Greetings from La-La Land!
Fasten your seatbelts…I saw him tonight!
Yes, savvy seductress that I am, I scored an invite to the premiere of Deathstar 2, the latest from the folks who brought you that stellar production, Deathstar 1. (Quelle horreur, people. Trust me. Wait for Netflix.)
Anyway, so I gussied up in my finest knock-offs and single-mingled in the lobby, hoping for a glimpse. Suddenly, there he was in all his Armani glory. Bond-like in a tux, the obligatory starlet tucked under his arm with lashes so fake her lids drooped from the weight of the glue, he leaned over to whisper something in her ear. She responded with a silly schoolgirl giggle.
(Gag. Naivete and cleavage—not my favorite combo. Don’t get me started on the tacky number from Frederick’s. How thoroughly pathetic.)
Yet effective, y’know? For even as I watched, I saw the signs—the flirtatious smiles, the furtive winks, the private conversation—all prelude to the imminent sexual encounter. I know, because I study this behavior. I’m a master of this behavior. The dense little moron with a death-grip on her date could take lessons in seduction from moi.
(Hell, he’s a man…they practically seduce themselves.)
Ah, yes. There it was. The subtle disengaging from the crowd…the imperceptible swerve toward a side exit. Libidos taking precedence over a movie they didn’t care to see anyway.
No one noticed but me.
A moment later, they disappeared from view, swallowed by the labyrinth of hidden hallways leading back to their limo. Soon--maybe even en route to his palatial Hollywood estate--they'd strip off their clothes and engage in carnal frenzy.
He’d be hers tonight. Perhaps even several nights.
But I’m not worried. She won’t last longer than it takes for him to commit her name to memory.
Then it will be my turn.