Hey!
This fic was written for the birthday of the wonderful Black Angelis ^^.
It's inspired by the song California by Mylène Farmer, and the video of the same name (I invite you to go and listen to it).
This is the first chapter of this UA! Hollywood, which will probably be cut in four or five parts of about the same length.
Alyssa's OC is not mine, it is the creation of Black Angelis in her Nightshade (won't you take me away ?) series which I can only urge you to go and read if you haven't already, it's so great.
I hope you'll enjoy this fic,
Enjoy reading !
Aéroport, aérogare, mais pour tout l'or m'en aller
"Thank you for coming. We'll get back to you if we need to."
The lady gives her a strange smile, one of kindness and compassion.
Alyssa holds back a sigh - she's saving it for when she walks through the doors of that damned room she should never have entered in the first place anyway. She knows those smiles well. She's gotten used to them, unfortunately.
Another audition that won't lead to anything. She would almost like to stand there and not move, until her dream has finally come true, until she has finally reached her goal, until she is finally given a role, even a small one, a secondary role, a misery, but something that would allow her to touch with her fingertips the illusion she has been cherishing since she was a child.
Something that would allow her to convince her parents, to convince herself that she had not come to the City of Angels for nothing.
Aware that it would be of little use anyway, she set off.
Almost unconsciously, her steps lead her to a street she knows well.
The Californian sun shimmers red stars and black marble under the feet of hurried passers-by.
Hollywood Boulevard sparkles, and she has imagined herself receiving her star countless times, with her name engraved on it, a star shining in the black California sky.
She gasps when someone inadvertently jostles her, bringing her back to reality, snapping her out of her reverie.
Her watch tells her that she should hurry if she doesn't want to be late for work. Reluctantly, she takes one last look at the stars on the ground before turning away for good.
She arrived at Warner Studios about ten minutes later, out of breath. She had to run to get there almost on time, having once again lingered too long on the Walk of Fame.
Alyssa dodges her boss's reproachful look as she slips through the employee door of the cafeteria where she works and hastily puts on her apron. She hopes deep down that he won't say anything to her if she keeps her head down and says nothing.
"You're late."
No chance.
"Yes, I know. I'm sorry."
But she knows it won't be as easy as that, and that her boss won't accept a simple "I'm sorry" as an excuse for being late.
"Where have you been?"
He gives her a suspicious look. He knows what her hopes are, and has told her several times that it was all in vain, and that she would never become an actress, as she had dreamed of - not wanting to receive that kind of talk again, she hesitates to that she was at an audition.
But, thinking that it is better not to lie so as not to make things worse for herself, she finally opts for the truth.
"Auditioning."
Her boss shakes his head.
"Again? I think you're putting a lot of time and energy into it, for a lost cause."
Alyssa holds back the words that threaten to cross her lips and give away a little too much of her thinking.
She's used to being told that she's set an unreachable goal - that's what her parents had told her when she'd told them she was going to move to Los Angeles and try her luck in the City of Angels. They had gently urged her to come up with another idea, something feasible, something realistic, and, when she had categorically refused to think of doing anything else with her life, they had declared that they would not help her in her crazy undertaking, her journey to a land and a world that were totally unknown to her, except for what she had seen in the films she was so fond of.
So she had arrived alone, with no money, no job, no degree, and nowhere to go.
The first few days had been difficult, but the complications she had encountered had been totally overshadowed by her euphoria at finally being there, at having made it this far.
She soon got a job as a waitress in one of the many cafés at Warner Studios, and at the time was amazed at the prospect of being so close to the stars who came to make their films there, even dreaming and dreaming of becoming one of them.
She never stopped thinking that she could be anything she wanted to be. If her parents hadn't believed in her, she would believe for two.
But for now, her boss is right. It's all in vain.
It's been two years already, and still nothing.
Still nothing.
C'est le blues, l'coup d'cafard, le check-out assuré
Cersei feels him placing kisses on the hollow of her neck, his mouth along her nape and reaching her collarbone, then her shoulder, his hand comes to rest on her arm.
