Private Show Pt. 3: Hair & Make-up

Patrick pulled out his phone to check the time- she was late. Not very, maybe by like ten minutes or so but because Patrick was fastidious about such things, to him she was irrevocably, irreversibly, irritatingly late.

Patrick let out a frustrated sigh and tossed his phone onto the space of cushiony cushioness next to him.

He had booked an executive suite at the Serena and at that moment sat slouched in one of it's red wood tone upholstered love seats, its coffee and cream coloured cushions lying carelessly on either side of him.

Letting himself sink even further into the chair, Patrick tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Patience...he muttered to himself. Patience...

It had been two Saturdays since he and Bridget had struck a deal with the sultry songstress and although in the beginning Patrick had looked forward to this day, as it stood at that very moment, all he wanted was for it to be over.

Bridget, on the other hand, had revelled in the preparations from the get go.

But wait, just how much preparation actually goes into a singer showing up, singing a few songs for an audience of two and then leaving? You may ask.

Well, with Bridget flag-shipping the entire thing, more than you can possibly imagine.

Bridget walked out of the bedroom, where she had laid out Deandra's outfit (costume? get up?) on the bed, and leaving little dents in the vanilla coloured wall-to-wall carpet with her heels, sashayed into the sitting area.

"She'll be here in twenty minutes." Bridget announced, holding up her phone to indicate where she had gotten the information from.

Opening his eyes, Patrick looked over at Bridget.

It always caught him off guard just how strikingly beautiful she was.

Her hair hung two inches below her bare shoulders, her bangs perfectly cropped. She wore a red pencil dress that stopped just shy of her calves and sheathed the curves of her body perfectly, a pair of velvety black pumps on her feet which added four inches to her height and just enough make-up to accentuate the prominence of her cheek bones, pout of her lips and dreaminess of her eyes.

"You look beautiful." was Patrick's reply.

Of course she did. Bridget worked very hard to make sure that she did and so it wasn't really much of a compliment Patrick telling her so.

But a compliment is still a compliment, Bridget reminded herself. And there's a way a girl is meant to respond to a compliment, no matter who it comes from.

And so with that, Bridget tilted her head to one side, placed a hand on a hip and awwwwd a thank you in Patrick's direction.

"You don't look all that bad yourself." She added a second later. And she wasn't lying either, he didn't, considering.

He wore a perfectly tailored black pinstriped suit, white button down and black silk bow tie. At Bridget's insistence of course. And even though Patrick's face was far from camera friendly he did have the body of an athlete and so wore the clothes extremely well.

In their expensive hotel room the two of them looked like a power couple getting ready to hit the red carpet; it was too bad they weren't going to even leave the room.

"So did she say why she was late?" Patrick asked without acknowledging Bridget's compliment.

She felt a little slighted by this but tried her best not to let it show it.

"Traffic."

"It's 15 minutes past two on a Saturday afternoon, there is no traffic."

Bridget shrugged,

"Well that's what she told me."

"Did you call her or did she call you?"

"She called me."

"Oh. OK."

Well that changed things a bit, maybe she was telling the truth.

"What about Hair and Make-up?"

"He was already waiting downstairs. I just called him and so he should be here any-"

Three sharp raps on the door interrupted Bridget's reply. At the same time Bridget's phone began to ring in her hand,

Shine bright like a diamond!

"-minute."

Bridget glanced at her phone.

"That's him." she said and silencing her phone, padded her way to the front door.

Once there Bridget took a deep breath to prepare herself for the whirlwind which was Zeus and grabbing the door handle, turned it and swung open the door.

He was five foot five; wore red boat shoes, yellow capris, a white belt and a blue slim-fit short-sleeved button down smartly tucked into his capris. A pair of Rayban aviator's, a Blackberry 9800 in one hand and a LV tote bag in the other made the ensemble complete.

"Hmmmph," Zeus intoned when he saw Bridget. "Your'e going for a movie première oba?"

Bridget struck a pose.

"You like?"

Zeus struck one himself.

"I love. And that dress...eh, you chick.

