Aware that her profession as an actress could cause her listeners to be a tad sceptical about her stories, Heather was willing to respond to any question that might be puzzling her young companions’ brilliant minds. And soon enough, one of them stepped forth to satisfy her curiosity. The youngest member of the group, in fact. It was an inquiry about the cast of the aforementioned picture, or an excuse for the owner of the question to mention the appeal of a certain blonde actor. Of course, anyone who browsed through the cast credits could find the questioned name, and hers too in there. Still, Heather didn’t want to reveal said name herself, as it was, or sounded to be, a quite private affair.<br/><br/>‘If it is not someone famous,’ what should have really been an ordinary phrase earned some glares from the woman. An unpleasant stare at that. It was no secret that her career was in a steady decline. In a different hotel, within the walls of another suite, someone else could have been very well making mention of Heather using the same words, not someone quite famous. A concerning thought to empathise with, losing the weight of her name and turning into just a set of descriptions instead. Hair type, hair colour, height, age and chest size.<br/><br/>Fortunately, she knew how to soften the mood she herself disturbed by her sharp glances. “He would have narrated it quite well though.” She claimed, while electing not to share some of the unfortunate allegations why it would have actually made the story more believable if Morgan Freeman was involved. Narrowing her eyes and offering a subtle smirk, she continued. “Oh…So that’s what you’d like? Your own burly hero in bed.” Heather didn’t shy away from making her own little investigation.<br/><br/>“He was a brilliant English actor named James. Leaner, and a couple of inches shorter than your hero.” The storyteller shared some details about the actor she had an affair with. “Blonde hair. As I was at the time.” After a bit of thinking, she elaborated further. “I believe one year younger than me.” One of her forearms idly lying on the armrest, her fingers curled around the rounded corner of the chair. “Capable, I’d say.”