Suddenly, she turns around and their lips collide, violently, brutally.
She moves a little away from him, and starts undoing the buttons of her blouse, one by one, languidly, and then she gets rid of them, she finds herself in her bra in front of him, and he puts his hands behind her back to undo the fastening of her skirt, she is soon going to be totally in her underwear.
Her skirt falls to the floor, next to her shirt, and that's it, her alabaster skin is exposed and offered to him...
"And cut! It's in the box!"
Cersei abruptly steps away from her acting partner just as the director says these words.
She's never comfortable when she has to shoot these kinds of scenes, and if her agent had told her that for this role she would need to show herself naked, she would have declined.
She gives the actor who will be sharing the stage with her one last little smile, just to let him know that it is not because of him that she is so quick to distance herself from him, that everything is fine, that he has been perfect, before turning around, grabbing the dressing gown that one of the assistant-costumers hands her and putting it on, and leaving the set, with the sole purpose of returning to her dressing room.
As soon as she is inside, she closes the door and locks it behind her, to make sure that no one unwanted enters without her invitation.
She stands directly in front of the large mirror that has been installed.
Slowly, she unties the belt of the dressing gown, and lets it fall from her shoulders, revealing her own body to herself as she did on the set, in front of hundreds of people swarming everywhere, technicians, other actors, the director, assistants, a whole crowd.
The latter may be touted as one of the most beautiful in the world, but she can't help but find it horrible.
Where a few years ago she was still voluptuous, with curves and forms that many women would have died to have and that many men had coveted, now she sees only ugliness, where her pale skin is no longer as smooth as it used to be, or has become reddened, where the cruel rust of time has settled, where her once-flat belly and hips now form a few folds, where the firm flesh of her breasts and buttocks now falls away slightly.
One more step towards dust, she thinks.
She knows what a sad fate awaits actresses as they age. She knows it better than anyone.
As soon as time begins to take its toll, their beauty to fade and their bodies to wither like the petals of a flower that has been cut for too long, they sink little by little into the deep abyss of oblivion.
There is no place for old age among Hollywood's golden stars.
When the older ones die painfully, new ones, more sparkling, more brilliant, arrive and replace them.
This is the hard law of their world, tainted by fame, stained by wealth, bloodied by glory.
Cersei knows this, and it is in spite of herself that she will have to bend to it.
She looks at the pile of products on her dressing table, all designed to hide the inexorable.
All except for one small tube, a little different from the others.
It, too, serves to hide the age that painfully stains her body - but not in the eyes of others.
Only to her own eyes.
She opens the tube, and pours some of its contents into her palm.
The little capsules are a salvation - they disconnect her from reality, hide the ugliness of the truth.
Cersei brings her hand to her mouth.
To feel them against her tongue is to be reassured that soon she will feel better.
Soon.
She swallows them, and she already feels as if her pain is flying away, as if her problems are slowly escaping from her soul and running away from her body, it's a placebo effect, of course, a lie from her mind to her heart that pain is clutching, but it won't be long before the illusion is perfected and the realities blend and merge together.
Soon.
Vienne la nuit et sonne l'heure et moi je meurs
It is only when the room seems to have turned into a sauna that Alyssa finally decides to tear herself away from the gentle embrace of the hot water and step out of the tiny shower in the corner of her bathroom.
The mist has filled the air and covered the mirror with its light mist, so much so that Alyssa feels like she's in a cloud of some sort as she shuffles one foot, then the other, across the cold tiles.
It doesn't take much more than those two steps to find herself facing her sink in her bathroom, which is not very spacious, like the rest of her flat.
The image of her face in the mirror is blurred, confused by the condensation, which is beginning to form small droplets that flow gently like tears down the mirror.
Alyssa approaches the mirror with her hand to wipe off the water that has settled on it, before stopping her gesture: does she really want to lift the veil on the truth, to let reality catch up with her?
