by iiKane
For the rest of the rehearsal, there were happy faces for everyone.
As soon as they got in the limo, Skye was all over Georgie. She hiked up her skirt and straddled his lap.
“That was wonderful! Don’t you just love Andre? Where’s the candy?” she questioned, darting in and out of Georgie’s pockets.
He chuckled at her friskiness, until she found the bottle of coke in his hoodie pocket.
“Yeah, I love ‘em to death. Damn, Ma, slow down; you gonna save some for me?”
Using the little spoon attached to the inside of the bottle lip, Skye scooped out hits of cocaine, two for her then two for Georgie.
“Ay Skye…Ma, look at me.”
Skye put the coke up then focused on Georgie. He took her face in his hands.
“Ma, you can’t let people get to you like that, okay? None of this shit really matters, you know; they can kiss our ass,” Georgie told her.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. We’ll shrivel up and starve before we march to another muhfucka’s drumbeat, huh?” Skye laughed, reminding Georgie of his own words.
He chuckled.
“No doubt.”
“You’d starve with me?”
“Starve, shrivel, eat beans out the can, rob a bank; what you wanna do next?” he smirked.
Skye bit her bottom lip seductively then leaned close to Georgie’s ear.
“Doing all those sexy dances made my pussy so fuckin’ wet ‘cause all I could think about was your big, juicy dick fuckin’ me into a coma.” She purred, then brought her finger up from her pussy and put it in his mouth. “See?”
Once he tasted her juices, his dick boned instantly. She began kissing him passionately and fumbling for his zipper.
“Ma,” he tried to resist between kisses. “We in a limo. The driver can see us.”
“I don’t care,” she hissed passionately between clenched teeth. “I want to fuck!”
The passion of her kiss overruled his every objection. Georgie lifted her so she could pull his pants down to his thighs, then she gripped and squeezed his dick. Georgie pushed her skirt up and tried to slide her panties to the side, but the positioning made it impossible.
“Rip ‘em,” she groaned.
Riiiip!
Once freed, her pussy pulsated and throbbed, begging to be filled.
“Put it in, Georgie!” she squealed.
He slid low in the seat, spreading his legs for leverage as he pushed deep inside of her.
“Ooooh!” she moaned, throwing her head back as she rode him, hard and fast. He cupped her ass and spread her pussy lips wider, changing the angle so he could bang her walls. Her whole body shuddered.
“Take this dick like a big girl,” he grunted.
“I – I am; oooh fuck me Georgie, fuck meeeee! I – I feel it, I feel it,” she panted and Georgie knew she was in that blissful state of closeness.
He speeded up his thrusts until their bodies were clapping together, trying to pace his release to coincide with hers.
“I’m ready, Georgie!”
Their rhythm built, powerful and strong, faster and harder until they climaxed and came like…
Boom!
For a fraction of a millisecond, Skye thought she had come so hard that the earth moved. But then she realized that it wasn’t her, and he realized that it wasn’t him, and they both realized that it wasn’t them. It was the driver. He had run a red light and had an accident in the intersection, ultimately backing up traffic in a four block radius.
He had tried to ignore it. He had been driving limos a long time, so he had seen a lot of things. But the sight of Skye’s pretty ass bouncing up and down and hearing her sultry sex song, he couldn’t keep his eyes on the road or his mind on driving.
“I – I’m sorry sir, ma’am,” he apologized sheepishly.
Georgie and Skye looked at each other and busted out laughing, while outside, horns blasted, cabbies cursed and a multitude of people were forced to bask in their post-coital bliss.
“Don’t worry yo, just make sure when the press ask, tell ‘em you were watching us fuck!” Georgie instructed him.
Georgie had an uncanny knack for using the moment to his advantage, and he proved it with the limo scenario. As soon as word got out as to why midtown traffic was backed up, the newspapers jumped all over it. The Village Voice, in Michelle’s “Cliché Corner,” a short piece in the Life section of the Daily News, and the Post gave the headline, “Stuck in Traffic.” There was even a picture of Georgie and Skye—with that freshly-fucked look—getting into a cab leaving the scene. The incident gave her an even bigger buzz when a State Legislator in Albany introduced legislation banning all sex acts in limousines and taxis because it was both a “moral and traffic hazard.” The legislators couldn’t stop laughing long enough to vote on the bill.
All the publicity just made the single hotter and anticipation for her video more intense.
“Ma, you trust me?”
“Yes,” she replied, without hesitation.
They were in the trailer on the set of the video shoot. She was sitting in the salon chair and he was standing behind her. They were looking at each other through the mirror.
“You know what I thought to myself when I first saw you?”
“What a bitch?” she quipped.
Georgie shook his head, keeping his gaze steady and solemn.
“No. I said, ‘that’s a goddess.’ You owned me from jump. When you walk out of this trailer onto that screen and into the hearts of millions, that’s what I want them to see, too. A goddess. Will you let me do that?”
Staring into the reflection of his grey eyes and his voice felt like warm brandy in her ears. Skye was almost mesmerized. How could she say no?
“Yes.”
Georgie smiled.
“Okay… Close your eyes, and when you open them, you’ll see what the world will see.”
