Like any affluent metropolis, Hillwood had more than its fair share of apartments, condominiums, promenades, terraces and the like available for rent by its upscale and unhitched clientele; of course, some were more luxurious than others. Among those on the less showy side was a sandstone hued edifice of forty stories known as Horizon Alameda, and unbeknownst to even the most diligent of doormen, they had a celebrity in their midst.
"Welcome home, Ms. Lawrence."
Within the security of Apartment 4002, the wheezing guffaw Lila Sawyer held in her lung came out in full force, albeit with a pillow covering her mouth for good measure so as not to draw ire and attention from her neighbors. To say this half-decade long ruse she had been pulling failed to lose its novelty after all this time would be a monumental understatement.
"Welcome Home, Ms. Lawrence." She said mockingly but without malice.
Her disguise was nothing spectacular: her trademark braids piled up in messy bun, a pair of transparently framed aviator glasses, some leggings and a clean t shirt. But the stupidly brilliant part of it all was how people took it at face value. People only see what they look for, and the Lila Sawyer sought by the public dressed sharp, painted the town red, and basked in the glamorous lifestyle associated with one who had even the measliest crumb of celebrity to their name. By contrast, "Amy Lawrence" was an average woman in her early thirties renting a modest studio apartment furnished with secondhand furniture and knickknacks whose life, and whatever evening plans therein, garnered no interest from the wider populace.
But being both one and the same had its fringe benefits, which at this moment consisted of a pile of high-end leftovers from a lottery ticket release party to choose from for dinner as she stayed in for the night.
"Let's see…Last of the Lobster Thermidor, last of the kale Caesar Salad, that just really leaves the braised short rib, some cheese cubes, and the pineapple teriyaki lamb meatballs…" Lila muttered as she patted her stomach and sighed. "They ordered ever so much for that Sapphire Sevens release party. Extra lap or three on the treadmill tomorrow I guess."
(Later)
The foreboding clouds that hung around all evening had turned overcast, and as Lila stepped out of the shower upon finishing her evening exercises, the steady drops of rain became downright torrential. Clad with nothing but the rosy mask of light inebriation, she called it a day and laid atop the bed while the dual sounds of Lonely Space Vixens playing from her television and the rainfall outside provided her relief from the constricting sense of silence.
But while she outwardly smiled, Lila's emotions were inwardly in turmoil.
With a half-drunk bottle of wine standing in sentry on the dresser, Lila wanted to enjoy her evening and lose herself in the lunar lesbian lust the movie offered. Especially since her favorite part of the movie was coming up; when the captured lady astronaut is presented before the Space Queen and coerced into suckling from her breasts in fealty and tribute. Tonight however, whatever concupiscent cloud she wished to be carried off upon didn't seem to condensate. Instead, the Sawyer woman could feel the room violently sway back and forth as the sexual frustration she suppressed in public found itself paroled with each glass of wine, and now roamed freely through the asylum of her psyche.
Much like the TV screen as it shuts off for the night, Lila feels the room iris out into darkness as she leans back and her head comes to crash on her pillow. Though part of her is more than aware of her stationary state, there is still that eerie sensation of falling further and further like a leaf in autumn separating from its branch.