Thinking that she has no choice anyway, she puts her hand against the icy glass and, removing the mist, makes the image of her face clearer.
She knows that she is far from the most beautiful woman in the world, with her brown curls and tanned skin, and even her unusual golden eyes can't convince people otherwise, and neither can she, even though she has been told many times that she is a pretty girl.
Refusing to face this reflection any longer, she turns away from the mirror and, wrapping a towel around her body where many drops of water are still dripping, leaves the bathroom.
Once in the main room of her small flat, the largest she could get on her small barista salary, even at one of the most prestigious companies in Los Angeles, whose walls are covered with posters of movies she loves, actors and actresses she likes, people who have embraced the dream she may never touch with her fingertips, a caress as light as a feather, she once again catches herself imagining herself part of this world.
Alyssa closes her eyes, wanting to immerse herself more deeply in her dream, to let it invade and drown her, and for a few seconds her imagination does the work and the illusion is almost perfect, she's there, she's done it, she too is a star, a person that young people dreaming of movies, fame and glory admire. She could be living at the Chateau Marmont, one of the most lavish star residences in Hollywood. With its large rooms and huge windows that offer the most beautiful view of Los Angeles, its high, moulded white ceilings and gracefully falling crystal chandeliers...
But when she opens her eyes again, she finds herself facing the flickering neon of her small flat rather than the splendour of the Chateau Marmont, and she can't help but feel disappointed, as she does every time she realises that she is far, so far from the goal she has been striving for since she was a little girl.
But this bitter feeling of disappointment is quickly replaced by another, much stronger one: she will succeed, she is determined, she has never stopped being so, despite everything she has heard, despite the number of people who have come to the City of Angels to try the same crazy thing as her, to live her dreams in the city of illusions, the one where everything seems to be allowed and everything seems possible.
She knows she will succeed, she is sure of it.
So, she lets herself fall on the sofa that also serves as her bed, closes her eyes again, and starts dreaming again...
Entre apathie et pesanteur où je demeure
The smoke from the cigarette in her hand rises into the night.
Cersei taps it carelessly to knock the ash to the floor, before bringing it to her mouth again and taking a long drag.
She knows that smoking is rubbish, and that she should kick the habit, that it could kill her, but she hasn't managed to bring herself to do it yet.
It's one of the few things that allows her to escape from the world, from her world, to forget everything, and she's not ready to stop.
And if she dies, so be it.
The press will say that she had a good life, that she was loved and adored by everyone, that she had the life everyone dreamed of - in short, she would be lying.
The unusually cold night air pulled her out of her morbid thoughts, and forced her to pull her coat tighter against her body.
She could have taken a limousine home from the studios where she was filming, but she refused, preferring to walk home. After all, she's not that far away. She would have given anything to be able to be alone on a street, to be able to let her mood swing without anyone turning around to look at her, sure and certain that they have recognised her, or seen her somewhere before.
Unfortunately, this is impossible - Los Angeles is a city that never sleeps, with its neon signs lit up all day long, its passers-by outside at all hours, whether they are locals or tourists, its street lamps that cast their blinding light on every avenue, and the taxis and cars, each bigger and more expensive than the last, that clutter up the boulevards.
So Cersei must resolve to walk through the crowd, to reach the place where she lives with her husband at the moment.
She has no time to let her mind wander any further, as she arrives at the gate of the imposing Chateau Marmont, which overlooks and casts its shadow over Sunset Boulevard.
She takes out her keys and enters the property.
Once at the front door, she takes care to put out her cigarette butt against the immaculate white wall of the mansion.
A little imperfection in this world too good to be true.
The door is already open - Robert must be back before her.
His voice echoes in the huge entrance hall as she calls out to him.
"Robert?"
No answer.
Cersei frowns. If the door wasn't locked, then Robert should be here...
She climbs the stairs, lavish like everything else in the castle, to the first floor, where their room is.
"Robert?"
Still nothing...
But this time, if she listens carefully, she can hear sounds like sobbing.
