New Update!

Hello everyone. All of my Reviews, that I have yet to write, will be posted sporadically during the summer. After the end of this summer, I will not be posting on here anymore, as you will see the info on the right side of the blog.
Thanks for your understanding.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Love Like Krazy By: Kristen Beairsto *Review & Giveaway*


Title: Love Like Krazy
Author: Kristen Beairsto
Publisher: Self
Length: 122 pages
Genre: Romance
Sub-Genre: Contemporary

Available At:


Blurb

Most women would probably be offended at being mistaken for a stripper, but Kit Conner finds the situation rather comical. But despite Kit’s outward appearance of being able to handle just about anything, few are aware of the dark secrets Kit harbors and the demons she hides by cloaking herself in a wall of crazy antics and an outrageous fashion sense. As she returns to her hometown to play the role of maid of honor for her best friend’s wedding, Kit’s determined to hold on to those she holds dear for as long as she can. The only thing standing in her way is the absurd attraction she feels for Benjamin Mathews.

Benjamin Mathews is a guy who appreciates things to be slow, steady, and safe. Ben knows many consider him to be boring, but he’s happy with his life and loves the horse ranch he runs with his brother. The only thing he worries about is surviving the planning of his brother’s wedding.

With a wedding between Kit’s best friend and Ben’s younger brother fraying the nerves of everyone involved, Kit’s return home brings out her dark secrets into the light. The emotional overload starts to weigh on Kit and she begins to see Ben as an anchor. As their relationship intensifies, Kit struggles to believe they might actually have a future and soon finds herself fighting for the love she never thought possible.


Excerpt
Ben and Greg arranged things so everyone could relax for the first few hours before the real entertainment showed up. Ben glanced at his watch and noted the stripper would show up in about an hour.

As he grabbed a beer for himself, he started to head towards the poker table. As he moved passed the front window, he heard the music before he saw its source. Loud blaring techno music nearly drowned out the country music behind him. It came from within a black Cadillac convertible pulling into the driveway. The New York plates said KRAZYLV.

The music suddenly died as the occupant in the Caddy turned the engine off. The driver’s head was covered in a red zebra stripped cowboy hat obscuring their face. As the driver climbed out, however, he had no doubt in his mind she was female.

Ben first saw the flame red cowboy boots step out of the car. She turned to close the car door and turned her back to him. Above the boots, red leather pants hugged every curve of two very long legs and wide hips. From there, a red tank top clung with a plunging neckline covering her torso, which included a flat stomach and large breasts. Long blonde hair curled at the ends around her breasts. But as she turned her back to him, Ben discovered the top only covered the front of her and a few crisscrossed strings held the top on in the back, exposing smooth skin. She bent over to grab something from the backseat of the car and displayed a very nice view Ben greatly appreciated.

When she turned to face him fully, he saw she still wore sunglasses despite the sun being almost completely set. Even from the distance he stood, Ben could see the deep red lipstick she wore, the heart shaped mouth practically invited a kiss. But between the sunglasses and hat brim pulled down, he still couldn’t see her face clearly.

She was an hour early, he mused, but he would forgive her since she was sure to stir the party up.

Outside, Kit pulled her backpack from the backseat of her Caddy, turned and glanced up at the two-story house where her best friend lived. She grinned, studying the exterior of the home. Apparently, her best friend was well on her way to becoming a Matthews.

The Matthews were one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the small California town. Raymond Matthews, Greg and Ben’s father, was a banker and venture capitalist. His wife, Loren, up until recently was a highly successful businesswoman and now, from what Kit understood, spent her extra time with her philanthropy. But unlike most of the rich people she came to know and meet, the Matthews were genuine people.

Of course, Ray and Loren Matthews weren’t above using a regal demeanor when the moment called for it, she mused.

Yep, Anne was well cared for, Kit decided as she started up the drive towards the front door. As she stepped closer, Kit realized she heard the low hum of country music and remembered the bachelor party Anne told her about. She smiled in anticipation as she wondered whether or not the stripper arrived yet.

Before Kit reached the door, it opened and Ben stepped out.

He still looked the same, she decided. Tall and handsome, with wide shoulders screaming lean on me, and those piercing midnight eyes.

