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    Just The Girl 2.0 – Chapter Twenty Five, Prologue

    Story written on June 5, 2010 by Alchemy10.
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    Number of Comments: 1
    Words: 9446
    Story Shortlink: https://mail.assertive-maroon-jellyfish.104-250-143-187.cpanel.site/?p=75737
    Author Notes:

    A sit-down with Vanity Fair..

     

    “I know it may not look much, but the food’s pretty d*mn great in here,” My waitress tells me, flashing a set of teeth smudged with a remarkable amount of lipstick. “And those girls,” She cocks her head towards the restroom, where three out of four of my interviewees disappeared into not a few minutes had past. “They like the fact that they can eat and have fun without people coming up to their table and bothering them.” Privacy, of course.

     

    She leaves me with a bottle of Corona and a friendly smile. I took a second to stare at my drink before I take a careful sip. Funny thing, yesterday at roughly the same time, I was drinking the same thing. The only difference was, instead of a nondescript grill in New York, I was in the Bahamas, sunbathing at the beach beside my wife of five years. It was our anniversary, and it was a romantic getaway that we had hatched and stressed over for more than a year. Our second day in, everything was going as planned – well, that is, up until my editor braved my wife’s infamous temper by interrupting our celebration and giving me a call. Apparently, the ever elusive F4 – no, not the Michael Schumacher kind, but the gorgeously wealthy Sapphic quartet – had given our magazine a call and out of nowhere, offered a no-holds barred interview. Going through my credentials, they chose me as their interviewer. I was flabbergasted. But like all great things in life, there was a catch. Fearing scheduling conflicts with the girls, my editor arranged for the interview to happen ASAP – and by that, he meant the next possible afternoon. Which is today. And that was when excitement gave way to fear. Honest to God, I was scared. My wife was castrating me with her eyes. But despite threats of divorce (which I’m praying she won’t push through with since she’s such a big fan of the girls), I kissed my wonderfully understanding wife goodbye for a day and a half and took a taxi to the airport. I’m telling you, the rumors are true. When F4 beckons, you come running. And boy, did I run.

     

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