Intrigued, she moves closer to their room, where the noises seem to come from.
Crying... or moaning, rather.
No... he didn't dare...
Without warning, Cersei opens the door on the fly, and if the scene is as she had imagined it, it does not fail to upset her.
Robert is there, looking extraordinarily normal, but his mouth is occupied between the legs of a woman, whom Cersei does not recognize.
He doesn't even pause when he hears the door to the room open so forcefully that it nearly jumps off its hinges, but it takes his partner tapping him gently on the shoulder to make him stop.
Only then does he see his wife, and at least have the decency to look embarrassed.
As he begins to move to get up, Cersei declares, her voice cold:
"No, I beg you. Please don't stop for me."
She doesn't even look at them long enough to see the incomprehension on both their faces and closes the door behind her.
A solitary tear escapes from her eyes and runs down her pale cheek.
Once further down the corridor, she leans against the white wall, so as to be hidden, should either of them come out of her room.
Then she lets herself fall on the cold floor, closes her eyes, and starts to cry…
Changer d'optique, prendre l'exit, et m'envoyer en Amérique
As soon as she walks through the door of the cafeteria, Alyssa knows she has done something wrong.
You can see it in her boss's face, you can read it in his eyes when he stares at her.
She swallows. Yet she has not been late once in the last few days.
Once her shift is over, her boss calls her in and makes her come to the storeroom, away from prying eyes and ears.
Alyssa knows she's in trouble.
"Where were you yesterday?"
"At an audition, why?"
That's when she understands.
She forgot to tell them that she couldn't come to work...
What happens next may not be very pleasant.
Her boss doesn't seem happy at all, and she can understand that.
She was convinced that she had told him, but obviously not.
"Since you're so keen to become an actress, and audition, I'll give you all the time you need."
His voice is low, threatening, and before he even says the words, she knows what he's going to say.
"You're fired."
While she had kept a low profile until now, she raises her head, and, looking him straight in the eye and pleading.
"No, please, I'm begging you, don't do this... I'm all alone here, I have nowhere else to go."
"That's not my problem. You should have thought about it before."
He reaches for her hand, and she has no choice but to untie her apron, and hand it back to him.
As she walks towards the door, looking as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, a heavy burden at such a young age, he says, looking stern.
"You can't live on your dreams, Alyssa.''
Now that she has nothing left to lose, she could reply harshly, but chooses not to. Instead, she goes out, and slams the door behind her.
Once outside, her tears begin to flow.
She has no idea how many miles she's walking, doesn't pay attention for a second to the stars on the Walk of Fame when she usually doesn't miss a chance to look at them, or how long it takes from the time she leaves her little cafeteria at Warner Studios to the time she gets home.
The only thing she knows is that her eyes are dry from crying, from watching her life fall apart, and that she doesn't have a single tear left in her body, all of them are on her wet cheeks.
And when the tears have dried, what will she have left?
Once in her flat, she grabs one of her bags, and starts putting her things in it.
Sex appeal, c'est Sunset, c'est Marlboro qui me sourit
Once Robert's companion has left, Cersei enters their room.
Her smell, the smell of a stranger, is everywhere, in the air, in the sheets, everywhere, she feels like she's not at home, she's at someone else's house, and she hates it.
She hates it, because it brings her back to the truth, the horrible truth.
She doesn't belong here. She never was.
It's all lies, lies, illusions and a gilded cage, and she can't take it anymore.
So she grabs a bag, big enough to hold the things she might need for a few days.
She starts to pile up a few clothes, a hastily made toilet bag, the bare minimum.
Then she feels it, in the pocket of her coat, which she has not even bothered to remove.
The shape of the small tube of anti-depressants is familiar against her fingers as she slips her hand into her pocket, almost comforting. Without thinking, she opens it, pours a few capsules into her hand, and grabs one of the bottles of alcohol from Robert's side of the bed - another of his vices - one of the few still containing something inside.
