Lisavet Darchiev sighed as the door closed behind her and Maks Derbensky, her lover. “Thank God and the saints, we’re home,” she said in Russian, since they were by themselves instead of with American or British friends, and she crossed herself in the Orthodox style. “I love the Oscar ceremony; I love the parties; and I love getting together with Piper. But I think I love most getting home afterwards, so I can put up my poor aching feet!”
Maks chuckled as he locked the last deadbolt and clicked on the door alarm. “You have but to blame your ‘poor aching feet’ on yourself, Liza, and your penchant for stiletto-heeled shoes. And kindly do not tell me, my tsarina, that you’re getting too old for the social rounds. Besides limiting your access to the power brokers and business opportunities in this crazy city, that’s simply no fun at all.”
With a sigh of relief, Lisavet Darchiev turned away from the gateside ticket counter and stepped away toward a nearby coffee shop on the airport concourse. She had already pocketed her ticket and other travel documents in her jacket, had moved everything metallic in her pockets into her carry-on bag, and had passed through the minor hell of the TSA checkpoint with a minimal loss of dignity. Now, with maybe two hours until her flight for Los Angeles boarded, she could get a cup of tea and put herself back together.
And, barring disasters, hijackings and breakdowns, I should make it home in time for the Oscar ceremony. Thanks be to Saints Cyril and Methodius, Saint Basil, and maybe I’ll throw in Francis de Sales, the patron of authors, for good measure. Maks might forgive me for missing the night, but Piper never would … she looks forward to our annual karaoke date every year. The thought made her giggle as she pushed through the doors to the cafe, causing a few heads to turn and glance at her in curiosity.
Last update on the 9th Oscar Fashion Photo Contest, before the proceedings close following the real Academy Awards on Sunday night. I’m going to pass this year on doing the RL 2017 recap.
We’re currently standing at 18 entries, way low for my taste, but enough for an award pool. There’s still several days to get your own entry in, and I hope you’ll do so. I look forward to the difficulty of judging a large field every year. So put yourselves together and shoot some red-carpet photos, and we’ll see what happens in the next few weeks, when the results are announced!
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Lisavet Darchiev had been invited to join the Academy from the year the screenplay for her first novel had won that year’s award. She had begun writing her own screenplays since then, and had also attended every year since joining; and this year’s soirée was no exception. One difference did arise from her previous attendances, though — she was escorted not by her business manager, Andrei Nekrasov. Andrei was somewhere in the hall, accompanied by his British husband, Sascha, she was sure. But tonight, Andrei was not squiring her.
Rather, it was someone much more satisfying than even the pretty (and completely gay) Andrei Leonovich; so satisfying that she had chosen to uproot herself and move to Los Angeles permanently ….
Extracted from Web site of The National Inquisitioner (tabloid), November 26, 2017, “Hollywood Glam” column by Ramona BelGrande:
Hollywood shone someplace other than in Hollywood last night, as luminaries from across all the fields of the film industry gathered in Van Nuys, California – yes, Van Nuys – to celebrate the 75th anniversary of the New York première of Casablanca, the little film that many consider the greatest movie ever made. To commemorate the occasion, Warner Bros. caused a recreation of elements from the famous movie sets, especially Rick’s Café Américain, to be built near one of the runways at the old Van Nuys Airport. A few parts of the movie’s airport scenes were filmed at this airport, and the studio persuaded the City of Los Angeles to close that runway for the night. Everyone who could bought or otherwise acquired a “lettre de transit” (a ticket) to the event; there have even been rumors of deals made on the black market to obtain the precious tickets, not unlike in the film.
The party consisted of two parts – an open-to-all street carnival, with entrance fees going to charity, conducted in the streets of the “old souk”; and the star-studded extravaganza party in the evening. The carnival was well attended by everyone in the morning; but many celebrities pulled away in the afternoon to prepare for the black-tie affair – almost as big an affair as the Red Carpet on Oscar Night. After all, “everyone comes to Rick’s.”
And what a night it was! Notables from around the world, as well as descendants of six of the stars, attended the function. Grandchildren of the original playwrights and screenwriters, as well as a member of the family of director Michael Curtiz, were also present. And, as you can see from the photographs, styles and fashion ran rampant. Some came to the soirée in modern fashions from New York, Paris and Milan; many more chose to channel classic Forties Hollywood glamour. And others created a wild yet wonderful fusion between the past and the present ….
