Chapter Six - Belle of the Ball

We’re baaaack!

First, to every single one of ya reading this – THANK YOU. Means the fuckin’ world, seriously, and I still can’t believe how many people wanted to come on this adventure with me. (Nearly 100K views on my daft lil’ porn story? That’s mental. But also fucking awesome.)

And to the lovely folks who commented or left a like or favorited, y’all are double-extra-awesome and you’re directly responsible for kicking me in the ass to finish this thing. I’m not abandoning this now, no way. It ain’t over till it’s over!

You don’t hear from Emma for the rest of the day – which is fine by you, because you spend most of it passed out in her bed. Apparently there’s another premiere-type thing in Burbank tonight – only this one’s for the big spenders, the foreign distributors and the guys who’ll dub the movie overseas. Emma explained it all very rapidly while hopping on one foot, trying to find her other shoe, but you think you understood the gist of it.

Basically, she has to show up, smile, and look pretty, while the executives fight to outbid each other, their entourages empty the free bar, and the accountants skulk around, hoping to make a killing on commission. Just another perfect day in Hollywood.

It’s nearly one in the morning by the time the door to the hotel room creaks open, and a crack of light from the corridor illuminates Emma’s face. You stir, not really tired any more, as Emma closes the door gingerly and turns around.

‘Oh – Jesus –’ She flinches slightly. ‘I thought you’d be asleep! You didn’t wait up for me, did you?’

You smile; even in the half-light, she looks gorgeous in her evening dress. ‘Might’ve done. How was the party?’

Emma makes a don’t-even-ask kind of gesture as she crosses over to the bed and flops down, kicking off her shoes with tiny sighs of relief. ‘I’m just glad to be home.’

You open your arms in invitation, and Emma gratefully crawls into them. ‘You’d think,’ she mutters, after a little while, ‘that at least one person at these events would be able to finish a conversation without telling me how much they’re worth.’

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear fondly. ‘Really? Why do they do that?’

Emma huffs quietly. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s a prestige thing. I’m a multinational conglomerate, therefore I’m worth talking to. I just don’t know what to say.’ She scoots a little closer to your chest. ‘Oh, you made a million dollars last month? How nice for you!’

‘At least they can afford to buy your movie,’ you point out. Emma makes an unconvinced sound.

‘Maybe. I’m terrible at selling it, though. I always end up talking about the most ridiculous things to fill the silence.’ Emma’s brow furrows for a moment. ‘I think I had an entire five-minute conversation with this one man about turkey. He saw me getting a plate and went, “oh, turkey!” I just stood there and went, “yes, well spotted.”’

‘You’re kidding,’ you snicker, running a hand through her long brown hair. Emma shakes her head sadly.

‘I wish I was. I’m just terrible at talking to people I don’t know. Always have been.’

Then she brightens, twisting in your arms to look up at you. ‘Oh! But… I did bring a little surprise home for you. I mean, they had it in the entrance hall, and I had to twist Sarah’s arm a little, but as long as we bring it back by tomorrow…’

You really, really hope she’s saying what you think she’s saying.