Shayla's Story (The Mathews/Clemmins Family Series) (2 page)

The doors parted
when she reached the ground level.

“Wow,” she said in
astonishment.

Shayla ventured into
the dramatic entrance at a turtle’s pace, taking in the stark modern
sophistication of the home. Glass and light filled the house with sunshine,
illuminating the art hanging singularly on each white wall. The slapping of her
sandals echoed against the bare concrete floors as she cautiously made her way
across a bridge floating above a magnificent fish aquarium.

She peered down into
a massive tank filled with vibrant artificial coral and colorful fish. “It’s
like an art museum for fish.”

Familiar voices
swept through the house, carried in with a cool moist breeze and the sounds of
the crashing surf.

“Hello?” she called
out.

Carrie Ann peeked in
from outside the open doorway at the back of the house. “Pretty cool, isn’t
it?”

“I’ll say.” Shayla
scanned over the contemporary sculpture made of scrap metal taking on the shape
of a woman standing in the breeze with her hair blowing in long wisps. The
large piece encompassed the entire a corner of the living room.

Carrie Ann greeted
her with a quick squeeze. “The private after-party starts right after the gala,
but I’m keeping it low key.”

Her fair skin and
pixie cut accentuated the mischievous sparkle in her emerald eyes, but most
people only made it as far as her cleavage. She unapologetically embraced her
full figured curves in a city known for its paper-thin image.

“I’ll have to pass.
Mat and I have
plans
.” Heat climbed
to her cheeks and Shayla grinned apologetically. She dropped her head back and
lifted her hands skyward with fingers extended fully. “Finally! A night alone.”

“Aw, you poor
thing.” Carrie Ann pouted impishly. “You
still
haven’t gotten laid? What’s it been? Two weeks?”

 
“Try almost four!” Shayla opened her eyes
wide with painful protest. “He dropped by this morning to give me a pair of
earrings to wear tonight. I thought I was going to tackle him right there in
the kitchen, but before I could even get my towel off, he left.”
 

“I told you. You
need to take care of yourself.” Carrie Ann’s wiggled her brows while sliding
her fingers down her abs and grabbing hold of her crotch as if she were dirty
dancing on MTV. “
Pleasure
yourself.”

Her spirit shone as
vibrant as her flame red hair.

Shayla giggled then
frowned in frustration. “It’s not the same.”

Nodding in
agreement, Carrie Ann taunted in a prim and proper tone, “Besides,
Mathew Huntston
would never get down and
dirty in the kitchen.”

A grey seagull
swooped down and landed on the terrace, momentarily capturing their attention
with a harsh squawking, scavenging for any remnants left behind.
 

“What did he gift
you this time?” Carrie Ann extended her hand, palm up, fingers wiggling with
curiosity. “I know
you
could care
less about material items, but I’d like to get some enjoyment out of Mat’s
latest donation to the
I’m sorry I fucked
up
gift box.”

Shayla did a once
around the world eye roll as she rummaged blindly through her bag, handing the
box to Carrie Ann. Not bothering to wait for the ooh’s and aah’s, she kicked
off her sandals and moseyed onto the terrace perched on a jagged rock cove
above the private beach below.

When Shayla first
arrived on her uncle’s doorstep a few weeks after graduating high school, she
found it nearly impossible to fit in. There was no shortage of wealth under the
glamorous lights of Los Angeles and her famous uncle ranked at the top of the
list. Tom Clemmins was an A-list actor with a blockbuster career spanning
nearly thirty years, but he still managed modesty. Lavish homes and extravagant
cars were as common as the coffee house on every corner. The obsessive strive
for the perception of flawlessness made her very uncomfortable.

The sunshine warmed
the terrace beneath her toes as she leaned over the railing and gaped down at
the secluded beach below. A natural bend in the outcropping of rocks created a
small private beach, restricted from public access on both sides. Tony, a
well-known celebrity photographer, climbed the switchback steps notched into
the rocks, leaving his tripod and camera equipment set up on the white sand
below. His makeup artist/stylist, Rachel, trotted up the stairs behind him.

Tony’s shoulder
length hair, bleached blonde from the California sunshine fell around his face.
He glanced up and smiled, tucking the long layers behind his ear. “Hello,
sweetheart.”