The chartered airplane – a vintage dual-prop Lockheed from the 1940s, painted to resemble a similar plane from “history” – was much too old to carry modern-style amenities, such as food or bar service; if you wanted things like that, you needed to fly on a 767 or similar modern jet, with lots of space to waste. But it was not that long a flight, in any case; and this plane was somewhat roomer between rows of seats than newer designs. Lisavet Darchiev used the extra room to stretch her legs in front of her.
There’s three days left to the Oscars ceremony on February 28, and we have a good selection of entries so far for the blog’s Oscar Fashion Photo Contest. But there’s always room for more. This is your last call – there’s fifty grand in cash prizes (in lindens) to the placing photos, and L$25,000 goes to first place; so get your entries in now!
One note: submission cutoff will be extended past the usual midnight SLT deadline, as I’ve been called to Orlando for a family event over the weekend. I won’t be able to lock the group, as I normally would. So you folk will benefit; anyone who hasn’t been out for their photo shoot will have maybe four to five extra hours max to submit. Use the time well, grasshoppers!
Time keeps ticking, ticking away…. There’s just two and a half days left until submissions close on this year’s Oscar Fashion Photo Contest. If you haven’t entered yet, now’s the time! As of my last check, I had 57 entries in the two groups — far more on Flickr than Koinup. (Come on, Koinup people!) And I see some very strong contenders. Let’s see what you can do!
The long black limousine slowed its run up to the curb, coasting quietly the last meters to a perfect stop beside the beginning of the red carpet. An arm appeared on the other side of the window to open the limo’s door; and a roar of sound crashed into the previously silent vehicle. A tannoy squealed slightly, then boomed out, “Ladies and gentlemen, our next celebrity guest is the author of the world-bestselling thriller on which tonight’s première film is based. From Saint Petersburg, Russia, please welcome Ms. E. P. Darchiev!! Along with Elisaveta is the co-author of the screenplay, Gregory Boldini!”
“Bozhe moi!” the woman who was the momentary center of attention muttered under her breath in her native Russian, and crossed herself for good measure.
“Ah, relax there, ducks,” her escort said, fixing a smile on his face as he slid over to the door and prepared to hop out. “If you’re nervous, just remember that everyone out there will forget you almost the moment Nicole and Brad show up. There’s only three times you want them to really remember you: when they hire you, when they write you the check, and when they announce your name at the Oscars.” He winked at her as he crawled out of the car, and then he was holding out his hand to her to assist her.
Lisavet Darchiev fixed her own smile to her face, composed of one part excitement, one part pure terror, and the last part a bit of actual amusement at the craziness happening beyond the door of the limo. She thought as she slid across the leather seat and accepted Gregory’s hand, One must wonder if maybe they’re howling for me to be thrown to the lions, it’s so like the Romans at the Colosseum. Still, it had been a hell of a ride to this point, starting when she had written her first Cold War-based mystery and got it published in Moscow in 2010. Two more books with the same Leningrad police-commissioner character had come so far; even more success when the English translations had taken off as fast as the Russian originals; and now here she was at the Hollywood première of the first book’s movie. True, it didn’t star Daniel Radcliffe, as she’d hoped it would, but it was still a triumph light-years removed from her days as a diplomatic admin in London. Lisavet still remembered fondly the cruise aboard the S. S. Galaxy to promote the English version of her second book. And, as long as she could come up with good plots, the future looked very bright indeed.
The fans began applauding as Lisavet emerged from the limo, as they would any celebrity tonight. Then the noise level faded perceptibly as everyone focused on her. Just as Lisavet started to worry, though, it seemed to redouble, along with whistles, shouts of approval, and the flashes of cameras near and far. And Lisavet realized that, remember her or not, everyone there definitely approved of what she wore….
Lisavet Darchiev swiped her key card in the lock slot and stepped inside Suite 484 on board the S. S. Galaxy. She glanced idly at the rate card on the back of the door as she closed and locked it; then she blinked, and with a shudder, she read, “L$5,200/week.” Bozhe moi!! It still gave her a shock every time she thought of how much this business meeting disguised as a party was costing her publishers. L$5,200 was more in one week than Lisavet made in a month at her old job, and she was not that badly paid. At the same time, the whole concept gave her a delighted frisson. Here she was, once an administrative assistant assigned to the Russian Embassy in London; now she was the toast of the literary world, or at least the mystery/thriller world, being compared to the next Stieg Larsson, and being feted like the Tsar of All the Russias at the release party for the English edition of her second book.
