A/N Thanks for the awesome feedback, people. I truly appreciate it all. Have a nice read.
"Hi, you must be Spen-"
Hi, I'm Spencer Carlin and I'm my mom's bitch. I actually thought I was able to get out of this, this time around. But she threatened me into accepting the date. I contemplated to go to the police with this. Surely it's against the law and they'd probably kick her out of the hospital if they knew about her dirty antics.
My dad ended up convincing me not reporting her. Apparently there's nothing in the law against ' the threat of cutting off cable'. That, and he reminded me of my not so good reputation down at the police station.
I've had a few run-ins with the cops in the past. But those are stories for some other time. Right now, it's all about Blind Date numero 18.
"Yeah, yeah whatever .. Let's get straight to the point here."
"O-kay." She lets out nervously while looking me up a little funny.
I'm really tired of all these games. I just want to get out the lies and psycho facts about her as soon as possible so I can leave before the first dish.
I'll take the rest of the food with me.
"So why did you shave your head?"
"Excuse me?"
Oh, she's playing dumb. I guess that could work on a poor naïve little lesbian who'd be completely and utterly enthralled by her appearance. But not with me, she won't. I've been in too many of these situations to let her beauty fool me.
The prettier, the crazier.
"Oh don't you go all 'excuse me' on me. I'm on to you."
"What are you talking about?"
Not giving in, huh. She's mislead by my blonde hair and bluer than blue eyes. She thinks I'm sweet and innocent and that a few winks will make me swoon into her arms and eventually her bed.
Wrong, bitch.
I make them swoon into my bed.
"There's no way that hair is yours, that's what I'm talking about. So were you under the influence of drugs or did you think that you just might pull it off?"
Britney thought she could pull it off. Actually Britney thinks she can pull a lot of things off. Including her underwear.
"Uh, I don't know what your problem is but this is my hair."
"Yeah, right. Like your hair is naturally that shiny and curly and healthy-looking. That wig must've cost you a fortune."
"What the hell is your problem? This. Is. My. Hair."
Clearly she's not going to come clean. I hate it when this happen. Seriously, why can't people just admit their actions? I really don't like making them face the facts, but it's just who I am.
"Is it now? Because if this really is your hair then why can I do this?" I say as I lean forward and pull harshly at the hairpiece in attempt to yank it off of her. Notice my emphasis on attempt. No matter how hard I pull, the hair stays perfectly in place.
"Ow! What do you think you're doing?" She shrieks as she slaps away my hand and starts massaging her scalp.
She must've gone crazy on the superglue, cause that isn't going to come off any time soon. Unless she …
"I guess you got enough money to get a decent hair transplant."
"Oh my God. What's your problem? This is my own freaking hair!"
She does seem quite determined and feisty. That means she's telling the truth or she's a pathological liar.
I'll go with the latter.
"Sure. Whatever. So how much for those?" I say while slightly lowering my eyes and raising my eyebrows.
"What are you moaning about now." She exhales clearly reaching her boiling point.
I just might catch that Grey's Anatomy marathon just in time.
"Your boobs."
"I can't believe this." She huffs out with a incredulous laugh.
"You're obviously not above having a hair transplant, what's wrong with a little work on your boobs or nose for that matter."
Okay, the nose was just to add to her aggravation. But seriously, I'm missing on sexy Izzie-time.
"Are you an undercover paparazzi? I swear you guys don't know when to stop. Like, breaking into my house and filming me while dancing and singing to The Supremes half-naked wasn't enough. You're taping this conversation aren't you?"
I'm wondering if she was singing to 'I'm coming out'.
I should've guessed that my parents knew I was gay, when they gave me that cd for my 14th birthday.
Or when they played it every single time I was with them in the car.
On our way to church.
My parents are so weird.
"Oh, little miss attention whore thinks everybody's dying to know about her 12 plastic surgeries, doesn't she?"
"I swear if you weren't Paula's daughter, I'd be kicking your ass right now." She growls menacingly.
Well, she didn't really growl. But, I bet she'd look damn sexy doing it.
"Temper, temper. Tell me Ashley, if that's even your real name, how many times a day do you shoot?"
"Oh, I don't play ball. Actually I'm not really into sports at all." She says naively, and slightly relieved it seems. She must think that the conversation is finally happening on a normal level.
Such a funny girl.
"I'm talking about heroine, moron." I hiss under my breath.
"What? I can't believe th- Wait I know who you are. You're a narc aren't you!" she narrows her eyes while pointing me down with her very long, feminine and slender finger.
What? If you're a lesbian, you notice these things.
