"Helga Pataki? Yeah, sure, I bet pigs were flying too huh?"
Gerald could only huff with a roll of his eyes. It was the Monday after his weekend rendezvous with the blonde bombshell, and though he was never one to kiss and tell, he couldn't help but brag to his best friend about it. Could you blame him? Pulling Helga Pataki was as impressive as discovering a new element, not only was she absolutely stunning, but she didn't give away easily and, as he learned, she was fantastic in bed. Sadly, his closest companion didn't seem to believe his seemingly tall tales of debauchery with Miss. Pataki.
"Sure did, I even have the pictures to prove! Though, I'm not the sort to share such... intimate content, not without permission of course," he sarcastically yawned, earning a disbelieving guffaw from the other end of the phone.
"Alright then, I'll go along with this," he snorted, "what, is she your girlfriend now or something?"
Gerald shrugged, "I'm not sure, I think so? She never confirmed it and she said she wants to take it slow, but she also said if she saw me with another woman she'd cut my dick off and shove it up my nose, so I think that's a maybe?"
A guttural laugh soon crackled through the phone, before a wheeze was heard in between, "well, if I were you I'd keep it exclusive then, I don't know much about her, but from what I heard she's completely insane, I wouldn't risk it."
Gerald could only roll his eyes, it was just like him to suddenly give unsolicited advice. That was just his nature, Arnold Shortman had always had this instinctual need to help those around him, even if they didn't ask for it. Whether it was physically aiding them in something, or giving them advice to help them get through it, Arnold seemed biologically hardwired to help people. Even when it came to his work, the underrated art of architecture, Arnold always tried to design his buildings to be both aesthetically appealing and accessible, in fact it was him who had normalized the now standard of including ramps often times in place of stairs.
With a stretch, Gerald chuckled, "hey, sometimes the crazies are the most fun, ya never know, I might have just met my future wife."
"Well then, try to stay alive long enough to propose bro."
"How about instead of worrying about where I stick my dick, we discuss your shit, why am I hearing that you've been getting cozy with Gloria Valentine?"
Arnold paused, before then quietly responding, "you heard about that?"
"Duh, it got posted on The In Scene dude," Gerald scoffed, "ahem, 'pop sensation Gloria Valentine was spotted getting dinner with the CEO of Shortman Estates, Arnold Shortman, wearing a daring mini black dress and heels sharp enough to kill a man, it's clear Miss. Valentine was looking for more than just an innocent night out', verbatim, might I add."
A soft 'shit' could be heard from the phone, only to be followed be an annoyed grown, "bro, I just design my houses and manage my properties in peace, guys like me don't get posted on The In Scene!"
"Yeah, but girls like Gloria do, sorta have to deal with gossip blogs on your case if you want to date a popstar." Gerald then walked over to his fridge, before bringing out a small pot of yogurt, "so what, is she your girlfriend now?" he slyly asked, imitating Arnold's tone from earlier.
"Oh shut up, asshole," he snapped, Gerald only laughing in return, "we're dating, nothing too official yet, we met at the Wellington-Lloyd Formal, I thought she was cute and we got along nicely, so we exchanged numbers and boom, here we are." He then heard a rustling sound from the phone, "I'll be honest, it's going well, but I don't really see it becoming anything too serious, we've yet to truly click."
Gerald took a spoonful of yogurt in, before humming, "hope it works out, no offense dude, but you need some pussy ASAP."
"Now why are you cock watching me?"
His friend snorted, "all I'm saying is you've been single since Ruth and you've lowkey been complaining about it nonstop, man, you really need to get laid."
Gerald could practically hear Arnold roll his eyes, "whatever, I'm not like a certain someone who can fuck and peace out, I'd rather not sleep with a woman that isn't my girlfriend."
"And that's exactly why you'll be pussyless until the end of time, you have the will of an old man."
"Rather be pussyless than a ran through whore like a certain singer I know."
Gerald playfully clutched his chest, letting out a pained hiss, "damn, aight, you got me, you got me."
