"Of How I Learnt to Hate a Rock Star"

That stupid, stuck up, obnoxious Shane Gray!

They called Connie's catering this morning, asking for service from a guy called Cesario (weird name, big money; that's what mom always says) and due to the fact that my mom is on a "second honey moon" with my dad (yuck! Don't even ask about it) I have to answer to that call myself.

The guy that called, Brown Cesario (weirder name, lots more of cash) asked me, in a clear British accent, if I wasn't too young for the job.

I think I've heard that on a cartoon somewhere. After I assured him I could keep up with whatever they'd ask me to do, he shrugged his shoulders, deciding to believe me and conduced me to the kitchen of the yacht.

"And I have to warn you, young lady" he said before leaving me to my cooking "I have a VERY special nephew…"

Special like what? Did he have any disabilities? I just nodded to signal him I had taken that and processed it on my mind and was ready to move my hands. The man left and I puffed; why was I even interested of what he had to say about his retarded nephew? I was there to cook and only that…

Yeah, well, that's what I thought until HE crashed inside the kitchen.

Shane Gray, the famous pop star band Connect 3's lead singer had just entered the kitchen I was preparing egg rolls in. I have no intentions of lying to you by saying I am not aware of how famous this guy is or that I don't have a copy of their latest CD or that I don't own a HUGE poster of him and his band mates.

I was about to introduce myself in a shaky, nervous, oh-my-god-I'm-a-huge-fan-of-yours way when he decided to shot me a look, that went from the top of my head (that I had covered with a hair net to keep food sanitation) to the tip of my toes, covered with plain white flats, passing by the white and boring catering uniform. I wasn't wearing my black mini or my push up corsé and suddenly wished I had; not everyday a famous popstar crosses your way and when they do, I can assure you, you want to look your best.

"What's with the baby cook?" he snorted as he opened the refrigerator door and took a bottle of Pellegrino's water.

Baby cook? Now I could get why Brown had tried to warn me about his nephew; he WAS retarded, but as I was there to work and I still expected to get a good payment I decided to stay professional and look past his stupid comment "Despite how young I may look, I am able to handle and prepare high quality meals" I responded, trying to sound refined, just to shut the hell up him.

He raised an eyebrow and sipped his Pellegrino "I just hope you know I'm allergic to eggs… and flour" he threw a dirty look to the eggrolls I was just preparing and then stormed off.

I guess what they say is true; Rockstars are plain jerks.

I kept on making my egg rolls in peace, hoping he would choke on one of them when he ate; I had only put them in the oven for only fifteen minutes when HE was back to bug me:

"What's that smell?" he plugged his nose and gave me the same dirty look he had given to my poor innocent egg rolls just minutes before.

"Butter" I nodded and replied with as much niceness as my annoyance allowed me to show.

"You're not expecting I eat THAT, are you?" he pointed to the oven with disdain.

I was about to shove the oven tray on his ass when Mr. Cesario (I always have to call my bosses with respect and by their last name) appeared on the door.

"Yes! Exactly what I thought I was smelling; egg rolls!" he spoke with enthusiasm "young lady, I'm afraid you have earned double your payment!"

I felt like sticking my tongue out to Shane when Brown wrote me a large check and passed it to me, but I was still working so I still had to keep my professionalism. I thanked him as I hid the check in the bag of my apron and then turned to check on the egg rolls. I had to thank Shane (who was now being reprimanded by Brown for being rude) because I was sure that Brown had doubled my check's value due to HIM and HIS horrible comments on my food and me.

"Perhaps you could… come by again tomorrow?" Brown tried on his polite tone when I was ready to go.

I considered it for a while and found three strong reasons to say no:

One: Shane was a jerk

Two: The yacht, as any other yacht should, was parked in the port; I live on the city which is five hours from the place (needless to say I lost my whole day already, just being insulted by a stupid, stuck up Shane Gray).

And Three: Did I mention Shane was jerk?

But… there were 3 zeros, I mean, reasons to say yes. So I accepted and agreed to come by the next day.

So, the story goes almost exactly as the day before; rude Shane, delicious food and Brown doubling my paycheck.

Except, this time when I was packing my stuff in the back of "Connie's Catering" van an infuriated Shane Gray approached me and grabbed my arm. It hurt me, so it wasn't any surprise that I fought to free my arm from his sudden grab.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked him as I tried to push him back.

"I hope you're happy!" he replied furiously, dragging me closer to him just so I could see a small red stain in his forehead "Look what your food did on me; I told you I was allergic!"

I stopped trying to fight him and laughed; he had issues. With indignation in his eyes, he let go off my arm; he gave a loud groan and turned around.

I turned back to close my van, when I heard water splashing behind my back; I rolled my eyes as I thought it was another of Shane's ridiculous way to drag attention. I walked to the front of the van, closed the door behind me and drove away to home, sweet home.

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Shane was nowhere to be found and Brown was clearly worried about it; it wasn't in Shane's nature to disappear that way. Maybe in the old Shane's nature it was, but not in the new "rockstar jerk" Shane; he would hardly live without hair products.

He grabbed his cell phone and called the only other possible witness of what had happened to Shane:

"Good nigh, this is Connie's Catering you're calling" Mitchie Torres replied in a monotone polite voice.

"Hey, Mitchie" Brown spoke to her "do you, by any chance, remember the last time you saw my nephew?"

Brown felt out of place asking that question to her and she was probably feeling out of place answering to it: Mitchie and Shane weren't precisely best friends.

"The last time I saw him was 3 hours ago, before I drove back home" she checked her wristwatch carefully; she was still driving to get home; she made memory and remembered the sound of splashing water "I think he went for a swim; have you looked for him on the beach?"

Brown HAD looked on the beach, about 3 times; but I guess that only meant Mitchie was as clueless of where the guy could be as him "Yes, I have, Mitchie; thank you very much, anyways" he responded to her and hanged up his phone.

Mitchie hanged on the other side and couldn't help but roll her eyes again; Brown shouldn't be so much worried about him, he was probably hiding to make a point on his uncle, which was how much he hated Mitchie cooking for them; but the "hunger strike" had came a little too late given Mitchie had finally been released from coming back to that yacht.

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