Away From the Spotlight
Read Away From the Spotlight Online
Authors: Tamara Carlisle
AWAY FROM THE SPOTLIGHT
Tamara Carlisle
Tamara Carlisle
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express writ
ten
permission
of the publisher
.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
Book Cover Design and Illustration by www.eCoverMakers.com.
eISBN 978-0-9855161-0-9
Table of Contents
Chapter
One
It was
late
March, toward
the end of my third and
final
year of law school. I had only a few weeks left before I w
ould
have to hunker down to study for finals.
As I sat in my painfully long Real Estate Transactions class, I started to daydream.
In that dream,
I
glided
down the
Oscar Ceremony’s
Red Carpet, resplendent in a long beaded gown with
many thousands
of dollars worth of jewels dripping from my ears, neck and wrists. I was the wife of a famous actor who was too fuzzy to see in my dream as often can be the case with daydreams.
As I
was just about to answer a question regarding who designed my gown, I returned to reality
and
shook my head
.
What the hell?
I d
id
n’t watch
much in the way of
movies or
television
, and certainly not lately
with my schedule
, so who knows why this popped into my head
?
And, s
ince I didn’t watch movies or TV, I really wasn’t into actors either. I must have heard someone talking about the Oscars, which
took
place a few weeks back.
Of course,
I didn’t watch th
at
either
s
o my
fantasy
seemed a little strange to me.
A
nything to es
cape the monotony of this class
, I guess.
I had more
tedium
ahead of me after class.
I clerk
ed
part
-
time at a small firm in Downtown Los Angeles
,
engaging in
various mundane research projects for the lawyers while chomping at the bit to handle some of the meatier aspects of the practice of law when I graduated and passed the California Bar Exam. On the plus side in addition to the full-time job awaiting me after graduation, I
had become good friends with
Rachael,
one of the paralegals
at the firm
.
Rachael and I
decided to go out after work
for
Rachael
and school for me
th
at
Thursday night.
Rachael
was
a
beautiful buxom blonde
with one of her tattoos, a rose, peeking out from behind her blouse. I had never met someone who was so much fun to be around.
Her wit and vivaciousness
always managed to attract a crowd wh
erever she went
.
I, of course, was, to some degree, the
polar
opposite of
Rachael
.
F
airly reserved most of the time,
I was
only outgoing with those I knew well. Whereas
Rachael
was the kind of girl you took home for the night, I had been told that I was the type you took home to your parents. I didn
’
t always take that as a compliment
because
it meant that I did not date as much as some of my friends. A
twenty
-
something male in Los Angeles was not looking for a girl to take home to mother.
Consequently, I really did
n
’
t like going to places that were part of “the scene” in L.A. I
would only go to th
o
se places
when I was part of a big group of f
riends – only then was it fun.
The
Royalist
Pub
in Santa Monica was in no way part of the scene in L.A. Although it was frequently crowded, the
patrons
ranged in age from twenty-somethings to fifty-somethings, and
were
predominantly male.
It was a preferred place for British ex
-
patriots to go drinking after a soccer or rugby game
,
or to play darts. It also
served as the
destination
of choice
for
foreigners on holiday staying in and around Santa Monica as it was not a particularly expensive place to go.
The pub
also
attracted a lot of Anglophiles like
me
, who had traveled in Britain and wanted
to re-immerse themselves in British culture
.
I liked it
because, as a result of this mix of people, many just passing through on holiday, people were very friendly without
necessarily
having an agenda
.
Y
ou could talk to anyone and th
at person
wouldn’t necessarily think you were going home with
him
at the end of the night.
I also
liked it because I
received
more attention, having long dark red hair,
light
blue-green eyes and pale skin with freckles
. Th
e Brits tended to appreciate
my look
more than most American
men
.
Finally
,
I liked it because
it was a cheap night out for
Rachael
and
me and
neither of us had a whole lot of money.
With each visit, we
would take turns buying the first round and, usually, we never had to buy any rounds after that – the benefit of being part of the female minority at the pub.
As was not uncommon on a Thursday night,
t
he
Royalist
was very crowded.
The
British rock bands
that
played on the jukebox could be heard over the din.
O
n this cool spring night
, I was dressed
in my u
sual black –
a
sweater
with a glitter-like shimmer
over a
bejeweled
tank top
,
short pencil skirt,
tights and
flats
.
Rachael
and I showed our IDs perfunctorily
when
the bouncers
recognized us as
regulars.
The familiar smell of stale beer and
fried food
hit me as I walked in the door.
We headed toward our usual pl
ace
near the entrance
at the
long bar-height
table
that paralleled the bar
.
After settling in at the table,
I
headed off to the bar
since
it was
my turn
this
visit to buy the
first
round of drinks and it appeared that it would be a while before a waitress would get to us.
However, i
t was impossible to get anywhere near the bar even though it wasn’t far behind us. I decided to go around the high table to the end
of the bar
near the jukebox. It was usually
less crowded a
t
that end as people made space for the waitresses who came and went
with drink order
s
.
I wasn’t interested in drinking much that night
since I had school
the next
morning and work
that
afternoon
. Nevertheless
, I ordered
full
pints of
British
cider, a
potent and
favorite drink of
both
Rachael
’s
and m
ine
.
