my pocket and my annoying salsa ring tone erupted across the quiet restaurant. Mouth full of toast I eyed the other guests apologetically before answering my cell.
"Hello?"
"Hey V," Marcus' groggy voice shuddered down the line.
"How are you?" I asked holding back a laugh, Marcus could never handle drink very well.
"How do you think? You go out drinking with you and I end up with liver failure and a reluctant stomach."
I chuckled. "So what time are we meeting?"
"Well... "
"Oh Marcus don't bail out on me," I felt my voice rising in my throat. "You invited me out here so you should be looking after me."
A silence erupted down the line and I felt a hot anger and disappointment rise in my chest. "Marcus..?"
"I'm sorry V, I know I'm a nob but I just can't face going out today I'm so ill."
I sighed, feeling rejected, "That's fine," I lied through my teeth.
"Are you sure? I feel awful now."
My nostrils flared against the cell, I hated it when people said that, why make a decision then tell me you regret it afterwards? Frankly I believed it was just a cliché phrase to save face. "It's okay... " I was going to hell, I was such a liar.
"Thanks V, I'd knew you'd understand, go out tomorrow yeah?"
"Okay Bye."
"Bye."
I looked down into my cold plate of toast. I wasn't angry anymore, just severely disappointed with him. He was always like his, a big dramatic balloon, he was lucky I loved him so much or I would have marched right down to his apartment and smacked him across the face and told him to get a grip. He was 25 and still couldn't handle a hangover.
I stood up, pulling on my jacket and glancing out of the window. The grounds to the hotel were enormous and I figured that I could have a walk around the forestry maybe kick back on a bench and scribble some thoughts down before Ed; my editor began ringing me threatening my contract again.
had been told I was a good writer, I just wrote down whatever came into my head, I didn't think I was very good. It's easier to just jot down a bag of shit about love and death and your hailed as a genius by the over obsessed emo culture of today. Marcus wrote an article in its defence in Time Magazine, a culture, he called it, like the hippies of the 60s or the Teddy boys of the 50s.
It was easy writing about love when you've never actually been in it. It's better to imagine something than to live it and be disappointed and I've had my experience with disappointment.
I was a bit knackered after taking the path around the gardens of the hotel. It was placed on a hill outside of LA, Marcus had recommended it to me as he said he had a gruesome past of some major Hollywood killings and I'd probably like it. I was currently sitting on some steps facing a naked statue that had just started splurging water from its mouth; I had my notepad placed on my lap, pen clicking against my teeth I tried to write. Tried to think of a murder happening in this garden, a jealous business man, Hollywood producer, drowning a gardener in this very fountain for having an affair with his wife, maybe he wouldn't drown, the jealous husband had to bring out a pistol just to finish him off, smacking him around the head before firing a shot behind his ear.. Why? Why did his wife have an affair? Maybe the gardener had something, something extra, something more alive than her husband, a smile, dark hair or eyes...
Green Eyes. Startling green eyes, those green eyes that Billie had possessed yesterday in the bar... God dam it.
"Water, Murder, Green eyes."
My head snapped up to see those exact green eyes I had just been thinking of looking down at me puzzled and curious. He was standing on the step behind me, hands in pockets, leather jacket and hair flopping down as he bent over to read the words on my paper.
"Hey," he smiled, stepping down to join me on my step.
"Hey," I smiled back.
"Vera right?"
"Right," I smiled, "Billie."
He nodded as I glanced at the fountain again. "Sorry about reading that... I couldn't help myself."
I turned back to face him and grinned again, warming to him already, "That's okay, it's nothing important."
He nodded at my words before frowning slightly, "If you don't mind me asking what is it?"
"Well my friend bailed out on me today because he is suffering with a hangover and I'd thought I'd come out here and try and get inspired."
I glanced around the grounds to see two elderly couples slowly shuffling along the path in the distance.
Billie shifted next to me, his leather jacket squeaking at his movements. The smell of the leather wafted to my nose and I inhaled deeply, wondering what it would feel like against my skin...
"So is that what you do? You write?" he asked, flicking his hair from his face.
"Yeah, I try to, what about you?"
"I write too, well, songs, I'm in a band." He shifted upright, almost out of pride.