Kit sighed inwardly as she felt the familiar flutter in her stomach. Damn, she was still attracted to him. Oh well, she dealt with it as a teenager, she could deal with it as a grown woman.

“Hi, you’re early, but that’s all right.” He looked down at her backpack and frowned. “If you don’t have a stereo or anything, that’s fine, but I hope you have your own music. I don’t think you’d like dancing to the stuff we have.”

Kit frowned, confused.

Ben watched her heart shaped mouth frown, the rest of her face still obscured from view. The backpack she carried didn’t seem to carry much. He certainly hoped she had her own music, for the price they were paying, the least she could do was provide her own music.

After a moment, a seductive smile slipped across her mouth. There was something oddly familiar about her, but unable to see the majority of her face because of her hat, sunglasses, and the dark, Ben wasn’t sure how he might know her.

“Don’t worry, sugar,” she offered in a husky tone, “I’ve got my own tunes.”

He gave her a friendly smile and nodded. “Good. Why don’t I announce you first?” He turned, opened the door and stood in the doorway, blocking the view inside the house. Ben asked someone to turn off the stereo. “Now, gentlemen, I would like to introduce the real entertainment of the night,” Ben announced.

Moving aside, Ben turned and motioned for Kit to step inside. The seductive smile stayed in place as she stepped over the threshold of the door. A few men whistled in appreciation, a few others gave catcalls.

Smugly watching his buddies’ reactions, Ben saw her mouth curve from the corner of his eye. Glancing down, Ben noticed she had yet to remove the sunglasses. Seeing her seductive smile change, something else nagged his brain.

“Honey, no offense, but what’s your costume?” Ben whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Ben watched the amused smile spread fully across her lips. Pulling her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, she turned slightly so the light in the room fully illuminated her face. She looked at him over the top of the glasses with familiar wide pale blue eyes dancing with mischief.

Ben felt his stomach hit the floor.

Her lips parted to reveal white even teeth. “A maid of honor,” she drawled with a knowing wink. 


Review
This is a wonderful story. I really liked reading Kit and Ben's story. Kit is a successful Author, but was not always that way. Even now, she feels like she does not deserve to be loved and this realization has always stuck with her, since she was a little girl. I felt for her, as on the outside, she shows a side of herself that is pretty confident and she just seems to have a winning personality and is outgoing, but in the inside, that is something she does not reveal to anyone, even to her crush for so many years, Ben. Now, he seemed all around a good guy, and did not even know of Kit really, until they are both in their late twenties and are getting ready for a wedding of two people they know and love very much: Ben's younger brother, Greg and Kit's best friend, Anne. As Ben and Kit get to know each other, well it's not an easy journey. There are definite emotions, and I believe they were good ones, to really understand the characters, and connect with them. There was frustration, tension, jealousy, but oh there was... desire. Some of the events were realistic, and to me, that just makes me like a story more, including this one. They are many elements that contribute to this story, and by the end, I was pretty content on how everything worked out. Beairsto has written a beautiful story, and I hope you read it! 

My Rating: 4/5
I say R-Rated (Mature Adult Content)


Author Bio
An avid reader since she first learned to read, Kristen discovered romance novels as a teenager. And what can she say? She was a goner. Kristen discovered she’s a sucker for a good love story, strong characters, and that all-important happily ever after. She wrote her first novel length story at the age of eleven and after falling in love with romance novels, her writing started featuring romantic elements.

When Kristen’s not reading or writing, she’s hanging out with friends, family, her two rambunctious daughters, and her exceedingly tolerate husband. She’s also a huge New York sports fan.



*Giveaway*

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blood Doll By: Georgia Cates *Cover Reveal!!*

The Cover Reveal Of Blood Doll is finally here!! Wow, the cover looks so great; I like it very much, including the colors, the blue and green tones, very cool! What about you? I would love to see what you think! :)


Blurb
Solomon Alexander has faced huge obstacles during his existence, but they’re nothing in comparison to the one he’s about to hit head on. As leader of The Savannah Compound, part of Sol’s new position in the Coven of Landra is to guide the transition of fledgelings, newly turned vampires. It’s his job to save the unsavable. Being a Landra is what he’s done for over a century and he’s damn good at it, but everything he knows, practices and teaches is threatened when he is forced to drink from Avery Ferrand, a Blood Jewel. 