The two friends shared a mutual laugh, before Arnold let out a tired sigh. Without having to be prompted, he immediately told Gerald what the problem was, "Gloria got an invite to the Met Gala, and she expects me to go with her, and to be honest? I don't want to."
"Why not?" Gerald ask, taking another spoonful of his yogurt.
"Gerald... you know I don't do these fancy industry events, and plus it's basically a themed dress up party but with higher stakes, and it's already bad enough when Rhonda forces me to attend hers," he laughed, though it was fairly hollow, "I guess that's the only real downside to dating her, I gotta be an actual celebrity now."
"Now you know how I feel," Gerald scoffed, receiving a playful 'oh fuck off' from the other end of the phone, "I got invited too, the theme seems lightwork though so don't stress, just pick some famous male book character and dress up as him."
Arnold shrugged, "I suppose, sounds predictable though, I can already see all the dudes dressed as Dorian Gray and Mr. Darcy."
"Ooooh, I might steal that second idea man," Gerald dramatically fixed his non-existent tie, putting on a forced British accent, "it'll be my pitch to be the first black Mr. Darcy in the inevitable hundredth adaptation of Pride and Prejudice."
Sharing yet another set of laughs, the duo's conversation soon shifted to the mundane, reminiscent of their childhood days.
"So... Gerald J huh?"
Helga sat in her dressing room, lazily staring up at the ceiling with a bottle of Pepsi Max in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She had been filming for her most recent film for almost a year now, and at this point she wished it was all over. It was a typical Oscar-bait project, titled 'To Venice', it followed the lives of two men in a secret relationship in 1750s France, with all the dramatics and tears you could imagine, Helga was playing the role of the unassuming betrothed wife to one of the men. It wasn't a bad movie, in fact she was sure it would bring home a few awards, it was just so predictably tragic that Helga couldn't pretend she hadn't mentally checked out a few months into filming.
To her left sat one of her oldest friends, a ginger haired young man named Eugene Horowitz. The two had first met in their freshman year of high school, more specifically because Helga had saved him from a group of foul-mouthed bullies. He was an easy target back then, he was small, clumsy, frail, a known jinx, and most glaring of all: he was openly gay. Luckily, they had grown up at a time where being gay — while still regarded as relatively taboo — wasn't so out of the ordinary that most people cared. However, there were the rare gang or two or insecure teenage boys who felt the need to overcompensate for their masculinity by targeting the gay boy, which made it so Helga more often than not had to step up and humble them.
The more it happened, the more the two were forced to be together, until eventually they just became friends. As they had gotten older, it seemed Eugene had grown into a less clumsy, yet more outspoken young man. They often joked about how the two were living each other's dream life, with Helga being the established theatre and screen actress and Eugene being the author. His most successful series was 'The Tall Tales of Terry Turner', a comedic diary-style story that followed the titular teenaged Terry Turner, an unpopular student with dreams of being adored. In order to achieve this, he comes up with half-witted plans to increase his popularity, which more often than not failed due to his clumsiness and his habit of being a complete jinx.
Helga remembered feeling a strange sense of deja-vu when she first checked the books out.
Now, Eugene was in her dressing room, pressing her about the newest hot gossip surrounding the queen of controversies herself. Helga couldn't help but roll her eyes, what was the big deal? So what if she was screwing around with Gerald J? Let her have fun! It wasn't like she was marrying the dude, sure he was hot, and polarizing, but as far as she was concerned she was getting a good time and good sex, and media was blowing it way out of proportion.
"Yes, Gerald J, if you want I can give you all the saucy details on the myriad of positions we tried."
"Oh heavens no," Eugene chuckled, "I'm just honestly a little shocked, to tell you the truth I thought you'd hate each other."
Helga sat up slightly, raising an eyebrow, "why?"
Eugene sighed, hunching forward, hold of his hands holding onto his warm cup of coffee, "it's just, you both have very... dominant personalities? And no do not make that any more inappropriate than it has to be— I guess I thought you two wouldn't mesh, sort of like an unmovable object meeting an unstoppable force."
"Well," Helga shrugged, leaning back, "can't be that unbelievable, Rhonda and I get along."
