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Been a while, huh? And rather than actually wrap up the wrap party chapter, I decided to throw in this l'il interlude, which in the process has become vaguely chapter-like—it's chapter-lite.
Some prior pics have been repurposed for pacing and clarity, but as always I just jump right on in. I personally wouldn't recommend flipping back through the previous chapters just yet (if you've read them; if not, go nuts)—that kind of refresher will come in much handier when it is party time. I'll just say that 'previously on For Always Roaming with a Hungry Heart...' the Valence underwear commercial shoot wrapped, but the night's revelries have yet to begin. For now, here's a glimpse at what idle hands get up to during the downtime.
*NSFW NOTE: Pixels doing occasionally unpixelated things ahead*
*Also: pic heavy (as usual), but less wordy than chapter chapters. (Well, it was, but it took a week to write so I'm no longer the right judge.)*
First there was that whackadoo wife rudely insinuating that she was one of those...those repressed types.
Uncomfortable with 'body,' indeed! How dare she! And now him. Again.
Tiffany braced herself for this next encounter since Mr. Mash-uga would speak to her.
"Hey, if you wanna sneak a peek at what we got, Tiff, I'm about to go up."
"Oh? The footage, yes. Absolutely, I would like to review it. Of course."
"Good, good," he said over a light laugh. "One o' the guys took it up already so you can
head on if you want. Third door at the end. Right in the corner. And I'll be right behind ya."
Tiffany stepped away but turned back to confirm. "Your wife will be joining us?"
"Syl? Nope. She's got some stuff to take care of on her end so it's just you an' me, babe. Correction," he said,
commandeering her attention a few extra seconds to draw on the thaw, "it'll be just you and me, Tiffany."
"I, I see. That's the..." Tiffany cleared her throat, "that's the third door. In the corner?"
"Can't miss it. Right next to the bedroom."
"Nicht für dich."
Syl looked him straight in the eye as she was passing, tossed those sounds at him—words most likely, but who the hell
even knows sometimes—and made like she was gonna keep on going, too, but that sure as hell wasn't gonna cut it.
"What? No, no, no, c'mere, babe. What?"
"Lass das sein!" she said, "Schlecter hund." Clueing him in that she was speaking to 'the dog' in him...the dirty dog.
"There is tension, yes. She makes no bones about it with you. Crackle, crackle. Crunch, crunch, crunch."
Frankie aimed a thumb backward in the direction Tiff went.
"You're a little late picking up on that one, Syl. But nothin' I can't handle."
"That is precisely no. No bone for doggie. Doggie can find better bone," she said. "Can't he?"
Tiffany wandered alone among the corridors upstairs.
She had to admit, this house really was quite something for a mere pied-à-terre.
She glanced about herself as she walked. This certainly seemed like the right place.
There...that there must be the, well, the bedroom.
She didn't dare imagine what lay behind those surprisingly elegant double doors to debauchery.
And they would have the cheek to set up their screening room 'right next door'.
These Starlettown types were thoroughly shameless.
Hmph. She bet that one was his favourite.
The blonde with the come hither stare.*
That guy Gordo was waiting for Bo at the bottom of the stairs just like he said he would be.
He was kinda that in-your-face, cocky type. But she didn't mind.
Only now he was stone silent.
What was up with that?
It's not like the box was that heavy or anything so he wasn't, like, concentrating.
Him clamming up as soon as they were alone was about the last thing she expected.
It threw Bo off for a minute but it's not like she minded picking up the slack.
"Thanks for offering to help me get this stuff to the car. It's kinda empty out here now, think there'll
be a problem if we move the car around closer? That was you guys' truck we passed, right?"
"*Nnh*" he grunted.
"So we should be able to park there, too. Right?"
"Nn-hunh."
"Cool. I meant that about not being able to drive stick, though, so, like, do you mind? Will you pull the car around?"
"*Nnh*"
"And remind me to grab my sister's carry-on. I don't know who she thinks she's fooling but I know she's got at least one
outfit stashed in there ready to go hit the town in," she said, basically to herself since he obviously didn't feel like talking.
"Okay."
Bo unlocked the door and held it open for him.
"Crap. I forgot the dress for Pretty and Pink."
"Okay. I'll go get it."
"No, that's...No worries. It's hooked to the stairs, I won't forget it again."
"Sure?"
"Yep."
She popped the makeup case in the seat up front.
"Careful. That's my bag you're shoving over. That one, too," she said, raising up off her heels to peer over his shoulder.
"Don't see no other. Your sister's?"
"Uh...dunno. Maybe she moved everything to the..."
Bo scooted over to pop the trunk. Fluffer must've shoved all her stuff in there when they got here.
The yellow room was a little exposed for Flo's liking but the urge to play 'what-if' got the better of her so she
absconded with Cat's costume to the dressing room-slash-bathroom that was set aside for the lesser talent—glad to
find Cat was apparently long gone—and tiptoed back on bare feet to complete the look with the shoes before she
took it all in at the mirror. They kinda hurt, though, so she kicked off those matching red pumps in a hot minute.
Looks like she could squeeze into a dress cut for Cat, barely, but she couldn't fit her shoes!
Bo had caught her in the act, playing dress up. Whatever. But then she tried to suggest that Flo should wear this to the party. This! It was poorly
made and crazy ug'l'y but because it was skimpy her sister wanted to pimp her out! But oh no. No. No-o-o-o. Bo was definitely straight trippin'.
Bo found one of Flo's bags in the trunk so she could go through that, but she got distracted by the view, kinda.
It was just that, she knew from when they were driving up this morning, that's a super steep, like, cliff. And there was no railing,
for cars or pedestrians. If they had pedestrians. They didn't really back home, but cities like this usually had pedestrians, right?
It's crazy that they left this...open. Looking at the buildings rising up from a lower street level they were way up here. Hell of a drop!
Oh, yeah, that's one hell of a drop, Bo confirmed, easing up as close to the edge as she dared.
Bo was good for talking shit.
Like what she was saying about her wishing she was Valentine Hart's leading lady...crazy.
So, okay, maybe she coulda worked it...okay, yeah she woulda rocked it.
No doubt. 'Feel the power.' She had way more experience than Cat. On a set.
But the day was done.
That door was...closed.
Wasn't it?
Cat jumped back behind the corner when she spotted FM.
Not that it mattered or nothin'.
He'd probably laugh and smack her on the ass, tellin' her to go git 'im, Kitty Girl.
That was more like FM, but sometimes men get possessive-like. 'Specially in his own house.
He prolly wanted all the perks to be gettin' thrown his way. But not today, FM, baby. Not today.
*Tap*Tap*Tap*Tap*Tap*Tap*Tap*
Ah...Val wasn't about to ignore her tapping on his door this time!
