The Mad Troubadour
SyDra
A/N-This chapter is supposed to be funny! Plot-I stalk Joren, after finding his home address in N.Y. Just R&R, okay, please? And make sure they're *nice*....;)
Chapter 2: Small Obstuctions
Azalea held back the sudden urge to giggle wildly and clap her hands. It had been so simple, finding Joren Stone's address on the internet. Silently she praised whoever had established it. With that, she wrote it down and traced out a route on a N.Y.C. map, and shut down her laptop, closing it silently and swinging her legs off her bed. She decided to bring with her the cameraman and the microphone girl that had been with her earlier.
"Randy?" she said, whipping out her cell-phone and dialing his number.
"Yeah. Who..."
"Azalea Lorenzo. Listen-get Jinna. You guys are coming with me, in my car. We're going to Stone's penthouse in Times Square."
"Two questions," he replied, sighing loudly through the phone. "Why his house, and why us?"
"Because you two are not only my camera and microphone people, but my friends. And when we get to Stone's penthouse, we're not JUST going to do a news shoot. You'll see-just bring all your equipment, and tell Jinna to get ready."
"Okay," Randy resigned. He knew his work partner well, and she was not the type to argue with.
"Wait-don't hang up-I have another idea. Bring your bugging equipment. We'll need it."
"Yeah. Bye."
"The parking lot in ten minutes."
"Bye."
"Yeah."
Azalea flipped her phone shut and shoved into the front pocket of her gold purse. She checked herself in the bathroom mirror, sprucing up her blonde hair a little, and brushed on more of her trademark purple lipstick. She wanted to look perfect for the mission she was setting to do. *Your Royal Hotness Stone...here...I...come.* She thought, perfecting her mascara. "Damn, I look GOOD!"
She retrieved her microphone, the room key, and her pink-rimmed shades from the double bed and strode out the door. No one was in the hallway, but she checked to make sure anyway. She didn't want her employer to know she was out on an unscheduled newscast, and slipped into the nearest empty elevator, pushing her shades onto the delicate bridge of her nose.
Jinna and Randy leaned against her black Lexus, waiting patiently in their gothic garb. They waited for her to unlock the car and then quickly sat in the back. Azalea jammed her key in the ignition, and sped off to Times Square. "Now, you guys be on the lookout for the DoubleTree Apartment Complex-Stone's got a second story unit there, and he's got a rave going on. What we're going to do is go up the fire escape. He's got curtained balconies, but we can get around that. Right Jinna? Your specialty, glass-cutting." Azalea ran the red light, doing a sharp turn right by the MTV building.
"Right," Jinna answered, her brows slightly furrowed. "But won't that make a helluvalot of noise?"
"Oh, please-do you KNOW why they call it a rave?" Azalea questioned her friend tersely. She clenched her jaws, still pressing the gas pedal to the floor and flying another red light. *Lucky for me, there aren't any traffic enforcement dudes running amuck...*
"Well, no," Jinna answered, a little late.
"Okay. DO you know what loud techno music is? Stuff that blows your ears out and has heavy bass, and still sounds good? The party people won't be able to hear a pitiful little glasscutter over their music. So-after you cut the glass, you're going to reach inside, and very discreetly and slowly pull a curtain open to see if the coast is clear. If it is, then Randy picks the lock and we all get inside and inconspicuously plant our equipment."
"How will we be able to find Stone, though?" Randy asked, puzzled. "We don't know what he'll be doing. He could be mixing drinks, or doing the music, or dancing. Heck, he could even be in his room doing the wicked thing with some random chic he paid."
"Don't worry about it. Your last suggestion? THAT would make a great cover story if we submit pictures, articles, and shit to the National Enquirer. They love to get dirt on the hottest celebs. And who cares if we work for a news casting station in reality? That magazine wouldn't care." Azalea relished the thought, licking her lips slightly. "Are you guys seeing the street yet?"
"Coming up on your left, Az," Jinna answered, running a hand through her coal black hair excitedly. She grabbed the handle to her equipment duffle. Azalea took the turn, and the black car tipped a little with the cyntrifical (sp?) force.
"Okay..." she parked the car by the nearest meter to the complex entrance. The three stalkers stepped out of the car, not bothering to put money in the meter. "Now guys, follow me. I hacked into the sprinkler system of the building, and I got a clear map of where Joren Stone's apartment is. If we go just around the corner, to where that bay balcony is, there's a small escape ladder. Randy, I'll need your shoulders to get me up to the bottom rung, that should be no problem."
