"I am seventeen!" I shrieked, "He has got them thinking I'm a prostitute! How creepy is that!? What does that ugly, sniveling, perverted horn-dog idiot stepbrother to me and personal associate of Satan, think he is playing at?!" I was so incensed that I hardly took a moment to notice that my best friends, Felicia and Kevin, were both laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their cheeks.
I was somewhat less amused.
Cell-phone clutched in my well manicured right hand, I paced in front of the large faux-marble fire place, mentally planning vengeance against the aforementioned pussy-twat of the first water stepbrother, who was oh so unfortunately born of the womb belonging to my father's second wife.
"Lucy, Lucy!" Kevin was so hysterical that he had even lost his delightfully feminine mannerisms, his voice was maniacal with glee at my horror and anger, a crumpled newspaper in one hand of cotton-candy pink nails with silver tips, "I'm not saying it wasn't a really rotten thing to do, but even you, have to admit that…" but he was lost in another chorus of laughter. The fit young man was sporting a trendy hairstyle, recently dyed to be even fairer than my own naturally golden hair.
Felicia took over, a lock of her shoulder length brown hair was caught on her Monroe piercing, but she moved it away from her mouth, then said, "It's pretty brilliant, Madam Lulu!" her dark skin and native-American features were infused by bright red eye-shadow. Bone straight hair dangling over her Tiger Army t-shirt.
I fired up again, my face bright red, I grabbed the nearest pillow from the couch and screamed into it.
My stupid, sick-minded stepbrother is called Paul. I call him Beelzebub.
He is a year older than me and a useless waste of human-meat. Ever since I was eleven years old and my father married his mother and adopted the unholy spawn as his own child, I've suffered in silence.
Well, not so much in silence, as in completely ignored tantrums.
When I was thirteen, he wrote a short story and signed my name on it then he made sure to put it somewhere that my father could find it. The story was called "cutting away the pain", to give you a preliminary idea of the main body of the text.
My father had not confronted me about it for six months. He just put me in counseling without a proper explanation, though I begged to know what had happened to make him decide I needed professional help.
So, for a half year, I was branded a problem child in spite of the overwhelming evidence that I had never so much as mentioned to anyone that I felt "the only way to gain happiness is to destroy my human coil!" I've also never had sexual fantasies about Charles Manson, Ed Gein or the Marquee De Sade, despite several rather in depth paragraphs that implied otherwise.
A year later, he claimed he had seen me making out with a tree but by then people were starting to realize that he was a sick lying little beast, so he had to come up with more cold-hard and perfectly fake evidence to convince everyone that I was unstable and possibly dangerous.
Eventually, he had gotten bored of this strain, and instead resorted to theft and vandalism of my personal property.
Okay, so I couldn't prove that he was the one who had replaced all my CD's with copies of a book-on-tape about building proper self esteem, in Spanish, which as far as I could tell was titled; Felicidad para la vida!.
And there was no evidence that he had hidden those twenty-five feral rats under my bed last summer.
But, you should have seen the smug look on his rat-like face! It was definitely him, he was getting better and better in his reprehensible schemes to make my life hell à la carte.
But this time he had gone so far over the proverbial line that I wondered if it was really him, or some unknown and unbalanced serial killer stalker.
"Let me see that again," Felicia whipped her mascara covered eyes, and the pamphlet that Kevin had found on the side of the road earlier that morning, "You do look pretty hot."
"Gimme that!" I snatched the paper from her hand and glared down at the pamphlet she was referring too.
The picture that Paul had used, for his latest prank, sadly, was a very attractive one of me laid out on a plastic floating bed in the pool out back of our house, wearing the only bikini I owned. The one I only wore in the privacy of my own home, when I was feeling a little pale. It was tiny, and pink. I had only bought it because it was on sale and my stepmom was teasing me about being such a prude and too white to dance.