The Blood Jewel is enshrouded with mystery, but one fact is known. There’s never been blood more desirable or addicting than Avery’s and there are consequences for any vampire that drinks it...including Solomon Alexander. Although he adamantly denies his need to feed from her, Avery suspects he’s lying but she has secrets of her own about the night he drank from her. She wanted him to and now she finds herself being drawn to Solomon in a way she shouldn't. As Avery’s desire to be closer to Solomon grows, she finds herself considering something more dangerous than being found by the dangerous covens hunting her...asking Solomon if she can become his Blood Doll. 


Author Bio

Georgia resides in rural Mississippi with her wonderful husband, Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent thirteen years as a labor and delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an author. 

Blood of Anteros, Book One in The Vampire Agápe Series, was her first novel and it was released in September 2011. She decided to briefly step away from the paranormal genre to try her hand at a young adult contemporary romance when she wrote Going Under, but returned to the paranormal romance platform to complete the second book in The Vampire Agápe Series, Blood Jewel.

Her current works in progress are Shallow (A Going Under Novel) which will release on September 27th and Blood Doll (The Vampire Agápe Series #3), to be released in January 2013. 




The Dark Night Rises *Film Review* (Guest Post)


Happy Saturday everyone! 
 I want to thank Larry Heart for Guest Blogging today, so please read His Review below!


Guest Film Review
About The Dark Knight
You may have heard a lot of great things about The Dark Night. Despite the lavish praise, be prepared to be a little disappointed. Although The Dark Night was expected to be the greatest superhero movie of its time, it failed to claim this title. The film’s director and co-writer, Christopher Nolan, makes a wonderful attempt at an entertainment blockbuster, but it simply did not live up to its pre-release expectations.
The Dark Night is supposed to be telling the audience the tale of a city and the plight of its people. However, the movie fails to get past the fact that the movie is centered around a man in a mask swooping around trying to stop a seemingly unstoppable bad guy and save some innocents. 
The movie is essentially about two men, Batman (Christian Bale) and The Joker (Heath Ledger). Batman is too single-minded in his sense of justice. His conscience underpins all and his naivete is unrealistic and unentertaining. The Joker is supposed to represent chaos and is too fictional a character to inspire any real fear. The audience is supposed to be rooting for “good” in the form of Batman to win for the sake of Gotham. But what we really see is simply two forces, which cannot be identified with, battling it out. Nolan makes a grand attempt at capturing the audience through his script. But the effort seems to come up short.
Many Batman fans may be expecting to see long, complicated fight scenes that they can lose themselves in. However, in The Dark Night, this is not the case. There is lots of fighting, but it happens so quickly that there is no time to reflect or properly appreciate it.
The movie drags on for as long as 152 minutes. A lull in the second half makes the movie seem even longer. You definitely won’t be sitting on the edge of your seat for this movie. It seems as if Nolan’s take on this story places more emphasis on psychology than action. So when you would rather see an exciting fight scene, you have to suffer through the head games that are supposed to be pushing the story.
Critics have praised The Dark Knight describing it as a wonderful package of entertainment and art. But the movie is too dark and gritty to be thought of as entertaining art. Nolan tried to take the superhero genre in a new direction, but it is hoped that it will find its way back – if it hasn’t already.
Before the movie was released, and amidst the media frenzy of an expected epic akin to Batman Begins or better, Heath Ledger died unexpectedly. Immediately there was talk of an icon in the making and whispers of an Oscar for Ledger. Well, it has now been proven that tragedy cannot turn a poorly interpreted role into a stellar performance. Ledger’s portrayal of The Joker is juvenile at best. You get the feeling that Nolan wants you to fall in love with him and end up rooting for the bad guy. But it’s impossible for anyone to be able to identify with The Joker who cares nothing about anyone, not even himself.
In summary, if you are looking for an exciting movie with stunning fight scenes and explosions and characters that you can relate to, then The Dark Night is not for you. Despite all the hype before and during the release of the movie, it will definitely disappoint serious fans of the superhero genre.
Article written by Larry Heart.
http://www.writing-job-online.com/

Friday, August 24, 2012

Fractured Light By: Rachel McClellan (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Hello everyone! Thank you ATOMR Book Blog Tours for letting me participate! You will see an Excerpt below and an awesome Giveaway that is International, so be sure to check that out! :)
**Also, the Author has lowered the price of this novel to $.99 during this tour**

Book Description
Llona Reese is used to living on the run. After the Vykens killed her parents, she knew they would eventually come for her too. But she never felt ready to face them---until now. Defying the Auran Council and everything she's been taught, Llona must learn to use her power over light as a weapon if she wants to survive.


