I’m with the Band
By Melanie Brown
Copyright © 2005
Part 2
“For the thousandth’s time, I don’t want to be a
girl!” I yelled, pounding the table top with my fist.
All of us were gathered ‘round the kitchen table – me,
John and his band, Mom and even Dad. I looked around trying to read each of
the faces. John’s face was easy to read. He was ready to kill me.
“I
have to say I side with Mike on this.” Dad said matter-of-factly. “I really
don’t like the idea of one of my sons traipsing about in a dress like some
fairy.”
John finished his evil stare towards me before looking
over at Dad. “Nobody said anything about dresses. How difficult could it be
for him to wear girls’ jeans, maybe a little make-up and keep his mouth shut
until it’s time to sing? I mean, come on!”
“You
dress like a girl if you think it’s so easy!” I sneered at John. “I don’t want
to do it!”
“You’re killin’ us, man!” shouted Fritz. When both
Mom and Dad gave him a dirty look, he lowered his tone. “Mike, you’re the key
to us getting this deal. We’re sunk without you.”
Sammy
leaned against the fridge and said, “Offer him a bigger cut. I’d rather get a
smaller percentage of something than a huge percentage of nothing!”
“It’s
not the money. I don’t want to be a girl!” I folded my arms and scowled.
John leaned in toward me and said, “Mike, this isn’t
an assault on your manhood. Come on, man! If someone gave me the choice of
pretending to be a girl and making a million dollars versus holding my ground
and winding up an insurance salesman, I’d be a girl in a heartbeat!”
“Now
son, what’s wrong with being an insurance salesman?” Dad asked. “It’s stable
and it puts food on the table…”
Scowling,
I shot back, “Then you be the girl, John.”
Mom cleared her throat and said, “Honey, come with me
a minute. I want to say something in private.” Pointing to everyone else, Mom
said, “Just stay here. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I followed Mom back to my bedroom. With her feet, she
cleared a path across the floor to my bed and sat down. As she motioned for me
to sit next to her, she said, “Mike, what have I told you about cleaning up
your room? It looks like a pig sty in here.”
I
started to get up, saying, “Is that all you had to say to me?”
“Sit
back down!” Mom scolded. “We need to talk. Or rather, you need to listen.”
I
shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Mom, I…”
Mom cut me off. “Mike, I said you need to listen. I
can understand why any boy would object to pretending to be a girl. It’s
completely natural. And, I also know that you’re hyper sensitive about your
maleness since your, ah, accident.
“No, I said listen.” Mom continued, wagging a finger
at me. “The guys let you sing on the demo because when you sang, it was a
beautiful girl’s voice. That’s what the record company heard. And, that’s
also what they saw. I’m sorry son, but you do look more like a girl than other
boys your age.”
“Gee
thanks, Mom,” I grumbled. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
“Well, Mike. How many times has your father suggested
you get a haircut? Your long hair, add the fact that you look just like me
when I was a teenager and it’s easy to mistake you for a girl. I wouldn’t
doubt if half your school thinks you’re a tomboy.”
When I started to protest, Mom continued, “Remember
at the first of the school year, the girl’s coach wanted to know if you’d be
interested in trying out for cheerleader?”
With
sourness in my voice, I said, “Okay, Mom. You’ve convinced me. I’m getting a
hair cut today. Right now.”
“That’s
not quite what I meant,” Mom said as she folder her arms.
“Jeesh Mom! I don’t get it! You sound like you want
me to pretend to be a girl. Dad understands why it’s a bad idea. I don’t
understand why you want me to do this! What all those things you’ve told me all
my life about being honest?” I said, exasperated.
Mom looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she quiet
said, “Okay, maybe I am thinking more like the band’s manager than your mother
on this.” She paused, but I didn’t say anything. She continued, “You’re
right. Pretending to be a girl would be the same as lying. And while lying is
always wrong, some times…well, sometimes telling a lie just makes things
easier.”
“Huh?
Sounds like situational ethics.”
“Do
you tell your Aunt Alice that she looks like a cheap hooker, or do you tell her
she’s pretty?”
“I
try to avoid her. She scares me.”
“Mike,
when you were four years old, you used to insist that I turn on all the car’s
lights during the daytime. You’d ask, ‘Are all the lights on?’ and I’d answer
back that they were, just to avoid having you scream to turn them on.”
