Rodeo Drive by Matthew Tomlin

“Fancy a trip to Rodeo Drive?”

That’s how it all started. We look back and laugh now, but that day was the death of Tom Lewis, and the birth of ‘Tom Lewis’. Mum just wanted to go and spend her Christmas bonus, and Dad was away on a business trip. As the oldest son, I was designated bag carrier. With the enticing promise of a three course lunch, I went along.

I wasn’t a particular fan of Rodeo Drive. All those massive stores seemed so unnecessary, but maybe that’s why it was such a hit with the rich and famous. I always though celebrities were unnecessary. Weren’t we all people at the end of the day? That’s not what the media wants us to think though. People don’t make headlines, top the music charts and star in the latest blockbuster. Stars do.

Mum had just bought herself a set of garden ornaments, making the shopping bags lining my arms total eight. I was just beginning to lose interest, to resign the thought-processing part of my brain so that maybe the weight of the shopping wouldn’t ache so much.

“Oh my god. Look, look Tom!” Mum squealed, backhanding my shoulder in order to secure my attention. “Nicola Tennyson… I’ve got to call the girls at work!”

The glam model. The untouchable. The goddess among women. As fake as fake could be with her bleach-blonde hair and ‘sun-kissed’ skin. She was hot, but fake nonetheless. I thought for a moment my mix of boyish fantasizing and disgust for high society women had been noticed as Nicola looked my way. Dad said that Celebrities don’t see ordinary people though, not really.

My heart stopped when she started walking this way, her well-practised strut leaving her bodyguards milling after her. Despite myself I couldn’t stop staring. When I saw that smile on her face, shivers were dancing all along my back.

“Hello there stranger.” She said, her refined, soft voice washing over me. There was a casual crowd now.

“H-Hi” I stuttered back. She giggled and I turned very red.

“Well look at you.” Her eyelids lowered slightly. What was there to see? I was five foot ten, dressed in a Nike t-shirt and blue jeans. I had some muscle on my arms, no doubt because of all the shopping, and a decent face, if you were judging that sort of thing. “Nicely chiselled, such a handsome face, and a rugged voice.”

I heard a mobile phone smash on the ground behind me, and assumed my mum had noticed who I was talking to.

“I want him for the shoot.” She turned, speaking to one of her bodyguards. “You’ll come, right?”

What? What? A photo shoot with Nicola Tennyson? I heard my mum squealing.

“Uh… Sure?”

“Drop the bags, you’re coming with me.”

Mum was on me like a shot. The bags were stripped from my arms, one of which was now entwined with Nicola’s. Off I went.

Make up on and shirt off two hours later. On the front pages two days after that.

‘TENNYSON’S NEW MAN; TOM LEWIS’

I quickly became what I once hated. I buffed up and tanned up. I went home once a week to see my parents. The first time we had sex was a total blur; reality and fantasy became one. She’s still Nicola Tennyson on screen, but legally she’s Nicola Lewis. I’m her lover, her stud on shoot. Twelfth sexiest man in the USA. Mum’s so proud, but I didn’t really do anything.

I’m Tom Lewis.