Skye’s eyes fluttered closed.
Several times, she wanted to peek, especially when she felt the snip of her first fallen lock of hair.
“Georgie!” she gasped, with a start.
“Shhhh… Trust me, baby.”
And she did, agonizing minute after agonizing minute, until they linked and seemingly stretched into an agonizing forever, prompting Skye to impatiently whine, “Georgieeee.”
“Almost finished.”
And then he was.
“Okay…you can open them now.”
She did. She saw. She marveled in awe.
“I’m…beautiful,” she gasped.
Georgie smiled like a proud father.
“You were already beautiful, Skye; this is just another interpretation of it.”
She loved the short, pixie cut, the sharp, ice pick sideburns and razor-edged definition. But most of all, she loved the color: sky blue with frosted tips of white.
“I love it, baby; I love you,” she cooed.
“I love you too,” he said, and then…
He smiled.
It was the smile she’d never forget. Anya. But this time, she imagined that it was for her.
Georgie could do no wrong. The video was a smash. It pushed the single into double platinum status because everyone wanted the video version remix. The album became one of the most anticipated of the year. The album advertisements were everywhere, but Georgie’s favorite was the gigantic billboard in Times Square. It featured the album’s artwork of a gorgeous blue sky. Skye’s face was superimposed, as if it was that of a goddess. She seemed to be one with the sky, and the sky blue contacts made the picture that much more vivid.
“I hate the contacts; they make me look like a white girl,” Skye complained.
“You’re half white. Embrace your inner Caucasian,” Georgie cracked.
Everything was going Georgie’s way…until the Rolling Stone cover.
“No, Georgie! Hell fuckin’ no! I’m doing this cover!” Skye screamed as she and Georgie squared off in her living room.
“Georgie, you’ve go
t to be joking,” Guy chuckled, shaking his head. He was just glad that he and Skye were on the same page for a change. Lately, it had been like Georgie was running the show.
“Skye, just hear me out!”
“For what?! You’re talking crazy right now! It’s fuckin’ Rolling Stone magazine, Georgie! They want me on the cover, and I don’t even have an album out! It’s unheard of!” Skye exclaimed.
“Unprecedented,” Guy seconded.
Georgie snorted a frustrated sigh.
“So…the…fuck…what?! Why do you think they want you on the cover?! To promote you?! Fuck no. It’s to sell magazines.”
“Yeah, and both hands wash the face,” Guy retorted, his expression like, C’mon, man!
Georgie pointed at Guy.
“I’m not talkin’ to you.”
Guy bristled.
“The hell you mean, you’re not talkin’ to me?! I’m her manager. I make the decisions!”
“Ay yo Guy, who are you barkin’ at?” Georgie hissed, taking a menacing step toward Guy.
Guy didn’t back down. Skye stepped in between them, putting her hands on Georgie’s chest.
“Baby, baby, look at me. Look at me. Calm down, okay? Just make your point.”
Georgie glared at Guy and Guy glared back for an extra beat, then Georgie began to pace as he spoke.
“All I’m sayin’ is, I get that it’s Rolling Stone, but that’s exactly my point! You’re supposed to do the cover if they ask, because everybody does. Who the fuck would say ‘no’ to Rolling Stone? But if you do it, it’s no big deal. People will forget about it in a month,” Georgie surmised, then stopped pacing and approached Skye. “But if you say ‘no,’ then everyone will want to know why. MTV will want to know why, BET will want to know why, VIBE, Spin, see? We give up one cover and I guarantee you, we get three more to replace it.”
Skye raised her eyebrows.
“I hadn’t looked at it like that,” she admitted.
“And what if it doesn’t work, huh?” Guy snorted. “What if they just think she’s some vain cunt that believes her own hype? Then what we got? Dick! That’s what.”
Georgie looked Guy in the eyes and replied, “These are the types of decisions that make life worth living. You want security, get a nine to five.”
The room got quiet and Skye weighed her options.
“Skye, as your manager, I can’t let you do this. It’s too risky. Once you’re established, yeah, but not now,” he advised.
She looked at Georgie then back at Guy.
“Call Rolling Stone…tell ‘em I said…no,” Skye announced.
Georgie smiled and winked. Guy chuckled to himself.
“Did anyone else feel that?”
“Feel what, Guy?” Skye questioned, her tone neutral but expecting a snide remark.
“The plates just shifted,” he retorted, then walked out.
Georgie and Skye looked at each other. They knew what was coming next.
A couple of days later, Georgie invited Guy to a bar and grill around the corner from Skye’s apartment. Guy arrived a few minutes after him, looked around then spotted Georgie and came over to the table. Georgie stood as he approached to shake his hand.
“How you, Guy?”
“Gettin’ old in a city forever young, but other than that, I’m peachy,” Guy joked.
They sat down. Georgie waved the waitress over.
“What you drinkin’ Guy? It’s on me.”
“Bourbon, and sweetheart put the ice cubes in first, will you? I hate when they bruise the bourbon,” Guy stressed.
The redheaded waitress gave him a wink.
“Southern style, I got you,” she said, turning to Georgie. “Another?”
“For now,” Georgie flirted, watching her as she walked away.