"That's just plain ridiculous. Didn't your parents learn you not to make bottomless accusations."
Mom and dad may be a little non-conventional when it came to raising me up, but I was taught how to converse properly. That doesn't mean I use that knowledge, but I'm sure it'll come in handy some day.
"Oh, that's real nice. You are giving me lessons on how to behave in conversations?"
"Look, I know it's really hard growing up with Crazy Chrissy and Danger Davies as parents, so I'm giving you that."
"Who are you to judge me, huh? I mean, you have no right to accuse me or ask me all these ridiculous questions."
"Oh, believe me I do."
She has no idea just how much I do.
"Is that so? Please, oh Great One, enlighten me."
"Seventeen unknown whacko's and Britney taking 'oops, I did it again' very literally 18 times a day. That's what I'm talking about."
I rest my case.
I swear if Law School is anything like in Legally Blond, I'm so in there.
"Oh, I see. Just because you met some crazy girls in the past and I'm a celebrity's daughter, you get the right to stigmatize me and treat me like a dumb bimbo?"
Shit, what the hell does stigmatize mean? Quick, say something smart and witty.
"Straight up."
Yup, real winner there, Spence. I really should pay more attention in English. It's embarrassing enough I'm failing at my native language. Even Glen managed to pass.
Granted he cheated, but at least he was smart enough to do that.
"You think I'm thrilled to be on this blind date with you? You're just lucky PC is your mom and is persuasive like that. Because I sure as hell don't want to spend my Saturday evening with some crazy obsessive narc who doesn't know when to shut her freaking mouth."
PC? What is she: a personal computer?
"I'm not a narc, okay."
"You're denying the narc-part but not the rest? Well, that's interesting to know." She says with a hint of a smirk.
You know if she'd just shut up and smirk like that all day I might actually enjoy her company.
"Shut up. I admit I may have gone a little overboard with the accusations."
"A little?"
I was planning on asking her if she's willing to sacrifice herself for her religion, whatever that may be. I think I'll ask her that after dinner.
"Whatever, if you've been in my shoes for the past two years you'd do the same."
"I doubt that. But, okay, let's just leave this behind and order something cause I'm starving. I haven't had a decent meal in days."
"Anorexic or bulimic?"
"Carlin." She warns me sternly.
"Okay, I was just kidding …kinda." I smile candidly.
"This isn't working." She sighs.
"Look let's just make the best of it. Do you wanna hear something funny?" I ask, trying to somewhat save the date to a certain extent.
"Does it involve me?"
"Not in particular."
"My boobs?"
Believe me there's nothing funny about your boobs.
"No."
"My hair or any tidbit about my so-called shaved head."
Why did she had to ruin a perfect opportunity for an icebreaker? I'm trying really hard here.
"Okay, do you wanna hear another funny story?"
"Knock yourself out." She mutters under her breath while looking around for the waiter.
"So yeah, I drove down here because nobody could bring me. But I'm sorta not the best driver."
Understatement.
"Barely passed your drivers test?" She smiles knowingly.
Ha! If she only knew.
"Er, something like that. Anyway, I drove down here and didn't hit a single thing. Not even a squirrel, which I consider to be the benchmark of amazing driving skills. And I was just so ridiculously excited that I called my dad when I was parking my car, so I could rub in his face that you don't need a drivers license to be a crashless driver."
I see her face contort in confusion and I immediately catch my slip-up.
"Not that I don't have a drivers license. I mean, I don't have one per se. I just … anyway so I was dialing my dad while backing up and suddenly I hear this incredibly loud crash. Well not like, piercing earth-shattering loud like when I …I mean, when my brother crashed into the garage at 60 miles per hour, but still quite loud. And I was so pissed, because I finally thought I had one crash-free drive and I mess it up at the last minute. So typical."
She's still looking at me quite skeptically and I'm not to sure what she's thinking. I'm guessing, it isn't in the line of 'damn, I hope she can drive me around some time soon'.
"Then I start freaking out because I crashed into a car and that means paying cash that I don't have. On top of that, I was completely locked in by surrounding cars so I couldn't drive away, like I usually do. I mean, like, some people might do."
Have to stop the slip-ups.
"Is this story going anywhere?"
"Yes, Miss Impatient. So I get out and see that I totally trashed the front of this brand new Porsche. And I just start laughing because I was so relieved. Because, seriously, if the owner can afford a freakin' Porsche than they can afford to repair it. Hell, they probably can just buy a new one right away. So yeah, I laughed my ass off all the way up here." I end my story with near tears in my eyes, caused by the hysteric laughs I'm belting out. Seriously, funniest experience ever.