Frowning,
I said, “I don’t remember that. Still, what does this have to do with
anything?”
“What
I’m getting at, is sometimes, telling a lie just smoothes things out. It can
make life easier sometimes than telling the truth.”
“You
sound like a politician, Mom. You’ve just justified me never telling you the
truth again.”
Now
it was Mom’s turn to frown. “No Honey. What I’m getting at, is that in some
situations, telling a lie can be for the greater good.”
“Mom!
Listen to you! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Mom. The bottom line is
that I’m not a girl. I don’t want to be a girl. Girls are…are…”
“Inferior?”
Mom suggested.
“No.
No. That’s not what I meant,” I said.
“See?
You’re lying to me right now, trying to smooth over your mistake.”
I always hated arguing with Mom. “Okay, you’re
right. I think guys are better at most things than girls. To be all honest, I
think being a girl would be a step down.”
Mom made a motion like she was about to stand up.
“Well, I guess we have no choice but to tell John that since you feel that just
putting on girl’s jeans and shirt is beneath you and violates your sense of
ethics, he can forget about his dream.”
“Why
are you trying to make me the bad guy here?” I protested.
Mom just raised an eyebrow. She didn’t answer my
question. Instead she said, “I’m actually surprised that you weren’t impressed
that the record company wants you and only you. After you guys left the room
and I was talking to Mr. Rubins alone, he said the record execs were very
impressed with the quality of ‘Michelle’s’ voice. Mr. Rubins said he got the
impression they wanted Michelle – you – more than they wanted John’s band as a
whole.”
“Really?”
I asked.
“Mr. Rubins told me that the record execs said the
band would be ‘just another garage band without that girl.’ They loved your
voice, they thought you were a pretty, girl-next-door type who made an ordinary
band into something special.”
“They
think I made the band special?”
Mom nodded. “They like the song too. They think it
has potential to be a big hit. They even offered to buy it if the band can’t
come to an agreement with them. But they really liked the sound of you and
John singing it.”
I felt my resolve starting to crumble. They wanted
me, more than the band. They loved my voice. I was annoyed that they thought
I was pretty, but these were guys who see wannabes come and go and they wanted
me. I could feel that I was about to become a victim of my own ego.
“Think about it Mike. No one is asking you to change
your sex. Just pretend to be a girl for a few hours to sign the deal, then
again for the time in the studio and for a few promotional gigs. You might
even get on television. They try to promote new acts on ‘The Tonight Show’,
according to Mr. Rubins.” Mom was starting to lay it on kind of thick, but it
was working.
“I
wouldn’t have to dress as a girl all the time?” I asked.
Mom shrugged. “I don’t see why you would. Just
whenever you are with the band. Mr. Rubins understands you’re not a girl and
thought you might resist pretending to be one. He cautioned that we’ have to
be very careful because the record company does not want a scandal.”
“Do
you think we could actually pull that off?” I asked Mom. “I mean, what if it
means I have to pretend to be a girl for the next twenty years?” That was a
disgusting thought.
Mom made a wry smile. “Can you keep a secret from
John?” I nodded. I’ve kept lots of secrets from John. “That was one thing Mr.
Rubins said that was a disappointment. The record company doesn’t see the band
as having a very long life. They think we can have one or two top forty hits
before fading away. We might fool them and make it big, but they’ve seen a lot
of bands like John’s. We might just be one hit wonders.”
“But
the band is a no hit wonder without me? Is that it?” The last of my resolve
was starting to fade.
“That’s
about it. John would get upset with me for saying this, but without you, the
band’s nothing.”
* * *
It was Sunday afternoon and we had just checked into
our hotel rooms in Los Angeles. Mom, John, and I were all in one room, Sammy, Fritz
and Juan shared the adjacent room. We were expecting Mr. Rubins any time and
so we were all gathered in our room, waiting.
We were all nervous to the max. Mr. Rubins had set us
up with a ten o’clock appointment on Monday to meet with the “suits” of the
record label. We’d ink our deal, get a small studio tour, and then be back
early Tuesday in the recording studio. They were giving us use of the studio
for four days to lay down our tracks for twelve songs on our first, and
hopefully not last, album.
John wasn’t completely happy with the list of songs
the record label wanted us to do. Six of the songs were the band’s originals,
our expected hit falling into that category. Two of John’s personal favorites
were turned down by the studio because they said they wanted a consistent sound
for the album, and those songs were too off the wall. Four songs were covers
that John didn’t really want to do.