"Yeah, because Phoebe's always there to mediate in case things go left," he laughed, "but I'm happy for you! Serious or not I have to admit, that man is beyooond fine."
"Woah there partner!" Helga quipped, cracking up in a laugh, "last time I checked, ain't you a little too engaged to be talking about how fine other men are?"
Eugene looked down at his hand, on the ring finger sat a shining pure golden ring, with a dazzling diamond in the center that was the size of a planet. Helga couldn't help but ogle at it herself, his fiancé had truly gone all out, but that was to be expected. Eugene, by luck that pretty much all of his friends aspired to have one day, had managed to snag himself the son of one of the richest men in the country— scratch that, the world. With literal billions to his name, and an estate worth more than some countries' GDP, it was safe to say the ginger was incredibly luckily, especially considering the man — named Etienne Constanza Emilio de la Fontaine — also happened to be bisexual. Even then, it was clear Eugene wasn't with him for the money, far from it, he didn't even know that Etienne was any richer than your average old money guy until he was one day invited to the family yacht, to which he was quite suddenly made aware that his new boyfriend had enough money to buy islands.
Helga had to admit, aside from the obvious wealth advantage, Etienne was also just a... really sweet guy. Eugene had never had much luck with men, often times he just ended up used an abused, making him a little hostile to relationships. On the flipside, Etienne was completely new to serious dating, especially dating someone of the same sex. It lead to a funny dynamic of him doing everything he could to make Eugene as happy as possible, if Eugene said he felt a little tired? Etienne would plan a six month cruise on their private yacht for them. If Eugene said he liked a certain shirt from a designer? Etienne would buy out the entire collection for him. It was a bit overwhelming for the humbly raised Eugene, and Etienne often struggled with not doing things in excess, but it was still sweet. He spoiled him silly, and worshipped the ground he walked on; not only that but his family was even accepting of their relationship, something rarely seen in upper class households such as that.
It was what Eugene deserved after everything he'd been through to be frank, Helga was happy for him.
With a happy sigh, Eugene then giggled, "I mean, he isn't finer than Ettie, but I see why you'd go for it... do you see a ring in the future?"
"Woaaaaaah," Helga's eyes widened, "Eugene, I just started fucking him, we're not even official yet! I mean, we're exclusive but—"
"YOU'RE EXCLUSIVE? LIKE TOGETHER?" Eugene suddenly gasped.
"No, I mean," Helga groaned, not even knowing how to explain it, "we're not a couple, but we're exclusive, if you get what I mean? I told him that I wanna see how it goes, so he can't go fucking around with other girls for as long as he's fucking with me."
"Ah, the infamous dating-with-benefits stage, praying for you sister," he snorted, before his face suddenly fell, becoming strangely serious, "do you think you can trust Gerald to be faithful? I mean, y'know his reputation... if you're not official, can you believe he won't sleep with other women?"
Helga slumped back, "to be honest? No, I have a feeling he's probably gonna fuck girls behind my back, but there's a possibility he won't! So I wanna test him before I consider becoming more serious with him! If he fails this test, then this will all just be some fling, no deeper than that."
"Sounds to me like you've managed to catch feelings for him, and now you want to see if it's worth the hassle," when Helga glared at him, Eugene laughed, "I'm not judging you girl! If my last official man was Harold Berman I'd be cautious around famous guys too, y'know I heard he's been cheating on Patty."
"WHAT?" Helga guffawed, her eyes getting wider when Eugene coyly nodded, "I'm surprised he has the intellectual capacity to be unfaithful, I swear on everything she just had his baby too?"
"Yup, with no ring to show for it either girl," Eugene tittered with a shake of his head, "sister it was aaaall over The In Scene, they got pictures of him getting into a car with some dark haired model woman, she hasn't been identified yet though."
Helga could only look away, her jaw still agape, "no fuckin' way... that sleezy, brain-damage having son of a dick, it's gotta be the CTE making him stupid."
With a spluttered laugh, Eugene shook his head, "you can't say shit like that Helga, oh my gosh!"
"What, it's true!"
"Thank God, she's gonna fuckin' ruin him."
