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Champaign bubbles burst on her tongue while sunshine reflected on the waters of the Pacific and penetrated her skin. Soft gaze set on the horizon, Alexa Black vaguely listened to the voice of the man next to her as inspiration untangled a character complexity she was working through for her upcoming film.
“You know what I mean?”
Alexa—tall, tan, blonde and grateful for it—took in a breath of ocean air that surrounded the bow of the yacht she was perched on then glanced over at her friend, the wild boy Thane Davenport III, British heir to oil money.
“Not really. I was in a zone.” She said, unapologetically. “Warm today. What month is this again?”
Thane laughed. “How you managed to direct the American blockbuster of the summer last year is beyond me.“
“I’m an excellent director.” She said, lifting her glass of champagne to the sun, her imaginative blue eyes peering through the bubbles, envisioning little worlds trailing up to the surface, bursting out at the top.
“With the body of a sultry surf goddess.” He added, only slightly distracting her from the creative flow that perpetually meandered through her.
Her own easy laugh lingered above the beat of an Ellie Golding dubstep remix coming from the main cabin of the yacht.
“Then cheers to my mother who gave me this body.” The champagne brightened in her mouth, at once silky and citrusy. “Cristal? 2006? Yeah, it’s not a Methuselah but it’s got a good peachy dance to it.” She said, having answered her own question.
“Oh, you’re good. A cheeky champagne goddess.” He amended.
“Learning the art of drinking is something that comes with the territory of touring with one’s rock star mom, but apparently I’m not a very good time-keeper. What month is it again? February? March?” Alexa fidgeted with her string bikini strap. Sun, wine, boat, boy. All were fun but she itched to return to her brother’s cabana where she currently resided, plotting, and planning—well, her version of planning—the film she’d written and was set to direct beginning in June.
The familiar propulsion toward creating, producing, satiating her never-ending curiosity moved in at the same rate as the afternoon clouds, shadowing the northwestern coast of Kauai.
She accomplished more by the age of twenty-four than most but she did it with such ease and grace—and lack of regard for silly linear things like dates and times—that people saw her as lazy, spoiled, and blasé. She was spoiled, she admitted, in that she had love and support from her legendary mom and superstar brother, but never lazy, never blasé about things she cared about.
Deepest Blue was her film—finally she was going to direct a script she’d written, one that had come from her spirited surf and wine goddess soul, she thought with a quick tug of smile. The last film was exciting—loud action and punchy angles—but this one was her baby and she could see it all play out on the screen of her mind. Again an action flick, but one with depth, heart, intrigue, and rich, intoxicating, colors, philosophical twists and, for the fun, some sneaky and smooth ass-kicking. Plus, she was doing it on her own with no help from her family, no riding on their coattails. This one was hers, she’d hustled on her own name, her own time, her own sweat to get funding, a studio to distribute, a co-producer to deal with the details that she hated doing, a stellar director of photography and cinematographer, and a cast that mixed both big names and solid newbies. She beamed bright with eager pride and active anticipation. June was fast approaching—depending on what month it was—and she still had much to do.
Thane rose at the first drop of rain. “Oh, I bloody well hate the rain. Why does my brother always insist on coming to Kauai? Aside from seeing you, which is fantastic by the way, it rains every blessed day. How do you stand it?”
While he grumbled and wandered back to the galley where his brother and a group of girls danced drunkenly, Alexa welcomed the change—in weather and in energy. She relished it—if the wind didn’t naturally blow through stale moments, bringing in new, she’d go out of her mind.
She was made to direct action movies—they moved fast, stuff blew up and then it was onto the next, and she loved every moment of it. Even the hard parts—keeping schedule, being patient when details like lighting inevitably went wrong—those things were tolerable when each day was wild, imaginative, and different. She was twenty-four and living the life she’d always known was hers with nothing and no one holding her down.