He looked back when he heard Guy laughing.
“What?”
“Kid, are you even old enough to drink?”
Georgie smiled.
“My I.D. says I am.”
“Not even old enough to drink; how are ya gonna handle managin’ a megastar?” Guy questioned.
Georgie looked at him, as if he had beat him to the punch. Guy smiled knowingly.
“That’s what this is about, right? Firing me?”
Georgie finished off his first drink, as the waitress brought the other, then sashayed away, now fully aware that Georgie was watching.
“We were thinking of splitting the duty. I’d be more of the road manager,” Georgie proposed.
Guy sipped his Bourbon then waved him off.
“Never work. I’d be there just to get my brain picked, while you’d have veto power, carte blanche. A clean break’s better,” Guy surmised, sipping his drink again, then mused, “You know, maybe I shoulda tried my hand with Skye. No offense, but it seems the only managers that last are the ones layin’ the talent…like Jon Peters and Barbra Streisand. Matter of fact, he started out as a hairdresser, just like you.”
“Never heard of ‘em,” Georgie spat, cockily.
“Yeah well, he’s over at Sony Pictures now, running the whole show. You could learn a thing or two from that guy.”
“Come on Guy, think about our offer. There’s still a lot I don’t know. I admit that. And you have my word, if we ever bump heads, I’ll come to you first to straighten it,” Georgie offered.
Guy sighed wistfully.
“Naw kid, I think this is for the best. Besides, you’ll do fine. You’re smart, quick on your feet, and the broads love you. And in this business, beauty covers a multitude of sins. Me? I guess I’m a saint,” Guy cracked, making Georgie chuckle. He downed his drink and paused as if considering something. “You know Georgie, I like you. You have a zeal that can take you far in this business, but it can be your downfall, too. It’s a tightrope, but if you can walk it, you’ve got it made.
Georgie nodded. Guy stood up.
“Stay. Have one more,” Georgie urged.
“I’ve got a date. Now that I’m unemployed, I figure I’ll need a sugar mama, too,” Guy winked.
Georgie laughed and they shook hands.
“Take care, Guy.”
“You do the same.”
Guy walked away and the waitress came over.
“Need anything else?” she asked.
Georgie looked her up and down, licked his lips and replied, “Yeah. What time you get off?”
The waitress bit her bottom lip.
When Georgie got home, he found Skye playing the piano. He knew that she hadn’t heard him come in because when she played she usually got lost in the vibrations. He leaned against the exposed brick of her apartment and watched her. She was wearing only his Philadelphia Eagles jersey and she had a blue bandana wrapped around her head. He waited for her to stop playing and mark notes on the music sheet before he spoke.
“That’s a pretty melody,” he remarked, approaching.
She turned to him with a beaming smile.
“Oh hey baby, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I know,” he chuckled.
“You like it? It’s not finished. I’ve got a lot of tinkering to do,” she said, picking up her cigarette out of the ashtray and taking a drag.
“You got the lyrics yet?”
“Yeah; well, kinda. You want to hear it?”
“Of course. You know I love to hear you sing,” he replied, his smirk saying he was referring to another kind of song.
“So nasty,” Skye blushed, then turned back to the piano and putt her cigarette in the ashtray. Ready?”
“Yep.”
Georgie rested his elbows on the piano as she began. The song was in A Minor, giving it a melancholy brood that complemented her husky hum. Then she opened her mouth like a bird, and the lyrics took flight:
Have you ever loved without taking off your clothes,
Have you ever been with someone who really knows,
Knows you …
Deeply …
Completely …
Like a melody of e
cstasy,
I want to sing you …
Even though he was smiling, deep down she was killing him softly with her song. The words spoke of something deeper, fuller, richer and stood in secret condemnation of the fact that he had just fucked the redheaded waitress in the staircase of her tenement building. The contrast was nearly perfect. While she was singing of pure love, his mind couldn’t help but reflect on the pure lust he had just committed. The pure animal heat that he felt as he grabbed the redhead on the darkened stairwell, like a stalker snatching his victim into the shadows. The way he clawed and pulled, it would look like she was resisting if played in reverse. The way she cried out when he entered her with pure abandonment, slamming her back against the wall with every thrust. The way she cursed when she came and the way he came when she cursed. He thought about it all when Skye sang:
Have you ever been with someone who knows.
He realized that he didn’t even know the redhead’s name. Georgie looked into Skye’s face, her fluttering eyelids—now open, now closed, now in the room, now in the music—seeing all the fire and vulnerability that little girls are truly made of, and he realized how much he truly loved her, but could never love her truly because he loved too easily. Georgie loved with a spatula and not a spoon. The realization had him spaced.
“Georgie? Did you hear me? I said, do you like it?” Skye asked, the anxiety of an artist coloring her voice.
He blinked back, refocusing on her face, even though he had been staring at it the whole time.
“I mean…wow. Yeah. It’s beautiful; it just…made me think,” he replied.
Skye smiled radiantly.
“Is it new?” he asked.
“Truth or dare?”
He laughed, because she loved to play the game.
“Truth.”
She bit her lip demurely then turned sideways on the piano bench.