The next few hours pass pretty uneventfully. I finally swallowed my nerves and joined everyone in the garden, and after an expected round of banter and teasing where I'm called many suggestive names, I manage to get some reading done. I'm going back through my stories, giggling at how wrong my perceptions about their characters was, mentally gagging at some of the terminology I've used, and blushing furiously at some of the more... let's say, risqué chapters!
It all feels pretty creepy being honest, and a bit pathetic! Now I have met the real people behind the stage personas I see how wrong it is to create a fantasy world outside of my mind, involving public figures without their consent. The perceptions these stories could place in an impressionable or susceptible readers mind could have serious or possibly dangerous consequences for that public figure and their loved ones.
I am ashamed of myself.
I'm embarrassed that these real life men that I will be sharing so many months with have read these things I've written about them, or rather my fantasy versions of them, and have had to experience adverse reactions because of it.
Im jotting down anything from the plot lines that may have caused the boys concerns, intent on researching all possibilities. I want to know what I've written that is so accurate it has them so upset. Initially I did plan to try to use it to bargain my way out of this deal, perhaps editing them to fix the problems and convince them to allow me to keep my work available to others online, but now I really do want to make amends, and will happily remove them from the public domain.
I used to be immensely proud of the millions of views my stories had received but now it worries me.
OMG!!
Every single one of the sex scenes in my stories involved Yanni!!
Me and Yanni!
A hot wave of nausea sweeps over me, leaving me feeling like a sandcastle that's been hit by a wave.
Panic creeps in, they've all read these stories. Read my words, conjured images in their minds and now I've gone and given them all a real life visual of my nearly naked body they are sure to work out that my female characters are always based on myself, that all of her thoughts, kinks and responses to situations either are or would be my own. All her desires, needs and faults are mine.
Why does Yanni have to be such a dick in reality. The other 4 guys would give me shit if it was them I'd written all my erotic fantasies about, but in a jovial and teasing way.
Yanni is going to use it against me isn't he!
How do I face him now?
There is DEFINITELY NO GOD, but I now wholeheartedly believe in the Devil, why else would these humiliations continue to befall me!?! I must have been Attila the Hun in a previous life to deserve this much shame!
I have written about his body in great detail, numerous times, those bits I have seen easier to describe than the parts I have not, but by no means as much fun!
My imagination given free reign, able to conjure up any version I want to see in that moment, allowing me to fulfil my fantasies, to take something from him without permission to satisfy a selfish desire.
I see how vile that is. I am objectifying them. It's wrong.
From this point on any book I write will be 100% fiction!!
Needing a distraction from those new and unwelcome realisations about my exploitative nature I close down all tabs concerned with work and open up Google, typing in the name LOLA LIVINGSTONE and clicking the search button, then scrolling through the page until I come across the report I had previously been reading.
Parker, Teddi and Yanni have all gone indoors..... apparently only 'complete drongos' stay outside between 1 and 5pm.
I'm clearly a drongo. I am a born and bred Brit. We don't get good weather, it's almost always freezing cold or raining...or both! If we get 3 warm days in a row we call that summer!! I'm going to make the most of this glorious sunshine!
Jimmie is on the other side of the pool, stretched out on a sun lounger under a large umbrella, shades on, having a nap, leaving Noah and I together.
We are sitting quietly side by side enjoying the weather. He is writing in a notebook, humming a melody as he does. Every few minutes he scribbles out most of what he just wrote.
I've been there many a time.
"Writers block?" I ask turning my head to look at him, frustration and disappointment evident of his face, his sea green eyes appearing troubled, his features set in a grimace that looks like it might be physically painful!
"Is it that obvious?!" he sighs, throwing the pad and pen onto the small table beside him and picking up his water bottle.
"What are you up to anyway?" he asks after swallowing his water and flicking a little at me, the shock of the cold water on my sun warmed arm making me jolt up and laugh in surprise.
"You're a real shit you know Noah" I chuckle, wiping my arm with my palm before swatting his with the back of my fingers playfully. "Im actually having a bit of a break too, just reading up on a story that was recently in the news at home. A woman was found dead in a London hotel in suspicious circumstances a few weeks ago. Despite an apparent in-depth and extensive investigation which concluded that she was murdered, no-one has been charged with a crime. Two weeks ago it was announced that the investigation had uncovered some new evidence. The police are said to be confident that an arrest will follow soon. I was just checking to see if there's been any update since we left England" I explain
He is quiet for a few moments, seemingly pondering something before asking...
"Are there? Any new developments? Leads? Suspects?"
"Nothing reported. I guess someone will be getting a tap on the shoulder soon though eh!?" I reply conspiratorially from the side of my mouth, finishing with a feigned look of shock on my face, my fingers on my slightly parted lips.
