Read Star-Struck, Book 1 Online
Authors: Twyla Turner
Star-Struck, Book 1
STAR-STRUCK
by Twyla Turner
Copyright © 2013 TwylaTurner
To my parents,
Who have always believed that I am destined for greatness.
And for Sharon,
Who made me realize that life is too short not to follow my dreams. You are missed.
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Madison “Sunny” Stone believed in fairy tales. She knew it was silly, but always had. Damn Cinderella and her freaking glass pumps! Her, her godmother, and her little disease infested rats got the whole stupid ‘love concurs all’-ball rolling. As well as every other princess story, T.V. drama, romance novel and well placed fragrance ad she’d encountered through the years.
So as she sat chowing down on popcorn, with an empty pint of
Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
next to her, chugging a big boy can of
Coors Light
, while having a mini-movie marathon that consisted of
Tangled
,
The Notebook
and Gabriel Wolf’s new movie Estranged. Old habits die hard. It was glaringly obvious, as she stared down at a soon-to-be 35 years past, that though fairy tales very well may happen to others (genetically pre-disposed to perfection),
us Plain Janes are, shall I say…fucked.
Her life seemed to play out like a romantic comedy, minus the romantic part. She hadn’t been on a date in four years. Hadn’t been asked out on any either, not unless you counted the lecherous old men that came into her work. She couldn’t even get a date through the online dating sites she had tried. Her inboxes were decidedly empty. The closest she had been to sex in those four years was her trusty old friend the Rascally Rabbit. She had become proficient in the art of self-gratification. Well except for that one time when she passed out drunk while pleasuring herself. Only to awaken with her pants around her ankles legs spread wide with a very dead Rabbit sticking out of her hoo-ha! But besides that ‘crawl in a whole and die’ inducing moment, she had to be an expert masturbator, because even when she was in a relationship no ma
n had ever gotten her “there”. Her entire life had about as much passion as a constipated man’s first bowel movement.
She hit the pause button in frustration, of course freezing the screen at the most pivotal moment in
The Notebook
. The kiss in the rain. Rolling her eyes, she shuffled her slippered feet to the fridge for another beer. Passing the full-length mirror hanging on her bathroom door, her reflection caught her eye. Normally she avoided mirrors like the plague, building a bubble of semi-self-confidence around her. Always afraid of the disappointment there would be from looking too closely. But this time she looked. She tried to look thoroughly and objectively. Trying to see what others, specifically men, might see.
A Mocha Latte with a touch of cream complexion. Pretty, medium sized honey brown almond shaped eyes, with a thick fringe of curling eyelashes. No medieval-eyelid-pinching-torture-eyelash-curling device need
ed. And thank God for that! A small button nose, high round cheekbones that got even higher and rounder when she smiled, which is how she got the nickname Sunny. As well as rashes as a child from people always wanting to pinch and kiss her cheeks. Then there were her lips, her absolute favorite thing about her face. Which she could never understand why there weren’t more guys lined up to kiss her senseless like Ryan Gosling did to Rachel McAdams. They were a perfect bow shape, full and soft and small. Like a bee stung baby doll as opposed to a Botox injected big mouth bass. Sighing at the tragedy of her un-kissed lips, her eyes moved finally to her hair. A mass of long brown with golden highlighted (
ahhh makeover in a bottle
) tightly coiled corkscrew curls that sprang up in disarray all over her head and bounced lightly on her shoulders and back. She knew most men loved hair that they could put their fingers through, but not much was getting through this mess of curls. She shrugged, knowing it was what she had to work with. She was never going back to the financial and chemical torture of straightening her hair.
“Take me as is,” she said to herself.
