Alistaire at USC: The Actress

I originally intended to have a Celebrity/Fan Fiction chapter in this phase of Alistaire's life. I mean, he is in Hollywood, or at least near it. But after several drafts told me that I don't have enough of an idea of the real personalities of any hot young celebrities to stay within the bounds of plausibility. Alternatively, Alistaire's favorite actress has been established as Gal Gadot since the very first chapter, but she is married. But the process did lead me to this character, who I am very fond of.

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The One With The Actress

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At least Gina was in no way like Beth. Well, in some ways like Beth. She fucking loved it when she could con Dave and me into both attending to her needs at the same time. Poor Dave had about died the first time. Of course, I knew how to enjoy myself and get the job done without any friendly fire. Dave learned quickly. Gina was a significant incentive. Gina, for her part... was thoroughly entertained.

I told neither of them that my recent escapade with Ronnie, Flip, and Kate made the three of us's acrobatic endeavors feel like simple, relaxing idylls...

But thank God, Gina was unlike Beth in that she was still extremely interested in sex with each of us individually. She was so into suddenly being the center of a sexual world that she had to swear us both off cold turkey to study when the week before exams began.

But after the first exam, Dave and I received a group text from Gina.

GINA: I have one exam under my belt, and I think I crushed it. I feel prepared for the rest of my exams but stressed about taking them. Unless either of you needs to beg off, you may each expect to get ambush fucked at times of my choosing before the week is over

Dave and I were both sitting in our common room studying when the message dinged on both our laptops. He bent his head and started clicking rapidly, so I waited.

DAVE: {GIF of Wayne and Garth mugging for the camera with thumbs up}

I typed immediately afterward.

ME: 'Nuff said

"Think she's about to come busting through our door?" Dave asked, looking at said door hopefully.

"She said each of us," I said. "I think we will be able to relax and give her our full attention individually."

"Your lips to Gina's ears," Dave said.

She did not come through our door.

The next morning, I had my hardest exam. It was my elective class with Ursula. It wasn't hard per se. I really did have the material down now. But I needed a 97 on the final to get my A after all my flailing earlier. Ursula was not going to grant me so much as a free point, and I would have been devastated if she did.

I felt pretty good I had nailed it though, so I was happy and de-stressing when I entered my suite. I renewed my mental note to call Ursula the very day the grades were posted.

"Oh fuck, Gina," I heard suddenly from Dave's room. "Yes! Do the tongue thing. Always do the tongue thing."

I was familiar with the tongue thing.Everyone should do the tongue thing.

Dave was having a good time.

I looked at his door. We never locked them.

I was suddenly extremely horny.

I reflected that I might be about to think with my dick...

Fuck it. My dick often has awesome ideas.

I opened Dave's door silently. He was sitting on his bed, and Gina was down on her knees, facing away from the door, doing the tongue thing some more. I could just tell.

Despite his eyes trying to roll up into his skull, Dave immediately saw me staring down at the two of them. Fortunately, Gina was already naked. So was Dave, but I did not give a shit about that. Dave's eyes narrowed in a frown, then before I could react at all, they narrowed further... into an evil grin.

Game. On.

He grabbed Gina's head gently with his palms over her ears and moaned louder.

I just let the gym shorts I was wearing drop silently to the floor.

Dave avoided looking at my cock which was waving around, more than ready to go. Gina, alas did not have a Big Dick Harem. Dave was solidly average in length, though he was nicely girthy. Or, at least that is what Gina said. I sure as fuck was not making detailed examinations. Dave, amazingly, never acted threatened by the size differential. In fact, he had almost died laughing when he had finally seen my junk.

I imagine that our size differential did at least provide extra incentive to never 'cross the streams'.

I needed to move hardly at all to get behind Gina, who fortunately had her legs spread a little already as she worked. Somehow, I managed to make the first thing to touch her be the head of my cock.

Gina gleeped in surprise. Dave gently kept her from turning her head. She did look up at him and he broadly winked at her. She really had only one guess as to who it could be behind her.

When I started to slide into her, she was immediately fucking certain, of course. I'm told that I am unmistakable.

"Owth thuck," she gasped around Dave's cock. "Thoo it, Acithaire!"

