Except for the occasional song of birds and the gentle breezes wafting outside, a soothing quiet and calm and the usual hot L.A. sun greeted the morning. The cool white drapes that hovered over the floor-to-ceiling windows parted, giving way to an astounding view of the Los Angeles skyline from high up in the Hollywood Hills. The scenic cityscape view was the pleasure of the privileged few, one that came standard with this luxury residence Joanne called home

“Honey, its time to rise and shine,” a beaming and bright-eyed Joanne prodded to the still-sleeping Ronaldinho, as she coaxed the bedroom’s drapery on to the hooks on either end of the vast windows. Wrapped in nothing more than high-count thread sheets, Joanne tiptoed back over to the bed; she straddled Ron’s mid-section, lowering her lips to kiss his firm chest, long dark hair brushing sensuously along his body. Ron slowly woke, Joanne playfully gyrating him to consciousness. “Honey, time to get up,” Joanne whispered. “What time is it?” Ron asked as he yawned. “MMM, it’s time to get up,” Joanne sighed as she slowly kissed his chest, working her lips down to his stomach.

“That after-party last night was awesome. I had no idea you were so well connected. You even introduced me to Gwen Stefani! Funny, back in Brazil, I’m one of the most recognized sports stars around, and here it’s like..’and you are?’” Ron complained. Resting her chin atop folder arms on Ron’s chest, Joanne mocked a sad face as she caressed his legs with her bare feet, reassuring, “My boy, this is America and soccer is no such big deal as is back home,” Joanne giggled in broken English inspired from sleepiness. “Don’t take it personally, and besides no one makes love like soccer players from Latin America. American guys should be jealous,” Joanne added as she gently massaged Ron’s thighs. “That’s what I love about you, Joanne. Fabulous movie star, devout girlfriend and the greatest sense of humor.” Ron joked. Smiling, as she placed a pillow between her head and his chest, Joanne asked, “Leaving anything out?” “Hmmm, the greatest lover?” Ron offered. “Hmmm, correct for the million dollar prize!” Joanne cooed, referencing the once-popular U.S. game show, “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?,” as she kissed the muscular soccer star on the lips.

The sensuous sunny morning was broken by the ring tone on Joanne’s cell; “Beautiful Liar,” by Beyonce and Shakira rang out to signal a call. Halfway to the bathroom, Joanne instructed Ron to pick it up. Reaching over to the nightstand, Ron flipped open the diamond-encrusted cell, its bright screen causing Ron to squint. “It’s from (626) 578-3404? Who is that?” Ron asked. “Oh, that’s Amadeus Spa, the most luxurious, most pampering hippest spa in Beverly Hills. All the mags rave about it. I have a 9 O’clock appointment. First come the Swedish, then seaweed wrap, then the hot stone therapy followed by a nice long mud bath. So cool!” Joanne squealed from the bathroom sink as brushed her teeth. “You’ll be there all day,” Ron teased. “Uh, no. In fact you have to meet me for lunch at Bossa Nova at 212 South Beverly Drive at one, so write it down. We’re meeting Salma for a congratulatory lunch. She just had girl ya know?” Joanne inquired with a raised voice from behind the closed bathroom door. “I have an afternoon appointment as well, the photo shoot for the film..” Joanne added.

Ron could be found flipping the channels on the television as Joanne emerged from the bathroom and stood nearby in a bathrobe drying and combing her long dark hair, rummaging through her extensive wardrobe for the look of the day. She chose a colorful sundress and some airy leather sandals, an appropriate repertoire for a sunny summer day in California. “You look super gorgeous today,” Ron attested. Joanne beamed back with a smile.

“Honey, now we have a lunch date with Salma and her husband. It’s very important that you be on time,” Joanne reminded a semi-distracted Ron. “No problem, see ya,” Ron bemoaned. Phone, Ray Ban sunglasses and her Gucci purse in tow, Jo made her way to the garage, her black Ferrari 599GTB waiting patiently to race her off to fabulous people and places. Joanne stepped on the clutch, gripped the shifter and thrust the throttle of the powerful machine with the same authority Danica Patrick displays on the Indy race circuit. First, second, then third gear saw her wind out of the private driveway, past the gated entrance and on to the winding road toward the familiar luxuriousness in Beverly Hills.

