Loving You, Always

Chapter 11. I heard she is a mistress

"I don't want to wear these bikinis," Sara snapped to the stylist, looking at the wardrobe display.

"All the casts have to wear bikinis for this scene, including you. Please be a professional," the stylist snapped back. "If you refuse to wear bikinis, why did you accept this role?"

Sara admitted that all the stylists said was true. It was because of her damned manager who accepted without her consent, and now she must take the consequences. She looked at a deep-blue-sea, tiny fabric in her palm with amused. It would only covered her nipples. He sighed heavily as her shoulder slumped.

Oh, God. What will my father say if he saw me wearing these scraps?

It wasn't that she didn't want to wear bikinis. But for the movie, it was another story. In addition, these bikinis were so little and thin.

"I know. But... May I wear a t-shirt instead? I am Camilo's model so I have to promote their product." Sara tried to negotiate. At least she could cover her breast.

The stylist gave her a jeered, disgusting look, "Okay, I will ask the director."

Linda's eyes followed the girl when they passed over. Linda entered with orange juice in her right hand.

"This your booster." She handed the glass to Sara and checked the wardrobe. Her eyes gone wide when she took one of the bikinis from the hanger and stormed. "What is this? This is really a crap."

Sara flopped on the bed, avoiding Linda's wandering eyes. She knew she had done the wrong thing, but she didn't want to be blamed. She sighed deeply.

*****

James rolled off the curtain, letting the morning sunshine invading the dim bedroom. He squinted, regarded to a dazzling sun that already above the horizon. He arrived by chopper last night to check the photoshoot for the ambassador's judging phase. He wanted to make sure that all would go well.

He slid open the door, itched to jump into the infinity pool before him. However, he took a shower instead. It was early in the morning and he didn't want to have a shock-attack if he drove himself on this peaceful morning breeze.

It was already so bright when he finished showering. He checked out his wardrobe and took out the crimson red T-shirt and black Bermuda shorts. The designer-made flip-flop, which tagged almost one-thousand dollars, was ready on the shoe-rack. He was never aware of how much its cost because he never bought everything attached to him by himself, except for watches. Speaking of watches, he checked the clockwork on his Richard Milles. It was nine already.

Waiting for Mr. Hiro, he poured the pallets, which were available, on the Koi's pond. Watching to amazing moving black, orange, and white creature. They danced in a circle, reminded him of Yin and Yang that could hypnotize everyone who saw.

When the golf car appeared with the soft roar of its engine, he couldn't hide to lift the corner of his lips. Mr. Hiro took the driver's place while the driver himself sat next to him. His habit didn't let others invading his duty, still was unbroken.

He went to the throng of the people on the beach after the uneventful breakfast. The grain of sand covered his tanned feet, flowing down between his toes when he stepped on the sand dunes. Birds quacked, mixed with the chatters, and yell enriched in the background.

Coming closer, he looked for the face he missed a lot, but she nowhere to be found. Some crew squinted their eyes as if they saw something wrong with him, but some ignored him.

He focused on the couple was on a serious conversation. Overhearing what they were talking about.

"What the fucking shit!" the man seemed to be the director, indicating with a headphone lingered on his neck and a bundle like a script in his right hand, yelled to a girl. "Sonia!" he stretched his head among the crowd looking for a girl he called by Sonia.