“Hey, Tony.” She
extended her hand.

His cool fingers
encircled hers with a soft pat.

“Where is
everybody?” Shayla questioned.

Tony’s mouth opened
then closed. A surprised glaze washed over his face and his gaze drifted beyond
Shayla.

Carrie Ann walked up
behind her, clearing her throat. “Ummm, we need to talk about that.”

Shayla’s stare
darted between them. Judging by the terrified looks on their faces, she assumed
something was wrong. “Oh, man. Did I miss it? Please tell me I don’t have to
fix my own hair?”

Rachel waved hello
and buzzed right past, appearing to be on a mission. “No, I’m ready whenever
you are, Shayla. I’ll just…wait for you in the hair and makeup salon.”

“They have a salon?”

“And a theater and
gym too.” Carrie Ann wrapped her arm around Shayla’s shoulder. “I need you to
do me a huge favor.”

Pleading saturated
her voice.

Realizing the
severity in her reaction, Shayla narrowed her eyes, “Sure. Of course, what do
you need?”

“I need you to bare
your soul.”

“Hell no! I am not
posing naked for the
Bare Your Soul
Calendar
!” Shayla screeched, shirking away from Carrie Ann’s arm draped
over her shoulder, which now felt more like the clutches of entrapment.

 
“You won’t be totally naked.” She trotted
into the kitchen and returned with a heart-shaped foam board covered in
gorgeous crimson satin fabric and a wide airy ribbon tied in a stunning bow.
“See! Nothing will be exposed—”

“You can’t be
serious. I’m won’t pose naked and besides, no one even knows who I am. The
calendar is filled each year with celebrities, rock stars,”—Shayla posed
like a super model, mimicked a rock star jamming on his guitar then tossed her
arms in the air with bent elbows mimicking a field goal—“and athletes!
Not people like me!”

“Oh please! A lot of
people know who you are and you’re the epitome of all those people combined.
You’re the quintessential poster child for fitness. Hell, you could represent
the State of California in one of their campaign ads to attract—”

Shayla raised her
hand. “What happened? Who was supposed to be here?”

Carrie Ann shot Tony
a fleeting glance, obviously searching for any assistance.

He swiftly dropped
his view to the ground, brushing the sand off one bare foot with the other.

Carrie Ann paused in
reluctance.

“Oh great.” Shayla
flopped back onto a lounge sofa big enough for ten people. “Just exactly
who
are you asking me to replace?”

“Babs was—”

“Babs!” Shayla
lurched to her feet. “Are you kidding? You’re asking
me
to fill in for Babs?”

She clutched her
petite breasts then held her hands in front of her chest as if holding two
generous watermelons. “That’s—that’s, that’s like comparing Nemo to a
whale shark or a Mini Cooper to a stretch limo or like—”

“I’ve rescheduled
this photo shoot three times for her. I knew better than to depend on that
bitch, but the other board members outvoted me. That woman is completely
unstable!”

“Are you seriously
asking me to fill in for a notorious sex symbol?” Her tummy fluttered with
nerves. “She a bombshell! A pin up girl! A—”

“She’s a fucking
high maintenance diva, a drama queen! That’s what she is,” Carrie Ann
protested, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s not my fault she woke up this
morning with one of her best assets flatter than a pancake! It happened
yesterday and she didn’t bother calling me until fifteen minutes before she was
supposed to be here. Not to mention she was half-lit and crying hysterically,
complaining her world had ended. ‘What are all my fans around the world going
to say?’”

Shayla made a
painful face, repositioning her hands in front of her chest to the image she
now stuck in her head. One perfect bazooka gum bubble at its finest, the other
burst in a spatter.

“It’s okay! Don’t
worry, Shayla,” Carrie Ann continued in a rant, hands flailing and head bobbing
sassily. “Everything is hunky dory over in Bab’s world. The surgeon is going to
replace both her breasts to a new and improved
larger
implant.”

Shayla mouthed,
bigger?

“Then she had the
nerve to suggest we reschedule the shoot in a few months.” Carrie Ann shook her
head and took a deep breath. Tears of frustration filled her eyes.

Shayla was taken
aback. She’d never seen Carrie Ann cry once in the last ten years.