The surprises in the list were two brand new songs we
were expected to play for the album. One of the songs, Mr. Rubins said the
studio thought would be good for us. It was a calculated hit and if we didn’t
record it, they were going to give it to someone else to have a hit with it.
The second new song was the most curious for me. It would only use my vocals
and had a slight country sound that surprisingly blended well with the sound we
were trying to create for the rest of the album.
We were all sitting around the hotel room, talking
loudly among ourselves when there was a knock on our door. We all suddenly
fell silent and even the unflappable Fritz seemed quietly nervous.
Mom got up and peeped through the peep hole. She
turned to us and said, “It’s Mr. Rubins and some other guy.” She took a deep
breath and opened the door.
“Mr. Rubins!” smiled Mom. “It’s so good to see you
again.” She reached out a hand.
Mr. Rubins took the proffered hand and shook it while
saying, “Ms. Gray. It’s a pleasure as always.” He looked around at our
expectant faces. “Guys…good to see all of you again. Great demo.” He looked
over at me and said, “And you must be our little problem. Nice to see you
too.”
As the two men entered the room, Mr. Rubins turned and
gestured towards the second man who was dressed casually in slacks and polo
shirt. “This is Mr. Hal Winters. He’s agreed to be your agent, at least for
the time being and will be going to the studio with you tomorrow. This meeting
pretty much ends my direct involvement with you guys. You’re in good hands, I
assure you. I’ve known Hal for many years and he’s helped many acts just like
yours achieve success.”
Mom gestured for them to take a seat. As he did, Hal
Winters said, “That’s right Doug. I work mainly with new acts and I try to
keep kids from being shafted by the record companies. Doug played the demo for
me and I thought to myself that here was a bunch of kids who had ‘hit’ written
all over them.”
Winters and Rubins visited with us for almost an hour
giving us do’s and don’ts for our meeting with the “suits.” When they were
finally done and about to leave, Mr. Winters tapped his forehead and said, “Oh,
almost forgot!”
He pointed at me and said to Mom, “Make sure whenever
you’re in public as the band and in the studio, make sure everyone refers to
him as ‘Michelle’ and use female pronouns. I’ve done this before, but I really
would rather avoid it. Too risky.”
I started to say something, but Mr. Winters continued.
“Make sure she’s dressed a girl for the meeting. Jeans and some kind of girl’s
shirt is okay. But, please. Make sure she’s wearing girl’s underwear and a
bra as well. A little make-up and combing her hair would help too.”
Mr. Rubins stood up and said, “Well, Hal. We really
should be going.” He just stood there a moment, and looked at each of us. He
put out his hand and we all shook it in turn. “Guys, you’re in good hands and
I’ll see you around from time to time. Try not to worry, you’ll do great. I
wish you the best of luck.” Nobody spoke for several long moments after the
door was closed. It had finally sunk in. This was real.
* * *
Winters met us in the lobby of the hotel promptly at
eight o’clock. He wanted to make sure we got there early. To be honest, I’m
not sure if I liked Mr. Winters much. I’m sure he had a sincere interest in
seeing us succeed because he gets paid when we get paid.
Of course, I wasn’t too happy about anything at the
moment. As Mr. Winters went over some last minute details, I scratched where
the bra made me itch. I didn’t like the way the make-up felt on my skin or the
way my eyelashes touched when I blinked. I wondered how girls could stand to
do this every day. Mom also brushed out my hair and fluffed it up. I really
hadn’t noticed before how much hair I actually had.
A little after eight-thirty, a limousine pulled up in
front of the hotel. Winters looked up and said, “Okay. Here’s your ride.
Let’s be off, shall we?”
We were all thoroughly impressed, including the jaded
Fritz. As he sank into the thick, leather seat he said, “Now this, I can
really get used to!”
* * *
I was actually kind of disappointed. An hour and a
half, and we were done with the “suits.” The deal negotiated by Winters seemed
to be a pitch like dozens of others he’d probably done over the years. There
were all kinds of contracts, papers and waivers to sign. An assistant gave us
the “tour” which basically was showing us where we were supposed to show up the
next morning.