"Hold up o-o-ne second, hon," he whispered to himself as he shuffled over to dispose of that extra glass.
Hmm, where to stash it? Guess it's goin' in his bag for the time being. Heh-heh. Felt like he was pinchin' souvenirs.
But a bit o' bubbly might definitely be in order now and he didn't want her getting the wrong idea or worrying
he's the one that got it wrong, like he couldn't read a woman who was up for...whatever and one who wasn't.
Oh. Hmm...
"Surprise."
"Here you are," Frankie hailed by way of announcing his own approach.
"Ah...yes."
"Whatcha doin' waiting out here in the hallway? Door's not locked," he said, "you should've gone in. Made yourself comfortable."
"Of course," Tiffany said, blinking away all those miscellaneous thoughts about what lay behind closed doors in this house.
She turned on her heels to lead the way in, neglecting to lay claim to the mug that he'd clearly brought for her.
It was simply awkward when he was gracious!
"Don't tell me you're really surprised," Cat said.
Surprised? No. Not now that she was here, but she ain't the one he'd been...well. But this did make a helluva lot more sense.
He pushed back the door and Cat slinked on in.
Flo finally stopped playing dress up and changed into her regular clothes.
The whole thing was too...no. Funny how fast a costume can go to your head.
"Oh, hey, Flo-Flo! Just the girl I've been looking for!"
Val gave a look up and down the hall, not sure why, but he'd given a pretty direct indirect invitation
to, uh, somebody else. That wasn't an option he intended to squander on a whim that wasn't his own.
Cat thought it was cute that he was making sure the coast was clear.
But whether it was or whether it wasn't, she wasn't going anywhere.
She undid the belt of her robe, let it collapse in a heap at her feet, and
waited to see that look on his face when he saw what she had for him.
"Yeah? Whassup?"
"Thought you guys were already moved over to the green room. It's a lot more comfy, room to spread out and chill.
Oh, and there's a shower in the bathroom in there, just so you know. You won't have to traipse back and forth through
here if you're gonna freshen up before the party or anything. Matter o' fact, I'm about to hit the showers myself. In our
room," he added and stepped in. "Soon as we finish loading up the truck. But if there's anything you need help moving...?"
"No thanks, Rem, I'm good—Um, nobody answered when you knocked over there?"
"Eh? Uh, nope."
Hmm. She figured Bo had grabbed Johnny to help her get the stuff to the car, but wonder where Ms. Burb got off to?
The Plumbob Award statuettes lining the wall caught Tiffany's attention.
Three Simmies were...impressive. But she quickly remembered herself and determined not to stare.
But it was impossible to ignore that, personality aside, he was the real deal.
"Offer stands for, y'know, anything you need," Remington said and let his eyes wander down
Flo's bare legs without even trying to be slick about it because, uh, inquiring minds want to know.
"As you see, I'm already halfway to chill mode. Already kicked my shoes off."
"Chill mode looks good on you."
"Almost forgot what I was coming to say. Yes'm wants to see you. She's in her office."
"Oh...but I think Bo took my shoes—Don't ask."
Gordo had come up and stood beside Bo. And for like a minute he said nothing,
but then almost out of nowhere came: "It's fucking byoo-tee-full, ain't it."
"The sunset?"
"Yeah. Kinda like reaches in and grabs you and makes you look when some'fing's that gorgeous.
Like: C'mere!!" He pantomimed snatching a guy up from his chest only to settle right back into his mellow.
Bo watched, totally transfixed. She couldn't get a read on this guy.
"You don't mean to stare, you know you ain't s'posed to stare, but you can't help it, yo."
Val closed the door and turned back to find her standing there, nekkid as a jaybird, daring him not to want her.
"You already got a sneak preview of the girls. Thought you might like a crack at the whole shebang."
Tiffany had a healthy appreciation of celebrity as a vehicle to wealth and a vector of power.
Yet she knew precious little about who the current "It" girl was or the ins and outs, ons and offs of the A-list,
the B, C, or D-list and so forth. She didn't know, or care, much about the "public-facing" side of the industry at all. They were
themselves merely vehicles for the real money-makers, at least until they graduated into the driver's seat of their own careers.
But she was sure that she recognised those faces looming larger than life up there, even if she coudn't name
them—ah, no, she tells a lie, it was 'Bogey and Bacall'. That one with the excellent taste in jewelry was Bacall.
One half of a legendary love affair. The other half being a rather unhandsome Joe Schmoe Humphrey twice her age.
But he was oozing with charisma...
And this...goodness, this must be his version of 'the casting couch'.
To the extent that she'd thought about it at all, Tiffany had sneered at the idea of, er, casting couch negotiations as a
holdover custom of predatory men. Men utterly undesirable in themselves who needed to leverage their positions to
get anywhere near a woman. Hardly unheard of in the real world, put like that, but it usually wasn't so blatant out there.
Of course...all relationships were some form of transaction...and everyone determined the nature of their own...payscale.
In the right lighting even a toad might seem...and in an atmosphere thick with possibility...
Well, she could almost understand how an ambitious woman might actually want to be here.
Cat lunged at Val and landed on his lips.
But she didn't stop there, frantically kissing him all over. No chance for a slow build with this one. But damn, baby.
"Yeah...I see it. I get it. Say, how's your vision?"
"My what?"
"You've probably got 20/20, right? Can you see in any of those windows? Like, if
someone from that building can see us, then we, well, you can see them, too. Right?"
"You're the one with glasses."
"So?"
"So you see better th'n me."
"Dude, that's not how glasses work," Bo said. "Wish it was. I'm kind of a nosy chica. And
when it looks like they're so close I wanna know what's going on past the curtains!"
Heh-heh, damn, baby.
Groupies.
Gotta love 'em.
Egads! Not on the casting couch!
Tiffany had oh-so-elegantly touched down her handbag as she made her sweeping appraisal of the room.
It was a gesture that announced her presence in new surroundings and, even though no one happened
to be watching just then, it put her in the right frame of mind: I am here. Let's get down to business.
But good heavens to Betty Boop—what sort of "business" was transacted on and around that couch!
Tiffany swiftly snatched up her purse.
She deposited it on a chair—that was better—but over here was yet another set of double doors!
Leading, of course, to...the bedroom. That same bedroom—clearly a well-apportioned room to
span so far into the interior here from the hall. And no doubt sumptuously furnished for seduction.
"*Ahem*"
FM cleared his throat as a way of summoning her attention.
"So. Welcome to the red room," he said.
Red Room, indeed!
But little did she know that by the time anyone arrived in this red room they already had the green light, and were
fully enmeshed in the project at hand. No one "auditioned" in here. Now, as for thrashing out creative differences...
"Here ya go." He scooped up the mugs that he had put down to check the set-up and proffered one her way.
