Usually.
When the camera's off I just enjoy my life in this crazy, massive mansion. The last thing I want or need to think about is a fan, or some random cam lurker.
Usually.
Yet here I am, three days later, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling in the middle of the goddamn afternoon doing exactly that.
"Mr. Big."
Well, there it is. The first time I’ve said the name of any of these dudes out loud. Outside of the show, that is. I've officially brought my work home, something I never do. But I'm enjoying it way more than expected.
Mr. Big. I think about him stopping a blowjob so he could jack it to my show. Yeah fucking right. I give him credit for being entertaining with his bullshit, at least. That is a load of shit, right, babe?
Yeah, of course.
Okay, this was bound to happen. I have a crush on a dude who doesn't really exist. Occupational hazard. I'll forget about this crap by tomorrow. This is ridiculous. And hilarious. Why am I laughing so hard at the frigging ceiling?
I keep laughing after my door swings open and Lydia flounces in with all her Lydia-swagger. She just stands there, arms crossed, looking at me and having none of it. Well, almost none of it: I can spot her trying-not-to-laugh expression from a million miles away. It's all in her eyes.
"The fuck you laughing at, girl?"
Now I start cracking up seriously hard. Lydia just stares. She knows me well. My laughter finally breaks when I see Lydia look down slightly, the amusement quickly draining from those gorgeous eyes.
Those iconic eyes sell more subscriptions to Bennet Babes than any pair of tits or set of succulent, dildo-caressing lips could ever hope to. Lydia's spot in the mansion is well-earned, as is mine. It feels wrong to see her no-fucks-given face go a bit sour, and maybe even sad.
"What’s all this? What’s with you?" Lydia gestures to me with her hand, her expression suspicious. What the hell is she on about?
"What are you on about?" I sit up on my bed.
"You. In here by yourself laughing like a lunatic. You’ve finally lost it."
"Lady, I lost it a long time ago."
"That's not what I meant. You…" Whatever Lydia's trying to get out is stopped dead in its tracks by the startling sound of Catherine the Great—a nickname I'm smart enough to keep to myself—bellowing at us from downstairs somewhere. Lydia breaks her cool to shoot me a confused look.
I just shrug.
"Well, Catherine's finally lost her goddamn mind."
For some reason, Lydia doesn’t find this funny. She looks properly freaked as she practically runs out into the hallway. I follow her casually, not giving up the joke.
"I mean, we all knew it was gonna happen eventually."
I try to keep up with Lydia as she powerwalks through the corridor and down the Italian marble stairwell. We follow the sound of Catherine's voice like it's some panicky homing signal.
I still can't make out what she's shouting, but now I see she’s standing in the foyer by the front door. Why would she stand there? What kind of place is that for a house meeting, anyway? There are far better places for that in this giant building we call home.
I’m still tagging behind Lydia as we make it to the foyer. Mary and Jane are there already, looking petrified. Catherine quiets down for a moment when she sees me. Her face is colorless. It must be really bad to faze her like that.This shit's getting out of hand.
"I don’t know who died, but I think you're all overreacting."
My remark is met by silence. Damn, no one's laughing at my jokes today.
"Charlie! Charlieeeee!" Catherine launches right back into it, but I can finally make out what she's shrieking about. She's calling for the last mansion-dwelling cam girl still at large.
Not for long, though. Catherine lets herself stop roaring as we all hear the clacks of Charlie's high-heeled sandals reverberating throughout the entire first floor.
Charlie joins us to complete a misshapen, scared-shitless