Sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of my trailer, I was uncomfortable. The trailer was small, had no bed, no comforts at all, just a sink, a make up counter and a chair I was not allowed to use.
I could hear pounding on my trailer door and the impatient clacking of stilleto heels.
"Awww Crap!" I scrambled out of my sleeping bag and started to desperately crawl along the trailer floor to pull the catch and let the visitor in.
"About time!" A tall,blonde with a miniskirt and other revealing clothes trotted in, followed by a rather exhausted looking boy, about my age, almost keeling over under the tray of starbucks things he was carrying.
"Steve said you would do my makeup." She said, sitting in the chair and looking at me as if I was no more than a beetle about to be squashed by one of her heels.
"You're Not AMERICAN!" She yelled suddenly. 2I specifically asked for an American stylist!"
The boy flinched, as if to be struck by her at any time.
"I'm brazillian." I lied, hoping my tanned complexion would back my story up. "That's in south America!"
"Oh!" she said, her face returning to a smile. "I'm Stacey Casey!"
I bit my lip, trying desperately not to laugh. The boy drew one finger under his neck, warning me not to, I wiped the smile from my face, a little too late.
"Are…You…laughing…at my name?!" she hissed, staring daggers at me.
"No…I." I tried to make up an excuse.
"I think she's laughing at your music video, the one you did for 'Stacey girl album'-she's a big fan of yours!" the boy saved me with his quick improvision.
"Oh!" she brightened suddenly. "What do you recommend for makeup?"
I walked up to the makeup counter, grabbing handfuls of glitzy pink crap I wouldn't be seen dead in. "I think we go all out in pink!"
Stacey squealed and I faked a smile.
"Oh and I wan't my hair the same shade as Lady Gaga!" she said causually, tasking a bottle of perioxide hair dye from the dresser.
"OH MY GOD!" She was looking at the wardrobe, at a horrible, tight PVC dress which could make a nun look like a slut, if she wore it.
"That Dress!" She let out a squeal again. "I need to wear THAT ONE!"
Stacey looked a complete slut, after I had finished with her…but not until she stuffed all my Trailer's toilet paper into her bra.
"I look hot!" she grinned, looking at herself and pulling poses into my mirror.
The boy rolled his eyes, and I laughed, careful not to be seen by Stacey.
"CHRISTIAN!" She barked to the boy. "Tidy my stuff up-I have an interview to go to!" And with that she flounced out the trailer door…without a word of thanks.
" I guess you've never dealt with a celebrity pop diva before!" Christian laughed.
I shook my head. "I normally deal with Mariah Carey and such-God how do you cope with her…on a daily basis?!"
"Yes, you need to cope with the bitching, the moodswings..everything!"
"Poor you." I said, watching Christian gather Stacey's things together.
"Are you really Brazillian?" he asked casually.
"Spanish-I guessed Stacey would be too ditzy to notice." I admitted.
"Yeah!" he laughed as he wrote something on a piece of paper. "I'm cristian."
"Caterina."
"Well I'll see you around Caterina." He said, closing the door gently.
I smiled, noticing Christian's paper was still on the table.
It had his number on-and the one instruction: Call me xx