"Sounds like it. So, why so interested Syd? Didn't have you down as a true crime lover. You planning a career change? Fancy yourself the next Lynda La Plante do you?" he chuckles, swiping my laptop from me and scrolling through the screen.
"I find it all so fascinating, don't you? I love true crime documentaries. Trying to piece together all the evidence, tracking suspects, analysing witness statements and trying to work out who did it and why before the detectives do. I'm usually pretty good. I know this sounds weird, but I often think about how I'd get away with it, just to exercise the grey matter of course!
If I was going to kill someone, how would I do it, how would I cover it up? Would I act alone? Would I be able to outwit the police? It's all so exciting!" Im fizzing with excitement as I talk
"And pretty twisted too Syd. Why the hell would you think about that stuff for fun? Murder is about the worst crime there is, perhaps only one person dies but many lives are devastated. Family members, work colleagues, friends, classmates, children and not forgetting the poor bastard who finds the body, and all the emergency services who attend crime scenes. Even if your interest is purely hypothetical, and I hope it is, I still think it's a bit sick honestly. If you want to exercise your brain do a crossword, or take a class. Much less maudlin and disrespectful. Just my opinion" he shrugs, handing me back my laptop and lying back on his sun lounger.
I feel ashamed. I'm hurt that he basically called me weird and twisted, and also a little surprised at his strong opinions. I've learned things about them I never expected to, which is everything to a writer. I feel a little less despondent about my situation and start to feel like I could do a great job with this biography, if these little discoveries continue. Something really juicy on or from one of them would be awesome, but I won't hold my breath.... they have the guard dog that is Eloise to coach them on what to divulge and what to keep shtum about.
I close up my laptop and lie back myself, closing my eyes against the strong rays of the sun above us and take a few deep breaths, talking to my inner self.
I ruminate for a few minutes on his intense reaction to my interest in crime, pondering reasons he might have such strong thoughts on the subject when I'm struck by a thought. What if he is a killer, or is protecting one? He might think I'll figure something out about his crime!?
Noah, a killer! Not a chance. I giggle to myself and he asks what's funny, so I tell him I was laughing at the thought of him as a killer. Ridiculous.
"You have no idea what I'm capable of Syd" he says quietly, before grabbing his towel and t-shirt and walking away.
"Dont stay out here too much longer,
you'll burn" he calls back over his shoulder before entering the cool shade of the kitchen.
What the actual fuck was that? A confession? A threat?
I need to know. The curiosity in me bubbling up in my stomach, or is that nerves?
I guess I'll find out.
Jimmie appears beside me and asks if I'm ok and I reply that I am, but in actuality I am pretty far away from ok after that last exchange with Noah.
"So, are you going to let me take you out tonight Babe? Let me show you around a little. There's a new Rom-com out we could go and see? Get some dinner maybe? Or not! You don't have to say yes, it's cool if you'd rather not, no pressure, I just thought you might like to get out of here and get a feel for the place that'll be home for a while." he babbles timidly
"Jimmie... I'd love to. Yes. I'd love to come out with you later. Thankyou" I say soothingly to calm him
His smile is almost angelic. His face lights up. He looks excited, and relieved. Bless him, he probably doesn't get much time to do everyday activities like going to the cinema or out for dinner. The simple things that are actually what make us as humans truly happy. Interaction, conversation, closeness, normality.... he and every other famous person has had to trade all those things for that fame. I wonder if any or all of them regret that?
"Cool! I'll meet you in the kitchen at 6?! That ok?" he asks
"Perfect. I'm looking forward to it, thanks for the invite" I say
Jimmie almost skips off, telling me he is going to choose his outfit as this can take him a while.
I find that quite amusing as it takes me literally ten minutes to get ready. A quick shower, hair left loose to dry naturally, a quick slick of lip balm and sometimes some mascara, then whatever I pull out of the wardrobe first. I stopped spending so much time on my appearance once my husband stopped noticing or appreciating my efforts.
I decide to go inside as it is pretty hot, but also because I'm alone. I realise I actually don't like it, picking up my things and heading into the house.
That confuses me because I've always enjoyed my own company and peace and quiet, it helps me think, but for some reason here with the guys I don't want to be alone. I thought I'd appreciate my own space more than usual with five men around 24/7, but the opposite is true. We've only been together a few days but I feel comfortable with them all... well, except for Yanni who makes it his business to be an arse, and since his comment a few minutes ago I'm a little wary of Noah too, but for now he's nice to me. I'll certainly keep my wits about me, but it's not like he's going to murder me is it, I mean.... he's worldwide famous, he'd never get away with it, there are cameras everywhere he goes!