"Umm..." Randy countered, but Azalea shot him a steely glare.
"Then, you goons are going to follow with the equipment. Randy, you'll then give Jinna a boost, and I'm sure you're capable of jumping up yourself. Jinna can give you a hand."
Randy sighed, shaking his brown-haired head, stroking his goatee a little. Azalea dropped her equipment, and motioned Randy forward under the ladder. He squatted, allowing his work partner to step on his shoulders. He winced a little under the pressure of her platform heels. "That's gonna leave a mark," Randy mumbled dismally. He rose slowly, Azalea bracing herself on the brick wall. "You got the rung?"
"Yeah. Get my feet, push me up a little..."
"I can see...umm...I can see your, your...thingie."
"My what?"
"Your uh...string?"
"What?"
"You know..."
"Well, I don't care. Are you lifting?"
"No, uh...I can see your..."
"What is it?" Azalea asked exasperatedly.
"Your thong! G-string! Thing!"
Jinna giggled. "Not so loud!"
Azalea snorted, as she pulled herself up. "Please. If it's important, tell me. If it's that or anything else, look away, and IGNORE it! Sick freak..."
"Not my problem you wore a mini," Randy muttered, still rubbing where her heels had dug into his shoulders. Azalea climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, pulling herself to a kneeling position on the platform.
"Well, I wore pants," Jinna announced, climbing onto the back of the once more squatting Randy.
"Good," he squeaked, as she stepped onto the back of his neck. "Now hurry up and get off me!"
"Patience...I'm almost there. Okay. Now hand me some shit, will ya?"
"And careful," admonished Azalea. "Or else the station will have our asses on a platter. Hell, we'll even have to tell them all about it. We'll probably be fired..."
"Aw, shut up, you're ruining the effect." Jinna laughed as she took the first bag by the handle, handing it to Azalea. The reporter took it carefully, setting it just by the first balcony door.
"Right," she answered sarcastically. "But we're in good shape. Somewhat...Stone left his curtains open. All we have to do is pick the lock, now that we can see what's going on. And remember-let NO ONE see the equipment. They'll be suspicious. But hopefully, since this rave's been going since the end of the premiere, lots of people will be drunk beyond their minds." She took the second bag coming up. The last was the heaviest, and Azalea had to struggle not to let it make noise as it dropped onto the iron balcony. Below, Randy made a lucky jump and snatched the first ladder rung, and proceeded to pull himself up.
Azalea and Jinna moved aside to let him through with the metal strip. He jammed it into the lock, wiggled it about a little, and with a turn, the tumblers fell into place. "The room is dark, you guys. It's so loud in there."
"It's a rave, like I said. What did you expect?"
"Auditory precautions, at the least," Randy moaned. The three of them stood, each donning a duffle bag, and began to wade their way gently through the sea of people. Azalea grabbed a martini from a tray by the balcony doors, and tried to hide her bag discreetly behind her legs. A short, stocky, red-haired woman stood to her right, eyeing her curiously.
*Please, don't let her be suspicious*, Azalea pleaded silently. The woman addressed her.
"Hey, Alanna Olau-Trebond here. What's your name?"
Since the woman didn't appear to suspect anything, Azalea put on her best grin. "I'm Azalea Lorenzo, fashion model," she lied. Obviously she couldn't reveal that she was really a reporter for a news station. And her looks were good enough to lie.
"I'm an actress. Have you seen any of my movies?"
Luckily, she had. They were pretty good, some of them-mostly action movies, plus she'd been featured in a James Bond film. "Sure. I'm a big fan. I always wondered though..." Azalea trailed off a little, seeing Jinna frantically beckoning for the duffel bag out of the corner of her eye. But she ignored her and continued. "...Do you do your own stunts? Because, I mean, they're pretty dangerous, I'd guess, right?"
Alanna looked insulted. "Do you even NEED to question? Of course,..." She turned away, talking to a man who was about her height, who appeared to be asking if she wanted something else to drink. "Oh, no thanks, George. I'm still finishing my Merlot." Azalea took her chance and slipped away, handing Jinna the bag.
"What were you THINKING?" Jinna hissed.
"This woman Alanna just randomly started talking to me. She asked if I'd seen any of her movies, so I couldn't very well walk off, or she'd be suspicious."
Jinna rolled her eyes. "Me and Randy are almost done. All we need is the bugging equipment in Stone's bedroom, I think. Or did you want it somewhere else?"
