I thought about breakfast. What was there to have? Eggs? Cholesterol. Pancakes? Carbs. Cereal? Carbs and sugar. Ugh...what was this? Hollywood's favorite diet?
sigh My best friend apparently couldn't stand the name Angela...so yah, it's Bailey now. Gah. Sry guys. I might or might not go back and change it in my last post so I thought I'd give you a head's up. Ciao ;)
Chapter Two: Hollywood's Favorite Diet
"Jesus Christ, will you just go on!" I slowly turned from my mirror when I heard Brendon growling his angry remark, sitting on the edge of the bed. I stopped trying to do the clasp on my pearls and cocked my head at him, an amused smirk on my face. "Brendy...are you arguing with your socks?" I had a hard time holding back the laughter that threatened to spill from my throat. He was so adorable when he was frustrated.
"Yeah," he sighed heavily, glaring down at his brown socks. The thin, soft material didn't look like the kind that would give you a hard time, but then that was life in general. Never what you think.
"Maybe you should try flip-flops." I snickered, going back to blindly fiddling with the clasp behind my neck. I hated necklaces like that. I swore it had to be a man who invented them. Before I realized he had moved, I felt Brendon's thin, warm fingers graze the back of my neck as he did up my necklace within seconds.
"You're just jealous because I can speak sock." he teased me right back, kissing me quickly when I turned to stick my tongue out at him. We were getting ready to go out to dinner at Fin, a fine dining Chinese restaurant in the Mirage that walked a line between edgy and elegant. As I studied my torso in the mirror before me, satin the color of champagne seemed to exaggerate my hips. A frown graced my features and I smoothed the soft fabric over my stomach. My tummy wasn't completely flat and it had been bothering me more and more lately. Disgusted I turned, walking quickly around Brendon and into the closet we shared.
"What?" he was concerned, worried that he was the problem, something he had done or said. I continued on through my clothes, even as he followed me.
"Nothing, I just don't like this shirt." I mumbled, taking a similar, black top from it's hanger and quickly exchanging it with the satin one.
"Okay..." he gave me an odd look for no more than a second or two before sighing and telling me he was going to go start the car. I silently nodded, studying my figure in my mirror. Again my eyes fixated on my hips. I sighed and grabbed my clutch and sweater, not wanting to worry my boyfriend over something so stupid. I was just going to have to work out a little more and eat a little less, that was all, nothing to concern him over. He'd just come back from tour after all.
Reservations for two, 8 o'clock?- check.
Boys gone out for the night?- check.
Two young kids in love?- check.
It was nearly surreal to be going out to dinner with Brendon again after three whole months absent of him. He was lucky I hadn't jumped him in the bedroom while getting ready, otherwise we def. would have missed out on our reservations.
As dimly lit paper walls swallowed us into an oriental seduction scene we occupied ourselves with our menus. Hmm, the scallops looked pretty good. Though as I looked down I couldn't help but remember the way my hips had seemed to bulge in my mirror earlier. My scallops were pan-fried and came in a black-bean sauce. Guilt washed over me like the high tide during a full moon.
'Already off your diet? Are you serious about losing this weight or not?' a voice in my head scolded.
Immediately I began scanning for something much lighter. Within a few minutes our waiter came back to ask us what we'd like. Brendon ordered the shrimp curry fried rice. My stomach jerked with hunger at the mention of something so delicious. Sighing lightly I resolved myself to:
"Umm, can I get the shiitake mushrooms in vinegar, please?"
"Sure, is that an appetizer or your entrÃ©e?" our waiter asked.
"Oh, entrÃ©e, thanks." Smiling I gave up my menu and watched him walk away.
"Mushrooms?" Brendon yanked my attention back towards him. His voice was low, frown deeply cutting a path along his forehead. "That's all you're going to eat is mushrooms?"
"I'm not that hungry." I shrugged, "We ate a lot at Maitland's." And it was sort of the truth, we'd all shared a bowl of nachos and salsa, some old salad and some popcorn, but Davey had consumed most of that. "Don't worry about it!" I insisted, brightening my smile, "Now tell me stories from tour. I know there's gotta be a /few/ good ones." I requested, sipping at my water.
"Oh, there's more than a few." laughter spilled from his lips just thinking about it. I licked my own mouth, watching him. It had been a /long /three months. "There was this one night when a bunch of us decided to go clubbing because Pete had met this really hot girl and he wanted to take her out, get a little action, you know Pete."
I nodded, smirking with anticipation at how his story was going to turn out.