Excerpt

“What happened in the woods, Llona?” He was moving forward but very slowly, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice.

“You should know. You were there.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“So you’re saying it wasn’t you calling my name and—hunting me?”

Christian froze. “Why did you use that word?”

“What word?”

“Hunted.”

“Because that’s what it felt like.”

He began moving quickly toward me. “We have to get out of here now. It’s not safe.” His rushed movements caught me off guard, and before I could stop to think, I made a mad leap from the bridge. I thought I’d cleared the wood railing until my hand caught on something. My body dangled in the darkness like a fish on a hook. I could see nothing but a bottomless black world. I looked up to see what had stopped me.

Christian was leaning over the ledge on his stomach, holding my hand. I couldn’t believe he had gotten to me so fast.

“Give me your other hand,” he grunted.

I felt my hand slipping but did nothing to stop it.

He stared directly into my eyes. “Trust me, Llona. Please.”

I couldn’t trust anyone but myself. Completely calm, I said, “I can’t.”

And then I let go.
********************************


Author Bio: Rachel McClellan
My YA urban fantasy novel FRACTURED LIGHT was just released. The sequel is tentatively planned for release in February 2013. 

I've been drunk on writing ever since I traveled to Ireland and became blessed (or cursed) by a Leprechaun with a french accent and a bad attitude. Of course I did just steal his gold, but that's another story. 

I currently live in Maine and find the place terribly and hauntingly romantic. Love the forests and graveyards. 
(This Bio is from Goodreads)

Social Media Links

Links To Find/Buy Book 


*Giveaway*


The Holden Age Of Hollywood By: Phil Brody *Spot Light & Giveaway*


Blurb

“Hollywood died on me as soon as I got here. Welles said that, not me, but damn if he didn’t nail it, you know?”

Sam Bateman came to Hollywood to settle a score, but amidst the sunny and 75, his plans went astray. Everything changed the day he drank in the intoxicating legend of Meyer Holden, the greatest screenwriter Hollywood has ever known, the one who pulled a Salinger and walked away. Holden now tacks pseudonyms onto his works and buries them in the bottomless sea of spec that is Hollywood’s development process. They’re out there for anyone to find—but at what cost? In his quest, Bateman severs all ties and sinks into a maddening world of bad writing and flawed screenplays. Paranoid and obsessive, the belligerent savant encounters an eccentric cast of characters—each with an agenda—in his search for the one writer in Hollywood who does not want to be found.

Phil Brody’s The Holden Age of Hollywood is at once a detective novel, an unexpected love story, and a provocative exposé of a broken industry. With dark humor and incisive commentary, the novel immerses readers in a neo-noir quest to attain the Hollywood dream, integrity intact.

Reviews have been rolling in and here's what the critics have to say:

“The Holden Age of Hollywood by Phil Brody delivers the premise and promise of its title. It is an original, rollicking, picaresque novel that would make J.D. Salinger proud.”
~ 
Stan Corwin, former publisher/CEO of Pinnacle Books, author of Betty Page Confidential and Oxy-Morons I Have Known
“Brody’s debut novel has an ambitious agenda. It’s a coming-of-age novel, a mystery, a love story, and a stinging, knowing send-up of the movie biz. Brody melds these disparate elements with energy, wit, snarky insider dialogue, and a clipped, telegraphic narrative style. . . The Holden Age of Hollywood is fine entertainment."
~
 Thomas Gaughan, Booklist (May 1, 2012)
“As the sun came up today, I turned the last page of Phil Brody’s The Holden Age of Hollywood. That’s because I couldn’t put it down. I can rarely make time for novels, but this one had me rifling through pages with constant anticipation. The back drop of this story is the same backdrop I live and work in. Hollywood. With all its fast-talkers, posers, and users, Brody weaves a tale through all the madness that is Hollywood with a voice of reason, integrity, and hilarious sarcasm. . . I have rarely been this entertained, while being informed, all from reading the same book."
~ 
Doug Jones, Actor, Pan's Labyrinth, Hellboy I and II, Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer
“If anyone knows Hollywood, author Phil Brody knows Hollywood. The Holden Age of Hollywood is a cynical and witty look at the real town . . . exposing the often underappreciated business of screenwriting, all while unfolding an unexpected love story. . . .”
~ 
Jessica Druck, The Five-Stir
“Readers will enjoy watching a fascinating Bateman get sucked into the Hollywood drama machine. Filled with a quirky cast working humorous scenes, this is a fascinating character study as Bateman goes the extraordinary extra kilometer to find a Holden screenplay.”~ Harriet Klausner, Genre Go Round Reviews  (June 18, 2012) 


