Press. The love of make believe story's that are glued onto the front covers of magazines and newspapers.
Lies. Things said to hide the truth. To cover mistakes and change the way one sees or thinks.
Press and lies are like brothers. They fit together well. Perfectly.
The flashing lights of camera men running up to Rome, my body guard, was blinding me. I tried to cover my face with my black fur coat. My new Dior all black shades didn't help much.
I slipped into the car. When the door shut I could see crowds of people rushing towards the door. Thank god it was locked. I thought as the car smoothly drove down 5th avenue away from the white building.
After what felt like forever, the car stopped at a tall cold building. Home. I though as I took a deep breath. The door opened and a rush of painful ice air brushed up agents my face.
My heels tapped along the dark tile floor of the lobby. More flashing lights from the window, were all I could see from the reflection of the elevator doors.
The doors opened and their he was.
"Cassidy Cox" said a face I'll never forget.
"Damien, how nice to see you." I chocked on the word nice. Damien and nice do not go well together.
I stepped inside the elevator. Sunglasses in one hand and bag in the other.
"Number 57 still if I remember?" He said with pleasure.
"Yes 57." I said in discomfort
Damien Wilson is a man I've know from the beginning of my career in the acting world. We see each other from time to time. Partly because we both live in the same building. We both started out in the same film. Breaking Hearts. I played a upper class women from the 1950s and he played my husband. We traveled the world fighting crime together.The movie overall got an amazing rating.
We went out not long after the prime of the movie. He's also how I met Zavier.....
