Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

The next two and a half months were a blur. Charlotte, was constantly traveling, doing modeling shoots in Milan, Paris, St. Tropez, and even Stockholm. She of course was upset, but was so busy shuttling from hotel to hotel she hardly could sit for a moment to think about it.

 

March finally arrived, and Charlotte said goodbye to her family her two sisters Caitlyn and Rebecca, and new brother Colm, and headed on a long flight from London, to Los Angeles. On the plane ride she dreamed of sunshine, surfboards, and milkshakes, and everything else her model friends had told her LA was like.

 

After landing, she was driven by limo to the beachfront house the studio had rented for her. She was simply speechless as she approached the steps to the front door. It was a bungalow, up on ‘stilts’, and right on a private beach. The walls, most laden with large plate glass windows, were painted calming, muted pastels. The furniture was mostly white or a shade close to it, and the floors were blond hardwood. Todo, we’re not in London any more Charlotte thought to herself……

 

Shooting didn’t begin for another day, so Charlotte woke up early the next day and headed for Venice Beach. Girls in bikinis and roller-skates glided down the paved walkway, and guys in brightly colored trunks carried sodas to their waiting friends sitting on their beach towels. Charlotte felt a little left out to say the least, but she made the best of it, combing her now shoulder-length blond hair our of her face, and putting on her Gucci sunglasses.

 

After a while of sitting in the sun, she looked up at what she thought was a scene from a movie- a catchy song played on the radio of the two girls sitting near Charlotte; “And everybody’s gone surfin…..surfin USA….” And then a true vision emerged from the surf. Water dripped from his muscular, tanned body, his sandy, sun-bleached blond hair swung over his left eye, his face…just pure, young, fun, and beautiful, with strong, handsome features, and the nicest smile she had seen in a long time. He looked fun loving, like a regular teenager. He probably went to High School, drove a convertible and worked at a burger joint on the weekends. Charlotte hoped, anyways. A normal guy sounded nice for a change.  But she realized she was gawking at him, and stopped herself, as hard as it was.

 

She picked up her copy of Elle and pretended to be engaged in an article about colored tights. But out of the corner of her eye, she could see him, talking to a group of girls on a blanket, all straining themselves to be the closest to the hot surfer guy. Yes, that was what she would refer to him as, the hot surfer guy. But he didn’t pay much attention to the girls, but kept staring at Charlotte, and then, he smiled. Charlotte went back to her magazine, but got up, walked by her, and as he was doing so, he looked at her and said “Hey”.

 

Hey. That was it, all the words he said to her and already she was hooked. She ate tofu and veggies for dinner, called home, and took a nice bath, with the sea breeze streaming through the windows. Charlotte was in the process of being reinvented, or so she thought. She was no longer the ultra pale waif with a boyish haircut, nor was she the innocent, naïve redhead with flipped and backcombed hair. She was tanned, healthy looking, still reed thin, but had a sense of calmness, and happiness about her. Her hair was long, and she could finally let her freckles, now even more pronounced from the sun, be visible to the world. She could tell her time in California was going to be an inspiringl trip, and she had only been there for two days.

 

 

The first day of shooting “The Girls On The Beach” began. Charlotte, who had the lead role, was lead into the makeup room, where she sat in her chair, and took a copy of Vogue from the counter.

 

“Hey, its you” She heard a familiar voice say. She turned to the person beside her. It was him, hot surfer guy.

 

“Oh, hi” She tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

 

“I saw you on Venice yesterday. I didn’t know you were Irish!”

 

“Well, yes of course! I’m Charlotte Quinn.”

 

“Dennis Wilson. You’re the star I hear?” She loved the sound of his adorable surfer-dude accent.

 

“That’s what they tell me. I didn’t see you in the cast listing. What’s your part?”

 

“Its not really a part. I think I have a line or two. I play myself, the drummer of the Beach Boys.”

 

“Oh, is that a real band?”

 

“Have you been living under a rock? The Beach Boys are the hottest group out there!” A girl clad in a purple polka-dot bikini quipped.

 

“Well is this true Mr. Wilson?”

 

“Yea, kinda. Maybe you’ve heard one of our songs on the radio. Um, have you heard, lets see, ‘Surfin’ USA’?”