The silence I was met with was not the reaction I was hoping I'd get. Nor did I expect the frowning brows and the straight lips.
Oh great, mom set me up with Debbie Downer. At least Jonica laughed.
Sometimes.
When talking about Jehova.
"Why aren't you laughing?"
"Was that Porsche by any chance a slick black convertible?"
"Yes."
"And parked by the bakery across the street?"
"How did you know? Oh God, you saw me didn't you? This is so embarrassing."
"That's my car, you incompetent ghostdriver !"
"That's your car? Damn, you really are loaded." I say impressed.
The glare she gives me tells me that she might just forget I'm PC's daughter long enough to bitchslap me.
"I mean oops?"
"I'm starting to think your dates weren't the problem."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Everybody knows they were the problem. I swear at times, I was sure that they were responsible for the war Iraq.
Or at least Michael Jackson's horrendous nose.
"It means you're the obvious instable nutjob who ruins all her fucking dates and makes them run for cover."
"I can't believe you just said that."
"I can't believe you called me a coke-snorting, bald whacko with fake boobs."
"Actually I called you a heroine-shooting, bald whacko with fake boobs and most probably fake nose too. Although, that last statement is still up in the air.
"I'm done. I'm leaving." She finally says as she stands up and collects her belongings.
Wait, shouldn't she be clinging to me or something. Or at least ask my number and address so she can stalk me for next 3 months? This is not how I planned it to be.
"What? No, you can't leave!"
"Give me one good reason not too."
"I'm not about to become the girl who gets stood up in the middle of a full restaurant so sit your ass back down." I hiss.
She calms down slightly and sits herself down again. That's right breath in and out. Calm your nerves and get comfortable in that plushy chair. You're good now? My turn then.
"I'm the only who gets to stump down her feet in childish manner and leave her date behind, got that? Besides, I really don't think your car is in any state to be driven right now. Have a nice evening!" I practically spit out and quickly trot my way towards the door before she can say something. Well, stumble would be a more appropriate term. Why are there so many chairs in this restaurant?
Just when I was about to step outside I realize I forgot something of utter importance. I sigh as I turn around and trudge my way back to the table of torment and glare at its sole occupant.
"What, you forgot your purse? Wouldn't want to get on that road without your license now, wouldn't we?" She coos.
"Hardy har har, aren't you a real comedian. I forgot to ask your number. You know, in case I get a rash and I'll have to sue your plastic ass."
And what a fine plastic ass it is.
"Who said you're getting it."
"Please, I could probably find your number back in the sex ads of my newspaper under the name Rashly Ashley."
"You would know that, now wouldn't you?" She smirks.
Just put the voice on mute and zoom in on the smirk.
And boobs.
Never forget the boobs.
"Would you just give me the damn number already."
She takes out a pen out of her clutch in the most agonizingly slow manner to piss me off as much as possible. Just as I hand her a napkin trying to speed up the process a bit, she surprises me by taking a hold of my hand instead and slowly writes down the number on my hand.
"What you don't a have a business-card or something?" I snap, trying to look as cool as possible. My faltering voice really isn't helping my cause.
"Hmm, too impersonal." She husks out, as she writes down the last digit, tightens her grip, looks straight into my eyes with her dark chocolaty ones and carefully blows the ink dry.
Well, hot damn.
My hand, along with the rest of my body, has become limp and I'm pretty sure that there's drool coming out of the side of my mouth. I'm brought out of my eventual haze, by the removal of her hand and the harsh tone of her voice.
"Don't you have a tree to smash into?"
"Don't you a nose-job to redo?"
"You're not going to sell my number on Ebay or something, aren't you?" She asks nervously.
Well, well, where's confident little Ashley now?
"Tempting, but I'll pass."
"Good."
"I like to work with my sources privately."
"What are you really going to do with my number?"
"Maybe I'll call you up or something." I fake utter boredom.
"Maybe I'll be waiting for your call then."
"Alright then."
"Fantastic even."
"I'm leaving now."
"Don't stumble too much this time." She snickers out, while trying to keep a straight face.
"Don't … Ugh, whatever I don't need this."
"Say hi to PC for me." She adds when I'm about to leave.
"Will do, AD!" I feign excitement.
Just as I was finally decently walking a few steps to the door, she calls out to me.
"What?" I say huffily when I turn around to face her.
"You look cute when you're flustered." She winks at me before muttering an extra 'drive safe'.
I'm thinking, AD is about to become the painful but oh so sexy death of me. But PC is not about to discover that any time soon.