She swallows the capsules, followed by a long swallow, then another, and another, and another, of the amber liquid that burns deliciously in her throat - the taste of oblivion.
She feels better already. A little bit better.
Once that's done, Cersei tosses the tube of medicine into her bag and closes it, before grabbing it.
She runs away, she leaves, she leaves this life of constant distress.
As she is about to go down the stairs, she hears Robert behind her, at the top of the stairs:
"Where are you going?"
Pausing, she turns around.
"I'm going away."
"Yes, but where?"
She almost feels like not answering him and going on her way.
"I want us to separate, Robert."
He moves closer to her, and for a moment she fears what he might do to her under the influence of alcohol.
"You can't leave."
"Yes, I can. I can, and I will."
"What will the papers say?"
Cersei frowned. What the papers might say about the two of them is the least of her worries.
"I don't care what they say. They'll say what they say. The lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of the sheep."
An old maxim from his father, that.
Robert walks down a few steps, further narrowing the space between their bodies.
"Imagine what our divorce could do to your career. To my career. I won't let you destroy everything I've built on a whim."
The threat is thinly veiled.
"I didn't tell you I wanted us to divorce. I told you I wanted us to separate. It's all up to you, and your ability to control what's between your legs."
With that, she turns away, and continues her descent of the stairs, until she arrives at the entrance hall, then at the door.
Once outside, she let the coolness of the night and a curious feeling of freedom, which she could not identify the origin, the narcotics or her departure, envelop her.
She starts walking, not even knowing where she could go without arousing suspicion.
Letting her thoughts wander, her eyes are quickly drawn to the front page of a newspaper at the edge of a small kiosk.
She stops to look at it.
In the photo, a dark-haired man, who would be ordinary if it weren't for his eyes, which are so blue that they seem almost supernatural, stares into the lens.
Above, the headlines announce:
Gaelon Nargaris, convicted in 1975 for the murder of a prostitute, released after 20 years in prison
Cersei's mind pauses briefly on this information, thinking about the fate of this poor girl, before she starts walking again, heading into the night, plunging a little deeper into the darkness.
Mon amour, mon moi, je sais qu'il existe
Alyssa has no idea where she is going to go.
The alley she is in is dark, poorly lit, unlike the rest of the city, and she has absolutely no confidence in it.
With her bag containing almost everything she owns in her hand, she hurries to get out of it, and back onto the lighted pavements.
She has the impression that she doesn't live in the same world as all these people in a hurry, in a hurry to get home, in a hurry to go to a meeting, in a hurry to go to the cinema, to the restaurant, to the bar, anywhere.
Alyssa has nowhere to go.
In this city, she has no money, no friends, no family - nothing. She begins to wonder if her parents were right, if becoming an actress was something that should have remained a distant dream, an aborted dream, if she would not have been better off never coming to California.
Her steps eventually lead her to a gas station that at first glance looks closed, but whose signs are still lit.
Nothing is ever off in this town, she thinks.
Tired of wandering, she sits down on the pavement. There's hardly anyone walking on it, anyway. She won't get in the way, standing here.
At first she counts the cars passing by, but then she gives up, there are too many and they drive too fast. Then she turns her eyes to the Hollywood Hills.
The huge white letters look down on her, taunting her, glowing in the night.
Almost immediately, Alyssa looks away.
Looking at them for too long hurts her eyes, they burn her retinas and her heart.
Once again, she has no idea how long she is sitting there.
The few people who pass by don't pay any attention to her, don't look at her, not even a glance, and stop even less to talk to her.
Until Alyssa sees a pair of shiny loafers stop right in front of her.
"The pavement is not a safe place for a pretty young woman like you."
She looks up.
The man standing in front of her is in a suit and tie. With his brown hair, he looks like any other businessman she has ever seen.
But his eyes, his eyes...
His eyes are so strikingly blue, she almost doubts they are natural, so unconventional is their colour.
He holds out his hand to her, and without thinking, she takes it.
Without any apparent effort, he helps her to her feet.