Azalea smiled deviously. "No, the bedroom will be just fine. Be careful though, huh? Make sure Joren isn't in there, of course, when you set everything up." She unconsciously felt for the microphone in her pocket book, deciding she wouldn't do any shooting with the camera-tonight's events would be strictly personal. Jinna went her way, and Azalea went hers-bumping right into a tall, greasy haired man.
"Why hello, there, hot stuff," he said, his voice sliding over her like oil. He grinned nastily. "And what would your name be?"
Azalea shuddered, cringing away from him. "Excuse me, but I have to..."
"Oh, no, I don't think you're going anywhere, darling." He grabbed her arm, and she wrenched it away from him. "What's your name?"
"Azalea Lorenzo," she muttered through clenched teeth, hoping the sleazy man heard over the volume of the music, and tried to make her way through the crowd, but he followed her.
"Well, my name is Alex Tirragen-comedian and actor every Saturday night on Comedy Central. The act's 'Erotic Hypnotic'." He grinned unpleasantly again, and even going away from him Azalea could smell the beer on his breath. "You ever seen it, sweety?"
"Get the FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" she shouted, and Alex grimaced nastily, turning the other direction.
"Damn it, never get the chicks..." she could hear him mutter. She sighed tiredly and continued on her search for Joren Stone. But in her way a short, muscular, stocky man with a balding crown and multiple scars.
"Excuse me," she said, trying to move past him.
"I don't think so. Who are you? Were you even invited? This is a private party, you know." He frowned. Azalea decided to use the same lie she told that Alanna woman.
"I'm Azalea Lorenzo, fashion model. And yes, I was invited."
Seemingly still suspicious, The man looked her over. "Um." Was all he said. Azalea put on another flashing smile.
"And who are you?"
She realized her mistake just after she said it. Of course she knew who he was, now-Wyldon Cavall. The big, tough action guy. The one who did all those films with Arnold Schwartzenegger.
"Wyldon Cavall's the name." He stiffly held out his hand, and she shook it politely. *Thank God*, she thought, sighing quietly with relief.
"Oh, nice to meet you. Remind me to get your autograph," Azalea said, making her way around him. She had the uncomfortable feeling of his eyes on her rear end. *How OLD is he?* she wondered, slightly disgusted. *And where is Joren?*
TO BE CONTINUED...
SyDra
A/N-This chapter is supposed to be funny! Plot-I stalk Joren, after finding his home address in N.Y. Just R&R, okay, please? And make sure they're *nice*....;)
Chapter 2: Small Obstuctions
Azalea held back the sudden urge to giggle wildly and clap her hands. It had been so simple, finding Joren Stone's address on the internet. Silently she praised whoever had established it. With that, she wrote it down and traced out a route on a N.Y.C. map, and shut down her laptop, closing it silently and swinging her legs off her bed. She decided to bring with her the cameraman and the microphone girl that had been with her earlier.
"Randy?" she said, whipping out her cell-phone and dialing his number.
"Yeah. Who..."
"Azalea Lorenzo. Listen-get Jinna. You guys are coming with me, in my car. We're going to Stone's penthouse in Times Square."
"Two questions," he replied, sighing loudly through the phone. "Why his house, and why us?"
"Because you two are not only my camera and microphone people, but my friends. And when we get to Stone's penthouse, we're not JUST going to do a news shoot. You'll see-just bring all your equipment, and tell Jinna to get ready."
"Okay," Randy resigned. He knew his work partner well, and she was not the type to argue with.
"Wait-don't hang up-I have another idea. Bring your bugging equipment. We'll need it."
"Yeah. Bye."
"The parking lot in ten minutes."
"Bye."
"Yeah."
Azalea flipped her phone shut and shoved into the front pocket of her gold purse. She checked herself in the bathroom mirror, sprucing up her blonde hair a little, and brushed on more of her trademark purple lipstick. She wanted to look perfect for the mission she was setting to do. *Your Royal Hotness Stone...here...I...come.* She thought, perfecting her mascara. "Damn, I look GOOD!"
She retrieved her microphone, the room key, and her pink-rimmed shades from the double bed and strode out the door. No one was in the hallway, but she checked to make sure anyway. She didn't want her employer to know she was out on an unscheduled newscast, and slipped into the nearest empty elevator, pushing her shades onto the delicate bridge of her nose.