She felt her face could pass for pretty, maybe even beautiful on a good day. But that’s where it stopped. Next up, was her body. So there were females that are called “butter-face”, meaning “everything but-her face”. She thought a “butter-body”, sounded more appropriate when describing herself. Pretty face, kind, thoughtful with an outgoing personality. But looking down at her body in the full length mirror, all she felt was shame, made worse since moving to southern California four years ago. Standing at five-feet-two, the best term she could come up with was “round”, or maybe “butterball”. Large heavy breasts that looked great in a bra. But man, did gravity suck like a mother when it came off, and full upper arms with a decent helping of “Hello-Bettys”. Translation: arms of an old lady flapping in the breeze as she waves to her friend Betty across the bingo hall, as she says “Hello Betty”. Then looking at her mid-section, lifting up her over-sized t-shirt to see better, was a soft rounded tummy with a hint of soon-to-be training wheel sized love handles (
Ha! No “love” here
), where there should be a sleek waistline. Turning slightly to see a decently rounded heart-shaped, if not slightly large behind. And attached to that were; wide hips, thick thighs and shapely but pretty calves. She felt her only saving grace was at least she was equally ‘round’ all over.
Through the years though she learned how to hide the negatives pretty well and accentuate the positives just as good. Dressing well was like a fine art to her
. I’m heavy, but I don’t have to be dumpy and frumpy.
Or worse….scandalous! She’d learned that big baggy clothes just made her look bigger. But tighter clothes in the wrong places made her look a hot mess and that’s when mothers are shielding their kids’ eyes, before they can see you and start pointing. No, she knew she could dress her ass off for any occasion. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was chubby, but most people thought she was smaller than what she actually was. It’s just thinking about the clothes coming off in front of male eyes that made her quiver in fear.
Her cellphone rang bringing her out of her sad perusal of her appearance. Running to the fridge to grab a beer and back to her coffee table where her phone sat, she saw that it was her best friend Alyssa.
“Yellow,” she answered, smiling into the phone.
“Hey, girlie! What are you doing?” Alyssa practically shouted in Sunny’s ear.
Sunny cracked open her beer. “Oooh, not much.”
“Madison Stone, are you drinking your three-pack of tall cans, watching sappy romantic movies and eating ice cream again!” Alyssa yelled into her ear.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She loudly sipped her beer, letting the ice cold liquid quench her frustrations.
Damn, how does she know me so well!
“I can hear you slurping, you know.” Sunny could just imagine Alyssa with hand on hip, and tapping foot.
“I’m sure. And I’ll have you know that in my lineup is the new Gabriel Wolf movie. That makes all forgiven. So is there a reason for you calling to rudely interrupt my pity party?”
“Harrumph, well I never! As tempting as the smokin’ hot Mr. Wolf is, I was just being an awesome friend and calling to see if you wanted to come out with me tonight. Because I am the most amazing person you know and just being in my presence would brighten anyone’s day.”
Sunny shook her head in amazement. “Your self-esteem knows no bounds. But as honored as I am to be friends with such an incredible individual such as yourself, I am not feeling up to being social.”
“Aw come on Sunny! Live up to the name! Shine some of your light on us drunken fools.”
“I have to work tomorrow and you know I have a gig after that. And besides I’m already in my pajamas.” She could already tell she’d lost this fight. She usually did, but she put up one anyway.
Here comes Alyssa’s closing argument. “You don’t have to work until noon. And as long as you don’t sing for us tonight, your voice should be fine tomorrow night. And besides, your voice always sounds a little sexier with that ‘I was out drinking last night’ rasp you get.”
She did kind of have a point. “Fine. Give me thirty minutes.” Sunny tried to sound exasperated, but failed as usual.
“Rad! I’ll be down in twenty-five to make sure you don’t flake on me.”
Only in California do they still use the terms “rad” and “gnarly”, that those of us in the Midwest gave up in the 80’s.
“Great.” Insert sarcastic voice. And since Alyssa lived only two floors above Sunny’s studio, she knew there was no escape.
~~~
After graduating from college into a crappy economy, with a degree in Creative Writing, Sunny got whatever jobs she could get. Unfortunately all she could get were retail jobs. She had started freaking out when she was thirty, soon to be thirty-one with no career in sight, trudging through the few pitiful relationships she’d had. The last one was particularly painful and toxic and lasted four years. All that combined, plus wanting to see more of the world than Illinois; taking what little savings she had, Sunny ran off to SoCal. In the hopes that she could write some amazing screenplays and be the next Ben Affleck/Matt Damon walking up to the podium to accept her
Oscar
.