Excerpt
(From Chapter 1: Doing Time)

I escape to the patio, perch myself at the bar, where the bartenders can’t pour the Red Bull or the Kettle One fast enough. I watch them work, mesmerized by the stampede for this overhyped mixture of depressant and upper. I know no one uses terms like that anymore— depressant, upper. Call me old-fashioned. Actually, call me well-rounded. Helps me do my job and deal with the reason I’m doing time in this town. Drink to that.

“Another gin and tonic?”

I nod once to my best friend at this party, my only friend in this fucking town—the bartender. Not this bartender per se. Every bartender. They mix a cure for what ails me. Sure, it’s a momentary cure, but those are some of my happiest moments. Way it is.

Too many people. Too loud. Attitudes starting to asphyxiate. I stare at the sea of lights, the view from the Hills of this coldfuckcold city that’s 75 degrees every day. It’s an endless four- story grid of isolated, lock-the-door-behind-you lives, where everyone is either so wrapped up in creating their own success story or so damaged from their failure that resentment for one another is all we have in common.

Lights everywhere twinkle, look so inviting, but it’s a trick. I know it.


Sneak Peak Inside The Novel 

BLAH

"If you’re looking for motivation in all this, here it is. Decided to move to Los Angeles fifteen days after I buried my father, seven days after I discovered a drawer filled with his writing— six screenplays, eleven short films, one play, a few short stories, and one unfinished book abandoned after less than four chap- ters. He worked in advertising as a copywriter, but I never knew he wrote like that.

“I read his entire body of work in two days.

“My dad was the only family I ever really had, besides our dog Kirby. We moved to San Francisco from Minneapolis when I was seven, and he raised me on his own. Worked his ass off to provide. Makes me wonder when he ever found the time to write anything, much less a drawer full of stuff.

“He was a really good writer. Pretty certain no one’s aware of that but me. A stack of rejection letters postmarked Holly- wood, California, led me to that assumption. Highly doubt my father tossed letters of affirmation.

“No one paid him to write, but he did. He did it all on spec, obviously hoping someone would like what he wrote and buy it or pay him to write something else. Neither happened for my dad.

“I should have been content to read his words, which re- vealed a side of him I never knew. Story should have ended there. However, something in the rejection letters didn’t add up. Within those letters, I discovered the lie.

“Buried at the bottom of the drawer, I read the rejection letters last, found many discrepancies within. A lot of them were vague, mere form letters. It was the others that turned my con- tentment vile. The ones claiming they’d read the submission, when clearly they hadn’t. They called his political farce a roman- tic comedy and his drama a dramedy because of their deceptive titles. I saw the discrepancies, wondered if he ever noticed.

“Sitting amidst my father’s words, I was confused, irri- tated. Gin took the edge off, mixed with fatigue, and I gave in to slumber around three a.m.

“Kirby’s panicked panting woke me about an hour later.

“The day before I discovered the drawer, six days after my dad’s funeral, Kirby fell sick. He stopped eating and began to wax and wane. Throughout the day, his lethargic mood far outweighed the moments he found the strength to move.

“I forced my tired bones out of bed and moved to comfort him. In the dark, I reached to pet him, missed his head, and my hand dipped into something wet. I thought he might be bleed- ing, but after turning on the light, I discovered Kirby, unable to rise from the bed, had defecated in it.

