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I had dreamt about this for most of my adult life, and now it had happened, I was laid in bed next to someone who I had convinced myself was the man of my dreams.
My interest had started when I was a teenager and he was in his late twenties. I had a part time job at the local cinema, and he was starring in a low budget British made film, which unexpectedly became a box office hit and thrust him into the limelight. His performance receiving many accolades, as well as a surprise Oscar nomination.
The rising star being a local boy, the town’s newspaper had made a huge fuss about the success of the film and the cinema was full of posters and promotional goodies such as life-size cut outs of the main characters, one of the ones of Billy made it into my bedroom after I’d managed to salvage a decent one which was headed for the bins after the film had finished it run.
Initially I had posters on my bedroom wall and scrapbooks filled with newspaper and magazine clippings. As I grew older my interest in film guided my education choices and I ended up studying Creative Writing and Film studies at University. I’m not saying I engineered my career to meet Billy, he influenced my passion for film and although the posters and scrapbooks were long gone by adulthood, I still closely followed his career and once he returned to the UK I finally got my opportunity to work with him.
I always ignored the largely negative press surrounding his personal life, if you believed the gossip magazines, you’d think he was a serial lothario, jumping from bed to bed of some of the most glamourous and beautiful women. But here I was, laid in bed with him after two days on set. Working with him had not been the dream I had hoped, professionalism wasn’t that important to him, but I let a lot of his nonsense slide.
I joined him one morning in the canteen and we got chatting about our shared hometown and we laughed about the life-size cut out that lived in my teenage bedroom. The next night we were leaving the studios at the same time after a long and unproductive day, he was asked for a recommendation of a nice restaurant as he didn’t rate the hotel’s offering. I of course in full fan-girl mode offered to take him to a local hidden gem. The food was top-notch, and Billy clearly enjoyed the attention he still managed to attract.
I’d listened in awe from the across the table as I nibbled on a salad, and he mainly talked and knocked back glass after glass of wine. He still looked good for his age, he had lines around his eyes, and he looked tired, but they still sparkled and when he smiled a genuine smile his face lit up.
We abandoned our cars in the restaurant car park and jumped into a taxi together. I hadn’t invited him in when we arrived at my address, we just both assumed. I’d gone through the motions of asking him if he wanted a coffee and flicking the switch on the kettle, but before it had reached boiling point he’d manoeuvred me up against the wall and had started kissing me. His frenzied wine-soaked kisses moved down my neck and within a couple of swift moves, unbuttoning and unclipping, he was caressing my naked breasts, he stopped suddenly and looked intense suggesting we move upstairs.
The next morning when I woke, he was fast asleep, his mouth slightly agape. I was facing him and didn’t want to move, I stayed still as a took in his rugged face. It wasn’t like the movies, the girl had got the guy but we both knew it was only going to be a one off, after it was over, we’d both fallen asleep without words. I slipped out of bed and grabbed my dressing gown; my feelings of disappointment were palpable. I needed to get him back to his hotel so he could change and get on set. I quickly booked a taxi and then prodded him explaining the taxi was on his way and I needed him to leave as I had a breakfast meeting.
Still groggy and looking dishevelled I watched as Billy climb into the taxi, he turned and gave a wave and a wink in my direction. I returned an unfeeling wave and closed the door on Billy Nicholls.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.