"So we ask around at the show and some guy suggests this place call 'Blowoff'. Now, why we didn't catch on /then/ still amazes me, but we didn't. So we get there, a bunch of emo-boys in tight-ass clothes with one girl among us, right, and it turns out that it's a gentlemen's club only, if you know what I mean."
I giggled, rolling my eyes at the thought of ironically straight, scene kids walking into a gay bar.
"/Everyone/ was staring us down. We got hit on by men in their late twenties I don't know how many times, it was classic. Ryan even started flirting with one just for the shit of it. I about pissed myself watching him."
I was shaking with soft laughter by now and even Brendon couldn't help the occasional chuckle from intruding on his story.
"Bails, I'm serious! He does that act a little /too/ well. You should really ask him to show you later, it's hilarious."
"Brendon..." I leaned forward in my seat to speak low as I realized something, "Who did you /dance/ with?"
"Well," He shifted in his seat and shrugged, "I mean there were a /few/ girls there, but"-
My eyes grew as wide as my grin, "No!" I gasped.
"Hey it was /three /songs, okay."
"You grinded with gay boys!" I snickered. He rolled his eyes, still smirking.
"Ya know what yes, yes I did. Do we really have to announce this to the whole world?" he pleaded through his laughter.
"Oh my gosh," I shook my head, still grinning as I avoided his gaze for a few moments. However, I couldn't help one last jab... "Did you like it?"
One glare from Brend made me shut up.
"Sorry," I smiled, holding back the giggles. "So, tell me more stories."
I woke up the next morning in a mess of rumpled comforter and sheets that twisted around us tightly like cyclones. My head felt heavy and the growling in my stomach was reminiscent of the way glaciers broke off from their ice sheets in the arctic, crashing and melting into the water below. I ignored this, glad to feel the hunger as it chipped away at my insides. Unwrapping myself from our bed sheets I noticed I had on Brendon's boxers. My gaze shifted to notice the other body in my bed, half expecting to see my bra clasped around his chest. A tired smirk found me when the thought went unentertained. I threw the covers back and went to take a shower, stretching like a cat as I waited for the water to warm up.
I thought about breakfast. What was there to have? Eggs? Cholesterol. Pancakes? Carbs. Cereal? Carbs /and /sugar. Ugh...what was this? Hollywood's favorite diet? Finally I gave up, figuring I could just grab some OJ from the fridge and wait until lunch to have solid food. I'd never been a big breakfast person anyways.
I dried off in the bathroom, going into the closet to find some clothes. I managed to get on some underwear and a bra before the label on my jeans halted my mission of getting dressed for the day. My eyes couldn't tear away from the small, black 9 printed on the same tag that told me the jeans had been 'made in China'. A nine...it didn't /sound/ so horrible, but Davey was a size 5, Maitland a size 4. I glanced over at my reflection in our full-length, closet mirror. I turned sideways, my hands groping disapprovingly at the fat on my thighs. My waist looked fine from that angle but taking the mirror face-on was a different story. Lovehandles where hip-bones should have been prominent, pudge outlined a barely-there oval on my stomach. I ran my hand over the soft skin of my tummy, feeling the layer of fat and the hard muscle of abs beneath. I didn't like what I saw, plain and simple.
"You're not fat you know." Brendon's voice hit me like dark clouds, as though I'd been caught digging my own grave. I turned to find him in the doorway of our closet, clad in clean boxers and a worried frown. The smile I offered him in return was bright and happy, the kind I used to give my parents when they asked if everything was okay.
"I know, I just want to tone up a little. It's nothing to worry about, really." I took his hands in mine and closed the space between us with a slow kiss. He backed off unexpectedly and gave me a serious look, as though I was a child who wasn't taking him seriously when he told me to behave.
"I don't want you to hurt yourself. Not like Nadia." Nadia had been one of Brendon's best friends for years. I remembered her dark, choppy hair; small, pointed features. A sprite of a girl with a loud mouth. She'd been bulimic for a time, but what was he worried about? I certainly wasn't going bulimic. The very thought of compulsively puking made my nerves weak. I remembered the bag of bones Nadia had wasted down to, how frail she'd been. That was enough to scare me out of ever wanting to stick my finger down my throat.
"Brendon, I'm /fine/." I insisted, pulling away from him. The only response he could give me was a silent nod. I knew what he was thinking: It was no use to keep fighting with me. He was scared of pushing me away, of being the bad cop. A sigh escaped my lips, "Look, I'm gunna go for a run, you wanna go?"
I was only asking to be polite, I knew he hated running with a passion. I didn't blame him. Quite honestly I wasn't crazy about it either, but I knew it was the best way to lose weight fast, so I had no choice really.
"Ew. I'll pass, thanks. Have you had breakfast?" he stopped just before walking out.