Once she is on her feet, he bends down and, like a gentleman, picks up her bag and hands it to her.
The man holds out his hand to introduce himself this time.
"My name is Gaelon Nargaris. And you?"
She shakes it.
"Alyssa Orlayar."
He smiles at her.
"What are you doing here at this late hour?"
Alyssa doesn't know what to say. Part of her is ashamed to reveal what happened, how she got here, but another part tells her she can trust this stranger, though she doesn't really know why.
"It's a long story."
He nods, and points to a stopped car, which Alyssa hadn't noticed, and which she assumes is his.
"If you want, I can drop you off somewhere. That way you'll have plenty of time to tell me about it - I have a weakness for long stories, especially if they're exciting and involve beautiful ladies such as yourself."
"That's very kind of you, but I have nowhere to go. I've just lost my flat."
She points to her bag.
"It's all I own."
Gaelon looks genuinely surprised.
"How come?"
"I lost my job."
Gaelon widens his eyes.
"I can't possibly leave you here like this. Who knows what might happen to you?"
"Oh you know, I'm used to... to looking after myself."
A small, sympathetic smile stretches her lips.
"In a city like Los Angeles, I doubt it, Miss."
"I assure you! I came here alone two years ago with the hope of becoming an actress. At first, I didn't have a place to stay so I slept in a motel for a few nights. I wouldn't mind doing it again."
"You're an actress?!"
Alyssa grimaces, and her expression must be sufficiently equivocal that Gaelon needs no further response.
"I see. In that case, it's a happy accident that we met."
She frowns.
" Why is that?"
He takes his business card out of his wallet.
"Well, I happen to be an agent for actors, and more specifically, actresses. And I'd be more than happy to help you achieve your potential as an actress."
Alyssa feels a strange warmth invade her whole body.
Could it be that after the law of the series that has fallen upon her for the last two years, she has finally found her lucky star, the person who could fulfill her dream, her dearest desire?
"I... I don't know what to say..."
He smiled at her wider.
"You need time to think - I understand that very well. But in this case, as your potential future agent, let me offer you a night in a real hotel, not some seedy motel along Sunset Boulevard. Like on the pavement, there's no telling what kind of riffraff there might be in those places."
No longer hesitating, Alyssa accepts his outstretched hand, and sits in the passenger side of his gorgeous car.
She can't believe her eyes when they finally arrive at their destination.
They pull up in front of one of the most prestigious hotels in Hollywood.
A valet comes to take care of Gaelon's car, who grabs Alyssa's purse and reaches out to help her out, and up the stairs.
The hotel lobby, all marble and almost adamentary, looks far too good to be real.
Gaelon is busy working out the details of the room, which he wants to be one of the best suites in the hotel.
Alyssa feels like she's in heaven, living a daydream, when the desk clerk hands her the keys, saying:
"Room 410."
Alyssa thanks him, and takes the keys to what is to be the start of her new life, before letting Gaelon escort her through the maze of corridors.
La chaleur de l'abandon c'est comme une symphonie
Cersei pushes open the door of the hotel she has finally decided to go to.
The white light reflecting off the mabre of the floor and walls is terribly violent on her eyes, and causes her a terrible headache, so much so that she feels as if she has been staring at the sun for far too long - or perhaps it is the alcohol?
However, she doesn't let it show and heads for the hotel reception.
The receptionist recognises her immediately and gives her a big smile.
"Ah, Mrs Lannister. It is a real pleasure for us to see you again in our establishment. Are you filming nearby?"
She smiles back at him.
"Yes, that's right. It was more... convenient for me to come here than to go back to the Chateau every day."
Comedy all the way.
"Of course, of course. Did someone call us to let us know you were coming here and have a suite prepared for you?"
Cersei decides to go for it. After all, making movies is what she does best.
"My agent said he would contact you."
The receptionist consults his register, before looking at her again, looking sorry.
"I'm really sorry, madam, but I don't have any reservations in your name."
Aware that what he's just said could send one of the hotel's best customers packing, he quickly makes amends.