We're going to have to do something about that make up though."

He said between kisses on each of Bridget's cheeks.

"Now where is my Rihanna?" He asked. And without waiting for a reply, Hair & Make-up walked into the room.

Private Show Pt. 2: Deal

Now, any other Tuesday would have found the odd couple slipping away unnoticed a few minutes before eleven, which was when the show usually ended. On this particular Tuesday, however, Patrick and Bridget decided to stick around because Patrick...had an idea.

As per custom, Deandra made her way around to all the occupied tables, shaking a hand here, giving a hug there, sharing a laugh and thanking, thanking, thanking whoever it was for turning up and showing so much love, much appreesh.

During her rounds she shot a glance here and there towards Patrick and Bridget's table and then once she was done with the others, casually made her way over to them. The odd couple stood up to meet her.

"I was wondering when you guys would stick around long enough for me to come and say hi. I've seen you here. Every Tuesday for like the last six months."

Deandra had a British accent and every word was pronounced with a certain degree of exactness.

She wore nothing on her feet, still barefoot from the show, black leggings, an army green skirt that stopped mid-thigh, a black wife beater and an assortment of beady jewellery that dangled from her wrists, her neck and her ears.

Bridget liked her instantly.

"We think your'e amazing." She blurted. "You have such a beautiful voice. How long have you been singing?"

Placing a hand just above her heart, Deandra thanked Bridget humbly,

"and for as long as I can remember."

"And saxophone? How long have you been playing saxophone?" Patrick added.

Deandra gave him the subtle once over.

Now although she didn't think herself a superficial woman and although he did seem quite nice, Deandra still couldn't help but ask herself why a girl that looked like Her would be hanging out with a guy that looked liked Him.

Deandra silently shrugged to herself, maybe it was the sex.

"I've been playing the sax since I was about 8. My father bought me my first one for my 8th birthday. I still have it actually. I don't play it of course, it's just one of those things you keep, you know what I mean?"

Both Patrick and Bridget nodded; they did, they did know what she meant.

"Ummm, so how much do you charge to perform a show?" Bridget inquired.

She asked this a little apologetically. As if she didnt really want to but the question couldnt really be avoided. Sweet. Deandra saw it for what it really was though, a play at innocence to drive the asking price down. If only just a little bit. Deandra was certain of this because she did the same thing whenever she went to buy shoes, dresses, whatever.

No dice.

"We play for 1.5."

Which was a lie. They actually played for 1.2 but it was always better to start high and work your way down. Or that's at least what she had been told.

"And how about for just you?"

This was Patrick.

"I don't play without my band." Deandra answered, "There wouldn't be any reason to."

"What if we could give you one?" Patrick intoned. He was all smooth confidence.

"And what answer would that be?"

"1.5. Just for you."
Hmmmm, so he has money, Deandra mused to herself. That actually made a lot of sense.

Now even though Deandra's warning bell went off at the same time as the Cha-Ching of her internal cash register, she couldn't help but be intrigued. It was 1.3 million more than she would make from a normal gig after all. The thing was, what was the catch?

"How many people would I be playing for?"

At this, the couple exchanged a glance, not a good sign. Deandra had a feeling she knew what the answer was going to be but willed herself to wait for it before deciding on anything.

It was Bridget who answered.

"Just us."

Yep, she knew it. These two were psychopaths. They were going to kidnap her, rap her, kill her, (or maybe they would rape her after they killed her, who knew with people these days?) rip out her vocal cords and put them in a zesta jar. Lord knew she was not about to let that happen. Heeeeeeeeell to the no. She still had a whole lot of singing to do.

"Um, I'm not quite sure I'm comfortable with that." She said cautiously.

"We're not a couple of of psychopaths." Bridget answered reassuringly as if reading Deandra's mind.

"We just thought it would be cool, you know? And if we can; well, why not right?" Bridget continued with a shrug.

Deandra was almost convinced. Plus, she was just being paranoid wasn't she? Kidnapping and murder? This was Uganda, not some Hollywood movie. She did tend to let her imagination run away from her at times, Deandra admitted to herself. And then there was the fact that the money wasn't all that bad either. But again, seeing as they were willing to pay 1.5...maybe they would be willing to pay,

"2 Million and you have yourself a deal."