Jinna and Randy leaned against her black Lexus, waiting patiently in their gothic garb. They waited for her to unlock the car and then quickly sat in the back. Azalea jammed her key in the ignition, and sped off to Times Square. "Now, you guys be on the lookout for the DoubleTree Apartment Complex-Stone's got a second story unit there, and he's got a rave going on. What we're going to do is go up the fire escape. He's got curtained balconies, but we can get around that. Right Jinna? Your specialty, glass-cutting." Azalea ran the red light, doing a sharp turn right by the MTV building.
"Right," Jinna answered, her brows slightly furrowed. "But won't that make a helluvalot of noise?"
"Oh, please-do you KNOW why they call it a rave?" Azalea questioned her friend tersely. She clenched her jaws, still pressing the gas pedal to the floor and flying another red light. *Lucky for me, there aren't any traffic enforcement dudes running amuck...*
"Well, no," Jinna answered, a little late.
"Okay. DO you know what loud techno music is? Stuff that blows your ears out and has heavy bass, and still sounds good? The party people won't be able to hear a pitiful little glasscutter over their music. So-after you cut the glass, you're going to reach inside, and very discreetly and slowly pull a curtain open to see if the coast is clear. If it is, then Randy picks the lock and we all get inside and inconspicuously plant our equipment."
"How will we be able to find Stone, though?" Randy asked, puzzled. "We don't know what he'll be doing. He could be mixing drinks, or doing the music, or dancing. Heck, he could even be in his room doing the wicked thing with some random chic he paid."
"Don't worry about it. Your last suggestion? THAT would make a great cover story if we submit pictures, articles, and shit to the National Enquirer. They love to get dirt on the hottest celebs. And who cares if we work for a news casting station in reality? That magazine wouldn't care." Azalea relished the thought, licking her lips slightly. "Are you guys seeing the street yet?"
"Coming up on your left, Az," Jinna answered, running a hand through her coal black hair excitedly. She grabbed the handle to her equipment duffle. Azalea took the turn, and the black car tipped a little with the cyntrifical (sp?) force.
"Okay..." she parked the car by the nearest meter to the complex entrance. The three stalkers stepped out of the car, not bothering to put money in the meter. "Now guys, follow me. I hacked into the sprinkler system of the building, and I got a clear map of where Joren Stone's apartment is. If we go just around the corner, to where that bay balcony is, there's a small escape ladder. Randy, I'll need your shoulders to get me up to the bottom rung, that should be no problem."
"Umm..." Randy countered, but Azalea shot him a steely glare.
"Then, you goons are going to follow with the equipment. Randy, you'll then give Jinna a boost, and I'm sure you're capable of jumping up yourself. Jinna can give you a hand."
Randy sighed, shaking his brown-haired head, stroking his goatee a little. Azalea dropped her equipment, and motioned Randy forward under the ladder. He squatted, allowing his work partner to step on his shoulders. He winced a little under the pressure of her platform heels. "That's gonna leave a mark," Randy mumbled dismally. He rose slowly, Azalea bracing herself on the brick wall. "You got the rung?"
"Yeah. Get my feet, push me up a little..."
"I can see...umm...I can see your, your...thingie."
"My what?"
"Your uh...string?"
"What?"
"You know..."
"Well, I don't care. Are you lifting?"
"No, uh...I can see your..."
"What is it?" Azalea asked exasperatedly.
"Your thong! G-string! Thing!"
Jinna giggled. "Not so loud!"
Azalea snorted, as she pulled herself up. "Please. If it's important, tell me. If it's that or anything else, look away, and IGNORE it! Sick freak..."
"Not my problem you wore a mini," Randy muttered, still rubbing where her heels had dug into his shoulders. Azalea climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, pulling herself to a kneeling position on the platform.
"Well, I wore pants," Jinna announced, climbing onto the back of the once more squatting Randy.
"Good," he squeaked, as she stepped onto the back of his neck. "Now hurry up and get off me!"
"Patience...I'm almost there. Okay. Now hand me some shit, will ya?"
"And careful," admonished Azalea. "Or else the station will have our asses on a platter. Hell, we'll even have to tell them all about it. We'll probably be fired..."
"Aw, shut up, you're ruining the effect." Jinna laughed as she took the first bag by the handle, handing it to Azalea. The reporter took it carefully, setting it just by the first balcony door.
"Right," she answered sarcastically. "But we're in good shape. Somewhat...Stone left his curtains open. All we have to do is pick the lock, now that we can see what's going on. And remember-let NO ONE see the equipment. They'll be suspicious. But hopefully, since this rave's been going since the end of the premiere, lots of people will be drunk beyond their minds." She took the second bag coming up. The last was the heaviest, and Azalea had to struggle not to let it make noise as it dropped onto the iron balcony. Below, Randy made a lucky jump and snatched the first ladder rung, and proceeded to pull himself up.