They were chosen special to give 'er a taste of the Starrywood experience even though they were stuck out here in Twin Liberties.
Erm...Not that she knew what was in either one of the mugs but that wasn't the one she was reaching for.
What was in them anyhow?
"Is that my tea? Did Lilly make it for me?"
"No."
But she had no cause to complain when he was being suspiciously civil.
Tiffany went ahead and took a sly sniff and then a sip from her specialty cup.
Mmmm.
Was that amaretto she detected?
Much tastier than her tea, she silently conceded.
Meanwhile, Frankie fiddled with a few buttons and flicked a nearby switch and most of the lights in the room went dim.
Alrighty then.
Let's get down to business.
Downstairs, Sylvia Marie was equally busy with her side of things.
Der Frankfurter was right about the junior Poshy Pits—or Chique as name looked to be.
The Pink Chique...zhes, she gave the good face. So right he was, but o-ho, wrong-wrong about the role!
"I don't know anything about that. But if Yes'm wants to see you then..."
"Yeah, I know."
She bit her lip and sighed.
Not the kinda reaction he'd expect, but she wasn't surprised, so obviously Gord was right. Another actress.
But if she was stalling...
"So, uh, that your little red dress for the party tonight?"
"What, this?"
Flo forgot she was still holding the damn thing.
"Oh, hells no!" she said. "Nope, can't do red."
Uh, ouch?—Rem flashed back to that crazy wannabe actress, that Stella chick, calling him that. But Flo was smiling now.
She pointed to her hair and shook her finger. Aha, but she didn't know yet how a bit o' cool Red might set it off with Hot Pink.
"Too bad."
He craned his neck and got in another good ogle as she turned to ditch the dress. The one she was holding,
not the one she was wearing...but for once he was in no real rush. All good things and all that, right?
"Guess I should get going, see what Yes'm wants. I think I remember a costume rack outside her office. Yeah. Gotta
be something there besides white go-go boots that I can slip into instead of waltzing in all footloose and fancy free."
"Nah, don't worry about it. Some people make you take your shoes off in their home nowadays. And Yes'm might
get a kick outta you knocking around her house in chill mode like you own the place—I'm kidding, I'm kidding.
It's cool. And from what I know, it never hurts to, y'know, make an entrance. Maybe your sis did you a favour."
"I don't know about that."
But he was on point about that other thing. And Bo was right, too. This kind of unrestricted
access to major power players did not fall into your lap everyday. Or ever. She couldn't stay
hemming and hawing like it was only about her. Now was the time to turn up and turn on.
"Sounds like you know where her office is," Rem said, "And if you need extra incentive to go as-is, she's
also got this soft fuzzy-like carpet in there that'll probably feel pretty sweet under those pretty toes."
"Ha-ha, look at Cat tryin' to sharpen her claws on Hart! His face is pure gold, wish we could use it."
Tiffany pried her eyes from the screen on her side to say "And why can't you—Oh. No, indeed. Not those frown-brows."
"Like I say. She sure had her work cut out gettin' a rise outta that one. Guess he's too used to the dimes-a dozen."
When the scene changed in the middle, Tiffany tsked out loud.
"There goes that wedding ring, front and centre. And such an otherwise perfect take! He's so natural there.
Before the girl came on. But it's practically ruined by that ring! I told you we should have made him get rid of it."
"And how much luck did you have with that, honey? Look, you wanna edit it out?"
"Can we? Can that be done?"
"No. Not perfectly."
"Then why—"
"And I don't think there's nothin' wrong with the ring. Hell, I got one, you got one. Half the guys who'll
see this got one and secretly wish that they could ditch the wife for a one-nighter wit' a stunner like Cat.
And if they could, they wouldn't take their rings off either, cuz they'd be plannin' on going right back."
That was...Is that how it was? How crass.
And so adultery was part of the fantasy they were selling, was it?
It was unseemly.
But Valentine did look quite good in his intro. If one of the shorts, or however they call the clipped versions
that re-air, if they could feature only him and keep the circulation disconnected, more like a Valence montage, that
at least would not alienate the wives. Who buy their husbands' undies, anyway! Wives will always home in on that ring.
"Y'know, I've met my fair share of sun-worshippers but you're hardcore."
"Yeah, well..."
"I like it. I mean, for all I know you're really, like, watching some couple go at it or
something in that building. But if you are, like, you are really freaking chill about it."
She was nuts, yo. Definitely nutso. Cuz when he saw stuff he liked, like a hot chick gettin' hammered in front of a open window, he wasn't
the dude to hide it. Not him, yo. Not King Gordo! He wasn't fucking 'chill', yo, he was a fucking animal. A beast! '*Arrgh!!*' he roared, inside.
"I'm just kidding." Bo nudged him. "I mean, unless you wanna let me borrow
your x-ray vision," she said, and he laughed a little but still didn't say anything.
Bo had heard of the strong, silent type but she was kind of at a loss with this one. Like, she wasn't holding him hostage...
Obviously not.
If he wanted or needed to be somewhere else, she was about to, like, set him free from her company.
As far as moving the car and grabbing a coupla outfits, she could manage without him...but then,
like, outta nowhere he just copped a squat. And kept starin' ahead at that sunset. O-kay.
Before she knew it Bo was sitting down next to him.
But much as she liked the idea of living on the edge...maybe not quite this close.
She scooched back an inch. Or two.
"I can ask you some'fin' now?" he broke their, whatchacallit, companionable silence.
"What? Oh. 'Course. Shoot."
"Why you go by Bo—"
'Here we go. What Bo stood for was nobody's business.'
"—when you got a other name like Lilly?"
"Oh." So that wasn't the usual question. "Uh...because no one knows what Bo means, I guess."
"But Lilly is a, y'know, it's a real pretty name."
'That's what you think.' But all the same..."Thanks."
Y'know, it really was kinda beautiful down here...up here.
Who'd'a thunk it'd be an east coast sun making her into a convert!
"As a point of order, well, you can't see it there, but still, when that minx isn't in the scene wrapping herself all around him, the wedding ring is
a feature. It beckons to married and single women alike," Tiffany said. "Surely even you have noticed that marriage made you more attractive."
"Is that a fact? And here I thought it was my fat pockets."
Tiffany looked him directly in the face and said, "It's that, too."
Frankie laughed his head off. He liked a brash broad.
"So, eh, tell me, how'd you get to be CEO of that company you run?"
"Pish Posh."
"Yeah-yeah. But I mean, did you start it? Work the ranks buildin' it up? Or did you instigate a hostile takeover?"
"My money's on hostile takeover," he said. "What's that shadow?"
"Pish Posh is my brainchild. I built it from the bottom up, so you would have lost that money."
"Eh. I can afford a miss on a speculation every now and then."
"Look 'ere. You see that?"
