I thought waking up to the screaming was bad, but I’d take that any day to waking up to the sound of someone calling Ralph on the big white phone in the bathroom. My head was pounding and the inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper so I held the pillow tighter over my head trying to piece together the night before while the screamer continued calling dinosaurs in their native language from the next room.
Alcide and I had gotten to Vegas a little before 8 the night before. Technically, he was my personal assistant, but in reality Alcide’s job was to keep my ass out of trouble. He worked directly for my father, who was also my agent, so I couldn’t fire him no matter how many times I’d tried to in the past. It took close to a year and a trip into rehab before I finally started doing things his way.
The public knew I’d gone into rehab after that horrific car crash thinking my only problem was with alcohol, but the truth was the coke with my rum wasn’t a carbonated soda but a powdered version instead. I don’t know how my father and Pam, my publicist, were able to hide my cocaine addiction from the public, but they did. It took a lot of effort on both of their parts to get directors to even meet with me after that, so I really had to stay on the straight and narrow until I was able to land the lead in another sitcom. I tried to view it as a stepping stone to get back into feature films, but the truth was I hated it. The money was good, great even once we got to be number one in our time slot, but I wanted to do movies, not feed the audience one liners with a cocked eyebrow for laughs.
Alcide turned out to be a nice guy and became one of my closest friends, but he still had a job to do and usually could be both my friend and handler at the same time. He was always quick to get rid of the hangers on who attempted to stay around long enough for the 15 minutes of fame they might get for merely being in my presence and the countless women who wanted me not only for the fame, but for my money as well. I was pretty good about dropping money while drunk or high and the amount I’d spent on girls I knew only in the carnal sense during those times was staggering; at least that’s how my father worded it.
Alcide and I ended up bonding over poker games during my straight and narrow stint which led to me hosting games at my house in the Hollywood Hills once or twice a week. I was a pretty good player and famous enough that I was able to snag an invite to some of the celebrity poker tournaments they held in Las Vegas, which was why I was in town now. And while Alcide’s main job was to keep me away from blow and those who might have it, he usually didn’t let me get so drunk that I couldn’t remember the night before. However, the fact remained, I couldn’t remember the night before and I had no idea who was in the bathroom, but the sound of the toilet flushing and the water running in the sink gave me high hopes their expedition in uneating was over.
I sat up, immediately regretting it when the room spun, and closed my eyes with my face buried in my hands waiting for it to stop. Why was it you were so much more in tune with the earth spinning on its axis when you had excess alcohol in your system?
“Holy shit! You have one too!” the mystery yacker’s voice shrieked from the bathroom doorway.
I’d planned on slowly peeking through my fingers to make sure the room had stopped spinning, but apparently she had other ideas because my left hand was ripped from my face and I opened my eyes to see the top of a blond head peering down at the top of my hand.
“Yes, I was born with two of them,” I said snatching it back and waving both hands in her face, “they came as a matching set.”
Even with the horrified look on her face she was still smoking hot and the sheet wrapped tightly around her hinted at a curvaceous figure. It was a shame that I didn’t remember fucking her because I was sure I had a great time doing it. Wanting to refresh my memory of her naked body, I felt my eyebrow rise up along with another part of my anatomy, her hurl-fest and my hangover long forgotten, and asked, “What was your name again sweetheart?”
Her horrified expression turned into incredulity before morphing into disgust (as an actor I pay attention to those things) before she spat out, “It’s right there on your finger! Read it for yourself!”
What was she, 12? Who else writes on other people’s hands but 12 year olds? I looked down and spotted what she was referring to.
“What does that say?” I asked. I licked my finger with my nonexistent spit, but when I tried to rub the ink away I noticed the skin was tender and the ink wasn’t coming off.
“It says ‘Sookie’s’.”
“What the fuck is a ‘Sookie’?”
An outraged gasp preceded her angry reply. “I’m Sookie!” My gaze met hers and I was temporarily thrown by how beautiful her blue eyes were until she dropped them to her feet and mumbled out, “Nice to meet you.”
I couldn’t help laughing at how innocent she seemed, blush and all, but I knew that couldn’t be the case if she was naked in my hotel room. I might not remember the details, but I had no doubts about the crux of what occurred the night before. My sticky johnson was all the proof I needed.
I turned on the charm hoping to get her to agree to an encore performance and purred out, “Nice to meet you Sookie. Why don’t you come back to bed and we can get to know each other a little better.”
“Does that not bother you at all?” she asked pointing down at where she’d obviously drawn her name on my ring finger. Who else but a girl would make the two ‘o’s’ in their name into hearts? I was about to make a crude comment about if it was her finger, then it belonged on or in her, but she beat me to the punch saying, “Because mine bothers me!”
I looked at the hand she was waving around, but I had to snatch it out of the air and hold it still to be able to make out what it said. I grinned seeing ‘Eric’s’ and pulled her hand towards my dick saying, “Well if it’s mine, then it belongs with me.”
“Asshole!” she yelled pulling her hand away.
“What’s the problem?” I asked. “It’s pretty obvious we’ve already fucked, so why can’t we do it again?”
