From Hollywood With Love

by Kadorienne

Hundreds of paparazzi and hormonally crazed teenage girls crowded around the gates of Supernova Studios. The paparazzi clutched cameras and microphones, the teenage girls clutched framed photos and magazines bearing the image of their idol. Eagerness filled the air as thickly as the chattering and giggling.

One shriek rose above the general hubbub and all turned to look. A furious teenage girl was advancing on a frightened journalist, her face red. "Noooooo!" she shrilled. "He can't be gay! He's too hot! You're just making that up to be mean!"

Three hundred teeny-boppers scowled at the journalist fiercely, and he backed away, not daring to say another word. His colleagues rolled their eyes, but very discreetly. Death by teeny-bopper lynch mob was such an inglorious end to a career.

The journalist's skin was saved by the door to the main studio building opening. Every eye turned, every camera and microphone aimed. The star of the current hit series, Marauders of the Tropical Seas, stepped out.

Cameras and microphones were lowered, and primed nubile female limbic systems collapsed in disappointment. Two or three token fangirl shrieks rang out, and a few flash bulbs popped obligingly, but Lawrence's grand entrance was for the most part met with a deafening silence.

Seemingly oblivious to the indifferent greeting, Lawrence preened his way down the stairs and towards his limo, smiling broadly and waving as if he were receiving a standing ovation. A cricket chirped in apparent enthusiasm.

After the star climbed into his limo, the building's door swung open and Dorian Red Gloria, the young Hollywood star who played the villain in Marauders of the Tropical Seas, stepped out. His long golden curls almost glowed in the sunlight. His black jeans could have been painted on. The long white scarf around his neck blew dashingly in the wind. Even the dark glasses couldn't hide his handsome features.

Every pubescent female on the premises went into full starstruck hysteria. Some fainted dead away. Others waved their photos of him in his general direction, proving their devotion (in case he had been concerned about apostasy). Most squealed at him, many at a pitch which could only be heard by dogs. Meanwhile, the cameras were clicking away and the journalists were trying to make their questions heard above the adolescent hysterics.

Dorian gave a cheerful wave to fans and press as he made his way to his limosine (an immaculate white one), trailed by his manager, John Bonham, and his agent, Mr. James, and the assortment of pretty young men who made up his entourage. He mostly ignored the reporters' shouted questions, but once he stopped to tell the one who had incurred the teeny-boppers' wrath, "Of course I appreciate all human beauty! It would be a crime not to!"

The man threw an ironic glance at the nearest gaggle of overstimulated females, but said nothing else.

The star strolled a few more feet before taking note of some other journalist's question and pausing. Everyone quieted as it became clear that he was going to speak.

"Why do you never have any new questions? Is not my art enough?" he queried plaintively. With that, he escaped into his limo, his entourage following.

As the limo made its way through the paparazzi and fans, who reluctantly parted in front of it like the Red Sea, Dorian's agent spoke up. "I got that director to offer another million-"

"No, James, I will not play henchman #2 in Wheels of Speed III," he interrupted firmly.

"But they'd pay you!"

"Not enough. Besides, I'm too busy right now!"

"Busy with what?" Bonham asked over James's wail.

"I am going to steal Casey Collingridge's dresser!"

"Why are you going to steal a dresser when you could be making money?" James whined.

"That dresser was designed by Gaudi himself," Dorian answered grandly. "It is a work of art."

Bonham scratched his head. "Hadn't you almost gotten past the klepto phase, sir? I thought it was method acting for your movie."

"Well, it was. But now I have another target - the heart of the Major!"

Author's note: This ficlet was inspired by a review that described Eroica as "the story of a young Hollywood star who specializes in thievery on a grand scale." The same site contains another review by a guy with the puzzled question, "I think this was made for a young female audience. Young girls would like pretty, non-threatening men. But do they like gay men?"
I wrote the site about the mistake, and they corrected the "Hollywood star" thing, and ended up posting a much better review by our own Grey Bard.