"I don't know. What am I meant to be looking at?"
Bo yawned and scrambled to her feet. Couldn't stay there forever and soon that last sunray was gonna bid them goodnight
and she still didn't know what she was wearing for this Mashuga shindig. Plus the view was kinda giving her vertigo.
Little Sister's bag—she didn't rifle through it, except to make sure she was right about her packing some party-girl duds cuz she was
notoriously bad at nailing down Flo's style...which, considering that was her job, kinda sucked—but anyway, Fluffer's bag like hers Bo
had left on the sidewalk, expecting they were going straight back. She'd be pissed if she knew, but it was fine. On this side of town,
who was going to run off with their stuff, like, right under her nose? Or even with her back turned? Plus, she had Gordo with her.
No, the question now was what did she pack for herself for potential party fun times?
You never get a second chance to make a first impression...but in a way the party was exactly that.
Except for, like, their hosts probably, everyone was bound to be a little different out of work-mode. Maybe a lot different. Who knows?
Tiffany had to admit this was rather fun, getting an inside peek at the magic of Starrywood.
"Well, as you know, I wasn't sold on their chemistry in the room," she said. "But camera chemistry seems
to be quite different. Either that or the man can simply make everything and ev-er-y-body look good."
"Don't think Cat needed any help in that department, babe. But I'll give you that Hart's It-Factor
compensates for a lot. It's why we wanted him on board. Had to twist some arms to make it happen, too."
"Pardon moi, but I think you'll find that recommending Valentine Hart for the Valence line was another one of my brainstorms."
Frankie didn't fact check her on that one, what for?** Instead, he made a joke.
"So what you're tryin' to say is, at the end of the day, I'm really workin' for you."
She turned a wide, toothy grin on him. "If you like to put it that way..."
Suddenly, Tiffany jumped up. She thought she heard...at the door.
Blah-di-blah-di-blah.
On and on, he talks. And for what? She will not budge on der money, not one of the simoleons less.
And as she was making that point, countering silly counter-offers...
*Tap*Tap*Tap*Knock*Knock*Knock*Knock*
"Eh? No! Hold onto ze horses!!" she yelled out. "Ach, not you. For you, you come up with better horse
numbers or I don't say 'onto the races'. Comprende? Now, go. Go. Call back when ready to say words I like."
"Come, come, come!" Sylvia Marie called out at her leisure. "Enter if you please...Ah, good,
it is you, Twinkly-Eyes and also I see vits de Twinkle-Toes. I am glad you came to see."
Before Flo responded she spotted the all-too familiar images laid out on the desk. Oh, Bo.
Looks like she had been busy, in her own way. Not working, no, but networking when no one was looking.
Okay, so Bo had one or two possibles for tonight, but shoes? She was sure she couldn't have forgotten shoes to go-with.
Gordo eased up behind her, intending to help, but, uh, paused to ponder life.
Ni-ice!
But so was she.
And he didn't know how to, y'know, hands-on wit' a nice girl.
FM had no such problem getting a handle on Miz Tiff.
He had her number, all right. The Burb was just itchin' for her Starlettown adventure.
As far as Tiffany was concerned, the stray hand on her backside was thoroughly predictable.
And yet it caught her by surprise...His utter nonchalance...It made her lose her train of thought.
Along with her instincts! What was happening?
An hour ago she would've thrown her hot—well, lukewarm beverage right in his face! And his also for good measure!
Straight down the front of his pants! She would have pummelled him with her purse like Old Mrs. Crumplebottom from the fables!
Yet here she stood, rivetted to the spot, and drinking her drink instead of taking aim with it. To buy herself time to decide.
But what exactly was she deciding?
"And what exactly are you lookin' at?"
"I was...I..." Fuck. "*Grrr...*" he growled out loud.
You fuckin' idiot, fuck's wrong wi'd you. She's just a chick, just another fuckin' chick, look at 'er laughin' at' you...
Bo was laughing.
But before he even realised it was actually that good girly kinda laugh she was turned around reachin' out for him.
"Get over here, you." Bo yanked him in to her.
He didn't know how none of this happened but he sure as hell wasn't gonna fight it.
Neither, apparently, was Tiffany.
"So. You 'vant to be a star?"
"Um..."
"Or do you 'vant to be a starlet?"
Flo knew that 'um' was not the right response to the 'so ya wanna be a star, kid' question.
She was supposed to shout 'Yes ma'am!' to Yes'm. Or really to be blasé and say 'Of course."
But she, sometimes working actress, was not supposed to hesitate. Not with the stakes going bump-bump-bump
cuz her comp card was currently shoved up under Sylvia Marie Mashuga's face. Still, that starlet thing was unfair.
"Ha-ha, vits de angry twinkle, you give fantastic pouty face, but why so? Zey are both good choices, I say."
Uh...what?
"Some of those ones, like you, zey go full Starrywood. Some other ones like better to knock around der Starlettown.
I zink dis vill be difference between you and..zhes, your sister." She plucked up Bo's card to confirm and dropped it again.
"That is not fair."
Flo couldn't help it.
"You don't know anything about Bo. Or me," she said.
"Right so. But tell me where is it I say wrong. Go on. Sell to me your sister."
"Ha-ha-ha, oops, wait, I'm on the thing. I'm on the thing," Bo gasped out between laughs.
Gordo scooped her up and Bo was still cracking up at 'the very i-dea'—oh, yeah, she did the better impression, but, nope,
"that ol' prude in stilettos would no-t approve. You are way too rough around the edges. But you're sweet to the taste!"
Yeah, buddy!
Rem could barely make out Gordo in outline, except for the hair. No question who it was with her with
that hair...cuz he saw Lilly-Bo good and clear in the backseat. And let's just say she was facing the wrong way.
This had to be a first that Gord lucked up before him, but still, with the sister...?! Man, that had to be a good omen!
"Your eyes are grey."
"Yeah?"
"I wonder what that means about you."
"Dunno. What's it mean that yours is blue?"
"Oh, that's easy. It means there's more to me than meets the eye. If you look."
Gordo grunted. "I like to look." It came out soundin' dirty but, fuck it, he meant that, too.
"You know what's weird—I mean even me and my sister have different colour peepers so it's
kinda wild, statistically, you and your friend both having the same shade of, uh, ambiguous grey."
"What friend?"
Bo laughed. "Colleague, then."
"Oh, you mean R.E.M., yeah, you can call him a friend. Been known that dude for years. Nobody but you ever
noticed the eye thing." At least not wit' him. Chicks flocked like, like pigeons, yo, to Remington, man o' mystery,
an' his glinting steel-grey*** eyes, tho'. Couldn't get enough o' that shit when dude was out on a smash mission.