“Yeah, about that…do you have any STD’s I need to be concerned with?” She was wearing a pissed face now so I doubted I’d be getting any.
If that was the case, I had no more use for her so I went back to trying to get the ink off of my skin and replied, “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but no, I do not have any STD’s. I never head into any port in a storm without my jacket on my johnson.” She was hot enough that I probably would’ve kept her around for the weekend, but her attitude was grating on my last nerve. I’d find pussy elsewhere.
“That’s just fabulous,” she said sarcastically. “Would you mind pointing out where this invisible jacket is because it would really ease my mind.”
The ink wasn’t budging at all and it was really starting to piss me off. The last thing I wanted to do was sit at a poker table with fucking hearts drawn all over my finger. “What kind of fucking ink did you use?”
“Ha!” she said, again with the sarcasm. “I didn’t do that…at least I don’t think I did.” I looked up when she sighed and noted again how pretty she was as she ran her hand through her fucked up hair before she admitted, “I really don’t remember much of anything from last night, but I’m almost positive that these,” she pointed to our hands, “are tattoos. And I can’t find a wrapper or a rubber anywhere so unless they’re all hiding underneath your naked ass, I don’t think we used any.”
Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck! I never fucked without protection. NEVER! I hopped out of bed and went to my suitcase knowing I had a brand new box of them packed away inside and prayed for the best. My heart sank when I pulled the new unopened box of condoms from my bag and dropped it onto the dresser saying, “Fuck…”
I eyed this Sookie person in front of me and wondered what God awful diseases she might be carrying and made a mental note to kick Alcide’s ass when I saw him later. Where the fuck was he when I was fucking this chick without a rubber on? A part of my hungover brain knew it wasn’t, nor would it ever be, part of Alcide’s job to cover my dick in latex, but still…where the fuck was he?
“Great, that’s just great!” she ranted, her southern accent becoming more prominent with her anger. “You always cover your johnson huh? Are you sure about that? Because God knows you’ve been pictured with enough skanks over the years so I have a right to know what you could’ve potentially passed on to me.”
What in the hell? She was like an angry kitten and it was kind of turning me on, but her words were pissing me the fuck off. “I assure you sweetheart, I’m clean. I get tested regularly, but what about you? You’re quick to throw my morals under the bus along with proclaiming my choice of dates as ‘skanks’, but the fact remains that we don’t know each other and yet here you are wearing nothing more than my cum and a sheet. So you tell me who the skank is.”
She moved pretty quickly for an angry kitten because I felt the slap across my face without ever seeing her hand move from her side and she angrily choked out an obligatory, “Fuck you!”
I watched her snatch her clothes from the end of the bed and as she stomped into the bathroom I called out, “You already did, but it must not have been any good since I can’t remember it!” The only response I got was her slamming the door behind her.
The slamming and yelling had brought my headache back to the forefront of my mind so I crawled back into bed so I could sleep it off once Skankerella (I dubbed her princess of the skanks in my mind) left my room. I heard the bathroom door open up a minute later and the sound of her breath hitching in her throat made me look over at her. I wished I hadn’t because the sight of her tears made me feel even worse, but I stayed quiet figuring it was all a lost cause anyway knowing I was the last person she would want comfort from. Besides, I wasn’t the comforting type.
I closed my eyes again once she made it through the bedroom door, but the sound of multiple voices made them open back up. It sounded as though she was arguing with someone so I felt better thinking it wasn’t just me she was a bitch to. I almost closed them again, but I heard footsteps heading my way moments before Alcide strolled through the door.
“Why do you have a black eye?” I asked him. His left eye was swollen and black and blue, but I didn’t remember him having it the night before. He’d gotten into more than one shoving match with the paparazzi that perpetually followed me everywhere I went and figured he got too close and personal with another camera.
He had the nerve to look at me as though I should know, but then his expression turned sullen before grabbing a pair of my track pants from the drawer and throwing them at me saying, “Get dressed and come out into the living room.” He turned and left the room before I could ask any more questions so I got up and went to the bathroom to drain my bladder and brush my teeth before pulling on the pants and a t-shirt and heading into the next room. I was greeted by the sight of Alcide sitting on one couch facing the opposite couch where my one night stand and another chick were sitting side by side.
Sookie was crying on the other girl’s shoulder, literally, and my guilt came back tenfold so I ignored them, pretending I didn’t see them, and took a seat next to Alcide asking, “What’s going on?”
“After the stunt you pulled last night, you have the balls to ask me ‘What’s going on?’ I’ll tell you what’s going on, the shit has hit the fan thanks to you and you’re missus over there, so now we need to circle the wagons and figure out where we go from here.”
I must have killed more brain cells than I’d thought because I could have sworn he referred to Sookie as my ‘missus’. She must have been missing the same number of brain cells because I saw her head shoot up in my peripheral right before she screamed, “What?”
Her friend sat back and stuck her finger in her ear saying, “Keep it down for God’s sake Sook, I had a bit too much cheer myself last night.”
Sookie looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights saying, “But he said ‘missus’!” We both looked down at our tattooed fingers before looking up at each other and I ended up thinking out loud when I said, “Fuck my life.”