I did it all right.

In the end, after the glorious end for us all a good hour and a half later, I was punished for my friskiness by Gina declaring that I had used up my ambush sex for this exam period.

I was left to get by with just a visit or two from Hannah. Well, Kate also seemed hellbent to get together as much as possible before she had to go home for the summer. She fortunately was just interested in more intimate one-on-one experiences during exams, as whatever Rube Goldberg shit she was cooking up for our next foursome would have made us all flunk. So, even Gina-less, I was always very relaxed for my exams that spring.

*

Dave and I had decided not to room together the next fall for Junior year, largely because he wanted to stay on campus, and I wanted to get an apartment. Since that was the case, I decided to go ahead and lease a place at the start of the summer, even though I could have stayed in dorms for those three months. It wasn't about money. I actually expected to pay even more and was going to have to economize on food. Lots of cooking was in my future. I just had not been fully feeling the whole California thing so far and wanted to get on with living off campus so I could assimilate the reality.

Mom negotiated a very nice paid internship for me with Wells Fargo in Downtown LA for the summer. Even better, it was remote work two days a week, with three days in the office. I had been offered the option of working three days a week remotely, but my mother made a variety of dire threats if I accepted that.

"The point of the internship is to be around the employees and management in the office, face to face. You need to learn to network," she had said.

"I don't know, he seems to make contacts just fine," Dad quipped.

"And try not to fuck absolutely everyone in the office," Mom added in response.

Have you ever tried to politely hang up on your parents? It can't be done.

Even with what I was making, and the help my parents offered, the whole project of living off campus almost crashed on the rocks of the price of rent. I just wanted something small and I figured that I could swing it without a roommate.

Had figured.

I might need to break down and move to an apartment with someone else for my senior year. But for this summer, and for my junior year upcoming, I was locked into a ruinous lease on a one-bedroom place.

*

Even with the crazy rent I paid, my apartment was not in the greatest neighborhood... at all. If my mother decided to visit me there on one of her semi-frequent trips to California, she would have a cow, so I realized that I needed to maneuver things so she did not visit. How I was going to pull off that maneuver was beyond me, but I was resolved... because I had no room for a cow.

I pondered various gambits to accomplish this goal one Tuesday early in the summer, but came up with few immediate options. Tuesday was one of my remote days, so I took an early morning run around the neighborhood, wanting to clear my mind for more brainstorming, and also continuing to look for someplace where a cup of tea wasn't eight bucks and eggs weren't twelve. I cooked a lot for myself to save money, but I still did not want to cook every day, every meal.

I found a little coffee shop I had missed on my last exploration. It was in the middle of a block about half a mile from my digs, and I paused, running in place as I checked out the menu. Miraculously, the tea was reasonably priced. Eggs and toast were still twelve bucks.

Sigh. This was why I cooked a lot for myself.

Still, I would be able to afford a good tea here during my morning runs. Even an occasional chai latte!

It seems that every retail business in LA feels like it needs to be themed. The owner of this café spent a whole bunch of money on chrome and linoleum like her place was a 50's diner. Even the barista behind the counter had been forced to wear a uniform like a 50's soda fountain worker. It was a peach-colored dress, knee length with white collar and cuffs on the short sleeves. There was a white belt too.

I perked up a good bit more, as the barista in question filled out her uniform in an extremely appealing fashion. The belt accentuated her narrow waist, and the dress's narrow waist accentuated the really remarkably sized and extravagantly proud breasts swelling its front. The girl even had an extra button undone beyond those you could tell the uniform was designed to have open. The slivers of cleavage she thus exposed were arresting... as I am sure they were meant to be.

I had found to my immense dissatisfaction that LA was not the vast sea of uninterrupted hot chicks that one imagines from looking at television. People here are in better shape than anywhere else I have lived, but there is a sort of desperation to their gym bodies, like it is 'be fit or die.' Having a hard body isn't that awesome if your body isn't hot to begin with.

Again. I'm a sex pig. I still don't see myself as all that handsome myself, but I have learned that for whatever reason, I get to be picky. So, sex pig.