Made him wonder when the hell was she up close enough in R.E.M.'s mug to memorise what his eyes was like,
but then she started kissin' him again and it didn't matter no more if she was or if she wasn't one o' Rem's discards.
But he still hoped she wasn't.
It was the darnedest thing how easily one impure thought, led, ahem, led to another.
She couldn't stand this man! He was rude and crude and boorish—Tiffany was unrelenting on that judgement—But he was also mildly
amusing. And smarter than he looks. And incredibly successful! (With firm, yet gentle hands that belied his bumptious manner...not likely
to be a selfish lover...)—Ahem. But really, what had happened? Nothing at all. Nothing she couldn't even volunteer to Bradley when she
got home—'Can you believe that Mr. Mash-uga got fresh with me? Me, darling! Me, of all people!' And he would say of course he could
believe it and, trusting she'd put the man firmly in his place, enquire no further into the details. Which, after all, was only fair. She had never
enquired too deeply into his extracurricular habits over the years. He was a good man...but, well, he was a man. And here she was...a woman.
Oh!...OH!!
Tiffany jumped when his roaming hand roamed a little too...
"I am a married woman!" she blurted out.
FM crossed his leg and gazed up at her, waiting on the rest. She had his undivided attention, only to clam up all of a sudden.
But that outburst hadda mean something, so he prodded, "So you're a married woman...?"
"And I love my husband."
"That's good. That's good. You should love your husband. I love my wife."
"So, so, Rainbow Chique. How do you work vits Poshy Pits?"
"If you're referring to Ms. Burb, she's—"
"Zhes, zhes, and her. She is the Posh Pit, zhes, and the Poshy Pits is her, but if you do zis,
how do you work? 'Vhen do you work?" Syl asked. "If I consider of the roles for Rainbow Chique and
Sister Bo, 'vill you give preference to me and leave der Posh Pit in a lurch? How does 'Flo-Flo' work?"
Tiffany dropped her eyes at that declaration of love for his wife. But then that blatant...that utter
shamelessness enraged her. She spat out, "And my vows to my husband mean something."
"I live and die by mine to Syl. Difference is, we never promised each other nothin' we couldn't give."
"Neither did I."
"Welp, there ya go, then," he said. "We all find our own level."
Ooooh!! She fairly shook with indignation. He had such a nerve! What did he know of her level?
She was not some self-satisfied, middle-brow hausfrau, she was not, and she would have
him know—Don't turn away from me!' Tiffany inwardly seethed when he simply set back to work.
"There is another chair back there, y'know," he said, as though accusing her of having stood beside him on purpose to be ripe for the plucking.
But she honestly had not noticed another chair—oh. But, no, he surely did not mean one of those—Ohh. He meant it was in the bedroom. Oh.
A gentleman would have offered to bring it forward for her, but she knew all along that he had no intention of being a gentleman.
Lost your nerve, eh?
Well, this way he wouldn't have to tax his imagination around Syl's "no bone for doggie."
Ha! Who the hell was he kiddin', he lived for creative rule-breaking! Lived by it!
FM caught Tiff puttin' some wiggle in her walk away. Ha! Ha! Ha! Mock defiance. She'll be back.
Funny thing: It was always the ass with those haughty broads.
Frankie had to marvel at that because...always. Any other approach'll get you the stink-eye,
or the full on cobra-lady hissss. But a pat on the ass flipped some kinda haughty to naughty switch
one hundred percent of the time with those uptight-uptown-girls-turned-middle-class-matrons. Grab a
handful o' that gelatinous gluteus maximus and hold on for one helluva ride on the show pony express.
Tiffany listened to her heels clip-clop across the floor, unsure that it masked her
wildly thumping heart. Each step brought her closer to the moment of truth.
What would she do?
Self-restraint was not one of man's greatest virtues...she saw no reason why it should be a woman's.
Twenty years was a long time to expect a husband had been faithful through all of them—This one's wife was practically down
the hall and that didn't stop his eyes and hands from roving. Yet she believed that he really did love the silly twit. Just as she
knew that Bradley loved her. He had been emotionally true to her, she was sure of that, so what matters a dalliance or two?
Especially when it was all so easy in the moment and she had not always been attentive to his...carnal needs.
Certainly there were...some kinds of impulses best left out of the bounds of an affectionate marriage. And if he had satisfied some of
those elsewhere, well, her Brad had never shown himself to waver in his commitment to her or to their family...Their family—Ack! Johnny!
"My son—" she began to protest, whipping round...but no one was coming up behind her.
Well, that's a fine how'd'ye do!
He had restarted the footage.
And was sitting there blithely working as though nothing at all had happened!
As a rule, Flo never trusted a producer until the dotted lines were signed, but she felt pretty positive about their chat.
Especially since Yes'm gave her a direct number to get in touch. That never happens.
Actually, she should grab Bo later and double-check if it was direct...
"Hey. Perfect timing," Flo said, assuming Rem had come this way to see Yes'm.
"So how'd it go?" he asked.
But Flo just looked at him funny. "Um, fine."
"You are an actress, right? You were in Sleeping Dogs Lie," he half-asked, half-accused, assuming from Gordo's
description that she was about to go all adorably bashful and he was already wondering if with her it was all act.
But she didn't do that.
Flo looked him dead in the eye and assented. "Mmm. It's a remarkable film."
"Oh. I, uh, I've heard. Haven't actually seen it. Yet. My buddy Gordo's the one who, uh, spotted you from the movie."
Eeee, now that was embarrassing.
It was one thing when someone saw it, but it was a whole 'nother thing to imagine her
performance being described guy-to-guy. Especially by one like that crew guy, Gordon.
Gordo couldn't believe his rotten luck turned up nuttin' so cool as Lil.
The way she looked...the way she looked at 'im, and talked to 'im, and kissed on him.
She was makin' all the moves, yo. That never happened. Not to him. It was like some girl version o' Go Ugly
Early, except she didn't seem to think...So he shoved that thought way off to the side and tried to both enjoy
and ignore that she was way too fuckin' pretty. Cuz she was here, yo. And only cuz she wanted to be.
When Lil's hand trailed down to the front of his jeans an' started unzipping, Gordo damn near
gave thanks to the sun god for winkin' on him. Hoo-Ra. That your, like, standard hot glasses
chick from all the skin flicks basically fell into his lap hadda be some kinda horny-god miracle.
"Shit."
"Nnh?"
"I can't."
"Wha—?"
"I can't do this."
"What?"
He couldn't believe this shit. Was she blue-balling him on purpose?
Ego-trippin' offa how easy it was, just so's she could bounce away and leave him hard up—and here he really thought...
"I'm sorry."
"I just can't. Not now, not here, with the whole city watching—"
"Close the door."
"And not in my boss's freaking rental car."
Gordo tried to stare at the red o' her glasses so's to not get sucked back into them big, blue eyes.