As we gathered in the lobby of the record company,
Winters said, “Okay, that’s it for today. You have the afternoon free to go
get lunch and take in some sights or relax or whatever. I suggest you don’t go
too far from the hotel. Tonight I’ve arranged dinner for you all to
celebrate. And we’ll see you in the studio tomorrow morning at seven a.m.
sharp!”
As we all started to walk towards the exit, Mr.
Winters motioned to me and said, “Not you, honey. You need to stay with me.”
Confused, I looked toward Mom. I had watched Winters
and Mom talk about something out of earshot from the rest of us before we got
into the elevators to come down to the lobby.
Mom just said, “Yes dear. You need to go with Mr.
Winters. It’ll be fun. Take care. And we’ll see you later, Mr. Winters.”
And Mom turned and exited the building.
Taking a step away from Winters, not sure what his
intentions were, I said, “Soooo…what’s the deal, Mr. Winters? Why can’t I go
have lunch with them?”
He glanced at his watch. “Because, Miss Gray, we have
much to do today.” He looked around expectantly and then said, “Let’s wait
outside.”
We left the building and walked a few feet over to a
fountain with benches. There were a couple of boys who should have been in
school, riding their skateboards down the steps and railings of the small,
park-like area. I stood there for a minute and watched them annoy the other
people trying to sit and read or whatever on their benches. It made me wish I
had my skateboard so I could join in the fun.
They looked over at me and a few moments later, they
were doing fancier and more risky stunts. At first I just smiled and laughed,
envious of their skill. They kept making sure I was watching. Then it slowly
dawned on me. The display was completely for my benefit. They were showing
off for a girl. Me.
I scowled and putting my hands in my pockets in a
defensive gesture, I spun around and walked back to Mr. Winters.
After a short wait, a very pretty young woman came up
to us. Mr. Winters stood and said, “Ah, finally! What kept you?”
She was chewing gum, wearing shades, and dressed very
stylish. In answer, she shrugged and said simply. “Traffic.”
Without skipping a beat, Winters turned toward me and
said, “Michelle, meet your new best friend, Brooklyn Farrell. She’s a fashion
consultant.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket with a list
written on it. He handed the list to Brooklyn.
“Brook, here’s kind of what the label would like for
Michelle’s image. They think there’s too many grungy looking girls, but they
don’t want a squeaky-clean image either. They feel the demographic she’ll
appeal to most will fall into the twelve to fourteen year old girls, so they
want an image that they can identify with and parents not feel threatened by.”
“No problem, Hal,” Brooklyn chirped. “I thought I’d take her for a quick lunch
to this great place down the street, then to my favorite salon for a facial, do
her hair and nails.” She looked over at me, beaming, and she continued, “And
then the best part. We go shopping! What kind of budget do I have, Hal?”
“Enough.” He handed her a credit card. “Just don’t
break the bank, okay?”
She smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave.”
Stunned, I croaked, “Now just a minute! Mr. Winters,
I don’t want this. I’m fine the way I am!”
Winters took on a stern look as he said, “Miss Gray,
most girls would kill to have the opportunity I’m just handing to you. Don’t
forget, you represent the label now and they’re investing a lot of money in
you. They want their money’s worth.”
* * *
“Is this your first time in L.A.?” asked Brooklyn from
across the small table. We were eating outside at a small, but fancy café that
seemed to cater mainly to women. They didn’t have real food like hamburgers or
chicken-fried steak. All they had were delicate meatless sandwiches, salads,
and soups.
As I nibbled on my boring sandwich I replied, “Yep.
First time.”
“What do you think of it?”
I wrinkled up my nose as I looked around. “It’s
certainly big. And crowded. I don’t think I could live here.”
Brooklyn just
smiled a knowing smile. “Well, you can’t get an opportunity like this in a
small town.”
I shrugged and said, “Actually, if we’d been living
here, I doubt we’d ever been noticed.”
Still starving after the lunch, we got in Brooklyn’s
car and we headed to Burbank where we went to some place called “Wax Poetic.” I
was surprised I had an appointment there. Brooklyn said that we didn’t have time for the full
treatment. As it was, we were there for a couple of hours.
I thought about running away, but I sucked it up,
knowing that this was the price I was having to pay for our hit song. I hoped
it was all going to be worth it.