"Oh," I nodded, pretending to be thoroughly interested all the while quite proud that I guessed right, "What band?"
"Green Day," he almost whispered, looking rather bemused that I wasn't in the know.
"Oh yes, Green Day, I have heard of them, I don't live under a rock I swear," I chuckled. "I'm more into golden oldies," I exhaled.
Billie grinned at me, "That makes two of us."
"So what are you doing in LA?" I asked truly interested in why fate had brought this guy into my life right now.
"I'm recording a new album, what about you?" He turned to me a small smile on his lips, I was suddenly aware at how close we were sitting on the step.
"Err... well nothing as interesting as that. My friend Marcus, lives over here, he's a journalist and said I should come over for a week or so, he'd show me around, I was thinking of moving out here."
Billie nodded, "Cool."
I smiled at the word he chose to appreciate the little speech I had just rolled off at him through nervousness. He was being very polite, I hardly knew this guy yet he seemed to take a sudden interest in me.
I was flattered but cautious, this didn't usually happen.
"Hey," Billie sat up straight and turned to me again, his eyes ejecting light into my own with a gleeful look squinting through the tiny lines framing them. "Have dinner with us tonight. You can meet the other guys in my band... that is... if you're not doing anything... " he looked back down at his feet as I swallowed.
"No I'm not, I... I would love to." I smiled politely, getting rather nervous; I suddenly wondered why he was making so much effort. I hardly knew him; he had just borrowed my lighter then decided to approach me in the gardens.
"Great," he smiled, "About 8 then?"
I nodded as he rose from the step brushing his hands down his legs. "I better be off, see you later Vera."
I nodded yet again before yelling behind me as he hopped up the stone steps, "If you don't mind me asking... Why where you out here?"
"Photo shoot," he yelled back down to me grinning once again and shouting another goodbye before leaving me rather shell shocked at the weirdness of it all the leathery smell from his jacket still floated in my nostrils.
Ordering some toast I momentary looked across the room hoping to catch sight of him happily eating with his friend. There was no sign of him, it was quite early and the only people who seemed to be up were elderly tourists waffling down English breakfasts. I sighed as my toast was placed in front of me. I suddenly felt a vibration in my pocket and my annoying salsa ring tone erupted across the quiet restaurant. Mouth full of toast I eyed the other guests apologetically before answering my cell.
"Hello?"
"Hey V," Marcus' groggy voice shuddered down the line.
"How are you?" I asked holding back a laugh, Marcus could never handle drink very well.
"How do you think? You go out drinking with you and I end up with liver failure and a reluctant stomach."
I chuckled. "So what time are we meeting?"
"Well... "
"Oh Marcus don't bail out on me," I felt my voice rising in my throat. "You invited me out here so you should be looking after me."
A silence erupted down the line and I felt a hot anger and disappointment rise in my chest. "Marcus..?"
"I'm sorry V, I know I'm a nob but I just can't face going out today I'm so ill."
I sighed, feeling rejected, "That's fine," I lied through my teeth.
"Are you sure? I feel awful now."
My nostrils flared against the cell, I hated it when people said that, why make a decision then tell me you regret it afterwards? Frankly I believed it was just a cliché phrase to save face. "It's okay... " I was going to hell, I was such a liar.
"Thanks V, I'd knew you'd understand, go out tomorrow yeah?"
"Okay Bye."
"Bye."
I looked down into my cold plate of toast. I wasn't angry anymore, just severely disappointed with him. He was always like his, a big dramatic balloon, he was lucky I loved him so much or I would have marched right down to his apartment and smacked him across the face and told him to get a grip. He was 25 and still couldn't handle a hangover.
I stood up, pulling on my jacket and glancing out of the window. The grounds to the hotel were enormous and I figured that I could have a walk around the forestry maybe kick back on a bench and scribble some thoughts down before Ed; my editor began ringing me threatening my contract again.
had been told I was a good writer, I just wrote down whatever came into my head, I didn't think I was very good. It's easier to just jot down a bag of shit about love and death and your hailed as a genius by the over obsessed emo culture of today. Marcus wrote an article in its defence in Time Magazine, a culture, he called it, like the hippies of the 60s or the Teddy boys of the 50s.
