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Shame on you for thinking
You're an exception
We're all to blame
Crashing down to earth
Wasting and burning out
Fading like a dead star
- Dead Star, Muse
30.1.05
StarrStruck
Act I, Scene I: Plane and Simple
You’ve probably got me pegged as some cold-blooded reptilian bitch whose had everything handed to her on a silver platter (and has the mental capacity of someone whose vocabulary consists of ‘like, whatever’). But it’s not like that at all. I’m not some spoilt little rich kid and I’m certainly not some demanding diva.
It’s just that if my herbal tea isn’t specially imported from China, I can’t and won’t drink it. I refuse to. I mean, that’s not too much to ask, is it?
“What the hell is this?” I demand, staring down in disgust into the murky depths of the airline’s sorry excuse for tea. Beside me, Cha Cha barks in agreement.
The stewardess narrows her eyes darkly at him but says nothing. My poor baby – being given the eye by a stewardess whose nametag proudly proclaims her as something as facile as ‘Mandy.’
Mandy, I snort. How freaking dandy.
“It’s tea Miss,” Mandy informs me, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If you don’t like it, we can gladly take an unauthorized stop in Hong Kong just to please her highness.”
I roll my eyes. Oh yeah, like I didn’t catch the sarcasm in that one.
But I grace the stewardess with a saccharine smile and squeal in a fashion that makes me want to gag, cringe, and poke my eye out with a blunt pencil. Repeatedly. “Oh my gawd. Really? For me?” I bat my eyelashes and clasp my hands against my chest. “Aww, you really shouldn’t go to all that trouble.” Extra giggle here, hair twirl there.
Bingo.
I suppress the urge to throw my head back and laugh as she throws me the dirtiest look ever and waddles (and believe me – waddles is the right word for it, what with the total movement restriction her skanky little skirt provides. And they call me the Diva Slut of Hollywood? Puh-lease!) behind me to my soon-to-be-co-star, Mr. Jensen Who-The-Hell-Is-He Thatcher. A nobody. A nothing. A no-hoper.
“And what would Mr. Thatcher like?” she purrs, her tone immediately seductive.
“How about a barf bag?” I mutter. Gag me with a ten-foot ski pole.
I’m pretty sure she hasn’t heard me because Airline Bitch’s glare isn’t filled with a whole lot of conviction, so I blow her Starr Matheis’ trademark kiss, complete with middle finger.
She flounces off to harass some other business-class passenger – ugh, I know I told Jack to get me something low-budget, but the producers couldn’t even afford to send us to Australia in a private jet! What is with that?
“A bit harsh, don’t you think?” a voice behind me drawls, the tiniest hint of his Louisianan upbringing evident in his otherwise L.A-perfected speech. “I mean, she just might have been star-struck, you know?”
He chuckles in amusement to himself, not seeming to notice the murderous glint in my eye. That joke has been around for ten years and has been the bane of my existence for just as long.
Die.
I give him a blank look.
“I don’t get it. Was that supposed to be a joke?” I remark snidely. I can’t help it – lengthy flights bring out the bitch in me. As does – according to a large majority of the media - everything else. Oh, boo hoo. Let them bitch. Their lives revolve around me. If I weren’t going around making such public displays of myself, they wouldn’t even have jobs.
Thatcher’s mouth widens in surprise, but he sets his jaw firmly.
Good. That sure as hell shut him up.
“Well,” he snaps, his cobalt eyes darkening in irritation. “I would have thought you’d recognise a joke for what it is. Considering you’re the biggest one of them all.”
- Jensen -
“Go to hell,” Princess seethes. The look on her face is downright hilarious – oh yeah, and murderous. That too.
She seems to think that all those years being America’s Spoilt Brat is going to have some kind of effect on me. But frankly, I couldn’t give a single damn.
I may have only been a D-list brainless, talent-less slab of muscle in her eyes, but it didn’t look like she was such a hot-shot celebrity hoo-ha either.
After all, she was the one who’d had to resort to some crappy, low-budget film with a whacked-up director who’d probably thought it would be just peachy to send us Down Under. (Hadn’t he freaking read the extra notes I’d given him? I hadn’t sent them just for kicks. I actually am allergic to that golden wattle crap, thanks.) Me doing the gig is pretty understandable. Heck, I’d beenfreaking overjoyed to hear I’d gotten the part. But imagine my surprise when the Starr of Slut Stardom had not only shown up at LAX Airport yesterday morning, but also, hell, boarded my plane. To freaking Australia.
I may have been an underwear model, but I certainly wasn’t a brainless moron.
That had been too much of a coincidence.
And not even a welcome one, either.
Princess turns back around in her seat, crosses her arms over her ample, so-obviously-fake chest and proceeds to burn a hole through the seat in front of her. Her chichiwa…chuwacha…her dog peers at me from the gap between the seats and growls. Oh, geez. Even her fucking dog wants to tear me apart.
Who the hell does Starr Matheis think she is, anyway?
I mean, I hadn’t really given a damn about that stewardess (her breasts could have done with some work) but what was her beef with me?
I’d only made one teensy, harmless little joke (and what I’d thought was a pretty good one considering I hadn’t even thought about it beforehand) and she’d gone and pulled off the Ice Bitch, guns blazing.
