✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
lavished with sparkling dresses
and exquisite beauty, a young
aspiring actress becomes hollywood's
new golden girl. notorious with her
reputation as a heartbreaker, her
career falls after a divorce with
one of...
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Travis bolted out of the hotel lobby, the bellboy's excited ramblings fading behind him. The rain had stopped, leaving a cool, damp scent in the air, but the stones on the pavement were still wet. He spotted the neon glow of a bar sign across the street and hurried towards it, "The Lover," his heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
The bar was a smoky, dimly lit place, buzzing with conversation and the clinking of glasses. He must have opened the door to quick, slamming it, causing the bartender to look at him with wide eyes. Travis did not even bother to say sorry, his attention was somewhere else, on a rowdy crowd surrounding a certain corner. Men were rowdy, as if there was a show to watch, and indeed did they have some entertainment.
He approached them. He only saw their backs, but for sure, if he shoved them off, he'd see the face of the movie star who'd escaped his hotel room. Through a peek within the traffic of bodies in front of him, he found Taylor smoking a cigarette and talking of stories, and the men around her looked at her as if she was the Messiah. "And then I told Cary Granf he's crazy! I wouldn't want to go skydiving. These legs..." She stands up and ask two men to sit beside her, so she'd have a lap to sit and spread her legs on, they cheer, and she continued, "I told him these legs are insured for forty million dollars."
They all laugh, the two men she sat on were grinning, and she gave them a kiss, causing an uproar in the crowd, "do me!", one of the strangers screamed. Her right hand makes its way to the hem of her shirt, the front part, and her fingers dig unto the valley between her breast, causing the crowd to go in silence due to the shock, only for her to bring out a 5 dollar bill and give it to the man. They cheered once again.
Travis watched not from afar, and he observed the men she sat on were even closer, their hands brushing hers a little too familiarly as they spoke in rapid-fire Italian. Taylor, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, leaned in, returning their smiles with flirtatious ease. Every touch, every murmured word, sent a jolt of fire through Travis. "And this is why I like going to Rome." He heard Taylor tell one of the men.
He clenched his fists, the urge to barge in and pull her away warring with the unwelcome realization that he had no right to do so. He walked across the crowd and pushed them easily with his large figure. Suddenly, the enjoyment in the room had faded, the serotonin had gone. A man, much shorter than him, had punched him, which came as a shock. Travis felt blood drop from his mouth, and it caused an anger to simmer beneath his surface. But before he could react, Taylor intervened. Slurring slightly, she spoke in Italian, her voice laced with a playful authority.
"Travis! What are you doing here?"
"It's 1 in the fucking AM, Taylor. You should be asleep! You still have to shoot tomorrow."
She ignores him for a while, and grabs her handkerchief from her pocket, dipping its tip on her glass if beer to wipe the single drop of blood away from his mouth. "Travis," she said, her voice thick, "meet my friends, Enzo and Marco. Boys, this is Travis, my..." she hesitated, searching for the right word, "...chauffeur."
