Hi, just thought I'd write something for DWTS as I've become a little obssessed with it lately- even though I'm British (I love Strictly), the male pros from DWTS are something else :)
Chapter One: She is being Deadly Serious.
"Are you being serious? As if the whole juggling a career and motherhood wasn't hard enough, you think I have the time to make a complete twat out of myself on national television- what kind of fucking manager are you?"
Jamie Crenshaw is more than aware that she looks a little unstable right now, although some would go as far as to say she looked fully fledged demented. Mindlessly tugging at her ash blonde hair as she imagines a thousand and one ways she could beat some sense into her manager's thick skull. The auburn haired beauty sat opposite her remains unfazed, peering at her friend over her glasses- her cerulean eyes glittering with mirth.
Elise, the 'manager' that Jamie is seriously considering replacing just smiles coyly and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Rolling her eyes, she shuffles the pile of papers in front of her: Waiting patiently until her client calms down and is capable of rational thought. A few more moments pass until she hears the blonde take a deep breath.
"Well now that you've popped the proverbial chill pill: I'm a fucking awesome manager Jam, I've gotten your crazy ass on the New York bestseller's list- twice. And had you on every show from Conan to Ellen… And trust me that's a pretty mean feat since it pretty much requires a National health warning every time you leave the house."
Jamie can't help but flinch at the casual assassination of her character, 'National Health Warning' seems a little excessive. She knows that while most people seem to think she's charming and hilarious- there are more than a few who think she's borderline ridiculous and lacks a filter between her brain and mouth. Jamie Crenshaw and 'Media Training' was a relationship doomed to fail before it ever began.
"Valid point, even if you're grossly exaggerating- but please explain to me why you think me being on 'Dancing with the Stars' is a good idea? It's broadcast live, and you know that I like to use the word 'fuck' as a connective. All I'll do is embarrass myself, and more than likely tell everyone to fuck themselves—"
"Jamie, shut the fuck up. Like for once in your life I want you to listen—and listen well: From a Manager's perspective, this will help push you back into the limelight before releasing your next book. You're an 'everywoman' and if the demographic responds well, then there's a boost in sales. But I'm not just your manager, I'm your friend- and I've been your friend a Hell of a lot longer. Even Judie agrees, that it's time you did something for yourself- you've said that you've always wanted to learn to dance…so it just made sense in my head."
'Fuck her and her logic' seems to be playing on loop in the forefront of Jamie's mind. Dragging her fingers through her ash blonde hair she sends a silent prayer for some inspiration, or simply an excuse to get out of it. She's never been good at trying to usurp Elsie's rational way of dismantling a situation, and the redhead knows it seeing as her thin lips are curling into a triumphant smirk.
"I just don't think this is a good idea. My intuition is telling me it's a bad idea—"
"Bullshit, your intuition told you that you that mixing Sambuca shots with lager was good idea. And before you start with the whole 'Nate won't like it' crap- I've spoken to him about it and he thought it was hilarious—"
"Course he would, he's a 14 year old boy. He'll be loving it, perving on all those dancer's wearing barely anything—"
"Fuck off, if he wanted to look at half naked women he just needs to turn on the TV, or watch porn online- And 'Auntie Elsie' has even agreed to babysit when you're busy. So what other excuses have you got hidden up your sleeve? And please don't waste my time with some half assed 'I could never do that'- because I'd like to remind you of Fat Pam's Hen Do when you simultaneously drank a whole bottle of Prosecco while hanging upside down from a stripper pole"
Covering her face Jamie didn't know whether to feel ashamed, or proud: She worked that pole like a professional- the busty blonde, Carmella, had even offered her a job as an 'executive entertainer'. The shoddy pile of excuses she'd managed to pull together was pretty much dispelled by Elsie and her 'wicked way with words'. She's spared the shame of having to admit defeat as the door to her 'study' bursts open and her 14 year old son bowls in, his cheeks flushed red with rage.
"Ma, Dad is an utter wankstain- supposedly he's missing my birthday again cause he's gonna be 'on set'. Bullshit, if he's 'on set' then you're the fucking Pope- more like he's getting his dick wet with some slag who he's fucking brainwashed into thinking he's something special."
The lanky teen continued his tirade about his father's general uselessness, Jamie found herself nodding along absently. The father of her child had spent the last fifteen years 'finding himself' by trying to find his way beneath anything with a vagina and a pulse, if she was being completely honest: The vagina was optional. The fucktard had always beeped on her gaydar. Most mothers would probably try and reprimand their child, but Jamie knew an opportunity when she spotted one- jumping to her feet Jamie threw her arms around Jordan, in an unusual display of affection peppering his face with kisses and ignoring the way he tried to squirm from her grip.
"See Els? I could never leave my Son when he is in such distress. He's obviously having some kind of meltdown and you're expecting me to toddle off to LA—What kind of mother do you think I am?"
Suppressing the sudden urge to give herself a pat on the back, nailing Elsie with her most reproachful glare Jamie clung to her son's arm. Hoping the show of 'family solidarity' would finally derail 'Operation: DWTS'. It takes a matter of seconds for said hopes to disappear like smoke in the wind; Jordan is staring at his mother as though she'd grown a second head, Elsie meanwhile is suppressing the urge to laugh at the absurdity she's witnessing.