Instead of living the life, riding the
Oscar
train from the plethora of job offers knocking down her door, she moved two thousand miles for beautiful weather and another shitty retail job. The best part thus far was getting involved in singing in nightclubs and meeting some great friends. One of which Sunny was waiting for in her apartment after she received an emergency call to come upstairs to Alyssa’s place so Sunny could help her pick out shoes for her outfit. Neurotic friend, but great.
Sitting on Alyssa’s bed Sunny watched her on her hands and knees with her tight perfect apple bottom in the air digging through her closet for a pair of shoes.
“You know you look great wearing anything, right?” Sunny said to Alyssa’s behind.
She turned to look at Sunny as if she had grown horns or something. “No I don’t. Besides Sunny, you know that I have to look great because that bitch
Stephanie is working with Brandon tonight.”
Although Alyssa was gorgeous with a great tall and slender body, blond hair and big green Bambi eyes with eyelashes most can only buy at the drugstore, she was more insecure about her appearance than Sunny. Sunny had basically accepted her body years ago and had learned to find things to love about herself. She may not have been completely happy with everything about herself, but Sunny had become reasonably comfortable in her own skin. She rarely mentioned or beat herself up about her flaws. Earlier, being the exception. As for Alyssa though, she was a product of the California ‘perfection’ that everyone here tried to achieve.
“Alyssa, you need to stop worrying about that girl. You’re gorgeous and Brandon is totally into you. Who does he take out on dates?”
“Me. But still every time she works with him she’s all over him.”
“That’s just because she’s a cock-blockin’ twat-swattin’ troll!”
Alyssa fell over laughing in hysterics. “Sunny I love you!” She wiped at the tears on her face. “But you’re gonna mess up my makeup.”
“Well let’s get going before I change my mind and put my pajamas back on. Grab your brown boots. They look good with what you’re wearing.”
“Alright.”
Alyssa pulled her calf-high boots over her skinny jeans that she paired with a pretty coral colored flowy tank top and a long necklace. And as always, Alyssa’s makeup was perfection. She used the whole arsenal: foundation, eye-shadow, eyeliner, mascara, blush and finally a shimmery lip-gloss. But the finished product always looked flawless and natural.
How does she do that shit…every time?!
Sunny had opted for her usual stretchy boot cut jeans. Her short curvy legs didn’t get along well with the newer skinny jean trend. They were called “Skinny” for God’s sake and “skinny” was one adjective that Sunny had never heard to describe her. So regulating herself to her normal comfort jeans she paired them with her favorite lace trimmed baby-doll black and white flannel tank top and a black lace-backed sweater shrug to cover up her “Hello Bettys”. The tank was cut low enough to show a tasteful amount of cleavage without looking like a hoochie, and long enough to cover her soft tummy. And it had pockets!
Any top, skirt or dress with pockets was a must-have! Right?
To accessorize her look she added her signature hoop earrings, circa 1960’s cat-eye eyeliner and mascara to bring out her almond shaped eyes. No foundation, because she touched her face too much and would only end up getting brown all over her clothes. And ballet flats. No heels for her. She felt like an elephant on toothpicks in heels! Plus, she was all about comfort and there was nothing comfortable about walking around looking like a baby giraffe. So with that they were out the door for their typical weeknight out.
~~~
Sunny loved downtown Long Beach the minute she saw it. It was perfect for her. Far enough away from L.A. where the rent was decent, but still only a forty-five-minute drive with little traffic.
Little traffic? Ha good luck with that!
Though, it still had big city appeal with tall buildings, restaurants, bars and shops. And it was diverse, like where she grew up. Black, White, Latino and Asian all together. The biggest appeal was the ocean and the harbor. Where, they were headed. Alyssa’s soon to be boyfriend Brandon worked as a bartender at
Thirty-three Degrees
. A bar that sat on the harbor with other restaurants and shops called
Shoreline Village
, which was perfect walking distance from their apartment. It had quickly become their favorite spot.