 

“Yes! On the beach yesterday! That’s you? Its really great! You guys need to hit the UK, you’d be a smash!”

 

“Really? Well its in the future plans.”

 

So much for that average guy Charlotte was hoping for. Did she specifically attract musicians or something?

 

“Great. I can say I met one of you guys!”

 

Denny gave a warm smile. Shooting began, and went smoothly. At 6pm, everyone was cleared to go home. Charlotte was tired, mostly from being on her feet all day.

 

“Can I give you a ride home?” A familiar voice came from behind her.

 

“Sure Denny, let me get my bag.”

 

He led her to his 57’ baby blue T-Bird convertible. A sweet car to say the least. They got to the bungalow, and Charlotte invited him up for a soda.  Upon entering, she got her mail that was on the floor from being placed in the mail slot on the front door.

 

Mostly catalogues, except…..two letters, one return address from: J.P. McCartney and the other from M. Jagger. Brian must have stolen some of Mick’s stationary. She threw them into the kitchen drawer, and joined Denny on the deck, bearing two Cokes.

 

“This is a great view you have here.” The moonlight reflected in his blond hair.

 

“Yea, so different from London. So….warm and peaceful. I just don’t get that with home”

 

They chatted all night. She learned that Denny, as he preferred to be called, was 19, and lived with his parents in LA. He’d been surfing almost all his life, and was in the band with his brothers Carl and Brian, and his cousin Mike, and friend Al. They were pretty successful, on TV, and the radio, and had chart-topping hits. He told her how it was getting pretty hard to go surfing on a public beach because he would get bombarded with fans.

 

“Gosh, I’d love to hear some of your stuff” Charlotte said wide-eyed.

 

“I have some records in the trunk, I’ll go get them!” Denny ran out to his car, and came back with a few singles.

 

“Here’s one of my favorites” He put on “The Warmth of The Sun”:

 

                         

What good is the dawn

That grows into day

The sunset at night

Or living this way

For I have the warmth of the sun

Within me tonight….

The love of my life

She left me one day

I cried when she said

"I don't feel the same way"

Still I have the warmth of the sun……

 

                       

 

 

 

 

 

Charlotte loved the lovely sensation that filled her heart. She had never heard music like it before, and it was just wonderful. And the handsome, sweet guy sitting across from her wasn’t so bad either.

 

They stayed up talking until the morning waves awoke Char. She was lying on a lounge chair on the deck, in Denny’s arms. The sun was just rising, and she watched his sweet, adorable face, eyes closed, probably having a wonderful dream. But then she realized she was due on the set in three hours. She jumped up, ate a grapefruit, and got into the shower. When she emerged, deciding to leave her hair wet(it was so hot out it would be dry in a matter of seconds anyways), Denny was sitting on the deck enjoying a cup of tea.

 

“Morning sunshine” He smiled

 

“I had a wonderful time last night” Charlotte said dreamily.

 

“Mmm me too, how could I not? How about I drive you to the set, and then pick you up and we can have dinner and go to a big bonfire on the beach. I can introduce you to my friends.”

 

“Sure, lets go!”

 

Driving in the convertible in the early morning heat was fantastic. She was getting quite used to this California weather.

 

During lunch break, Charlotte was called to the producer’s office.

 

“Charlotte, there’s a phone call for you.”

 

She picked up the phone.

 

“Char?” It was a familiar British voice.

 

“George! How did you get this number?”

 

“Ah Charlotte, I’m a Beatle I can get anything I want if I ask for it”

 

“Aren’t we a bit smug?”

 

“Well anyways, you know, I’ve been hanging out with the Stones a lot recently”

 

“Have you?”

 

“Yes, and I had to call you, and you weren’t home. It’s Brian. He’s just torn up about you and everything. It’s all he’ll talk about.”

 

“Oh god”

 

“Yea, ‘oh god’ is right. So ee’s just a mess. Ee ‘ misses you terribly you know. Isn’t living with Linda anymore, is living with Mick and Keith. “

 

“You called me on the set of a Hollywood movie to tell me this?”

 

“Well yes, its only a silly movie” Charlotte loved, and couldn’t stand George’s smugness. But hey, he was adorable.

 

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