And I’m supposed to act like I’m in love with this chick?Somehow I don’t think any actor in the whole of Hollywood, regardless of experience, has the talent (or balls) to pull that off.
I, Jensen Sebastian Thatcher, who has never uttered a single word throughout my entire profession, (besides, of course, the occasional ‘Mary, are you sure that’s how it’s supposed to fit?’) have just volunteered myself for the impossible.
Just fucking peachy.
I shift in my seat awkwardly, trying to find myself a comfortable position, which shouldn’t even have been hard considering we were flying Business Class, American Airlines, but let me just explain that me and flying?
Yeah. Not the greatest combination.
Turbulence. I blame the turbulence.
The man across the aisle peers at me oddly over some folded-over schmutzy entertainment magazine (Star Magazine – named after the one and only sitting in front of me, back when she was still in her childhood prime) and I smile weakly, trying to maintain a cool, calm composure and not exactly, um, succeeding.
That’s when I notice the headline on page 12. That’s also about the same time my blood runs cold.
“Princess,” I whisper, leaning forward to tug at her (oh-so-expensive, I’m sure) sleeve to get her attention. Never mind that I’d just completely insulted her half an hour before. “Princess.”
Her eyes are blazing with fury (she can obviously hold a grudge, as the Los Angeles Times’ entertainment section will tell you – if her feud with the Hilton heiresses is anything to go by) as she twists around in her seat irritably.
“What the hell do you want?” she hisses. “And get your filthy hands off my shirt. It’s Prada, thank you.” She slaps the offending hand off her elbow and stares me down as if willing me to rise to the bait.
And I would have. Really.
But at the moment, as a crapload of turbulence rocks the plane, all I can do is heave out today’s lunch, narrowly missing her hand (darn) but hitting a good portion of her Prada sleeve (evil grin here).
For a moment all she can do is stare down at her sleeve in disbelief, trying to grasp the concept that she is now wearing the contents of my lunch. Yippee.
Then realization dawns.
“You idiot!” she shrieks, unlatching her seat belt and rising to her feet. “You complete moron.” Never mind that the entire Business Class is now attentive to the scene before them and seems to think this is better entertainment than one of the airline’s movies.
I hear the sickening gunshots a la the wedding scene in Kill Bill 2, before Princess starts aiming obscenities my way once again. Bam ,bam, bam.
Despite the sickening lurch in my stomach and the putrid mess on the floor, I find my mouth quirking up into a self-satisfied smirk.
If Starr Matheis hadn’t wanted to kill me before, she was definitely ready to stab me with her perfectly-manicured nails now.
She hates me.
Plain and simple.
And then, to my complete glee, I give another heave and proceed to empty my stomach onto her shoes. (Probably Prada.)
August 12, 04 - Issue 34
Star Magazine
Starr and Jensen: Outback Romance!
Yes, you heard it here first, folks.
Jonathon Dowler, half-brother of big-time producer Christian Laurent, is set to direct an exciting new movie set in the Australian outback. According to Dowler, it features two high-school sweethearts, Madison and Louis, thrown miles apart by a pack of wild dingoes. Years later Louis will trek thousands of miles, searching for his lost love – stolen from him by the Australian beasts. But is Madison even alive? And even if she is, will she remember who he is?
Despite its low-budget and fairly unheard-of director, this movie is predicted to be 2005’s teen movie.
And who will be playing the lead roles? Yes, you guessed it, child-star Starr Matheis and last year’s Calvin Klein toy boy, Jensen (Jet) Thatcher!
Sparks will fly!
Star magazine, Prada, Calvin Klein and American Airlines are all real-life things and are in no way affiliated with me. Kay,thanks! :D
This chapter is especially dedicated to Harmonized – sweetie, I wish you and your boyfriend the best. :)
Thank you to:
Greene: Hehe, thanks for the review!
Marissa: I’m glad you like it. :D
Sleeping Angel: Guy Sebastian with a beard! Double ugh. :P vomits on you LOL!
whacked: Lol, haha thanks for waiting for the next chapter. You know me too well. I should really kick the bad habit of updating slowly, shouldn’t I? sigh Anyhow, thanks for the great review :D
Final Rose: Thanks. I’m glad you liked the ending. J Yep, lots of sparks will fly.
AlienRiceBall: Yeah, I’m glad you picked up on how Jensen doesn’t really like Starr. Wow, you perceptive reader, you. Thanks a bunch for reading!
xiaobudian: Thanks, I’m glad you like it.
ShadowWolf09: Lol, yeah the point was to make them both self-absorbed and see how two self-absorbed people would deal with each other. Yeah, Doug’s awesome. Hehehe. Thanks for reading!
Shy-Lil-Dreamer: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate it heaps! :D
QuOtAta: Hehehe, thanks for reading and reviewing. I’m glad you think the start is interesting.
living dead: I kinda like Jensen too, though he’s just a tad self-absorbed. Thanks so much for checking out my stories. You rock. :D Yeah, I know I tend to update slowly…I should really work on that. Anyway, thanks. :)
Salt and Vinegar Pringles: awww 'two thumb's up' I'm so touched. Thanks so much. :D