Guys who I wouldn’t want to stand close to in an
elevator were putting horrible goop on my face and re-arranging my hair. Brooklyn
directed how they did my hair. They wanted to do some wild and weird hair-do,
but she kept them to a simpler style. Afterwards, my hair seemed to cascade
down past my shoulders instead of just hanging straight and limp like it did.
Some of my hair partially covered an eye and it drove me crazy. Brooklyn told
me to leave it alone since it was supposed to do that.
Looking in the mirror, if I’d been looking at a girl,
I would have thought she had really pretty hair. Knowing it was me, just made
my stomach churn.
Then in another room, some guy with long, spiky hair
and two day’s beard growth applied make-up to me. I really didn’t like him
touching my face. I got the general impression that he’d rather be getting the
works instead of me.
When it was all over with, I stood in front of a full
length mirror and I was totally stunned. I saw an absolutely gorgeous girl
staring back at me. It was amazing. And now, the clothes I was wearing, which
I had thought were certainly okay, now looked out of place, and frumpy.
Brooklyn walked
up and stood beside me. “Well, Michelle, what do you think?”
I couldn’t help smiling as I ran my hand through my
hair and stared at myself. “I can’t believe it! I look like a model.” Being
beautiful was a new experience for me. I really wasn’t sure how I felt. I
still didn’t want to have to pretend to be a girl, but as I gazed into the
mirror I found that I loved the way I looked. It was too hard to believe that
I was looking at me and not some total babe. I lusted after myself.
Laughing, Brooklyn said, “It’s amazing what the right make-up and hair
will do for a girl.” She stood back and looked me up and down, shaking her
head. A grin spread across her face as she said, “Now the real fun begins.
Going shopping with someone else’s credit card!”
* * *
We spent what seemed like days going up and down Rodeo Drive.
I guess women really go for this kind of thing. It didn’t take long for me to
get completely sick of going from store to store, trying on various outfits.
We bought dresses for casual wear, evening wear and God knows wear. We bought
shoes. We bought ten pairs of shoes ranging from stiletto heels to expensive
designer sneakers. I had to beg Brooklyn to stop buying shoes. We bought purses. Big purses,
tiny purses, different colored purses. I thought my eyeballs were going to
fall out from looking at so many purses. Brooklyn even insisted on buying lingerie.
Brooklyn loaded
a few items we bought into the trunk of her car. The rest she had delivered to
our hotel.
As we climbed into the car, she looked at the clock.
“Oh, good. We still have time to get to the photographer for a quick session.”
“Photographer? What are you going to take pictures
of?” I asked as I closed my eyes and leaned back into the deep leather covered
seats. I had one massive headache. If I had to look at one more shoe or purse
I was going to hurl.
“That’s where we’re meeting Hal. He wanted to get a
few publicity photos if possible today.” Brooklyn took a quick look over her shoulder and the car
leaped into traffic.
As we entered the photography studio, Brooklyn handed
me the large shopping bag she’d gotten out of her trunk.
“Here, take this and go down the hall to your left.
Three doors down is the women’s dressing room. Change into the ruffled denim
skirt and the pink top and come back right here,” directed Brooklyn.
“I’ll go find Philippe.”
The room was just where she said I’d find it. I went
inside. It was empty. I looked in the bag. The skirt she wanted me to wear
was there along with a couple of pairs of shoes, one of those damned purses,
several pairs of earrings, and a short black dress. I put on the requested
clothes. On a whim, since I had pierced ears anyway, I put on a pair of large
hoop earrings that were in the bag. I went back to where I’d left her and
waited.
A few minutes later, Brooklyn’s head popped up from
around the corner down the other hall. “Michelle, this way!” she called.
Past the corner, the hallway opened into a large room
with a lot of props and various items scattered all around, cables wound their
twisty paths around the floor and photography lights dotted the floor.
Other than trying on what seemed like thousands, this
was the first real time I had ever worn a skirt. I felt naked. There weren’t
any pockets to put my hands. I decided I didn’t much care for skirts.
Brooklyn was
talking to a guy holding a camera. That must have been Philippe. I was
beginning to come to the conclusion that every guy in Los Angeles
was gay. Brooklyn motioned for me to come over.
“Michelle, this is Philippe,” said Brooklyn.
“He’s going to take just few pictures of you, and then you’re changing
clothes. Hal should be here soon.”
The photo session was embarrassing. He had me try
various poses from trying to look innocent to looking sexy. He took pictures
for about thirty minutes until Mr. Winters showed up.
