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Fanfic: Micki's Story

Chapter 1: Micki's Story

Part of a trilogy of "autobiographies" for
Micki, Ryan and Jack. All characters
belong to to Frank Mancuso Jr. and Paramount Pictures. No
copyright infringement intended.


10\2\95


The Biography Trilogy:


MICKI'S STORY
By: Alyse Micki Wax

I was born Michelle Deidre to parents Cathrine and Jake
Foster in Beverly Hills in 1965. My father was a criminal
lawyer, one of the best. From an early age law terminology
was a basic part of my vocabulary, and I went through an "I
want to be a lawyer when I grow up" phase. My mother was a
socialite, going to teas and charity functions almost daily.
I remember that she always wore prim, neat Chanel and Armani
clothes, and I was dressed equally nice.

I had a happy, picturesque childhood. Despite the fact
that I had an older sister, Danielle, I was always Daddy's
Girl. Danielle was more of a rebel. I went to an elite
private school, and was quite popular. I participated in
many after-school activities, with a focus on ballet, horse
back riding, gymnastics, and figure skating. Of those,
figure skating was my favorite. I loved the feeling of
spinning, spinning, spinning until I thought I'd never stop.
And jumps... the sensation of being airborne thrilled me. I
had Olympic goals, but didn't do well under pressure and
never got there. I went as far as Junior Nationals. As soon
as i got off the ice, however, I collapsed into hysterical
tears in my coach's arms. I won first place, but it was then
that my parents and my coach decided that i should lay off
competing, at least for a while. I agreed, and soon skating
became little more than a hobby.

High school was surprisingly unstressful. I made honor
roll every year, starred in several school musicals, and
always had a date to homecoming. I graduated with honors.
My entire family came, except Danielle. She had run off with
some boyfriend of hers a while back. Last I heard, they were
married and had a young son. She never said where she was
living. I think she was afraid that our father would come
looking for her. It wouldn't matter; she was already
disinherited.

After high school, I was accepted into UC Berkley. I
majored in performing arts, with a minor in history. That's
where I met Lloyd. He was a second year law student, also
minoring in history. I remember sitting in class and feeling
like someone was watching me. I'd turn look just as he was
turning away. Eventually he worked up the nerve to sit next
to me, ask to borrow my notes, then my phone number, and
finally on a date.

We had a beautiful dinner in a posh Santa Monica
restaurant, and then went for a long walk on the beach. We
talked forever. I felt so comfortable, I told him about my
skating and eventual breakdown, something I rarely talk about
to anyone, even my parents. He told me about his unstable,
yet extremely wealthy family.

It was wonderful. We became inseparable. I introduced
him to my parents about a month later, and they loved him.
Six months later, we were engaged. Lloyd and I moved into
his apartment.

Two months before the wedding, Daddy called from work.
He told me some old uncle that I had never met had passed
away. Daddy was handling the estate, and I had been named in
his will as the heir to an antique store, along with an
unknown cousin.

I wasn't thrilled, since the store was out in Chicago.
I wanted desperately for Lloyd to come, but he couldn't
afford to take time off from school. I figured I'd go, sell
the store off, and leave before the week was out.

I packed that evening. Lloyd drove me to LAX, where we
said a tense good-bye. I promised I'd be back in a few days,
and I call as soon as I got into the store.

The flight was uneventful, with the exception of a lot
of turbulence, something which makes me quite uneasy. The
food was bad, and the movie was worse, so I tried to catch up
with some reading.

My plane came in a bit before 8:00 PM. I grabbed a
salad in a coffee shop before hailing a taxi to take me to
the store. The cabbie seemed a bit nervous when he found out
where exactly he was taking me, but I tried to ignore it.

It was dark when the cabbie pulled up in front of
Vendredi antiques, my late uncle's store. It was rundown and
creepy. I doubted I could get a substantial sum for the
place, but after looking at it, I realized it would be
amazing if I didn't have to pay someone else to take the
place. I barely got a chance to touch the doorknob before it
swung open on squeaky hinges, only adding to the store's
horror film quality. Tentatively, I stepped inside to what
would be my new life.


Finale.

"A beautiful woman is the hell of the soul, the purgatory of the purse, and
the paradise of the eyes." - Fontenelle