SEVENTEEN: THE HAIR CRISISYup, we're back in Orlando, for probably another week before we jet set somewhere else. No I can't, or was forbidden to go back to my apartment. Why not? Because Danner thought that I have to play the part, so that means living with him. Urgh! I still shudder at the thought. I have to stay in this ridiculously pretentious hotel where it costs forty bucks to have a cosmopolitan down at the bar, and still pretend to be "AJ McLean, Backstreet Boy's devoted significant other". But since, oh say, now, I've had enough. After one day in this hotel (with him making very guttural noises next door), assignment or no assignment, I'm goin' home. I've always been taught to clean up after myself, so that I don't appear sloppy to complete strangers. Before I leave a room, I make sure there are no loose leaf pages on the floor, pens under the bed- any personal items- left in a room. So aside from insanity and the oddball pillow mint (left to rot between the corner of the bed head and the mattress) you can imagine my disgust when I found his leopard skin cowboy hat, wedged between the bed chest and wall. Like a dejected member of the Brat Pack, I was tempted to leave it for the next fashion challenged victim to add to their collection, but I being Minerva, the guiltily damned, I felt obliged to return it. Needless to say, my most recent encounter with the human canvas was "colorful" to say the least. Never mind that, I still had to sacrifice my pride for another two weeks, till this god forsaken assignment is done and over with, and Backstreet will be nothing but a bad dream. "Minna, what are you still doing here?" Kevin asked, walking past with an entourage of makeup artists, costume designers and god only knows who else, tailing him. "I'm looking for AJ, you seen him?" Kevin's blue eyes twinkled "He's in his room" he held my gaze, then leaned over, whispering in my ear, "Alone" I rolled my eyes, but thanked him and stumbled into the doorway of room three-oh nine. Joe was pumping out how he wanted a "Peep Show" when I entered the cluttered room, where multi-colored clothes littered the floor. And there he was, the tattooed one, humming as he gelled a piece of stray hair down. "What are you doing here? Don't you have some rite of passage to recite, some ideal to perish?" Snide. Cold. Unrelenting. I was going to ignore it. Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks. Don’t blow it. "Don't worry, I'm still burning and preaching" I replied coolly as I picked up a can of blue hairspray. "Blue?" "Washable" he answered offhandedly as he grabbed a larger, rather heavy white bottle and began lathering his hair with it "Anyway, that’s not what I came in for" his eyes raised in surprise, as he continued to lather. "I found your leopard skin cowboy hat" "Oh, so you’re the one who stole it" he slurred snidely. If I could punch his lights out, I would- but dammit, those fourteen year olds would have a friggin’ field day, and I'd be stuck with sacks of hate mail and verbal assaults- and that’s just from Danner. I shudder at the thought of what those die hard fans could, (and gladly, would) do. "You left it in my room a couple of nights ago" "Are you suggesting I’m forgetful?" "Among other things" I mutter as he throws me another look. “I’m not forgetful" “Yeah, and Cher just turned twenty-five!” “Dammit, I’m not!” “Are ..." I paused, listening in as I heard some soft crackling. "What’s that noise?" I murmured as I glanced around. Picture the Coyote when he realises he has been outsmarted by the roadrunner in his own game- you got that? Then picture Garfield’s smug smile when his human counterpart shows more idiocy and ignorance than he, a black striped orange house cat. If you can merge these pictures in your head, you've duplicated the expressions of the tattooed coyote and I when his hands flew to his hair in mercy. "My hair!" He was wailing. A grown man was wailing over his hair. This was definitely a classic. But the next few words definitely were not, and knocked whatever amusement I had out of me. "It's all your fault!" he sounded like he was in second grade. "What?" I was right. Men were bad news, on top of being immature, animal-like and idiots. "How the hell is it my fault?" "If you hadn't started the little argument, maybe I wouldn't have kept lathering" I scoffed in disbelief as I grabbed the bottle and poured the entire contents over his head. "That’s for blaming me, you dick" I sensed I had gone too far, because for once he was verbally quiet. Nonetheless, the message through his brown eyes were lucid and clear. "God, I hate you" he hissed. “Hate you more" I seethed with a smile I can only define as revolted. I was halfway out the door, before I felt his hand grip firmly on my forearm. "You're not going anywhere until you fix this problem" "I'm not fixing your stupid hair crisis" I tried to pry his disgusting arm off me, but the bastard made it impossible. I'll give him credit for being stronger than I, but I'll deck him simultaneously for leeching his hand permanently (uninvited, mind you) on my forearm. "Yes, you are" He answered assuredly as he grabbed a towel with one hand, wiping some of the excess from his head. "For one friggin' night, you are going to be a good Backstreet girlfriend and come with me to buy hair dye, to fix this freak job" He grabbed a grey beanie lying on the dresser and pulled it on, hiding once again, his “bland male egotism” with his magenta shades. Uh, talk about being vain. Its disgusting how much time he spends doing his hair. And he still had his hand on my arm as he dragged me out. "Stop kicking and screaming" "Well get your hand off me” I gritted as I tried to shake it away. I caught a sneer before he linked his arm through mine, almost crushing it in the process. I knew his over ridden libido wasn't for nothing, cos he had a kinky way into forcing someone to stay. "Look, you've got two weeks left, okay? You've pretended for this long, it wouldn't hurt for another three hours, and then you can go back to your miserable hotel room and type up your manifestations" We strained smiles through the dispersing crowd as we reached to the lifts, pressing the button to the parking area. Suddenly, he grabbed my handbag and rifled through it. "What are you doing?" I hissed as I tried to grab it back. He smiled triumphantly as he extracted my car keys. "You're not driving" I hissed, as I tried to grab the keys off him, but to no avail. "You wanna bet?" he asked rhetorically as he mushed my arm under his again. "Who knows where you might take poor 'ol me with this hair when you're driving?" "The zoo, you'd fit right in" I muttered under my breath. "God, you’re such a louse!" I seethed again. He just cackled in that sinister way while he jammed the keys into my poor, defenseless ignition. "Heartbreaker, you've got the best of me But I just keep on comin' back incessantly Oh why'd you have to run your game on me I should have known, right from the start You'd go and break my heart" "Geez, you'd think you'd have angry chick music in here" he laughed as he rammed down the accelerator. "Instead, you have Ms I'm Available on call" "Shut-up and drive" I hissed. I was not happy, not happy at all. |
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