It was easy writing about love when you've never actually been in it. It's better to imagine something than to live it and be disappointed and I've had my experience with disappointment.
I was a bit knackered after taking the path around the gardens of the hotel. It was placed on a hill outside of LA, Marcus had recommended it to me as he said he had a gruesome past of some major Hollywood killings and I'd probably like it. I was currently sitting on some steps facing a naked statue that had just started splurging water from its mouth; I had my notepad placed on my lap, pen clicking against my teeth I tried to write. Tried to think of a murder happening in this garden, a jealous business man, Hollywood producer, drowning a gardener in this very fountain for having an affair with his wife, maybe he wouldn't drown, the jealous husband had to bring out a pistol just to finish him off, smacking him around the head before firing a shot behind his ear.. Why? Why did his wife have an affair? Maybe the gardener had something, something extra, something more alive than her husband, a smile, dark hair or eyes...
Green Eyes. Startling green eyes, those green eyes that Billie had possessed yesterday in the bar... God dam it.
"Water, Murder, Green eyes."
My head snapped up to see those exact green eyes I had just been thinking of looking down at me puzzled and curious. He was standing on the step behind me, hands in pockets, leather jacket and hair flopping down as he bent over to read the words on my paper.
"Hey," he smiled, stepping down to join me on my step.
"Hey," I smiled back.
"Vera right?"
"Right," I smiled, "Billie."
He nodded as I glanced at the fountain again. "Sorry about reading that... I couldn't help myself."
I turned back to face him and grinned again, warming to him already, "That's okay, it's nothing important."
He nodded at my words before frowning slightly, "If you don't mind me asking what is it?"
"Well my friend bailed out on me today because he is suffering with a hangover and I'd thought I'd come out here and try and get inspired."
I glanced around the grounds to see two elderly couples slowly shuffling along the path in the distance.
Billie shifted next to me, his leather jacket squeaking at his movements. The smell of the leather wafted to my nose and I inhaled deeply, wondering what it would feel like against my skin...
"So is that what you do? You write?" he asked, flicking his hair from his face.
"Yeah, I try to, what about you?"
"I write too, well, songs, I'm in a band." He shifted upright, almost out of pride.
"Oh," I nodded, pretending to be thoroughly interested all the while quite proud that I guessed right, "What band?"
"Green Day," he almost whispered, looking rather bemused that I wasn't in the know.
"Oh yes, Green Day, I have heard of them, I don't live under a rock I swear," I chuckled. "I'm more into golden oldies," I exhaled.
Billie grinned at me, "That makes two of us."
"So what are you doing in LA?" I asked truly interested in why fate had brought this guy into my life right now.
"I'm recording a new album, what about you?" He turned to me a small smile on his lips, I was suddenly aware at how close we were sitting on the step.
"Err... well nothing as interesting as that. My friend Marcus, lives over here, he's a journalist and said I should come over for a week or so, he'd show me around, I was thinking of moving out here."
Billie nodded, "Cool."
I smiled at the word he chose to appreciate the little speech I had just rolled off at him through nervousness. He was being very polite, I hardly knew this guy yet he seemed to take a sudden interest in me.
I was flattered but cautious, this didn't usually happen.
"Hey," Billie sat up straight and turned to me again, his eyes ejecting light into my own with a gleeful look squinting through the tiny lines framing them. "Have dinner with us tonight. You can meet the other guys in my band... that is... if you're not doing anything... " he looked back down at his feet as I swallowed.
"No I'm not, I... I would love to." I smiled politely, getting rather nervous; I suddenly wondered why he was making so much effort. I hardly knew him; he had just borrowed my lighter then decided to approach me in the gardens.
"Great," he smiled, "About 8 then?"
I nodded as he rose from the step brushing his hands down his legs. "I better be off, see you later Vera."
I nodded yet again before yelling behind me as he hopped up the stone steps, "If you don't mind me asking... Why where you out here?"
"Photo shoot," he yelled back down to me grinning once again and shouting another goodbye before leaving me rather shell shocked at the weirdness of it all the leathery smell from his jacket still floated in my nostrils.