Sunburntby Heidi Jacobsen
Greta hits rock bottom and trades in her Chardonnay for coffee. She moves to sunny Bombay Beach, Florida where she gets a new apartment in a quaint cottage, a new job and a new lease on life. She spends time at the beach soaking up the sun in her Brazillian bikini and reflecting on her past destructive relationships. She meets a mysterious married man Garth who keeps… See more details below
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Greta hits rock bottom and trades in her Chardonnay for coffee. She moves to sunny Bombay Beach, Florida where she gets a new apartment in a quaint cottage, a new job and a new lease on life. She spends time at the beach soaking up the sun in her Brazillian bikini and reflecting on her past destructive relationships. She meets a mysterious married man Garth who keeps popping up in her life. Greta dates a local musician Jimmy, but after his untimely suicide she must find the cause of his death. She and her girlfriend Kat put on a concert with the help of magnetic club owner Sly and invite superstar Crash to perform all of Jimmy’s music. Will they discover why Jimmy took his own life?
Sly is a dazzling man, living the high life as owner of one of the towns hottest clubs, Voodoo. He has it all, wine, women, a beach house and a sister who has one of Hollywoods hottest cooking shows, Elvira! He cannot find love in his life, until he meets Greta. But is it too late to change his playboy ways?
Garth is a real estate developer and has the perfect life with a beautiful, well preserved wife and two teenage twins. His eye is always keen on beauty and he is a philanderer. He meets Sol, a multi-millionaire and is offered the job of a lifetime, to renovate The Chateau in Palm Beach into a luxury hotel. But at what price?
"A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea."
Honore de Balzac
Sly boarded Southwest Airlines flight 202 out of West Palm. He had his laptop with him. He planned to do some work on the plane as soon as he could get a stiff drink
By the time he got to Los Angeles it would be 6:00 am , just in time to wake up Natalie and take her for breakfast to the Beverly Hills Hotel. He had a great spot there to have an intimate breakfast.
Sly sat in the first class window seat of row 2C and looked out of the window. It was spattered with raindrops. It would be sunny as hell in Los Angeles. He wondered if his Sis would have time to see him. She was such a busy broad these days with her little production company. This year she was making three pictures. Damn her for not even giving him a bit part in any of her films. She apparently didn’t believe in nepotism, or more likely, didn’t want him to upstage her in any way. She had always been like that, always needed to be the bright, shining star.
He opened up his laptop. He had all his business on here, his whole life. The club was doing well, but not as well as they had planned. He needed more headliners, real big acts to bring in the masses. After this was all over he planned to build a house on an island somewhere, a Spanish Style home with a big swimming pool, lunch landscaping and no one around for miles and miles. Maybe do Costa Rica, he had always liked the jungle.
The plane took off and Sly looked down at all the buildings and houses and swimming pools of Palm beach. Everything looked so insignificant from the air. He sucked back is vodka and tonic. Goodbye West Palm Beach, hello Los Angeles.
A lot of people told me that I'm committing musical suicide with my sound.
Sly pulled into the driveway of Natalies’ townhouse. Her car was there. It was 6:17am, just as scheduled. He turned his key in the lock and opened the door. He stole in, treading lightly on the concrete floor, quietly past the art lined walls to her bedroom door. He opened the door quietly. She was in bed sleeping. He looked a little closer. There was a man sleeping in bed with her. He recoiled in anger. A low guttural sound escaped from hi lips. Almost a growl and a hiss. The man in bed was startled and screamed. Natalie screamed.
Sly looked at Natalie.
“What the fuck is this?” he said fuming with anger.
“Sly, what are you doing here?”she wimpered.
“Fuck you.” He said and left, throwing the key on the floor.
Sly got into his car and drove through the quiet streets of Beverly Hills. His rage consumed him. He needed to calm down, maybe pop a Valium or something. He arrived at the Beverly Hills Hotel and checked in.
“I need a bungalow for a week.” He said
“Yes Mr. Wishbone”. She said
“We can arrange that immediately….I have an opening for the Presidential Ultra Bungalow” the perfunct woman tapped into her computer.
“I want complete privacy.” He said
“Of course, sir, everyone will be screened at the front desk…Pedro will take your bags and show you to your suite.”
“Thanks.” He said
Screw Natalie, he thought. Just another bitch. He didn’t need her anymore. Women always disappointed him, they were so lame. So weak, so immature.
- Heidi Jacobsen
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