Page 24 of Stroked by (Stroked)
Jasper and Bellini both wait for me to answer, their eyes blazing holes through my thin clothing. From the distance, I can see Pocket standing in the doorway, the vase of flowers to her nose and an evil glint in her eye.
For the record, Pocket is creepy. Like she watches people while they sleep, breathing heavily, without their knowledge kind of creepy.
“Um, well, I thought I would ask because . . .” I pause, not sure what the hell I want to say.
“Ugh, assistants are so annoying, just get on with it already.”
My creative mind picks up and I think of a fantastic way to not only torture Bellini, but embarrass her while advancing my career . . . hopefully.
“I think it would be a great idea to see Bellini immerse herself into Reese’s world. You know, try to do a few swims with him, maybe join him in the gym. It would show their relationship and how close they are, plus give the audience an inside look into Reese’s life and Bellini’s undying support for him.”
Before Bellini can respond, Jasper slaps his knee and points at me. “Mauve, that is a fantastic idea. What a great angle.”
“Wait.” Bellini sits up, worry in her eyes.
“We can deck her out in Team USA gear, get her those star-spangled-banner swim goggles.”
“Ew, I don’t wear star-bangled anything,” she adds, panic setting in.
“Reese can teach her to swim, and then they can have a competition in the pool,” I add.
Jasper nods his head. “Maybe we can get Pope Francis involved as well, get him to doggy paddle in the pool.”
“No!” Bellini stands, stomping her foot on the ground. “There is no way I will subject my precious angel to the deterioration of chlorine that man-dolphin smells like every day. And I don’t swim. I sit by pools and stare at the water, but if you expect me to dip my freshly manicured toes into that pee-and-snot infested water, you can think again.”
“Check your contract, sweetheart,” Jasper says while making notes. “You have to do what we say. So if I say jump in the pool with your boyfriend, then get your one-piece on, because you’re learning to swim from an Olympic medalist. Great idea, Mauve.”
“Thanks.” I smile brightly, even though Bellini is scowling. “Like I was saying earlier, I have a master’s in film and production, so any help I can assist you with on top of helping our two starlets, let me know.”
Like a three-year-old child, Bellini stomps off into the house, Pocket tagging closely behind her.
The next two hours are spent with Jasper, going over storyboards for the season and upcoming schedules. I take copious notes, sync my schedule with his, and plan on doing the same with Reese and Bellini. By the end of our meeting, Bellini is in her room, cucumbers on her eyes and music from the Baroque period streaming through her surround sound while Pocket is massaging her feet, and I am one step closer to working my way back into the film industry.
Despite my flicking to the forehead earlier, my day is ending on a good note.
Chapter Seven
**BELLINI**
Why is it so hard being me?
I should be able to skate around this world, people bending over backward trying to press their chapped and cracking lips to my perfectly manicured big toe. I shouldn’t have to deal with manipulative shrews trying to embarrass me in front of the masses.
Swim?
Workout . . .
IN A GYM??
That’s where people go to roll around together, trying to catch the next latest and greatest staph infection, rubbing their bodies against bars of metal and trying to lift them above their heads while their wiener veins pop a chub in their raggedy mesh—puke—shorts. It’s where they go to look in the mirror at their janky, bubbly bodies, and compare the recent red hue of the ringworm in their elbow pit.
Gyms are for heathens, the less fortunate, the imperfect striving to be like me.
I don’t go to gyms, there’s no need with the kind of metabolism I have.
“You’re so tense,” Pocket points out, running her thumb across the arch of my foot, digging deep just in the right spot.
My arm rests across my forehead as I speak to her. “It’s because my life is in ruins right now. It’s crumbling right in front of me, and I can’t do anything about it. I’m forced by contract to do what the production company says, and that devious lady lover knows it!”