Bridget looked at Patrick who seemed to take a moment to think about it. Mental calculations and all of that. In the end, it was his decision.

"Deal." came his reply a few moments later.

"There's just probably one thing you should know upfront though."

Creased forehead.

"And what's that?"

"We want you to do only Rihanna songs."

Deandra's expression smoothed into a slight smile.

"I have no problem with that, I love Rihanna."

The couple exchanged glances again. This time less anxious, more relieved.

"Good," Bridget said, placing a hand on Patrick's arm,

"because we love her too."

Private Show Pt. 1: Light Bulb

An Aside: There's nothing like being in the company of a beautiful woman. And this story, for the most part, owes its existence to being in the company of not one but two beautiful women; Sheinaz Malik who shares my quite unhealthy obsession for Rihanna and who serves as the 'fleshy' on which the money chasing beauty 'Bridget' is very loosely based on (NB: Sheinaz is nowhere close to being the gold digging whore that Bridget is, just to make it clear) and Maureen 'MoRoots' Rutabingwa who can belt out a Rihanna tune probably better than Rihanna can and who serves as the 'fleshy' from which the sax playing songtress 'Deandra' is loosely based on.

Now for me, at least, this is one of those stories that one does not take all that seriously. It's not like some others I have written that have required an immense amount of energy and concentration because there's something specific that I'm trying to say, writing this story was like...was like a day out at the beach. My only hope is that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

So here's to hoping that you do (salut),

-- L.A. Lutara



Part 1: Light Bulb

She was short, he was tall. She was light, he was dark. She was pretty; very pretty, the kind of pretty in fact that any man would want to have babies with and he was...well let's just say that he was not the kind of man a girl would want to be seen out in public by her friends with. He did have money though, a lot of it and to a girl like Bridget that certainly went a long way to make up for his glaring ugliness.

They sat where they always sat. Far enough away from the stage that they would not be so easily noticed but still close enough to be considered a part of the audience.

He sipped at a Guiness; her, a double of Gilbey's with ice, a slice of lime and a dash of Krest.

They talked little, giving their mostly undivided to the woman ruling the stage with the magical sceptre of a microphone in front of them.

The sax playing, foot stomping, singing siren cutting up the stage played and sang and made magic every Tuesday night at the Blue Trumpet Jazz Club & Restaurant that boasted the crispiest fries and tastiest BBQ wings around town.

To say that they were just fans would have been an insult. They were fanatics. Her music did such saucy things to them that they even had sex to it.

Bridget would pull out the iphone 5 that Patrick had bought her and would record 5 minutes of the performance every week. Just one song though...

Diamonds.

And yes, the "Shine bright like a diamond." one.

Because as much as they were fanatics of the delectable Deandra (which is just her stage name by the way. She's something boring like Sarah, or Angella or Mary) they were absolutely freakin' nuts about Rihanna.

They even went as far as to refer to themselves a 'Rihanniacs'.

It was Bridget who came up with the name and even though Patrick thought it rather ridiculous, Bridget was pretty and was having sex with him and so he just went along with it.


It sort of bummed them out that Deandra only performed one Riri song every Tuesday which kind of relegated them to watching a grainy video phone clip over and over again but then beggars can not be choosers, can they?

And then Patrick realized something, they didn't have to be beggars because he, with pockets lined with 50's so fresh that their yellowish ink stained his fingertips, was far from one. He had money, lots of it and as Bridget was proof of it, there are very few things that one can not do with enough money.

Now this would be the part in the cartoon where a lit light bulb would appear above Patrick's head and he would hold up a finger and exclaim, "Aha!".

Placing a hand on top of one of Bridget's, Patrick turned to her.

"I think I just got an idea."

Bridget was mid sip and waited until she had set her glass back down on the table before answering.

"And what's that?"

And Patrick, smiling, showing off his yellowed and crooked teeth, proceeded to tell her.