You’ve seen them. You’ve probably cursed them. The Slickies. The Guns, the Gorgeous, the Glitterati, the Slickies. Theirs is a world of glitter and glitz. They are always in the right place at the right time, looking perfect, being seen. They’re all over the tabloids, with their sultry smiles, their sexy bodies, their long, sleek hair.
Their favorite hangouts: the trendiest bars, the newest restaurants, the hippest clubs, the hottest spots. And their favorite haunts: Beverly Hills, the Sunset Strip, Miami’s South Beach, and any place where they can rub shoulders with other Slickies.
Their favorite sport: shopping. Designer shops, chic boutiques, fashionable outlets, exclusive galleries. Their favorite activity: being seen, being talked about.
Who are these beautiful people? The Slickies, the trendsetters, the ones who make the rest of us want to rush out and buy the latest style, wear the latest fashion, look the best, be the best.
If you don’t have their money, their looks, their body, there is no way to become one of the Beautiful People, or even get close.
So let’s go on a field trip. Let’s take a walk through Slickie Country. We’ll see them up close, we’ll watch them in their natural habitat.
And if we’re really lucky, we might catch a glimpse of a Slickie from afar. Maybe we’ll see one of the Beautiful People smile at us, maybe they’ll nod. Perhaps they’ll even speak. It doesn’t have to be much, just a word, a glance. That’s all it takes to get close to the Slickies. Close enough that we can feel like a part of their world, close enough that we can feel their warm glow.
Because the Slickies know something that the rest of us don’t. They know that beauty and wealth aren’t just skin deep. They’re the most powerful forces on earth. And no matter how hard we try, no matter how hard we work, we’ll never be able to compete with their magic.
We’ll never be able to break into their charmed circle. But we can try.
The party was a who’s who of Hollywood’s movers and shakers.
It was being held at the home of a movie mogul who had made it big in the eighties. His house was a modernist’s wet dream, all steel and glass and polished concrete. It was set high on a hill overlooking the city, with sweeping views of the downtown skyline.
As soon as he arrived, he made a beeline for the bar. He needed a drink to fortify himself for what lay ahead. The bartender, a slim young woman in a white tuxedo shirt and bow tie, poured him a glass of champagne. He took a sip, savoring the fizzy sweetness on his tongue.
As he stood at the bar, he surveyed the scene. The party was in full swing, and the crowd was buzzing with excitement. Everyone was dressed to the nines, and the air was thick with the heady scent of expensive perfume.
The mogul’s house was packed with industry heavyweights.
He spotted the head of a major studio chatting with the head of a rival studio. Both men were dressed in perfectly tailored suits, and they were smiling and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. He saw the Academy Awards-winning actress and her husband, the famous director. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress that showed off her toned body, and her husband was wearing an expertly cut tuxedo.
He saw the stars of several hit TV shows, the host of a late-night talk show, and the front man of a chart-topping band. They were all here, the cream of Hollywood’s crop.
It was the party of the year, and he was right in the thick of it. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweating. He felt like a kid who had just won the lottery. He spotted a group of A-list actors gathered around a table, talking and laughing. He caught the eye of one of them, and the actor flashed him a dazzling smile.
He was suddenly struck by how surreal the whole situation was. He had gone from being a nobody, a struggling actor with a day job, to being a part of this elite world. He couldn’t believe his luck.
But he knew that it was only the beginning. With his looks, his charm, and his talent, he was destined for great things. He was going to be a star, and this was just the first step on his journey to the top.
As he basked in the glow of the Hollywood elite, he happened to look out the window and was startled to see some people outside, almost pressed right up against the glass. In fact, outside every window, people were crowded in so tight, it was a wonder the glass hadn’t shattered. They were talking to each other, some of them pointing at the people inside.
At first, he thought they were admiring the partygoers, but then he noticed that their expressions were more like the looks you give something disgusting you’ve just stepped in.
Suddenly, a voice broke into his thoughts. “Are you okay?” It was the bartender. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Uh, no,” he said. “I’m fine. I just…I didn’t realize there would be so many people outside.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He gestured toward the window. “Look. There’s a whole crowd out there.”
“Really?” she said, peering through the window.
He could tell she didn’t see them. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “They’re everywhere.”
She gave him a strange look, then returned to the party guests.
The people were gawking at the celebrities as though they were zoo animals.
He walked up to a window, staring at the people outside. He waved his arms, trying to get their attention.
“Hey! Hey!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”
There was no reaction.
He tapped on the glass, but the people merely laughed and continued staring into the window.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
He moved to another window, and the scene was the same. People pressed up against the glass, laughing and pointing.
He ran up to the glass, his hands balled into fists. “What do you want?!” he shouted. “What are you looking at?!”
But the people outside only laughed and jeered.
He whirled around and saw that everyone inside the party was staring at him. Their eyes were cold and empty. He backed away, his heart pounding. What was happening? Was he losing his mind? Then, as if from nowhere, the crowd parted and a woman stepped forward.
Her hair was long and flowing, her skin pale and perfect. She was wearing a tight, red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her lips were painted a deep crimson, and her eyes were dark and mysterious. She smiled at him, and her smile was like a dagger in his heart.
“We have an impostor in our midst,” she said, her voice as cold as ice. “Someone who doesn’t belong here. Someone who’s trying to take what isn’t theirs.”
She took a step toward him, and the crowd closed ranks behind her. “You think you can just walk in here and take what’s ours?”
Her voice was like a knife, slicing through him. He shook his head, unable to speak.
“You think you can fool us?” she continued. “You think we don’t know who you are? We are the very best society has to offer, and what are you?”
Her words pierced his soul. He was nothing. He was a nobody. He didn’t deserve to be here. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
She sneered at him, her eyes boring into his. “We’re going to show you what happens to impostors.”
The crowd descended on him, their eyes burning with hatred. They tore at his clothes, their nails raking his skin. They dragged him down to the ground, and their faces were twisted into grotesque masks of rage and hate.
He struggled against their grasp, but they were too strong. He felt their hands on his throat, their fingers digging into his flesh. He gasped for air, but they were suffocating him. The way they snarled … Wait, were they really humans, or was he now seeing their fangs?
Their teeth sunk into his neck, and he felt their hot breath on his skin.
“Stop!” he choked out. “Please, stop!”
But they didn’t listen. They kept drinking his blood, and he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker.
“No,” he whispered. “Please…”
And then everything went black.
He awoke with a start, gasping for breath. He looked around, but there was no sign of the crowd, no sign of the woman in the red dress. He was in his bed, and it was the middle of the night.
He sighed in relief. It had been a nightmare. Just a nightmare.
He put a hand to his forehead, feeling the cool, clammy sweat that had collected there. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. It was just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream. And yet something about it seemed so real, so visceral.
He got out of bed and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains. He looked out onto the street below. It was dark and quiet, the streetlights casting their familiar yellow glow. Then he looked up to the hills above the city. Many of the houses there, he knew, were occupied by the very people who had been in his nightmare.
The movers and shakers. The A-listers. The beautiful people.