“I’ll never forget his eyes, the shame and weariness in them. They told me what I already knew—he was dying. Nothing I could do.

“I picked him up, carried him out to the back of the house so I could clean him off with the garden hose. As I washed his fur, he panted, licking me whenever my skin was anywhere near his snout. I dried him off, carried him back into the house, wrapped him in my father’s comforter, and laid him on the couch.

“He sniffed around the bedding, searching in vain for his best friend. When he looked up at me, confused and weary, all I could do was tell him, ‘I miss him too.’

“The vet arrived two hours after I telephoned. He was one who specialized in housecalls to see if your pet is merely ill or needs to be put to sleep. He examined Kirby about thirty seconds before he said, ‘It’s time.’

“Two shots later, Kirby was gone. “It was too much. I lost it. Broke down. Lamented all day. 

“Decided to move to Los Angeles the following morning. 

“Closed up shop, pronto. Hired a Realtor, put my dad’s
house up for sale. Broke the lease on my apartment. Sold everything. Everything. I had nothing. What I did take fit into my Explorer.

“Started driving toward a clear destination, uncertain where I was headed . . .

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. You asked.” 
**************************

FOSTER FILMS, LLC 
Sunset Gower Studios / 1438 N. Gower Street / Hollywood, CA 90028

August 19, 1992

Dear Henry Bateman,

Let me take this opportunity to thank you for send- ing me a copy of your romantic comedy screenplay titled Chase the Girl.

After careful consideration, I feel your work is not quite right for Foster Films.

Please realize the movie business is a subjective one. Foster Films wishes you the best of luck finding placement for your work. Thank you again for the opportunity to read your script.

Sincerely,

Jon Foster


Doing Time (1)
“What are you in for?” 
Fourth time tonight I’m asked this question. It’s the city’s trendy new way of inquiring, “What do you do?”

“Actor.” Fourth different answer I’ve given tonight.

I’m in the Hills at an industry party hosted by a guy I despise. House is way too crowded, music’s way too loud. Everyone here thinks their shit not only doesn’t stink but might make a good movie. Welcome to LA.

Guy I despise is Justin Lackey, an A-list prick I work with in Development. In case your only movie experience comes in between the tearing of your ten-dollar ticket and the pissing away of six-dollar Coca-Colas, development is the process of finding, acquiring, polishing, and packaging the scripts that ultimately help fill said multiplex near you.

Lackey and I work for Jon Foster, a dinosaur in Hollywood whose last real days in the sun occurred in the late seventies. His initial success made him relevant for almost thirty years, but it’s painfully obvious his days as a player in the industry are numbered. So what are we doing working for the near extinct? Biding time before we make our own moves in the game of chess that is Hollywood. That’s fundamentally why we hate each other. When you’re swimming with the sharks, you don’t make friends. You wait for the smell of blood. Then you feast.

Shark tank of a party is wearing on me. Current con- versation grates. Told I’ll never be a successful actor in this town because my look is way too Kinkoed. The comment shouldn’t bother me, but the chick who said it irks me, so I ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your look. It’s too off-the-rack.”

Speak LA, as I do now after more than a year in this wretched hive, and you’d realize this means too many actors look like me. This might resonate if I wanted to be an actor. I don’t. It would also mean something if I even remotely wanted to bang this girl. I don’t. She looks too Starbucked for my taste—all bitter and burned out. I like them on the chaste side. Hard to find in this town, but I aspire.

I escape to the patio, perch myself at the bar, where the bartenders can’t pour the Red Bull or the Kettle One fast enough. I watch them work, mesmerized by the stampede for this overhyped mixture of depressant and upper. I know no one uses terms like that anymore—depressant, upper. Call me old-fashioned. Actually, call me well-rounded. Helps me do my job and deal with the reason I’m doing time in this town. Drink to that.

“Another gin and tonic?”

I nod once to my best friend at this party, my only friend in this fucking town—the bartender. Not this bar- tender per se. Every bartender. They mix a cure for what ails me. Sure, it’s a momentary cure, but those are some of my happiest moments. Way it is.