Andrei, her agent and publicist, born in London but Russian to his soul, was already in the suite; he waved across the great room from the windows, came to give Lisavet a hug and an air kiss, and said in Russian, “So, Lisavet Petrovna, how do you enjoy Miami weather?”
“Much nicer than home in Petersburg, Andrei Leonovich; maybe I can actually get a tan here.”
Andrei laughed, then took Lisavet upstairs to her personal bedroom, followed by a ship’s maid. It was a complete mini-suite, with a large shower, marble tub, comfortable bed, and a personal private balcony beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I think this should do the job, don’t you? Just the surroundings for E. P. Darchiev, literary sensation, to make her first big splash in the world of charming the critics.”
Lisavet giggled as she dropped her purse on the bed. “The critics won’t be coming in here, Andrei. And I still need to get used to people calling me ‘E. P. Darchiev.'”
“Well, like I said when you hired me, do you know how long the British and Americans would struggle trying to get out ‘Elisaveta Petrovna Darchiev’? Let alone the spelling mistakes for years? Tell them your real name when they’re interviewing you, but give the printers and proofreaders a break, and life will be much saner in the end.”
While the maid put away the luggage in drawers, and the ship pulled out of dock to make weigh, Andrei gave Lisavet a rundown on the schedule. This first day would be free time for Lisavet until 6:30, as everyone else was getting established in their cabins and staterooms as well. Come dinner time, she would need to be ready for the party she was “hosting” for the press and booksellers’ buyers. Lisavet nodded happily; that gave her some few hours to enjoy the Galaxy‘s amenities before she had to get ready.
A half-hour later, Lisavet was clad in a new swimsuit, and floating on an inflatable chair in the ship’s salt-water pool on the top deck. Here in the Caribbean, the weather was warm and sunny even in November, miles away from conditions back home in old Saint Petersburg. She relaxed back into the gentle support, letting the tropical sun warm her and tan her while she considered ordering a margarita. Or would a piña colada be more appropriate…? Ah, well, for now, she would just kick back and get rid of a little of her boreal winter pallor. Saint Petersburg was her home, but it was good to get away for a little sun now and again — that’s why everyone in Russia seemed headed for Odessa on the Black Sea back in the Soviet days. She spread herself out to the best decorative position with an internal smile, watching through slitted lids and lashes as two men walked by on the deck and stopped to stare at her.
It ended up a margarita, after she got out of the pool, toweled herself off, and slipped back into her batik walking sash and sandals, left on a deck chair. She was a good daughter of Mother Russia; sometimes, though, you needed a change of pace from all that vodka….
After that, a light lunch of sushi and rice in the Japanese restaurant on the conference level — the tuna looked very fresh, and was — followed by a short round of shopping in the small stores, and then back to the suite to be primped and pampered for the party.
=====
Lisavet waved across the room and called out, “Andrei Leonovich, come here, please,” calling him over to help with an impromptu talk with one of the critics, this one for the New York Review. Things had gone splendidly all night, but it paid to never be caught out. She shimmered in her new evening gown: strapless, with a luxurious pattern in gold print on silk, it was appropriately named Goddess. That’s just how Lisavet felt all through the night. Everyone she had talked to raved about their advance copies of the new book, and it looked like she was well on her way to another best-seller. It wasn’t over yet, though; there were six more days of talks with individual reporters — the Review had decided to get his licks in early — as well as the usual shipboard activities to “cope” with. She grinned to herself; somehow, she thought, she could manage that….
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The details:
The standard stuff —
Skin: PXL Candy
Eyes: Poetic Gold Flake eyes (sapphire)
Nails: Mandala Nail Palette 1 (medium size, HUD controllable)
Daytime:
Bikini: Connors Hula Sash blue batik, w/ skirt for wear outside the water
Sandals: EarthStones Lalika sandals (Deep Ocean)
Hair: Analog Dog Harper (cherry)
At the party:
Dress: Gizza Goddess (includes armlets)
Shoes: N-core XtremeHeel II slingbacks (silver)
Jewelry: Finesmith Noga suite (earrings, necklace, ring)
Hair: Vanity Shizuka (Feux, w/o fans)
Makeup: Miamai XGen Vintage Liner, Dark Delight eyeshadow
All photos taken on board the S. S. Galaxy, a three-sim-large cruise ship with all the amenities you could imagine or desire. The teleport will drop you at the embarkation dock.
Second Life® with Harper, Conan, Jem, Diana and Morgan
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