Marina & Trevor
(The Rock Star Stories)
by Belle Hart
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright 2011 by Belle Hart
All rights reserved.
(Marina & the Rock Star)
(Marina & the Rock Star 2)
(Marina & the Rock Star 3)
(Marina & the Rock Star 3)
(Marina & the Rock Star 4)
California, Part 1 (back to top)
Trevor just ended his most recent tour. He's the lead singer of a band called Bitchfactory. It's a great name, but a stupid name because it sounds like they'd be heavy metal or hard rock, but they're not. They're more of a folk rock kind of band. I used to love their music before Trevor and I got together. Now I won't let myself listen to it. It's too dangerous. I can't afford to fall in love with one of my clients.
What's funny about Trevor is that he writes these beautiful sensitive lyrics and at the same time he's the type of man who will satisfy his sexual appetite with a prostitute. And believe me, he has quite an appetite.
He lives in California and he just sent for me. I'm on an airplane now actually. It's clever how we have to do this. He gives me the money to buy my own ticket 'cause I won't tell him my last name. And I have no forms of ID with me, because I don't trust him not to look through my things while I'm here. Risky, no? It's like I trust him completely, and then I don't trust him at all. I'm carrying cash if it makes you feel any better.
I will tell you about him now before we land. He's gorgeous. That may be the reason I took this job with him. Plus the secret prestige of it. He's of average height; chiseled, lonesome-boy face. Though he's in his mid-thirties. Longish layered hair down to his shoulders. It's light brown and smooth. The kind where he just has to flick his head and it all feathers back perfectly off his face. He should be in a shampoo commercial. Really. He's thin and muscular. I think he does tai chi. He's got just the right amount of this and that to look excellent onstage. You can see why I would stay away from such events. I've only seen him perform once. Amazing.
His whole body is slightly tan. Just the right amount. Even his penis, I swear. Though, I didn't think that was possible. He's like a Greek god. From California.
Anyway, I'm never quite prepared for how hot it is in Los Angeles. Summer in Montana is nothing compared to it. Still, today I look like a business woman. My long dark curly hair is back in a big barrette at the nape of my neck (bad hair do choice for an airplane ride, but it's done now). Over my thin, but naturally busty, body I have a short sleeved white button-down shirt tucked into a slim dark purple knee-length skirt. No nylons. Too hot. Just black sandals.
He said he'd have someone meet me at the airport. Sometimes he sends a limo driver, sometimes a cab driver. Depending on his mood. The plane is landing now. I will escape quickly to the ladies' room to straighten myself out. It's funny, I'm wearing sunscreen just for the walk to and from the car. The sun is so bright here! I don't have enough of a tan to protect me yet.
The plane lands with barely a bump and I am anxious to get off. Being confined always makes me nervous. I grab my carry on bag from under my seat and squeeze my way off the plane with everyone else. The flight attendant smiles at me and I smile back. After walking down a long air conditioned tunnel, I emerge into the airport, and there is my driver.
He's quite attractive. Twenty-something. Confident and athletic looking. He has curly dark brown hair like mine. He could be my brother. If I had a brother. He's holding a sign that says only, "Marina."
I walk briskly over to him. He watches me. I say, "I'm Marina."
He smiles a winning smile and says, "Hello, Marina. I'm Jake. Trevor's assistant."
"Oh," I say. He actually puts his hand in the small of my back to guide me to the luggage area. I walk with him for a moment. "Uh, actually, I need to use the ladies' room," I say smoothly. "Can I meet you at the luggage? I only have one suitcase. Dark blue. This big." I show him with my hands.
He nods and smiles again. "Okay." We part ways.
I make my way into the ladies' room and go to work. I throw away my plane ticket because my last name is on it. My ticket home will be waiting for me at the gate when I arrive. I check myself out in the mirror. Not bad. I put some lip balm on after quickly brushing my teeth with just a squirt of toothpaste. I shake out my ponytail to make it fuller. I pull it apart some. Then I go into a stall with my carry on bag and take my underwear off. Trevor likes me that way. I pee, wash my hands, and then I'm done.
I walk briskly again, out of the bathroom and to the luggage area. I don't want to keep Jake waiting. When I find him he is standing calmly by my suitcase. He found it. He sees me walking up to him and picks the suitcase up. "Ready?" He asks. He reaches for my carry on bag. "Here, let me take that for you," he says and wanders off with both of them. Wow.
We get out to his car, a shiny brown small newfangled thing. He puts my luggage in the backseat, then goes around to open my door for me. "Thank you," I smile and get in. He closes it for me too. Doesn't he know what I am? Weird. I feel a little guilty and uncomfortable. Like if he did know I was a prostitute, he wouldn't be so nice.
We drive for at least an hour, to the outskirts of the city. Trevor's house is a small new mansion surrounded by trees and meadows and fields. Jake makes small talk with me the whole time. How was my flight? What's the weather in Montana like? That sort of thing. Crazy, I say. He asks me to explain. We have a saying there, I tell him. If you don't like the weather in Montana, wait five minutes. He laughs at me. This is nice.