Winters approached me with a huge grin. “You look
absolutely fabulous, my dear!” he exclaimed. He took out a checkbook and then
began writing in it. “Brook, you did it again. Excellent work. The image is
perfect.” He tore a check from the book and handed it to Brooklyn.
“Thanks, Hal!” Brooklyn examined the check. “I have the best job in the
world.”
“Philippe? How did it go today?” Hal asked the
photographer.
“We had a good session. Much too short, but I got
some good shots for you. They’ll be delivered to your office tomorrow.”
Philippe looked over at me then back to Hal and said, “She’s a great little
model, Mr. Winters. She did everything I told her to do. I wish everyone you
sent me was so easy to work with.” Mr. Winters was busy writing another check.
Winters looked toward me again and smiled, “Yep, she’s
really something else!”
“One last thing, girl,” Brooklyn said. “Go change into
the dress in the bag. Wear the heels.” She held up her hand as I started to
say something. “I know you don’t like them, but wear them anyway. It’s time
to grow up and stop being such a tomboy. Wear the necklace and the pendant
earrings too.” When I just frowned and didn’t move, she made a shooing
gesture.
What a day this had been, I thought as I walked back
to the dressing room. There was a floor length mirror in the room and I
stopped and looked at myself. I shook my head in disbelief. I’m really hot, I
thought to myself. If I had any balls, I’d probably be turning myself on right
now. If I had any balls, I doubt I’d be here looking like this in the first
place.
I pulled the dress out of the bag. It was a short,
black dress. Brooklyn told me every girl should have a ‘little black
dress.’ It didn’t have much of a cleavage showing neckline, which was good, since
I didn’t have any cleavage.
Along with the dress was a slip and pantyhose. And
high heels. I had tried walking in them in the store. I was a little wobbly
at first, but it’s not as hard as they always make it in the movies.
As I exited the dressing room, Brooklyn was
just coming around the corner carrying a purse. “Here, use this purse. I’ve
already loaded it with some items you’ll want to have on hand for this
evening.”
She opened the purse and pulled out a compact and a
tube of lipstick. “Here, fix your makeup before you present yourself to Mr.
Winters. I need to be going. It was great being with you today! I hope we
get to work together again.” She turned and went out the door.
I just stood there for a minute. Then I opened the
compact and looked at my face in the mirror. I fixed my lips and put
everything back in my purse. I picked up the shopping bag with the skirt and
top I was wearing, and headed back into the photography studio.
When I entered the room, Winters smiled again.
“Michelle, you are stunning! That dress and those shoes…you look absolutely
feminine.” Mr. Winters walked all the way around me, nodding his head.
“Thank you, Mr. Winters,” I said. “I have to admit, I
feel feminine. If I’m not careful, I might start to like it.” I was joking,
of course. “But why did you want me to wear this dress? I feel overdressed
standing here.”
“Don’t forget. I have arranged for you and the rest of
your band to go out for dinner in one of our posh restaurants to celebrate.”
“I’m pretty tired, Mr. Winters,” I said honestly. “I
was hoping to just kick back at the hotel for a while.”
He gave me an odd look, and then said, “Well, you need
to go. Everybody who is anybody goes there. Members of the media will be
there and you want to be seen.”
* * *
I stayed in the limo while Winters left to fetch Mom
and the others. When the others started to pile into the car, John looked at
me, then looked at me again and exclaimed, “Mike?! Is that you?”
I smiled as sweetly as I could and said, “It’s me,
John. I’m Michelle, remember? Do you like my dress?”
Before John could answer, Mom entered the car. The
look on Mom’s face was priceless. She said, “You look wonderful, Honey.
You’re very pretty tonight! If your father could see you…”
“He’d shit bricks!” interrupted John. “Good thing he
stayed at home!” Mom glowered at John and he added, “Sorry, I’ll try to watch
my language.”
Fritz’ mouth dropped when he saw me. “Holy shit!” To
Mom, he added, “Sorry, Mrs. Gray. Anyway, John, is this majorly hot babe your
little brother?” John nodded and Fritz added, “Can I marry her?”
Everyone laughed and curtly, I said, “Ha…Ha…very
funny. Keep it up.”
After everyone was settled in, the limo sped off into
the fading sunlight.
* * *
End of Part 2
since 05/10/05