Sat at a fancy café, wearing a pair of thick and black Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, sat famed model Lila Sawyer. On her body sat a white Giambattista Valli Pre-Fall coat with golden embroidery, underneath said coat she wore a vintage fall 2000s Miu Miu set, consisting of a beige and brown crochet top and and grey micro skirt. Her feet were the least extravagant, with her only wearing a pair of simple black pumps she had gotten from her recent stint at the thrift store. With her firey auburn hair, uniquely abundant freckles, moderately tall height and golden ratio of a face, it surprised no one to find out that Lila Sawyer was a model, though she had to admit it was far from the career she wanted. Lila was not one to show off, nor did she put much emphasis on her appearance, she knew that people found her pretty — beautiful, even — but she wasn't the sort who cared about that much if at all.
It was completely by chance that she became a model, someone had taken a picture of her at a book signing she had attended and said picture went viral, once people had dug deeper and found her social media accounts, she was soon bombarded with offers from big name fashion brands to model for them; being a country bumpkin living in the city, struggling to make ends meet and pay for college as she studied to become a veterinarian, who was she to turn them down? Fast forward a couple of years and she had become one of the biggest names in the fashion world, walking for some of the biggest names and becoming an ambassador and representative for them too. It was insane to think about, she had went from helping around her family farm, to living in a run-down apartment in New York City, to now being famous enough to rub shoulders with names like Lorenzo Sinclair and Helga Pataki.
Speaking of Helga, her newly discovered relationship with Gerald J was the topic of discussion.
Lila chuckled when her friend spoke, admittedly she didn't really like Gerald J, having not forgiven him entirely for his strange dig at her a while back, she found the man to be overly crude and full of himself, and clearly he didn't respect women the way he ought to. Her friend clearly found them to be amusing, she was a beautiful, dark-skinned black woman named Elodie Anut; of Sudanese descent, the two had met backstage at a Schiaparelli show and hit it off almost instantly. The two had a lot in common, both coming from humble backgrounds, only to suddenly be thrusted into the modelling world and have their lives completely changed, all it took was a conversation for the two of them to become the best of friends. Like Lila, Elodie clearly didn't like Gerald much, most likely because of the time he tried to make a pass at her at the VMAs.
"Well, how do you know that?" Lila said through a laugh, trying to be optimistic.
Elodie scoffed, "puh-lease Lila, you and I both know Helga Pataki doesn't do long term relationships. I mean, last time she went public with was Harold Berman, she's like Jennifer Check, except not a total cannibal — well, if we're talking Kesha's definition of a cannibal then she might just be."
Lila took a sip of her latte, before using a gloved hand to brush a couple of her flowing red tresses out of her face, "I think you're just being negative because you don't like him, I think they're cute together, they might be the knew it couple—"
"Do you know how many industry dudes have claimed they had a fling with Helga or went on a date with Helga only for her to dump them like garbage?" Elodie quipped, cutting Lila off, "like, Frankie G is still writing songs about her, and they were only 'together' for like, three weeks! She is a total man-eater, and she defs just found a new victim."
The redhead hummed, unable to disprove her. Helga did have a reputation for making men fawn for her only to leave them high and dry, Frankie G was indeed still writing whole songs about how much he yearned for her, despite her never even acknowledging him or the alleged fling they had; she could see why, she was incredibly gorgeous, and many men liked just how no nonsense and tough she was.
"You have to agree at least that it would be iconic of Gerald J got played for once," Elodie shrugged, "I wanna see him get a taste of his own medicine, she needs to put that legendary Pataki pussy on him and ruin his life!"
Lila blurted a laugh, just barely stopping herself from spewing her latte over her clothes, "did you just say legendary Pataki pussy? What is your issue?"
"I'm just saying, her coochie juices gotta taste like butter beer and angel tears for dudes to be acting the way they do," Elodie lifted her own latte up with her hands, "and she better use it to destroy him, I've been praying on his downfall for the longest time."
"You can be soooo odd," Lila snorted, "Do you really hate him that bad?"
"What can I say, I'm a hater at heart."
Sorry for the shit chapter! Life was hectic and I wanted to get something out, luckily the next chapter should be a lot sooner lol