But he was a sucker. A straight up sucker, man. He looked.
Tiffany had no idea how her imagination had gotten so worked up!
But she was here to work.
"Sorry I didn't recognise you."
"Oh, no. Don't."
"It's just, I've had this kinda mental block around actresses. Ever since my ex."
Uh-huh. Since that was an obvious set-up for her to ask, she went along with it. "Who's your ex?"
"Uh. Imogen Pelly."
"Oh, so you're the one who drove her batshit crazy."
"Whoa, no. In my defense, Officer, it was like that when I bought it," he said, and they both laughed.
"Is that London's voice I hear?" Sylvia Marie called out. "Come in to me,
lover-ly London! Come, come!" she commanded, like he was her lapdog.
Flo-Flo looked back at him, eyebrows suspiciously raised, like 'Hrr??', but Rem wasn't having that,
not the one time he hadn't done a damn thing. Let him poison his own well, thank you. Or, y'know, not.
He eased around Flo, keeping out of sight, and kicked the door closed as he led her away.
He was right that the lilt in Yes'm's voice left her to wonder only the one thing.
Screwing around with your boss who was also your boss's wife was on a whole 'nother level of...of why
someone like Imogen Pelly went bonkers and now was AWOL. Who the hell needed that in her life? 'I'll take
mediocre sex for a hun'ned, Alex.' All day. Every day. At least over the kinda dude who was gonna make you c'razy.
Rem pretty accurately read that look on Flo's face. He shook his head.
"She's always trying to get me to do shit that's not my job," he said.
"Cool?"
"Nnf. Be a lot cooler if you wasn't still sittin' there."
"No worries," Bo said, "I'm going."
"No, I...I didn't mean it like—"
"I know. But, gotta go."
"Don't go. Not yet."
"I have to. If Tiffer found out I was out here, 'defiling' the Saab, man—"
"Fuck her. Tell that stuck-up bitch to go suck a dick,
'stead o' suckin' on fuckin' lemons. Maybe it fixes her sour puss."
"Yeeow, do you have a nasty mouth," Bo said as she climbed out.
She realised that he meant 'puss' as in 'face'...at least, uh, maybe.
"Why don't you come back in 'ere an' sit on my face for a while. I can show youse how nasty this mouth gets."
Bo actually hesitated.
"Show you better than I can tell."
"I'm not cutting that scene, are you kidding? Look, lemme show you something..."
Remington walked Flo all the way back to her door, though she headed for the green room now.
He looked like he might've been angling for an invitation in, but...nah. She needed to kick back for a while. Process.
Plus, she was sure he probably still had some crew guy things to do. She appreciated him taking the time, actually.
"So, um, thanks for...for, y'know being so nice and everything," Flo said. "Guess I'll see you at dinner."
He nodded. "Guess so." And taking the hint, he took off.
"So who was that?"
"Holy sh...eez, Bo! What the hell!"
"Was it Valentine? Eh? Eh?"
Flo rolled her eyes and shook her head at her sis.
"Where's Tiffany? And Johnny? They're not here, still?"
"I dunno. Do you see them?"
"Smartass."
"Anyway, I think Johnny was here. His bag's gone. Don't know where he got off to again. And I have no idea where ol' Tiffer is."
One of the corridors from the private quarters led to the, um, star quarters.
Curiosity may have gotten the better of Tiffany, but—good gravy! That was...she could've sworn she heard the
sounds of, of a woman coming from there. A woman in the throes of passion, it certainly sounded like, though the noise
was immediately muffled. As though a hand were clamped over her mouth, which only seemed to excite her more.
What on earth kind of place was this!
And who were these people? People who so casually...commingled. Sweet, blessed mother-of-pearl—there was
a two out of three chance that rascal Valentine Hart was in there right now debauching one of her girls! Ugh, these
Mashuga people had their own gravity, felling absolutely everyone down to their level! And this place, it was a part of
them, a grey bubble of unreality and utter nonsense that blurred all sense of consequence. She could hardly blame
a vivacious young lady if she, this one time, forgot herself...though she would rather not know which one it was.
And yet, now that she reflected, the odds were really two out of four. Tiffany took a rather
sneering delight in the thought that that Mashuga wife was the likeliest of them all to go whoring.
Valentine had left the girl to collect her bearings while he poured himself a shot.
There was still plenty o' gas left in the tank so he settled in and let her bounce around up there to her heart's content.
Tiffany told herself that she should quite literally clutch her pearls and run screaming
from this den of iniquity...but she also told herself that it was better to know than to suspect.
And—she didn't think that it was, mind—but, well, she had to be sure that it wasn't one of her girls.
"Kinda classy of him to walk you to your door, Little Sister. I think that's what they call a keeper."
Bo laughed but Flo shrugged. He seemed cool. Not necessarily classy, but cool.
"So-o-o? How did you, you know, get along with Mr. H-h-hart."
"Bo—"
"H-h-h..." Bo heaved her chest and threw her head back.
"Cut it out. If it was...like that—c'mon, knock it off—If it was like that, do you really think I'd already be back?"
"Never underestimate the power quickie! Even more satisfying than the power nap!" Bo said in her
cheesy, over-the-top commercial voice. "The right guy can pack a lotta wallop in a few strokes."
"Bo!"
"Especially a guy, no, a real man like Mr. H-h-hart—I'll bet he made you call
him Valentine! Bet he made you say it a few times! One for each power stroke."
Aahh, that was a smooth burn.
Valentine smacked his lips, made sure his glass was drip-dry before he set it aside.
Cat was havin' her a blast goin' to town on him. Again. Val pressed his finger to her
lips before she started back to yowlin' and she took a snap at him! Grazed the skin.
Oh, you wanna play in the big leagues, huh. Then dammit, let's play.
Valentine grabbed hold of her hips and took control of the rhythm.
This wasn't no honky-tonk and it wasn't no rave.
First thing you got to feel is the bass. Feel. The. Bass...Bass...Bass...Bass...
Well, well, well.
"Problem, Tiff?"
She jumped. "Oh! Franklin. No, I, er—"
"Lost your way? The stairs...right back there," he said. "Or did you, eh, forget something?"
She was sniffin' around Hart's door so she may have been trying to hop that ride at the groupie rate,
like he told her that afternoon, just to say she did it. But they both knew what she really wanted.
Not just a fly-by-night story for 'er gal pals back home. No, no, Tiff wanted the leg up along with the leg over.
Hey, it was hers for the asking. But she would have to ask for it.
Shi-i-i-ITTT!
Val practically choked on all the rage suddenly surging up through him when the time had finally come.
He didn't know this girl from a hole in the wall, he was not mad at her, but in his head he was cursin' her
left, right, and sideways—and every other whichway he'd been bangin' her brains out—and he didn't have
the first idea why. Sure as hell wasn't his 'thing' to turn up at a l'il trim or to turn on the woman givin' it to him.
