Restless Dreams II

A low moan escapes my lips, as what's left of my hair is ripped off my legs. I look down at my upper legs, and see that my skin has turned into a light shade of pink. A sharp sting shoots through my legs, as my stylist rubs a yellowish cream to my tender skin, but the pain quickly subsides. My stylist looks at me in the eye and smiles. "What?", I say. "You're just tolerating this very well. I'm impressed, Scott and Canon can't stand this!", she says.

"Huh, for someone their size, you'd think they wouldn't mind. What are they like?", I really should have avoided it, cause the last thing I need is a boner during the interviews. "Hmmm, well gorgeous, obviously. Canon is actually much shorter than you would think.", she says as I laugh. "But Scott on the other hand, is completely different! You think Canon is beautiful, but Scott will turn any straight man into a curly frie!", I try, but more laughter escapes me. "I'm serious! Even my boyfriend can't keep his eyes off him, and he's the cameraman!", she says.

"Oh, don't worry about me, my life as a model has given me the gift of hatred towards the egotistical. I'm gay, but I'll see right through him.", She just roles her eyes. "What, you don't believe me?", I ask. "We'll see, honey, we'll see... My name's Trish by the way.".

I expected a group interview when I was escorted to the bar, but when I arrived, Scott and Canon were being interviewed separately. I sighed with relief, knowing that I didn't have to confront my fears of pulling a boner in front of them. Not just yet, anyway. As I stand awkwardly, with a half dozen people applying blush to my face, a man with a thick English accent tells us five minutes till camera time. More masquera, blush, and cover-up find their on my face as a man is adding more gel to my fohawk.

Time seems to have run out, as the stylists are shooed away, as a man grabs my arm and pulls me to a part of the bar, where a young woman patiently awaits my appearance. She's a few inches shorter than me, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, somewhat pale skin, and wire framed glasses. I immediately knew who she was; Amanda Heraald, a well known reporter for Entertainment Weekly. She smiles and motions me to sit by her.

The questions she asks me are pretty normal, nothing too uncomfortable. "How does it feel to be a rising star? What are your thoughts on the film? How do you like your character? Is portraying your character an easy task?" just typical questions like that. During the middle of my interview, some of the other actors seemed to have flocked over to where I was being interviewed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Scott, staring at me with his his arms folded across his chest, showing off his muscular arms to good length. I try and focus on the questions I'm being asked, but the presence of Scott and the others is a bit uncomfortable for me, and my hands start to sweat. I rub them on my pants and bite my tongue, trying hard not to make an ass of myself. As the interview is over, and I'm done saying goodbye to the interviewer, I make my way to the front of the bar, but I am stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. I turn to see the masculine Scott Braunxt, touching my shoulder.

"Hey! You did great out there, for your first time!", he says in his deep Australian accent. He towers well over me, standing at 6ft 3. And me, well I stand around 5ft 10. "Oh, hello! Uhhh, thanks!", I say. "Hey, I was just going to have a drink with Canon, care to join us?", he asks. "Sure! I'd love to have a drink with the two hollywood big shots!", I say with forced enthusiasm. I quickly glance at his chest, which is totally visible through his skin tight Tshirt, as he looks the other way towards Canon Westenra.

As we sit down, Scott and Canon immediately start to stab me with questions. I answer politely, basking in the attention of my domineering companions. After Scott starts to get a little tipsy, Canon is the one who continues to ask me questions. But his questions start to get a little uncomfortable. "Do you prefer to be serviced at night or in the morning?", he asks. "Huh?" I say. "Oh, yeah, this is your first time. Let me put it this way, what kind of girls do you like?", he asks. "Uh, I'm not really into hookers...", I stammer.

"Ahhh, so you're not like us?", he asks, pointing to Scott, who bursts out laughing. "Canon, I thought you were married?", I say. Yes, he is married. Married to hollywood's most promising new actress's. "Oh yeah. Let's forget this little conversation, shall we?", just then, his cell phone rings. "Hold on, just a sec," he says. I look over at Scott, who is trying to get back into his chair, but keeps on falling down again in laughter. I think about helping him up, but how many times does a person see something like this? Instead, I just sit back and watch the show.

"Is he okay like this?", I look up to see the bartender starring down at Scott. "He seems pretty happy to me," I say. He meets my eye, and starts to laugh. "This is a little too early for him to start drinking. He usually gets like this at night.", he says. I never really got a good look at the bartender, before, but he could be Scott's personal trainer. He's obviously Latino, but not as dark skinned, short black spiky hair, killer smile, dimples, strong jaw structure, and you can tell there's a very athletic body under the dress shirt and vest. He seems to have the same, massive arms as Scott. I have to kick myself, to bring me back down to earth.

"So he's been here for awhile, huh?", I ask. "Yup. I've been serving him drinks for a whole week. Kinda sad, isn't it?", he says. We watch for a few more seconds, until he pukes all over te floor. "Strange, he dosnt seem like the alcoholic type," I say. "I better take him back to his room," he says. "Need help? That's a lot of luggage, for one person," I joke. "Sure, man!", he beams. It obvious that he doesn't need any help, the way he's built, but I've been kinda starving for attention.

We both grab him underneath his arms, and drag him through the bar, and into the elevator. Some people stop and watch as we drag hollywood's male sex symbol into an open elevator. Scott is still laughing hysterically, as we haul his body up into a standing position, so his legs won't get crushed in the elevator doors. "You got a name?", I ask. "David. Grayson, right?", he asks. "Call me Grey," I say with a smile. He smiles, too.

*****tell me what you think!!!!! In part three, I plan to write a sex scene, but tell me with who! David, or Scott???*****