Page 79 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“What?” I say, looking down at my badge. “I’m Bellini Chambers’s personal assistant. I’m pretty sure that should grant me access to anything.”
“Not in here it doesn’t.”
“Are you kidding me?” I say, a little frustrated. This is all I need, to not be allowed into the room where Bellini will call out for a Tic Tac and then fire me because I’m not around to toss one in her mouth like a trained seal—by no fault of my own of course.
“No, you don’t have the media box checked on your pass.”
“But it says all access. To me, that means all access . . . to everything, including the media room.”
“But the box isn’t checked.”
“But it says ALL ACCESS.” I raise my voice in frustration.
Right before me, I swear he grows two inches taller as he puffs his chest out. He is actually quite intimidating. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.”
Not backing down, I puff my chest as well, hands on hips and say, “Or what?”
“Or I will strip you of your badge and ask security to escort you outside so you miss the entire meet.”
“You can’t do that.”
Giving me a smarmy look, he brings the walkie-talkie that’s attached to his belt up to his mouth and presses down on the button.
“She’s with me.” Behind the man stands Reese with a stern look on his face.
“Mr. King. I’m sorry but she doesn’t have the media box checked on her badge.”
Being the amazing man that Reese is, he says, “Thank you for doing your job properly, sir, but I assure you, Miss Maccaro is with Bellini and me. Please let her by so she can do her job, and also punch the hole on the media box so she won’t run into another problem in the future.”
“Yes, sir,” the security man says, quickly grabbing my badge and punching a hole in it and then letting me by.
Reese puts his hand on my lower back and guides me through the crowd, talking closely to my ear. “You look fucking adorable in that shirt, baby.”
“Reese . . .” I warn, garnering a laugh from him. The last thing I need is for some reporter to catch on to our relationship. One slip up and it will be all over the news.
We step up to the backdrop where Melony is primping Bellini. Her ensemble for today: a pink sweater set, white cami underneath, a short khaki skirt, and her signature pearls. Where’s her American spirit? She looks like she’s about to get drunk at a tennis match rather than attend a swim meet.
“Ugh, look who decided to roll out of bed and join us. You could have at least brushed your hair. What did I tell you about that?” Bellini says with a roll of her eyes. For the record, I brush my hair, every day, multiple times a day. She then points to her mouth with her finger and looks at me. “Hey, fabric pattern, why don’t you pop a Tic Tac in my mouth, I’m starving.”
I’ve become accustomed to carrying around Tic Tacs for Bellini. In fact, the rattle in my purse has a new norm, practically my cadence to follow while walking down the street. When I don’t hear the little sugar tablets jingling, I get slightly freaked out now. This is what my life has become: Tic Tac-carrying donkey.
Mumbling to myself about her trying to actually eat something for breakfast like every other normal person instead of relying on sugarcoated droplets to replenish her, I fish out the pack in my purse, trying not to think about how I spent a decent amount of time on my hair this morning. I tamed the waves and made it piecey and sleek. In my opinion, it looks really good.
“Here,” I say, holding the pack out to Bellini who instantly sneers at me.
“Do I look like I want to get the orange coating on my fingers? Place it in my mouth, for heaven’s sake, Mauve. Do your job.”
Assistant sound technician to assistant to reality star dickhead who specializes in feeding said dickhead Tic Tacs. Splendid. How the mighty can fall.
Grinding my teeth, I place one on her expectant tongue, trying to avoid touching the saliva-coated muscle sticking out at me. Knowing her, I would contract some kind of disease that transformed me into a massive, insult-flinging, sweater-set-wearing slut bag.
“Melon, what the ever-loving hell are you trying to do? Pull out my hair?” Bellini’s hand grips the back of her head. From behind, Melony winks at me, and I have to turn around to avoid showing the smile that crosses my face. I really like that girl.
“Where is Pope Francis? Pocket,” Bellini screams, causing the entire room to silence. “I need him to bless me before this interview. Pocket!”
I glance over at Reese who doesn’t seem affected by Bellini’s over-the-top behavior. How he puts up with it is beyond me, or how he can even possibly stand to have his name attached to hers is crazy.
“Here he is,” Pocket screeches, holding out Pope Francis and running toward Bellini. How the hell did she get access into this room and I didn’t? She probably rolled in with Bellini, her lips stuck to her ass, and security didn’t even realize.