Not even with all the hatefuckin' him and Angel did—and wasn't nothin' else to call it, but that worked off the mad,
real fast, it didn't ramp it up, and damn sure didn't pull it outta nowhere. So what in the hell was wrong with him?
Val collapsed, worn out by the effort of tryna hold back and get off at the same damn time.
Cuz whatever the hell was off with him, it didn't have shit to do with her so that's the way it was gonna stay.
And judging by how Cat was grinnin' like a cheshire, she didn't notice a damn thing but her own pleasure.
And that's the way he liked it.
Val breathed in long and deep and exhaled slowly through his nose. Wasn't no use dwelling on the weirdness.
It had been a long-ass, weird kinda day. And frisky and free-wheelin' as she was, Cat just wasn't the type that could help take the edge off.
But she was a bundle o' fun. Val kissed her on that button nose and set her to the side.
He leaned up and situated himself and finally pulled off his socks and peeled off that robe.
Fully nekkid and free at last, he laughed at himself as he draped his robe over
the chair on the way to the shower and caught a glimpse in the mirror.
He also caught a glimpse of the Dom.
Shame he didn't, uh, need it. But Dom Perignon woulda been wasted on Cat. She didn't come for no romancing.
It didn't have to go completely to waste, though. He was gonna make sure to pack that up
for the road along with his other gifts. Y'never know when good champagne'll come in handy.
Flo had no idea why Bo wouldn't believe she wasn't with Valentine, she knew the groupie thing was not her style,
so the teasing was working her nerves since it wasn't even true. That man, that married man was not thinking about her.
At all. And, yeah, that Remington guy seemed kinda cool, but she wasn't thinking about him either...Hot Pants.
Bo finally left her alone and suggested they settle in, maybe get in a real power nap before it was time to get ready.
"Oh damn, another Garbo. You've been in Yes'm's office, right? So you saw?"
"Oh yeah. Totally bonkers."
Flo laugh-snorted. "Bo."
"She is! And she knows it. That's her thing. Even her mirror in there spells out CRAZY."
"Shit, you're right I forgot about that. And that giraffe? But I was mesmerised by
the Garbo, Garbo, Everywhere. Hell, it was all I could do to keep from voguing."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know, vogue, vogue, vogue, vogue." Flo hit her poses in quick succession. "Cuz, remember,
there's that part when she's all like: Greta Garbo and Monroe, Dietrich and DiMaggio...Grace Kelly.
Harlow, Jean, picture of a beauty queen" Flo skipped around over the names she didn't recall, it's not
like Bo would know, she was terrible with lyrics. "Lauren, Katherine, Lana, too. Bette Davis, we love you."
"Okay, okay."
"Ladies with an attitude. Fellas that were in the mood. Don't just stand there, let's get to it. Strike a pose,
there' s nothing to it. Vogue!" And Flo spun around and went at it, en full vogue, dancing a tight circle around Bo.
"Are you done?"
"Yep."
"Good," Bo said. "Looks like Yes'm's not the only one who's bonkers."
"Oh, shut up—Oh snap, and here's 'Dietrich' over here, Marlene Dietrich."
"Ugh. You and this old-timey stuff, Fluffer. Who even gives a shit about them anymore?"
Flo stifled a laugh but Bo was obviously forgetting where they were and whose walls they were all sprawled across.
"You need to be paying more attention to the here and now."
Like she wasn't? This time Flo did let out a chortle.
"What?"
"Strike a pose!"
Cat stepped over her own robe and draped herself in Valentine's. Boy howdy, she looked damn good in it.
V...H. It had his initials. That's what she was gonna do, too, for being on set from here on out.
She should be packin' enough star power soon to have her name printed up on all her shit.
In the meantime, it was a wild ride!
But she'd had a lotta practice ridin' the broncos!
Still, this was one for the book—It was like whoa doggy! Woo...hoo...hoo! Cat humped the air to the rhythm as she remembered it.
They were so good together. Like, woohoo magic. It's a shame nobody else saw it.
Like, the mirrors were great but there shoulda been somebody takin' notes or better yet gettin' it down on video!
Not even necessarily for gettin' off like those, um, voya...voyagers—no, not voyagers, duh, but whatever, those ones who
like to looky-loo but no touch. Not that she was tryin' to make a porno or nothin—Cat firmly believed that, like, doin' it for work
hadda take all the fun outta doin' it, so nope-ty, nope, nope, not for nothin' like that. But just because, like, it...was...fucking...art,
she told herself gyrating up and down and all around.. She might not be the best actress yet, but she was a fucking artist!
"Ah, aha, Poshy Pits..."
"My name is Tiffany. I prefer to be called Tiffany," she said, pleased to find herself
quite calm and not one whit embarrassed to encounter his ridiculous wife.
"Is that right so? Den tell me, Posh Tiffany, have you done vits my Frankl?"
Tiffany nearly choked.
"Pardon?"
Giddyup, doggy! Cat smacked an invisible rump behind her. Giddyup! But the table underneath rocked a little too much.
She cracked up!
How funny was it—everything managed to stay upright durin' the do,
and here she goes almost knockin' the stuff over doin' a re-enactment!
Cat slid down and sat admiring her handprint. And how it got there!
She'd ditched the lipstick before she came...for obvious reasons, *tee-hee*,
or she would leave behind a bright red smooch to mark the occasion, too.
Better'n neon graffiti sayin': Cat wuz here!
"But Cat was here," she said out loud to the mirror and gave herself a wink.
"Okay. Okay—."
"Okay what?"
"I get that you chickened out—"
"I did not."
"Aha!" Bo grabbed her and acting it out said, "So you did go sneak in a Few...Good...Pow...er....Strokes!"
"Ugh! Get the hell offa me, Bo!"
"I knew you weren't walking around with no tights for no reason."
"I said get offa me. And you stole my tights when you took m'damn shoes!"
"I think it's cool you and me both'll be makin' our national debut together. I mean, folks already know you. Duh. But this is a brand
new side of Valentine. Means a lot that y'all picked me to, like, reintroduce you. And dang it if we don't look good together! On and off
the TV screen. I'm-a be dreamin' 'bout this mirror!" she said. "Just imagine they made a scene outta that!" Somebody sure shoulda!
Flo bumped her and Bo fell back on the seat, cracking up.
"What the hell's got into you, Crazy?"
Bo didn't wanna tell her, yet, that it was more like what didn't get into her that left her with some, like, excess energy.
Little Sister isn't usually judgy, per se, but she has been calling her an asshole magnet lately. And that guy Gordo,
turns out, is only a part-time asshole, so there. Bo could listen to the lecture later. Like, after-she-got-laid later.
