Page 20 of For Her
We’re staying in a presidential suite of a Westingham because we’re going to need the room for said guns, and after a lazy day of resting up for the event, Jack is leisurely picking at his guitar while I read a book when we hear an enthusiastic knock at the door.
“Ah! Show time,” Jack muses, as he sets his guitar down and rises off the couch to go answer it. You’d think byshow time, he means the awards ceremony. No.
Jack opens the door and in comes the tornado that is our flamboyant stylist, Enrique, with his army of hairstylists, makeup artists, and designers trailing behind him.
“Have no fear; your rockin’ stylist is here!” He sings his announcement in an Oprah-worthy tone. He pushes his grasshopper-sized sunglasses up on his head and shrugs off his faux fur trench, slinging it to the side and not even paying attention to see if one of his fifteen assistants caught it or not.
Now, take a moment and think about two of Chris Kattan’s characters onSaturday Night Live:Doug ButabiofNight at the Roxbury, andMango. If they were to have a love child, you’d have Enrique.
“Oh, my favorite rock couple!” he exclaims, skipping over to me before placing his hands on my six-month pregnant belly and giving me a side air-kiss. “There you are, my pregnant Pop-Tart!”
“Okay!” He claps his hands at the people still dragging in suitcases full of artillery and pushing in clothing racks. “Hair and make-up, set up in the bathroom! Jack’s wardrobe, in one corner of the main living area, Mayzie’s wardrobe on the other side! Move it, people!” Everyone scatters at his order like they’re afraid he’ll throw one of his punk rock spiky bracelets at them like a ninja star if they don’t. “And as for you two,” he turns back to address us as if we’re in for it, “I’ve got plans.” He steeples his fingers like some sinister character out of a cartoon.
“What sort of plans?” Jack asks and raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, sexy rock hubby, think Justin and Britney, only not the denim. We’re not top 40 pop, oh no, we arerock!” He emphasizes the last word with a fist pump. “I’m talkingleather!Leather and chains!”
Oh God.
“Are you saying you want to send us to the Grammys in some sort of S&M get-up?” I ask skeptically as Jack’s eyes widen.
“Calm down, preggers, of course not! I’m talkingtastefulleather and chains. Hard core, edgy, sexy!”
“Is the whole band going to be part of the whole leather theme?” Jack asks, resting his hands on his hips.
Enrique scoffs his response with an exaggerated eye roll before raising his voice another octave and giving it aduhtone.
“Nooo.”How dare we suggest such a thing. “Matt and Melanie’s look will be blue steel, but not the Zoolander kind, the literal kind. And Chris and Rebecca are going to be in cobra skin. Faux, of course.”
“What about Josh?” I ask, looking up when I realize he’s dressing us by couple. Josh doesn’t have a plus one.
“Copper and bronze, baby,” Enrique rattles off with hardly a thought, as one of his assistants approaches his side to show him an eyeshadow palette, likely intended for whatever frock he intends to stuff me into. He turns to peruse over the shades of grey, silver, and black.
“But he’s not part of a couple,”
“It’s being taken care of,” our stylist is quick to assure me, as he nods at his assistant before shooing her away. “Arm candy is being rustled up for him as we speak. Now…” he levels me with an intense look from his piercing blue eyes. “You know where to go,” he finishes with a jerk of his head towards the massive marble bathroom. “Buff and fluff time. And hubby, this way.” He motions Jack to follow him to the clothing racks full of black leather and more black leather. Jack takes a cleansing breath before reluctantly following him as I shuffle my pregnant ass into the bathroom where many an assistant is setting up a chair and laying out styling tools all over the expansive vanity.
I take the opportunity to close my eyes and relax, letting them do what they will. After a while when the hair dryer has been turned off, I can’t help but laugh when I hear Jack bickering with Enrique in the other room.
“For the last time, I’m not wearing eyeliner!”
“Buzzkill.”
When I emerge from the bathroom with my hair in soft curls and pinned back at the side, and my eyes have been darkened to a smoky metallic, I see Enrique and a couple of assistants back away to reveal my husband inholy shit, black leather pants, with silver chains hanging from the hip and looping around to his ass, which looks so amazingly perfect I can’t even understand it. His torso is clad in a crisp white button-down, untucked, likely to give his outfit some contrast. I can’t help letting out a whistle as I walk into the room. He looks up and gives an endearing eye roll, and when I get close enough, he leans down with his hands on my belly and whispers in my ear.
“Baby… I can’t wear anything under these. I’m totally commando,” he sighs and looks at the ceiling.
I just came.
“Are you serious?” He nods. “Um, how does that feel, baby?” I raise a seductive eyebrow at him. I’ve seen him do it only a couple of times with his jeans.
“I’m counting. The fucking. Minutes.” Poor guy, and let’s face it, poor me. I’m going to be turned on all night at the thought of him free-balling it.
“Hair. Go. Now.” Enrique interrupts the sexy moment, ordering Jack to the bathroom so he can get his shaggy hair punked out.
I roll my eyes as I follow Enrique to the clothing racks.
“So exactly how much did you think this through? You realize leather is going to look like sausage casing on me right now, right?”