"But I'll make sure your regular suite is cleared and ready for you in fifteen minutes, if that's okay."
"That's fine."
"Number 410, is that right?"
"Yes, that's right."
She lowered her voice and, in a tone of confidence, said:
"It goes without saying that I would be very grateful if my presence here did not become too widely known. I don't want to have to deal with a horde of paparazzi.
He nods hastily:
"Of course."
As promised, the room is emptied fifteen minutes later, and then a second later.
The receptionist apologizes to her.
"Our apologies for the wait and the inconvenience, Madam. I've made sure that your things have been taken care of. Will you need anything else?"
"No, that's fine. Thank you very much."
Cersei takes the key he hands her, and heads for the bedroom, which she knows perfectly well where to find.
The suite is spotless when she enters, as promised.
Her bag is waiting for her on a small table not far from the bed.
Cersei opens it, grabs the tube of anti-depressants, pours several capsules into her hand, and swallows them in one go.
The pain in her head beats against her temples, she shouldn't have drunk so much alcohol, she knows that, but it's too late to start thinking about that now.
Without even taking the time to take off her coat or her shoes, let alone taking a shower, or better still, a bath, Cersei lets herself fall on the perfectly made bed.
There, she thinks about everything that happened tonight.
She knows very well that Robert had been unfaithful to her in the past, several times, even. She's not an idiot, and it's not as if he tried to hide it.
Other actresses, prostitutes, women he met on his own shoots. Robert Baratheon is a movie mogul. He can have any woman he wants, as well as his own.
Cersei understood this from the start of their marriage, seventeen years before.
She had met her at a party he was giving at one of his many Hollywood properties. She had been invited because of her father, a prominent businessman, but it was her physical appearance that had caught Robert Baratheon's sharp eye.
At seventeen, with her long blonde hair, lanky figure, green eyes and white skin, Cersei was the envy of girls her age. They would have killed father and mother to look like her.
But even then, she was no fool. She wanted to be an actress, and she knew that if she could have a man like Robert in her pocket, that ambition would become more than possible. A marriage to him would have opened the doors to all of Hollywood.
So she hadn't hesitated for a second.
But she had not seen what would happen next either.
At the time, she had been foolish enough to love him, and even more foolish to think that it could be reciprocated, and that it would remain so when her exceptional beauty began to wilt, like any other flower, including the prettiest.
But now she knows that this is not the case, and she would almost like to go back in time and tell this young ingenue not to do this foolishness, not to condemn her life to open the doors of an unsuspected hell, a hell covered with glitter and fame, a hell hidden by celebrity, but a hell nonetheless.
But now it's too late.
Too late.
So all she has to do is close her eyes and wait for the pain to go away, to fade away, and the sooner the better.
Once again she closes her eyes, and once again a solitary tear rolls down her cheek.
C'est sexy le ciel de Californie, sous ma peau, j'ai L.A. en overdose
Thank you for reading! Here is the translation of the lyrics used in the text :
Aéroport, aérogare, mais pour tout l'or m'en aller
Airport, terminal, but for all the gold go away
C'est le blues, l'coup d'cafard, le check-out assuré
It's the blues, the doldrums, the guaranteed check-out
Vienne la nuit et sonne l'heure et moi je meurs
Come the night and ring the hour and I die
Entre apathie et pesanteur où je demeure
Between apathy and heaviness where I remain
Changer d'optique, prendre l'exit, et m'envoyer en Amérique
Change my perspective, take the exit, and send me to America
Sex appeal, c'est Sunset, c'est Marlboro qui me sourit
Sex appeal, it's Sunset, it's Marlboro smiling at me
Mon amour, mon moi, je sais qu'il existe
My love, my self, I know it exists
La chaleur de l'abandon c'est comme une symphonie
The warmth of abandonment is like a symphony
C'est sexy le ciel de Californie, sous ma peau, j'ai L.A. en overdose
It's sexy the California sky, under my skin I have L.A. on overdose