A Fantasy Romance

Chapter 1

                                                                                 A Fantasy Romance

                                                                                                    by 

                                                                                         Eleanor Ward

LOS ANGELES, CA. NOVEMBER, 1978

The persistent ringing of the doorbell echoed in Alan Moreno's ears, drawing him reluctantly back from his thoughts.

He struggled to his feet and made his way towards the door. The face of his friend, Brian McAlister, greeted him.

"Hi, Alan. Just thought I'd call round and check you were O.K." The smile on the face faded, to be replaced by a frown.

Alan turned away and shuffled back into the living room. Brian followed, staring worriedly at his friend. Alan was obviously drunk. A half empty bottle of scotch hung limply from one hand, a full glass in the other. His shirt was open to the waist, its cuffs unbuttoned, the sleeves hanging over his hands. His dark hair was uncombed, his eyes dark and heavy from the combined effects of too much drink and too little sleep.

He flopped onto the sofa, waving the scotch bottle at Brian.

"Want one?"

"Alan, what are you doing?" Brian reproached him, raking a hand through his auburn hair and then stroking his ginger beard worriedly.

"Having a party... all on my ownio..." slurred Alan. "...But now you're here, we can have one together..."

"No, Alan." Brian took the bottle from him. "You've had enough."

Alan turned doe-like eyes on Brian, pouting like a spoilt child. "Aw... don't spoil it..."

Brian frowned, sitting down by him. "Come on, Alan, it's time you pulled yourself together. You can't go on like this."

"Like what?" slurred Alan.

"Wallowing in self-pity. It's doing you no good. It's affecting your work."

"Ha!" Alan spat the word. "My work." He took a swig of his drink. "Mustn't disappoint my fans, must I?" he sneered. "As long as I put on a good show, they don't care... They all say they love me... but if I didn't deliver the goods, they'd soon change their tune... They think you're some kind of machine that doesn't have problems like they do." He paused to take another swig of scotch.

"Thousands of fans I've got..." he waved his arm in the air, "But who's there when I need a friend?" He prodded himself in the chest. "Who?" He turned large sad eyes on Brian. "No-one." He said, flatly.

"We go back a long way, Alan. You can talk to me." said Brian, taking the glass from his hand and placing it on a glass topped coffee table in front of the sofa. "All this is because of Nita, isn't it? Why don't you call her?"

Alan shook his head. "She chose to go." He paused, deep in thought. "I gave her everything she could want... and still she left... She couldn't have loved me very much..." he trailed off, shaking his head to himself.

"You've got it wrong, Alan. All you have to do is call her and apologise." Brian told him, but Alan was lost in his thoughts.

Brian shook his head, remembering the last time Alan had loved and lost. He'd almost cracked up then. Afterwards, he had built up defences, refused to let anyone get close to him again, sure that people weren't interested in the real Alan Moreno, only in Alan Moreno the rich and famous singer. Then he'd met Nita, and in no time at all his carefully built defences had been broken down and he'd fallen in love again, thrown caution to the wind, come to rely on her, and her sudden departure, following an argument that Brian still didn't know the details of, had wrecked his confidence, destroyed his self-respect and broken his heart.