Love In Her Eyes

12

The next morning Michael wakes me up, his silhouette slightly shadowed with the morning sun filtering in behind him.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and gently nudging my arm.

"Gwenny, it's time to wake up."

My eyes flutter open and I say, begrudgingly, "I'm up."

Laughing, he bends down to kiss my forehead.

For a moment, I think we are back in our apartment in New York, and I can almost hear the sound of the morning rush hour some twenty stories below. The thought is relaxing and I want to simply roll over and go back to sleep.

But then I catch a glimpse of a towering Los Angeles palm tree outside the window, and I sit up immediately. My photo shoot!

"What time is it?!" I ask frantically, praying I didn't oversleep.

"Don't worry, it's just eight thirty. You still have an hour."

Only an hour? Bloody hell!

I throw the sheets to the side, hurry out of bed, and head to the bathroom.

The sight in the mirror is exactly what I feared: Dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep and hair in complete disarray. Sigh.

I run a brush through my blond hair and smooth it into a low ponytail.

Next I cleanse my face and apply some cooling serum under my eyes, which is supposed to alleviate morning puffiness- fingers crossed.
The serum, and about a hundred other facial products, had been a free gift after I'd done a collaboration with Estée Lauder a few months ago.

I didn't have to worry about doing my makeup; the photographers always had a stylist come to the photo shoots, and I was more than happy to let them doll me up however best they saw fit. Today we would be shooting along the beach, so I figured they'd want to go for a more natural look.

I change out of pajamas and into a pair of khaki shorts and a thin, button up blouse, and slide a pair of sunglasses on top of my head.

"Room service is here," Michael calls from the foyer.

The thought of consuming a large breakfast less than an hour before a bikini shoot wasn't very appealing, although it did smell delicious.

I settle for some fresh fruit and watch across the table as Michael devours scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

"I take it you're not feeling too ill anymore," I say with a smirk.

He glances up, speaking with his mouth full.

"I'm feeling much better. Must've been that damn shrimp cocktail, like I said. I think it's out of my system now."

I sure hope.

"What are you going to do today?" I ask. "I'll probably be gone for quite awhile. Sometimes these shoots last six or seven hours, and that's just what Nadine told me. I really have no clue."

"Oh I'll figure something out. It's L.A. right? Hey I could go star searching!"

"Star searching?" I repeat, amused.

"Yeah!" He said, becoming more animated. "I'll drive up in the Hollywood hills where all the stars live. Why, I might even march right up to Marlon Brando's house and enjoy a nice glass of scotch with him."

I laugh. "And on what grounds, do you suppose, Mr. Brando would let you in his home?"

"I'd tell him I'm dating the most beautiful supermodel in the world, Gwen Adley, of course."