"Jordan, your Dad has always been a twat- so don't act surprised. And watch your bloody language—"
"You and Ma are always effing and blinding—"
"Yeah and we're older enough to drink, so either sit the fuck down or go and do whatever it is teenagers are doing nowadays. I'm not finished speaking with your Mother, and she's not getting out of this conversation over misplaced 'angst'- Nice try by the way Jamie, but the 'concerned mother' act doesn't work once the child is over 10."
Jordan, used to his 'Aunt's' attitude just sat down before looking towards his mother. Smiling to himself as he saw his Mum trying, and failing miserably, to think of a way to get out of this conversation: Elsie Whitehall was like a shark, as soon as she smelled blood it was game over. And the Crenshaw Matriarch resembles a freeze frame from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Jamie looks between Jordan's general befuddlement and Elsie's condescending smirk before sinking back into her chair, resigned to her fate.
"So, Jordan- I was just talking to your Mom about the whole 'Dancing with the Stars' thing I mentioned to you earlier? What do you think? Do you feel, that if your Mom were to do this, that it reflects badly on her as a parent. Do you need your Mom waiting on you hand and foot? Or are you independent enough to wipe your own ass and give your Mom a break?"
Jamie wants the ground to swallow her now, she could handle Elsie-just about-and she could handle Jordan, but when they came together: Well, it never bore a happy ending for the single mother. She always thought her son resembled an angel, curly dark hair and pale skin- with big brown eyes and the cherubic dimples. But the malicious glint in his eyes was as far from angelic as you could get- the gloating expression was mirrored on Elsie's elfin features. Holding up a finger before anyone else could speak, Jamie sighed.
"We're gonna need a bottle of wine before we have this conversation…"
"…It'll be hilarious. And I get to see all those fit birds, wearing hardly anything. You wouldn't mind if I popped by your rehearsals, eh Mam? It'd look good: Single mom, her son coming by to check on her- making sure her partner isn't getting too handsy or whatever. The old biddies will love it…"
The bottle and a half of merlot had soothed Jamie significantly, and maybe it was the liquor but this Dancing with the Stars malarkey was starting to sound better and better. She was hardly a hard-core fan, but she'd seen enough to know that those male pros could butter her biscuit anytime. While her son was sat there detailing, in frightful detail, the physical 'assets' of the female dancers: Elsie just sat with a grin, chuckling to herself as she sipped at her fourth-or maybe fifth- glass of wine.
"Oh Jordie Boy, you're on about all these birds wearing hardly anything- your Mam will be wearing pretty much the same. Guys will be ogling her, what do you think about that?"
Jamie couldn't help but smile as Jordan's face screwed up as though he were constipated, pure disgust on his features: The reaction, although hardly positive, kind of gave the thirty one year old a boost. She still had it kind of, she'd overheard Jordan's friend Donovan calling her a 'Milf' but her internalised celebration was ruined when Jordan burst out laughing.
"Nah, Ma ain't a munter or anything: But she ain't got shit on some of the girls on that show. Plus they'll probably have a tonne of knockout celebs, there's always a couple of hotties."
Not a munter? Jamie didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He'd mad her sound like some kind of Jabba the Hut. Her body may have seen better days, but she was hardly the train wreck her son and Manager-cum-best friend were making her out to be. Knocking back the rest of the glass, flinching at the vinegary taste, she slammed the wine glass against the table.
"You two are right toss pots, if I wanted to I could win Dancing with the Stars- I'd fuck that shit right up—"
"You go Girl"
"Thanks Els, but shut the fuck up I'm making a fucking speech. You two can both laugh, but I'm gonna do it. Gonna win that mirror trophy thing, and I'm gonna look bloody awesome in them slaggy costumes and I bet loadsa blokes are gonna tug one off while thinking about me—"
"MOM, shut up!"
"Sorry Bab, cover your ears. What was I saying again?"
Jamie could hardly remember what she said two seconds ago, but she could care less as she called for her son to bring more wine. She was never going to win 'Mother of the Year' at this rest of the night became a blur, she knows that at some point she tormented Elsie and Jordan with her awful rendition of 'Don't Rain on My Parade' and then it's nothing but drawing blanks.
Opening her eyes, Jamie's head feels as though it's playing host to a family of pneumatic drills and the harsh sunlight streaming through the blinds has burnt her retinas into non-existence.
Stumbling towards the bathroom, Jamie tears into the medication cupboard like a bull in a china shop: Swallowing two paracetamol whole she closes her eyes for a few seconds. Strolling back towards her bedroom, and trying in vain to remember how she got to bed in the first place- she spotted a letter on the pillow next to hers:
Girl.
Sorry I had to dash, I woke up and found that you'd signed the paperwork.
Wine seriously works wonders. You'll be GREAT! Twinkle Toes ;)
-Els xoxox
What the actual fuck?
"WHAT THE FUCK?"
Jamie Crenshaw was screwed, and most definitely not in a good way.
Constructive criticism is always welcomed, and you know: If you like it let me know what you think.
Does anyone have any ideas on who her partner should be? Or other celebrities to include in the Season, it's fiction so it can be anyone.
Tash xoxo