Anyway, I did, very tragically, look like a legitimate pervert-play-thing in the photo. My long legs were sun kissed and turned provocatively to the left of me, my waist length blonde hair spilled out around my face. I was looking up at the camera, being held by my stepmom. I was not smiling, but just about to; a sort of playful look was slowly spreading over my face. That innocent moment suddenly seemed so completely wrong now that I looked back at it. I should have asked my stepmom to put the blasted thing away and wait until I had some clothes on to freeze beautiful moments in time.
Printed over the photograph in a bright pink arial-font were the words, "36 D-CUP READY AND WAITING FOR YOUR CALL! LOVE&KISSES / MADAM LULU!" followed by my personal cell-phone number. They were all over town, after Kevin accidentally found the first one, he purposely searched the strip and managed to find a myriad of other pamphlets, just like the one I was now shredding to pieces.
Kevin had finally stopped laughing, his tongue ring clicked against his teeth as he smiled widely up at my livid face. His wide, blue, falsely innocent looking eyes still heckling my sad position.
"I can't believe how many losers have called you already." Felicia commented, with a roll of her own dark eyes.
"I can," Kevin raised and lowered his eyebrows at me, his feminine mannerisms were back on as he said, good-humoredly, "I tell you baby, if I was into all that straight-boy stuff, I'd definitely take you."
I forced a sarcastic laugh and gave Kevin my worst look as my phone rang again.
It was another number I didn't recognize, "Hello?" I demanded in a very irritated tone.
"H-hi, um, Madam Lulu?"
"No hablo inglés! Wrong number!" I snapped the phone shut.
Felicia snorted, "Madam Lulu." she sat up and straightened out her jean skirt.
"What are you going to do to get back at him?" Kevin wondered, inspecting his sparkling nails.
"What she usually does; nothing!" said Felicia her rich trained soprano voice bubbled melodiously, as she looked at me with a disapproving glare, "Are you even going to tell your dad?"
"You should call your dad and stepmom in Italy right now, and tell them what happened," Kevin suggested, motioning to the cell phone, "Do it before another interested creep calls wanting a 'date'."
I considered this for a moment. It was their anniversary, and I didn't want to ruin it with my problems, even if Paul was supposed to be their responsibility. Also, why couldn't I handle coming up with good revenge on my own? If I told her parents then I would definitely forfeit my American right to retaliate.
"You're not going to do anything about it, are you?" said Kevin dryly.
"Help me think of something I could do to get him back!" I pleaded.
"Come on, we'll discuss it over ice-cream. I've got a torch for the new guy at Joleen's." Felicia slipped her small hand in mine and started to lead me out to our cars, I was still fuming and bubbling over with venom and hateful words against my wicked stepbrother while we pulled out of the driveway and down the street to the local 50's nostalgia Ice Cream Parlor and Soda Fountain, called simply Joleen's.
I could have no idea that Paul had been just out of sight the whole time, holding his sides for fear of them splitting open, while I had answered call after call from strange men I didn't know, who were far more curious about me than anyone ever should be.
Paul emerged from my father's deserted office and went to the kitchen, and then to the family room where I had left my cell-phone on the table. I wasn't going to answer that thing again for another million years, when every sicko who had ever seen that picture had died and forgotten my number.
My evil stepbrother pocketed my cell-phone in his hoodie and went to make himself a monstrous sandwich with the leftover turkey from last Sunday's dinner. He hadn't taken more than a few steps into the kitchen when the dratted cell rang.
Without missing a beat, Paul grinned and flipped open the phone, answering with a "Hello?" in an even voice.
"Hello?" said the male voice on the other end, "I'm sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number." he laughed nervously.
"No, this is Lulu's phone, I am her boss." Paul said the last word very provocatively, before stuffing his grinning mouth full of turkey.
"O-oh… well, I was just-"
"-Interested in her unique services?" Paul finished for him in a business-like tone.
"Y-yes," said the man on the phone.
"Well, we've just had a cancellation. She's actually free right now, if you're ready for her?"
"Uh… Yes. Yes, now is very-"
"Great!" said Paul with mirth he couldn't contain, "She'll be down at Joleen's Ice Cream Parlor, do you know where that is?"