Parking her car in the lot adjacent the spa, Joanne made her way to the reception desk where a star-struck young receptionist greeted the young starlet with the glee of a girl at her sixteenth birth day party. Within seconds, the spa’s owner Jacque Merceo stepped in to provide a heaping helping of hospitality. “How’s my favorite customer today?” Jacque asked as he gave Joanne a peck on each cheek. “I want to introduce you to all our staff and give you a tour. We have the most enjoyable morning planned for you,” he assured. Introductions were made to all masseurs, pedicurists, manicurists and other staff, all of whom were equally as friendly to the young woman. After exchanging pleasantries, Joanne changed into spa readiness, bathrobe all the gear she needed to abide by the rules of relaxation.

Three hours and several spa treatments later, Joanne was fully refreshed, dressed and ready for the rest of day. “Aaah,” Joanne sighed as she exited the spa, heading to her car. Within five minutes, Joanne was at Bossa Nova, her boyfriend eagerly waiting. As Joanne entered the eatery, the host staff smiled hospitably at the easily recognizable star. ” Madam, this way please. Your acquaintances are waiting,” the maitre de beckoned with a Brazilian accent. “Hey! Omigod! It’s good to see you again,” Salma gleefully gabbed as she hugged and kissed Joanne. “Wow, exciting times. You look fantastic and no baby weight!” Jo complimented. “C’mon, please I have so much more to lose, but I’m making progress,” Salma humbly confessed. After introducing their boyfriend and husband, respectively, Joanne gasped, “Gimme!, gimme!, I want to see pictures of the baby” Salma excitedly handed her a stack of the cutest pictures. “Aaaw, she’s so cute!” Jo gushed. “I’m just glad the nanny’s got her for the afternoon, I’m so exhausted.” The two ladies chatted among themselves, talking about their lives in Mexico and Brazil and how different life is in America. The men pleasantly exchanged details about their lives. All of them shared ahi tuna and mixed green salads, which are among Joanne’s favorites. “I wanted to thank you so much for lending me a hand in getting acquainted here in the U.S….and for co-producing this movie,” Joanne praised gratefully. “Your show, ‘Ugly Betty’ is so cute and funny,” Joanne giggled.

Lunch ran late when Joanne and Ron politely excused themselves. “I have to be at Screen Gems Studios to photograph the movie poster for ‘Prisha’s Travels’. I’m totally excited and Dennis tells me the photographer and stage crew for this shoot are the best in the industry,” Joanne said hurriedly as she and Ron made their way to the restaurant’s exit. Joanne popped the Ferrari into fifth gear, breaking the speed limit to drop her beau off at the mansion (he wanted to sun by the pool). She then kicked the speed machine into sixth, racing at top speed to make it to the shoot on time, ‘My Chemical Romance’ at concert volume oozing from the car’s stereo speakers, fueling the added adrenaline Joanne needed to navigate L.A. traffic.

The production crew at Screen Gem Studios was greeted with the squealing tires and growling exhaust of Joanne’s racecar as it anxiously whirled into the parking lot. In a fit of rush, Joanne ran into the front door of the warehouse-like studio, apologizing for her tardiness. “You’re early actually,” the photo production director Liz Vella comforted. “Here, have some tea, juice or whatever and please, follow me to wardrobe and make-up,” Liz soothingly invited to Joanne, who was still catching her breath. Jo was always careful and conscientious about meeting all her obligations and fulfilling promises…on time. She was relieved to have been early and proud to give the sincere impression she really cared.