I approached the counter, thinking that this girl was the exception that proves the rule about the appearance of Angelenos... gloriously. She was blonde, with wavy locks pulled up in a ridiculous little white hat that could only have looked sexy on her. Her eyes were maybe a shade over made-up, but were still an arresting blue. And she had a very cute button nose.

She smiled at me as I approached, and I smiled back, hoping I was not already stinking from my run. I looked down for the name tag on her chest, not an onerous task. I may have lingered on that gaze a moment.

"Can I get a chai tea latte?" I asked. The possibility was rapidly improving that I may have found a new favorite place to sit and do some work when I needed a sanity break from my tiny hovel. Assuming this barista worked a lot of days.

"Sure thing!" she chirped, not phased in the least at my checking her out. With that obviously extra button undone, I assume she was looking for the male gaze. And the male tips that followed. "What's yer name?" she asked, almost posing in front of me with a Sharpie and a paper cup.

"Alistaire," I said, spelling the mouthful. "Thanks, Britney."

"New in the neighborhood, or just passing through?" she asked, turning to work on my latte.

Instead of taking a seat like I did most places, I stayed and leaned against the counter while she worked. No one else was in the place, and I was glad she seemed open to some conversation. I needed to meet and get to know real Angelenos, not just USC kids.

"I just leased an apartment down the street," I said. "I go to USC."

"Oh, you are brave to venture off campus to live," she snorted like I was supposed to be soft.

"It's not that bad," I shrugged. "So is this your full-time job, or just mornings?" I asked, wanting to make conversation and give myself some cover for remaining at the counter to check out the very nice curves on display above and below the hem of her uniform.

"Full-time-ish," Brittany shrugged. "I open Tuesdays through Thursdays, and work the lunch rush on Fridays and Saturdays. All unless I have an audition, of course."

"Oh? You're an actress?" Other than arguably a few kids in the film department, this was the first real actress I'd met.

She turned enough to look at me, presenting a wonderful profile, and rolled her eyes at me. "It's LA. Everybody in the food and beverage industry is actually an actor," she snorted. I noted the emphasis on 'actor', and filed away a quick lesson about gendering that term. "The boss is an actor too, though she hasn't had a part in seven years. She understands about auditions."

She handed me my tea, and I took a tentative sip. "Noice!" I said, meaning it. She knew her stuff. "Well, I've got to shower before going to work myself," I said, heading for the door. "This is good. I think you will likely see me again, Britney!"

"Look forward to it, Alistaire," she called politely as I headed out the door.

*

A downside of working at a bank, even or perhaps especially in the financial advisory division, was that it required me to wear a coat and tie every day I was in the office. My Father surreptitiously sent me almost nine hundred dollars so I could buy a second suit and not look like a hobo. Beyond that, it was mostly a pretty cool place to work. But among other things, I learned that if I did pursue a career in Finance, it would not be in wealth management. I had suspected this before. Now I knew it.

Still, it was interesting work and allowed me to nurture references of the sort I was going to need once it was time for job searches for real.

I also met a lot of cool and interesting fellow interns.

There was Penny, a brilliant, what's the term... zaftig lesbian who seemed to get an insane amount of action, even if you did not take into account how plain she was. It had been a minute since I felt like I needed to take notes on someone else's Game, but anyone who got with as many chicks as Penny managed to lay seemed worth taking notes from.

Chip Reynolds and I got off totally on the wrong foot, but by the end of the summer, we were fast friends, and remain so today.

I did not get along with everybody.

Ivy Trefethan made my daily life in the office an exercise in landmine avoidance.

"Hey, Ivy," I asked one morning, "I have something Mr. Enney just asked me to bang out for him right away. Can you take the 3M exhibits up to Ms. Hastings for me, so I can get on this?"

"I'm not your errand girl, Taylor," she snapped in that aristocratic drawl I knew damn good and well was an affectation. A sneer marred her otherwise damn near perfect face. "It's your job, you do it. I have my own responsibilities."

Her responsibilities at the moment consisted of putting her unreasonably well-formed feet up and reading the Wall Street Journal. Of course, she wore Louboutins. Those red-soled, sexy as fuck pumps probably cost as much as my new suit.