She couldn't believe that—no, 'course she could, but she didn't understand why Fluffer wasn't up there herself right now gettin' fluffed.
Honestly, why?
It was a once-in-a-lifetime!
And their chemistry was, like, fluorescent. And it's not like she'd never broken her rules and for way lesser dudes than Valentine H-h-hart.
"Anyways, I can't move out west just yet. I don't know if you now where Riverblossom Hills is at..."
What the hell? Was that Cat out there, talkin' to him? Fuck was she still even doin' there?
And why would she think he could hear her under running water?
"...cuz, like, my friend, Betty, she's got crazy cash and she wouldn't even lend me a coupla hundred bucks for a plane ticket. So I was
late today cuz I hadda take the bus. I'm about to be a kinda TV star, practically, an' I had to take the bus! And that's comin' from my best
friend! So I know some folks be kinda funny with money—and that's cool, what's yours is yours, but I do still gotta get home. Y'know?"
Val took his time lettin' the water cascade over him. Then he copped a squat on that back bench in the shower.
All the steam had gotten sucked up in one of those overly efficient vents but he didn't give a damn. Better for his hair.
But right about now he needed some me-time.
"How long have I been telling you? If you keep playing hard to get you won't get gotten."
"Is that s'posed to be personal or professional advice?"
"Both, Fluffer. Mix a l'il business with pleasure. It won't, like, hurt."
"I beg to differ."
Wasn't this a fine turn of events, Val finding himself damn near captive in his dressing room bathroom!
But the thing of it was, he'd already been kinda nasty to her once, even if it was only in his head. He didn't
relish the thought that he might have to speak outta turn when he got up to kick 'er outta his space.
Cat heard the shower stop but he didn't come straight back.
Not that she wanted to overstay her welcome, but it'd be nice to get a yes and be all settled before everything, with other folks
buzzin' in his ear and the liquor flowin'. The real liquor. This here was...what was this? Oh. Dun-dun-dun....Dom-dom-dom.
It was that Dom Perig-non. Fancy-schmancy stuff! The Goldsteins kep' a bottle of this stuff, but she'd never snuck a tipple...
What the hell was that now, that loud popping sound? Like some'n broke? What the hell was she up to? Was she trashing
the place in good ol' fashioned rockstar style? He got a l'il kick outta that idea, like maybe it was prophecy. Goin' off the
way she moved, that was pro'bly her type o' music. And once that girl touched down in Starlettown that was sure where
she would gravitate. Them boys were wild! Girl like that, how in hell—why in hell would she resist all that glitz and chaos?
Why, indeed.
Bottoms up, girl!
Ooh, that's good.
"I know you won't forget but don't forget to play up to Yes'm tonight," Flo told Bo.
Then Tiffany entered the green room and they all three asked in unison: "Where's Johnny?"
"Must be hangin' with the crew, I guess. Bo said she thinks he did duck his head in at some point."
"Yeah, I brought in some of his stuff but it's not here anymore."
"But you haven't seen him?" Tiffany asked. "Well, I suppose it makes sense
that he'd rather stay with the boys than be stuck up here with us women."
Valentine emerged from the bathroom, pleased to find this room empty.
They'd had a nice time, he did not want a confrontation. And 'Looka here, Miss Thang, you got
to go!' was about the best that he could muster, so it was probably good she got gone on her own.
But that is defintely not where he left his robe. Was he gonna have to go through his shit to make sure she
wasn't no klepto? Enh, that bracelet from the Mashugas was still there. Maybe she just couldn't tell what it was
worth from the label, but it didn't look like she'd touched his bag or nothin' so he wasn't gonna worry 'bout it.
Flo had joked about steamin' his costume drawers, or maybe it wasn't a joke, but with his half-ass packing he might need to get FM 'n them to
get someone in here to steam his clothes for tonight. But they were short-staffed, he remembered, so they could just send up the steam thing
and he'd have to do it himself. Couldn't ask either one of those girls, they were off the clock, and they didn't work direct for the Mashugas no way.
Val spotted said 'costume' where they had, uh, fallen to the floor. Heh-heh, all of their own accord, heh.
But, like he said before, those were soon to be his signature drawers. Couldn't leave them behind.
Tiffany barely paused to look around before heading straight for the shower.
Meanwhile, Flo set to finding her outfit.
Bo was right. A proper dinner and a wrap party where they'd hired entertainment were nothing to sneeze at.
"So, whaddya think? Is leather too aggressive?" Flo asked, laughing.
Val headed over to scoop up his drawers and noticed the glass.
What the...
What the hell...that bitch drank his Dom.
She actually popped the cork and drank his damn Dom!
Val snatched up the bottle. No way he could pack it up to take with him now.
Might as well go ahead and take it to the head.
But on second thought...it was practically full and he did have the three glasses...
Why not send it down, or drop it off, for that shy cutie pie and her sis and her boss? With his compliments.
*
Happy Simming!
*There's actually no reason for Tiff to believe that unless she was somehow seeing herself in that image of Veronica Lake because between Sylvia Marie and Cat (if she's put two and two together) it would be more reasonable to suspect that if he's got a preference it's for brunettes.
**Sylvia Marie did outright challenge Tiffany's assertions about bringing Valentine on board in Part 2.
***I'm like 5-8 chapters in, depending how I break them down, yet this is only my first Remington Steele reference! (I think.)
AN:
-Flo wasn't originally meant to make an appearance, and so neither were Remington or Sylvia Marie. It was just those three pairs at various stages of, uh, succumbing to the atmosphere (though, of course, Val has his own atmosphere). Now the only ones who don't show are Lew and Johnny—and Lew doesn't even get a mention, poor guy. Consequently, I think the InterLewd turned out to be less lewd than it was and might now be equally aptly called "Doors" but I'm still keeping my title!
-Also, when I chose the car in Bo's scene, I had no idea it really was a stick shift (i.e. manual transmission) model. Not even when I was mangling the mesh to get the doors to stay open the way I wanted for the scene. All I cared about was that it was era-appropriate and pink, and I only noticed when I was writing it up and happened to peer through the window in one of the pics, so that's just a lucky detail coincidence :-D
-Another funny coincidence because it was added as an afterthought well after I'd decorated is that the only Classic Hollywood figures on the Mashugas' walls who don't get a mention in Madonna's song are Audrey Hepburn, Hedy Lamarr, and Ingrid Bergman (in order of appearance, lol).
-And if you're wondering what the hell is up with Gordo, here's his preliminary character profile, at least until I figure out how I want to do them. I actually have a fixed updated file somewhere for that weird lighting on the shirt round his waist, but apparently put it not in the actual game where I was using it!
-Lastly, I haven't updated Part 4 with any of the changes here yet, so there are a fair amount of stylistic differences, but it's not top priority.
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