Carrie Ann
befriended her in college, when she moved to Malibu. Their personalities were
as diverse as their upbringing. Carrie Ann grew up in Beverly Hills, with
neighbors ranging from rock stars to film producers. Shayla was raised in a podunk
town in Kentucky where the only thing her neighbors were known for was a good
dose of moonshine. Carrie Ann never judged her, and their friendship remained
unwavering over the years.

“Look just hear me
out. Please—”

“Okay.”

Her friend squinted
warily. “Okay?”

“Yes, all right.
I’ll do it.”

Carrie Ann leapt
from the sofa, throwing her arms around Shayla. “Oh, God, thank you! You have
no idea how much you’re saving my ass.”

“You owe me.”

Tony clasped his
hands loudly and entwined his fingers as if his prayers had been answered.

Shayla pointed her
finger at Tony. “No peeking! I don’t want to hear one joke about this, Tony.
Not one!”

She’d known Tony for
a few years through social contacts and he’d photographed her uncle more than
once, but posing nude in front of him would be one of the most uncomfortable
things she’d ever done in her life.

Tony caressed her
arm. Each stroke came with a positive reassurance. “Sweetheart, I’ve seen more
ta-ta’s than Hugh. I’m simply happy to get back to work. You’re going to do
just fine. I promise to make it as painless and tasteful as possible.”

“Owe you?” Carrie
Ann chimed in, her gratitude already checked at the door as she waved her
finger in the air. “I believe we are now officially even. I forget. Who was it
that set you up with Mat? Oh, that’s right. Me!”

A rough bark of
laughter from Tony drew her attention. “What?” Shayla insisted.

“Oh, nothing.” Tony
shrugged nonchalantly, but a smug glint of humor gleamed in his eyes. “I just
wish I could be the preverbal fly on the wall when you inform Mrs. Huntston you
posed nude.”

Out of the corner of
her eye, Carrie Ann gave a blunt chop off your head sign to Tony.

Shayla sucked in a
shallow breath. “Shit.”

She hadn’t
considered the ramifications of posing naked for the calendar and what they
might cause Mat. His mother would undoubtedly see it as scandalous and a
potential threat to her campaign. Her nervousness turned to trepidation. She
and Mat had each grown up being controlled by their parents. He reveled in it,
living by certain standards and constantly seeking his mother’s approval.
Shayla escaped on a Greyhound bus and needed years of therapy.

“It’s for charity,
Shayla. Just think of how much money you’re raising for heart disease.” Her
best friend pulled out all the stops. “You’re saving lives. How can she argue
with that?”

“Oh, believe me,
she’ll find a way.”

****

Shayla emerged from
the salon a product of natural radiance. Her skin glistened with a new
sun-kissed glow, but her anxiety floundered between awkward and mortification.
She had a difficult time controlling her nervous giggles. After thirty minutes
posing precariously on a rock on the beach while clasping onto the heart for
dear life, Tony called a break.

He reassured her
sweetly, trying to calm her angst. “Relax, sweetheart. You don’t have to frolic
in the sand, just let go of your inhibitions. Loosen your stance and stare
seductively into the camera.”

Time ticked by and
sun began etching its way beyond the mid afternoon point and he still hadn’t snapped
the ideal shot. Agitation wore deep-notched groves between his brows. “This
isn’t working. You don’t look comfortable. You’re too uptight, I need you feel
natural and at ease, Shayla.”

“I’m not
comfortable! I’m completely out of my element. How the hell am I supposed to
look natural when I’ve got sand wedged up my ass and my cheeks hurt from
smiling?” She kicked the sand in frustration.

Rachel came in for
another round of spritzing. Her loose wet strands of hair fell around her
shoulders and an ocean breeze sent a chill over her arms.

“I’m usually on a
surfboard, Tony. Not naked!”

His brows rose with
new interest. “Carrie Ann!” he shouted.

She had long since
retreated inside. Shayla assumed it was to avoid the catastrophe unfolding in
front of her. The
Bare Your Soul
Calendar
was her personal baby and this
year marked her five-year anniversary. She poked her head over the balcony.
“Yeah?”

“Go find a surf
board! They gotta have a dozen or so lying around this mansion!”

Moments later, she
pranced down the steps, boobs bouncing, surfboard in hand and a hopeful smile
beaming across her face. She wedged the tip of the board into the soft sand.
“Here you go. Great idea.”