"Yeah," I threw on a pair of gym shorts, nodding (lying) absently as I searched for my sports bra. 'That's a great sign, I can't even /find /my work out clothes.'
"Alright," he ran a hand through his hair, "I'm gunna take a shower. I love you."
"Love you more, have fun." I waved to him, watching him close the closet door.
The boys were home by the time I panted through the kitchen door, a 3-mile jog under my belt. I felt proud about the length of my run, but I hadn't been able to stop spitting the whole time. I knew that was a sign of being out of shape and possibly one of dehydration as well. Whether it was a sign or not, I /knew/ my body needed water. The sharp taste of salt coated the inside of my mouth, I was dizzy and could barely think straight. I went immediately for some ice water, still feeling the heat of a Las Vegas sun beating on my skin, the glaring light burning through my pupils like photo prints left under a magnifying glass by a window.
"Check out the Bailster, all hot and sweaty." I stopped gulping down water like a horse for long enough to give Brent a sideways grin.
"Hey babe," my breath was still coming heavy, "What did you get up to last night?"
"Meh, you know, selling myself for the ladies, the usual." he shrugged. I chortled lightly, sipping at my water. "No, seriously, we just went around to see people. Dan & Davey, Nadia, Mace."
"Just checkin' up on the whores, then?"
"Hey, it ain't easy being a pimp." his assurance came complete with a pointer finger being waggled in my direction.
"Oh, I believe it." I played along, "Brendon tells me it's really difficult out there." I motioned to my boyfriend as he walked into the kitchen and stole some of my water. Bastard.
"What's really difficult?" he asked us, completely oblivious.
"Like Brendon would know--Brendon /is/ my whore!"
"Bitch! I know you did /not /just go there!" He snapped his fingers and performed a perfect 'black girl' impression, hip sway and all, before screaming at the top of his lungs. "RYAN! WHERE'S MY PIMP CANE! BRENT NEEDS A BEATING!"
"I think you left it in bed with us last night." I cut in casually, smirking.
"/That's /right!" Brendon laughed and Brent just shook his head, throwing up his hands and walking out.
"I don't even /want/ to know." he chuckled.
"That's right, just go back to your whores." I called after him, grinning. Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ, I'd missed these boys. Brendon was making an even bigger mess of all the take-out in our fridge. They'd been here what, two days? And already their shit was growing mold in my fridge. Such /guys/.
"So, how was your run?" he asked, smelling something, making an adorably disgusted face and shoving it back in the fridge.
"Meh, it was alright--Hey! Where's Ryan? I need to see that gay act of his, remember?!" and with that I bounded off to find 'Thuper Boy'. I found him lazying around on the couch on his back. That's my little sloth.
"Aha! Watching /The Simple Life/! I caught you Ross!" I jumped over the back of the couch, straddling my favorite lyricist and snatching the remote from his idle hands before he could even realize that he was being attacked.
"What the shit?!?!--/Hey/! Give that back you whore!" he made feeble grabs for it, finally inspired to move.
"Excuse me, I'm not the one watching Paris Hilton milk cows!" I leaped up from the couch and ran around to the other side of the coffee table, blocking his view of the t.v. as I switched it to a random number. Apparently Oprah was on.
He ran after me and I shrieked as I remembered how fast he was on his feet. A few times through the 'couch and coffee table obstacle course' made him realize that this was getting us nowhere and finally he bull-rushed me, attempting to tackle me to the ground. How could someone that skinny be that strong? I'm telling you, it isn't normal. Anyways, we ended up on the floor, wrestling for claim of the title 'Keeper of the Remote'.
Ryan pinned me, knocked the remote from my hands, but with both hands suddenly free I managed to throw him off long enough to make a dive for the hand-held prize. Of course sloth-boy saw his opportunity and jumped on me, trying to pull my arm back.
"OW! /MOTHER-FUCKER/!" I screamed when he really did pull my arm back. Where the hell was my boyfriend in all of this? Was he even thinking about helping me? As I threw Ryan off again, only to grab his legs and trip him back down the ground, I glanced up and noticed Brendon
completely enthralled with /Oprah/. Rolling my eyes, I pounced on Ryan and hit another random number. C-SPAN. I actually laughed out loud at the look on Brendon's face as he suddenly turned on us.
"Hey! I was watching that!"
"Stop being a pussy and come help me!" I shouted at him. Well, he did help--for about ten seconds before he grabbed the remote for himself and forced us all to watch /Oprah/.
Cha right. Ryan and I exchanged glances that said 'We /have /to do something about this' and pounced on Brendon.
sigh It was good to have everyone home.