Too many people. Too loud. Attitudes starting to asphyxiate. I stare at the sea of lights, the view from the Hills of this coldfuckcold city that’s 75 degrees every day. It’s an endless four-story grid of isolated, lock-the-door-behind- you lives, where everyone is either so wrapped up in creating their own success story or so damaged from their failure that resentment for one another is all we have in common.

Lights everywhere twinkle, look so inviting, but it’s a trick. I know it.

The drug I’m sipping starts to work its magic, and my thoughts are set adrift. I ponder whether the decision I’ve been mulling the last few weeks, the journey I believe I’m about to embark upon, is my destiny or my density. Destiny. Density. Amazing how those words are so close. Just a matter of how the letters fall.

Thoughts get derailed when someone enters the picture. This tall, slender, smoking hot gotta-be-an-actress with stellar gams and straight black hair that almost meets her I-swear-sometimes-God-is-an-artist perfect ass. Love her right off the bat. Trust me, you would too.

She saunters my way. Truth told, she merely enters the crime scene that’s unfolding around me. She approaches the bar where my ass has been suffocating this barstool for the last hour, while leaving incriminating fingerprints on many a glass. She busts me. I introduce myself and we shake hands. Touch of her skin confirms a smoldering attraction. The smile in her chestnut eyes ignites it.

Her name is Share. Just Share. I’m not making this up. She even spells it for me. Also confirm she’s indeed an actress as I help her and her friend, who’s incessantly scanning the crowd, obtain drinks. Share and I cheers, dance together with words.

“You know Justin?” she inquires. 

“I work with that son of a bitch. You?” 

She grins. “He is a son of a bitch.” 

“What kind of name is Share?” 

“The kind I was given.” 

“Come on. Unless you were born here, there’s no way.” 

She laughs, but I can tell she’s pissed. 

“Where you from? What’s your real name?” 

“Thanks for the drink,” she says as she disregards me. 

“That’s it? All I get?” 

“Do I owe you something?” 

“No, Share,” I say with sarcastic emphasis on her given
name, “you don’t owe me anything, for the drink or the chat. Both are overpriced anyway.”

“Drinks are free. No one’s paying tonight.”

“You can believe that, but you’re wrong. Nothing’s free here. Ever.”

She stares at me, pontificates, “You’re not the kind of guy who’s afraid to merge in LA, are you?”

Makes me laugh but also have to ask, “What are you talking about?”

Should’ve played the game, should have said, “Do you know who I am?” I’m nobody, but no one knows that and therein lies the secret to Coldfuckcold, California.

Share turns to her chubby, UGG-wearing friend who’s not listening and says, “See?”

Her tone makes me hate her. Trust me, you’d hate her too. “See what?” 

“You’ll never be on the list.”

 “What list?” 

“Any list.” 
I seethe. Take a swig of Hindsight mixed with 20/20
and lean in, making sure she can hear me. “Yeah? Well, Ass Eyes, you’ll be making porn inside of a year. And not that glossy Vivid Video stuff either. It’s gonna be fetish flicks and bukkake videos for you until the day you die a lonesome and disease-laden death.”

“Did you just call me Ass Eyes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What the fuck is that?”

 “Let me clarify. Your eyes. They look like shitty, brown
assholes. Two of ’em. That’s what the fuck that is. Now you can hurry back to the parade of delusion where, like every- one else, you’re obviously somebody important.”

She laughs. We talk another thirty minutes. She stares at my lips the entire time, which I hope you know is a good sign. 

As her UGG-wearing friend finally pulls her away in search of a better vantage point, I garner her digits. All ten. 

Watching her out-of-my-league ass sway bye-bye, I can
only smile. 

Welcome to LA. My lot in life. 
************************

Author Bio
Phil Brody lives in Los Angeles and writes every day. He began his career in Chicago in advertising. After moving to LA, Brody toiled in development, penned a few spec scripts, and has worked as a writer, producer, and director in documentary TV. His short film, A Blue Christmas, was the grand prize winner in The Short Film Group’s First Annual Script Competition and was acknowledged in the WorldFest-Houston and Cleveland International Film Festivals. Brody is a graduate of Miami University of Ohio and an alumnus of Writers Boot Camp in Santa Monica, California. The Holden Age of Hollywood is his first novel.
He can be reached at emailphilbrody@gmail.com





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