We all read the Wall Street Journal. It was sort of expected. But generally, it was not the sort of job responsibility that was supposed to come before other things...

She turned away from her desk and stretched out her stupidly elegant legs below the mid-thigh hem of her suit skirt--her suit that had to have cost twice what my new suit had. She fluffed the Journal and ostentatiously looked at the fucking stock quotes.

No one has read the goddamn stock quotes in the Journal for a decade. She had a fucking 34" computer screen on her desk that gave live, up-to-the-second quotes, along with everything our billion-dollar analyst team had to say about every publicly listed company on Earth.

She humphed, making the front of her jacket rise and fall distractingly.

I'll admit, she was beautiful. She was not hot, please understand the distinction. Her looks were the sort of elegant prettiness that made anyone look better just by standing next to her. Any guy would look at her and say, 'Wow, she is beautiful,' at least until they learned what a steaming pile of bitchiness she was. Most guys would not look at her and instantly say, "Damn, I want to tap that ass."

Unless he had a foot fetish...

That stated, had she not been said steaming pile, I would likely have schemed to tap that ass anyway. She really was elegant.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll do it. Hopefully, Mr. Enney won't yell at us when this is late."

"You mean you hope Enney won't yell at you, don't you?" she preened.

"Fuck this," I grumped as I stood up. She was right about the possible outcome, though not the morality of the situation.

"Why don't you get your mommy to do it, Taylor?" she sneered as I hustled out with the materials.

I marveled inwardly that even this did not make me want to spank the girl. It made me think about it, but not actually want to do it.

Yes, my mother, who does not work for Wells in any capacity, her firm is much smaller but very much a competitor in the investment banking field, got me this internship. Thus, Mommy's Boy was a fair criticism. But not from Ivy Trefethan. Her mother, based in San Francisco, heads an advisor group under the Wells umbrella that is a Top 50 producer planet-wide. Ivy did not get her coveted desk in our cramped little office on her own merits either!

Worst of all, Ivy went to UCLA. What a fucking loser!

Still, she made the office a better-looking place, and she smelled nice. I would not push her under a bus if the occasion presented, no matter how much she might deserve it.

Most days.

*

In the three weeks after meeting Britney, I had begun to make her café a regular haunt. I'd get my morning tea on days when she worked the early shift, and on Fridays, I would occasionally swing by and pick up a sandwich on the way home from work before I headed out for the evening.

One Wednesday morning I popped in, still sweaty and with an elevated pulse from my morning run, and found myself staring at Sammy, one of the usual afternoon baristas.

"Where is Britney?" I asked, after ordering my tea.

"Audition," Sammy grunted. "I got told off to take her shift."

"Sorry," I sympathized.

"Audition," Sammy repeated as if that explained everything. "Brit's cool. She's covered for me twice in the last two months. Happy to get the extra hours."

Friday, I had no plans and was supposed to just cook the chicken I had picked up at Safeway. Gotta save money over restaurant food whenever I could, after all.

But I went to the café for a sandwich anyway. I wanted to hear how Britney's audition had gone. Hopefully, she would not have gotten some big enough movie role for her to quit her job.

She was there, in her lima green uniform (Fridays were green days).

"How did your audition go?" I asked brightly.

"We'll see," she said. "I think I've got a good chance, but..."

"You want the part, though, right?" I said encouragingly.

"Sure. It's a paycheck. But it is four lines in a local commercial for the Bakersfield Public Library System. There won't be any residuals," she said with a shrug. "Still, if I get it, it is one more line on my resumé."

"Next audition will be for something great," I said firmly.

"Sure. I am certain the next call will be from a major producer offering a real part in a legit motion picture," Britney said with a straight face.

Maybe she was not a great actor. Even clueless me could hear the sarcasm in her voice.

*

The following Tuesday, I popped into the café a few minutes later than usual, after a longer run than normal. I waved cheerily at Britney, whose return greeting was a bit lackluster for her.

My chai tea latte, on the other hand...

"Britney! Wow," I exclaimed, once I'd looked at, then tasted it. "This is next level this morning. The little swirl design you did in the cream? That is pretty damned elaborate, and I swear it tastes way better than usual. Thanks!"