Azalea and Jinna moved aside to let him through with the metal strip. He jammed it into the lock, wiggled it about a little, and with a turn, the tumblers fell into place. "The room is dark, you guys. It's so loud in there."
"It's a rave, like I said. What did you expect?"
"Auditory precautions, at the least," Randy moaned. The three of them stood, each donning a duffle bag, and began to wade their way gently through the sea of people. Azalea grabbed a martini from a tray by the balcony doors, and tried to hide her bag discreetly behind her legs. A short, stocky, red-haired woman stood to her right, eyeing her curiously.
*Please, don't let her be suspicious*, Azalea pleaded silently. The woman addressed her.
"Hey, Alanna Olau-Trebond here. What's your name?"
Since the woman didn't appear to suspect anything, Azalea put on her best grin. "I'm Azalea Lorenzo, fashion model," she lied. Obviously she couldn't reveal that she was really a reporter for a news station. And her looks were good enough to lie.
"I'm an actress. Have you seen any of my movies?"
Luckily, she had. They were pretty good, some of them-mostly action movies, plus she'd been featured in a James Bond film. "Sure. I'm a big fan. I always wondered though..." Azalea trailed off a little, seeing Jinna frantically beckoning for the duffel bag out of the corner of her eye. But she ignored her and continued. "...Do you do your own stunts? Because, I mean, they're pretty dangerous, I'd guess, right?"
Alanna looked insulted. "Do you even NEED to question? Of course,..." She turned away, talking to a man who was about her height, who appeared to be asking if she wanted something else to drink. "Oh, no thanks, George. I'm still finishing my Merlot." Azalea took her chance and slipped away, handing Jinna the bag.
"What were you THINKING?" Jinna hissed.
"This woman Alanna just randomly started talking to me. She asked if I'd seen any of her movies, so I couldn't very well walk off, or she'd be suspicious."
Jinna rolled her eyes. "Me and Randy are almost done. All we need is the bugging equipment in Stone's bedroom, I think. Or did you want it somewhere else?"
Azalea smiled deviously. "No, the bedroom will be just fine. Be careful though, huh? Make sure Joren isn't in there, of course, when you set everything up." She unconsciously felt for the microphone in her pocket book, deciding she wouldn't do any shooting with the camera-tonight's events would be strictly personal. Jinna went her way, and Azalea went hers-bumping right into a tall, greasy haired man.
"Why hello, there, hot stuff," he said, his voice sliding over her like oil. He grinned nastily. "And what would your name be?"
Azalea shuddered, cringing away from him. "Excuse me, but I have to..."
"Oh, no, I don't think you're going anywhere, darling." He grabbed her arm, and she wrenched it away from him. "What's your name?"
"Azalea Lorenzo," she muttered through clenched teeth, hoping the sleazy man heard over the volume of the music, and tried to make her way through the crowd, but he followed her.
"Well, my name is Alex Tirragen-comedian and actor every Saturday night on Comedy Central. The act's 'Erotic Hypnotic'." He grinned unpleasantly again, and even going away from him Azalea could smell the beer on his breath. "You ever seen it, sweety?"
"Get the FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" she shouted, and Alex grimaced nastily, turning the other direction.
"Damn it, never get the chicks..." she could hear him mutter. She sighed tiredly and continued on her search for Joren Stone. But in her way a short, muscular, stocky man with a balding crown and multiple scars.
"Excuse me," she said, trying to move past him.
"I don't think so. Who are you? Were you even invited? This is a private party, you know." He frowned. Azalea decided to use the same lie she told that Alanna woman.
"I'm Azalea Lorenzo, fashion model. And yes, I was invited."
Seemingly still suspicious, The man looked her over. "Um." Was all he said. Azalea put on another flashing smile.
"And who are you?"
She realized her mistake just after she said it. Of course she knew who he was, now-Wyldon Cavall. The big, tough action guy. The one who did all those films with Arnold Schwartzenegger.
"Wyldon Cavall's the name." He stiffly held out his hand, and she shook it politely. *Thank God*, she thought, sighing quietly with relief.
"Oh, nice to meet you. Remind me to get your autograph," Azalea said, making her way around him. She had the uncomfortable feeling of his eyes on her rear end. *How OLD is he?* she wondered, slightly disgusted. *And where is Joren?*
TO BE CONTINUED...