"I'm home!" Dhani called as he walked through the front door. He was answered by his echo. He went into the kitchen and dropped his overnight bag into a chair. "Mum? Dad? Anybody?" Silence. "Huh. I guess it's just me," Dhani said to himself. He shrugged and grabbed a cream soda from the refrigerator, then he headed to the family room. He flopped down on the camel couch, kicked his feet on to the coffee table, and started boredly flipping through channels. He took a swig of his orange drank. He was prepared for a day to himself where he could be the king of the castle.
Suddenly, he heard a thud coming from somewhere upstairs. Dhani froze. Was there someone in the house? A burglar maybe? He slowly pried off his Nike sneakers to soften his foot steps, then crept silently up the main staircase.
Dhani's heart was pounding in his chest as he crept through the labyrinth of hallways and corriders that made up the upper level of his house. He clutched the cream soda tightly in his fist, prepared to use the glass bottle as a weapon if necessary. Dhani finally found the source of the thud; his cat, Tiger, was sprawled out on the hall table and had knocked a picture frame to the floor. "Stupid cat," Dhani grumbled. He shooed his cat off the table and picked up the picture. It was a photograph of him when he was little, and his father. They were both sitting under the old ash tree in the garden, playing guitars. George's eyes were crossed and he was sticking his tongue out at the camera. Dhani smiled as he set the frame back on the table.
Ever since he was little, he was always proud that he had such an awesome dad. His dad was a world-famous rock star, he had about ten cars in the garage, he loved race cars, he got to travel all over the world for work, and had scored a higher number of women in his life than most people did on their SATs. True, George was an avid gardener and he waxed his chest, and he was no stranger to jewelery or hairpsray, but that wasn't important. George just took care of his appearence, that's all. And Dhani figured that his father just did those things to please his mother (gross). He still thought that his dad was just plain awesome.
Dhani turned to go when he realized he heard something. It was music. Jazz, it sounded like. He looked up and saw, at the far end of the hallway, a slighty open door. It was one of the many guest rooms. Light spilt from the small crack and flooded that entire end of the corrider. It certianly couldn't be George and Olivia, since they would use their own bedroom if they had a mid-day "meet-up", and a robber probably wouldn't be listening to Barry White while he robbed a celebrity's mansion. Dhani's curiousity was peaked. He slowly tip-toed to the door. He got on his knees, gently set his soda aside and peeked in.
At first, it looked like the room was unoccupied. The mossy green walls held no pictures other than the generic painting that hung above the dresser. The dark green bed spread looked messy, like someone had been laying down on it and had moved. Maybe his mother just forgot to tidy up the room last time they had guests. Then Dhani heard the tiny click! of something glass being set down on wood and somebody humming. He turned and saw someone standing at the vantiy. It was a man, but he was wearing women's lingerie. Dhani opened the door a teeny bit more to get a better look. He could see the man's reflection in the oblong mirror. It was George, and he was putting on make-up and cheerfully humming.
Dhani froze in fear. His blood was ice-cold. Oh god, please let my dad be rehearsing for a Monty Python thing, Dhani prayed.
"You almost ready for me in there, baby?" An all-too-familiar voice called from the bathroom. "Almost," George anwsered in a feminine, giggly voice. Dhani's stomach churned in disgust. He balled his fists in anger. His dad was queer!