Lucille Ball Autograph Novels & Stories

Three months had passed since Lucille left the hospital, and not a week went by without a message or visit from Mitchell. He was always checking in, cracking jokes, or dropping by with flowers, real ones this time. But tonight was different. Tonight, he had asked her to dinner. A real dinner. Lucille stood in front of her mirror, heart pounding. She wore a soft peach dress that hugged her gently at the waist. Her curly hair was tied loosely to the side, and she wore the small pearl earrings her mom had given her years ago.

said Lilyana, still fixated on looking at the man like a prince from a fairy tale. While Charles seemed to be laughing, Charles' laughter made Lilyana lose her mind even more. "Did you bring paper and pen?" asked Charles later. Lilyana shook her head. "No, I forgot to bring it." "Then, where do you want to ask for my autograph?" asked Charles later. She then saw a piece of paper in her sling bag. Receipt from lunch I shared with Chris yesterday. "Here." "Ha ha ha ha." Charles laughed. "You are very funny."

"There is no need for an appointment if I am here, he knows me. I know he knows me, I'm about to go in—” "Ma'am, I will go first and ask if you can come in," Amanda stopped her. Lucille looked at Amanda's hand that was holding her arm, she withdrew Amanda's hold on her and glared at Amanda. "Excuse me? You don't have the right to touch me and aside, I don't need an appointment and I don't need your opinion if I want to talk to Byron. Leave us alone, poor wife.” Amanda was speechless when Lucille said that and completely entered the office.

“And now… I have to leave. I won’t be able to visit you for years, but I hope you’ll understand.” After bowing three times, she raised her head. Crows cawed in the distance. A drop of crimson blood slid down her forehead and the corner of her reddened eyes, like a tear of blood. That evening, Lucille left the cemetery and went home alone. She brought all the things she had packed downstairs. She burned the crush diary filled with River’s name. She threw away the matching clothing she had secretly brought. She cut the couple photos they had sneakily taken to pieces.

Angelo scoffed. “That’s Celeste Everhart, Lucille. Sebastian’s wife.” Lucille’s brows shot up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Really?” “Didn’t you paint, too, Lucille? When will you open your own gallery?” Ms. Agatta suddenly asked. Lucille turned to her with a small smile. “Yes. I’m not sure yet—I just got back in the country.” “Celeste here paints too. She recently opened her own gallery,” Ms. Agatta added.

"No pictures, Lucille. I don't want any evidence of this forced meeting." "Forced," Lucille grumbled in response but complied with my request, setting her phone back down on the table. It took only a second for that self-control to fly out of the window. "I have a better idea." She mused, proceeding to fill my empty glass with wine. "What are you doing?" I demanded. "Taking a picture," She replied. "But, don't worry. Only the glasses will show. You are safe." I let her take the photos, my hands folded together. A small part of me hoped she wasn't going to post them anywhere, but then again, why bother?

Lucille soon arrived at the Rex Holdings building and reporters were gathered everywhere, waiting to be addressed on what really happened to Roman. No cars were allowed into the premises so Lucille parked her car outside. She wore dark shades and covered her head with a scarf, not wanting to be recognized. She managed to push through the crowd and she had to take off her sunshades so the the security men would recognize her. She was allowed in and she went straight into the building. Lucille halted her steps at the reception when she saw that it was a bit crowded with gossiping workers. They were probably talking about what could have really happened to their boss.

“Tyler! Tyler Sinclair, you arrogant, ice-cold jerk!” I threw my hands up, nearly knocking over a lamp. “He said no! After all that begging—he just said no to a million dollars like it was a coupon for free fries!” The absolute audacity of this man! A million dollars, Lucille! Gone! Poof! Vaporized into the atmosphere because Mr. Devil on ice doesn't like corporate camera crews! Lucille sat on the bed, watching me with the patience of a saint who had seen this movie before. “Flo, breathe. You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

“Yes, Lu?” “When’s my birthday?” “May 29, 1989” “How did you know that? You’re such a stalker! When’s your birthday?” “Ask Janice.” I said and Lucille laughed and smacked my shoulder. “What color are my eyes?” “Seriously? You really think I didn’t notice?” I said and she nodded. “Your eyes are the color of a beautiful blue sky on a perfect day, Lu.” “Awe, that’s so romantic Mr. Billionaire.” Lucille said before she kissed me. I wanted to lay her on the sand and make love to her again, but I wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

The evidence of this still caught me off guard sometimes. Lucille came over and put both small hands directly into the dirt. She did it with the total commitment she brought to everything physical. No hesitation, no testing the water first. Both hands, right to the wrist, completely buried. She looked up at us with an expression of pure satisfaction. Serena laughed. Open, unguarded, the kind of laugh she had when something delighted her before she had time to think about it. I reached for my phone and took the photograph. Because there are things worth keeping. And I had learned, later than I should have, that you have to actually choose to keep them.