“Now,” Tony demanded
with bolstered positive encouragement, “wade out about ten yards, straddle your
board and smile.”

She’d expected him
to say,
go get um, tiger,
as he
turned to give her some privacy.

Rachel held her hand
out, taking claim of the red satin prop.

Shayla’s jaw
clenched and her eyes crinkled, shooting daggers at Carrie Ann as she
relinquished the heart. “You
so
owe
me. Big time.”

She gripped the
board, lifted her chin, poked her bum out and trotted nude into the surf.

Rachel followed
behind, heart in hand, thigh deep in the frigid November ocean.

Shayla bobbed up and
down on the slow rolling breakers.
Five
yards is far enough.
Her teeth chattered while Rachel applied a fresh coat
of lip gloss and dried her hands on a towel she carried slung over her
shoulder.

Adjusting her
precarious position, Shayla sat tall on the surfboard. Her nipples constricted
so tightly they ached from the cold water.

Tony stood on the
beach fine-tuning his focus through the zoom lens.

She took a quick
sweeping glance downward, her goody box shone plain as day in the afternoon
sun. “I’m feeling a little exposed here, Tony!”

“You look beautiful,
sweetheart. That’s perfect.”

I bet! One more sweetheart out of you and I
might just kick you in the shin!
She took a deep, cleansing breath followed by another, casting out her
modesty and the frosty chill of the cold water.

“You look hot,
Shay!” Carrie Ann shouted her approval, fully clothed from the comfort of the
warm sand. “Let’s get the show on the road. We’ve got a gala to get ready for!”

Sunrays streamed
down from the blue sky, heating the curve of her backside and the board beneath
her bottom. The wide surfboard lifted her completely out of the water, giving
her a very open visual perspective at herself. She felt sexy. Exhilarating
pings of stimulation tingled her tummy and below. If it weren’t for Tony
watching from the beach, she could’ve embraced this moment. She’d always been
comfortable with her body image, but in that precise moment, her vulnerability
turned to empowerment. An invigorating feeling of freedom and excitement washed
over her.

Her face flushed as
desire and longing turned to frustration and irritation. All roads lead to
home…she was horny.

Grabbing hold of the
heart, she wedged it between her thighs and gripped her fingers over each hump.
She cocked her head and gave Tony a sultry grin, knowing how her night would
end.

Tony had captured
the perfect photo within five minutes.

Shayla assumed the
worst part of the day was over when she heard
That’s a wrap!,
but she was wrong. Following a long, hot shower,
she fell to another round of four different curling irons and nine separate
makeup brushes, all of which Rachel assured were a necessity for every woman’s
bag of tricks. Sitting still long enough for one makeover was tolerable, but
two in one day compared to a trip to the gynecologist
and
dentist, until she examined herself in the mirror.

All primped and in
her stunning red dress, Shayla had never felt more glamorous in her life.

Carrie Ann entered
the dressing closet, giving Shayla the once over.

Staring wide-eyed
into the full-length mirror, she pinched at the shirring on the left side,
positioning the jeweled pin at the cinch of her waist. The loosely pleated
fabric draped down the natural waist of the sophisticated gown to the tip of
her perfectly painted toes. Shayla loved to shop for everything
except
designer dresses. She’d never
even attended her prom and Carrie Ann had always helped her choose dresses for
every other red carpet event. She turned, proudly showing off the drape, which
exposed her bronze back. “The sales lady said it’s stylish, elegant and
refined. What do you think?”

Carrie Ann lifted
her shoulders and raised her brows raised in speculation.

“What?” she
questioned apprehensively.

“You look...” Carrie
Ann paused, circling her in a stalking fashion. “Fabulous. Rachel did an
amazing job on your hair and makeup.”

“I feel a
but
coming on.”

“
But
, red is the color of the night. You
don’t want to be the shrinking violet. You need to be the bouquet of roses at
full bloom.”

“If I get any
fuller, I might combust.” Anticlimax drowned her tone.

“Exactly” Carrie Ann
rummaged through the drawers, retrieving a pair of scissors. She knelt on the
ground in front of Shayla, giving the sheers a quick
snip snip
.

“What the hell are
you doing?” Shayla gasped, taking three steps back. “I spent a full week’s pay
on this dress!”