“Hello, I’m Dana, you’re wardrobe and make-up helper, tech or whatever you want to call me,” the friendly woman greeted the smiling actress. “Let’s see, this should be easy, just a little teasing of the long dark hair, some accents around the eyes. And your face is so naturally beautiful, I don’t think we need much work there,” Dana praised. Thank you,” Joanne responded. “Now, follow me. I want you to see your outfit for this shoot. Now, for this photo and the poster, the producers wanted a look that matched your style and that was both cute and eye catching. Your agent informed us you like what he referred to as an ‘Evening at the Beach’ style,” Dana carefully confirmed, pointing to the white shorts and black bikini top hanging by themselves on the long clothing rack. “Ah, he was right. I love this look! It reminds me so much of when I visit Rio, the hot beaches of Ipanema and Copacabana. So cool.”

After some time with the make-up and clothing folks, Joanne emerged onto the production set wrapped in a large white robe. Liz then introduced her to the rest of the crew and staff and then explained how the shoot was going to proceed. “Well, Joanne, Dennis has been highly complimentary of you and is delighted to have you as the star in his movie. Pointing to the twelve-foot by fifteen-foot miniature mock-up of a modern city in the middle of the soundstage just feet away, Liz explained further. “You’re gonna have fun this afternoon. We’ve constructed this tiny city for the movie poster shoot; the last remaining element is you, Joanne. Now, I want you to take a deep breath, close your eyes for a minute and imagine that for the next couple of hours that you are no longer actress Joanne, but a towering ‘Prisha,’” Liz advised a serious looking Joanne, taking in the instructions like the professional she was. “Consider it done. This model city should make it really easy for me to imagine being the 100 foot Prisha pretty easily,” Joanne assured Liz.

Removing her thick white rob to reveal her outfit for the shoot, Liz took Joanne by the hand and guided her into the middle of the tiny city, production assistants helping to plant the actress’ soft feet and pretty painted toes in the right spots on the model roadway among all the tiny cars, trucks, and lamp posts. Her left foot was placed beside a model eight wheeler that read “ACME Consolidated” on its miniature trailer. Her right foot was placed on one of the model’s side streets, between a row of four-story town homes where tiny plastic people could be seen on sidewalks. Cars sat parked on the sides of the street, in precarious proximity to Joanne’s lightly tapping toes. Production had the foresight of detail; adding mailboxes, trees, hydrants, power lines, billboards, stop signs and other traffic signals. Lights were added in homes and office buildings for an incredible sense of realism. She was now straddling an overpass filled with traffic as Joanne’s freshly massaged and silky smooth legs rose up over the set, running the length of several miniature high-rise apartment and office buildings. Having positioned Joanne where they wanted her, ‘Prisha’ appeared to come to life precisely as the filmmakers had envisioned. “Wow, I feel so glamorous,” Joanne confessed as she stood high above the make-believe metropolis, clasping a miniature car Liz had directed her to grip between her fingers. “You look the part and you’re doing great!” Liz comforted. For the next two hours, Liz prodded Joanne in countless poses, capturing the essence of ‘Prisha’ as the photographer snapped his camera endlessly.

“See, the photos are incredible!” Liz boasted to Joanne as she sat in wardrobe after two hours of shooting. “I can’t wait to show these to Dennis!” she continued. “Thank you so much. Your whole crew was fantastic and the photos are awesome, Joanne praised as she gently placed a hand on Liz’s arm, a gesture of warmth characteristic of the generous and grateful actress.

“I’m so exhausted, I can’t wait to get home and take a nice long bath,” Joanne confided to Ron on her cell phone as she sped on home. It was now evening and Ron took the hint and prepared a luxurious bubble bath for the pooped starlet, being certain to add the right mix of bubbles, bath beads, oils and candles that Joanne routinely concocted to pamper herself. Ron pulled back the curtains that clothed the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up two of the walls of the bathroom. The large soaking tub sat in the corner where two of the windows merged at the corners, providing an almost 360 degree view of the City of Angels and its trademark lighted sky scrapers and patchwork of glistening lines of well lit streets and congested freeways. “Ugh! Almost forgot!,” Ron mumbled to himself as he set the home’s stereo surround to a relaxing volume, where the Shania Twain CD was programmed to lull the soon-arriving Joanne into a well-deserved state of lavishness.

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