It all started when she walked into the front room of her home (let’s say) or possibly the home of her parents. It was a large home with many many rooms, hallways, alcoves, boudoirs and such. There were too many details to burden a writer with typing out or trying to describe at any length. Let’s just go with the idea that the house was real classy and leave it at that. Think buttresses and hedges and you’re almost there.
Lady Ashley Catherine Von Hubberton Islac the Third was watching the butler unpack her Rolls Royce while she draped over the car in designer clothing that swished when she walked. It was not enough swish to trip her up as that would be common aye what what. Her shoes always matched her handbag and perfume smelt nice. Lady Ashley delighted in doing regular people chores herself like buying magnums of champagne and scoring her own drugs. She was a looker: great hair, nice teeth and whatever else turns your crank. She was the ‘hooker with a heart of gold’ dame in an upmarket gentleman’s companion way type of gal. Her natural good looks were made possible by lots of surgery. The ‘good looking’ bit’ is closer to being true as long as you viewed her in air brushed photos only and always remembered to photoshop the face lift scars out.
She felt guilty when watching others physically labour away, but not enough to actually carry things herself. She mimed carrying things so that she would have a little real life work experience should a casting director have their car break down outside her mansion. “Why there’s one breaking down now”, she helpfully noticed.
The door of a very richly made limo type shiney expensive vehicle swung open. A handsome looking man stepped out and their eyes met, without any visible squinting for distance. He had oh let’s say a soothing deep voice, flouncy hair and looked a bit of a gym bunny but not like that Fabio guy that used to do those butter commericals in the 80’s way. Lord no. That guy was creepy. This fellow was a combo platter of a rock band/surfer/surgeon good looking. He was the type of guy that was gorgeous by dim club light and strobe lighting set on the highest setting. He annouced himself, his job, his raison d’etre, sang some Broadway hits, kissed some babies, rallied congress, donated blood, saved a puppy while giving CPR to an endangered animal and other heroic gestures. He ended the first round of dialog saying words poignent enough that Lady Ashley knew that he was the one for her, like ‘I really admire people that know where a kitchen countertop is. It doesn’t matter to me if they feel a bit guilty when they watch someone do physical labour. I could never score my own drugs but it’s a quality I admire in others’. It was big time connection stuff that made her feel they would always be together. The kind of connection they had could only established by a being a couple in a past life or attending the same summer camp. It was the kind of love that poorly made pottery and coloured sand layers in bottles cannot break.
He entered Ashley’s home in some fashion, probably man handling a door, tearing a window out from its frame or masculinely shimmying up a drainpipe. They made small talk for twenty pages or so, exchanged longing looks, shared cliché stories about their family, their upbringing, and what have you. Body parts were exposed, chests heaved and a bodice was ripped. Afterwards there was some kind of separation thingie like a war… or a war… and he went away for at least thirty pages before he came back again. Sure there was some starry eyed longing if you like, why not? Throw in a few chapters of Lady Ashley obsessing over some gardener or domestic help to get her through if you think that would help. Postmen and pizza delivery guys flowed non stop through the mansion you bet. She never did have her pocket book or the exact change.
Finally there is some clever plot device explaining how he almost didn’t make it back but then he did. When he crawled up the drive, she didn’t recognize him and he almost didn’t recognize her with the amnesia that came and went like bad radio reception. She announced she was pregnant with his child and that seemed to tune his station right in. Fond embraces followed and absolutely no reference was made to the former constant stream of stallions traipsing through her home but the gardener was always paid three hundred times his normal salary. Loose ends were tied up and there were happy endings all around.