Chapter 7: Fame – Part 3

What a night!

Parker's heart was racing. Sitting backstage in the dressing room, attendants peel the leotard off of him. His profuse sweat clings to it and makes it difficult to separate from his skin.

He catches his eyes in the mirror. A tropical fish array of colors surrounded them and silver glitter covers his cheeks. But the thing that shocks him to the core is the huge grin plastered on his face.

He had been amazing.

Every step of the way, once he fought past the fear, something else took over. Call it muscle memory, perhaps.

When the security guards had pushed back his screaming rabid fans, he'd stepped out shakily. Even over all the clamor, he was sure people heard the gulp of his fearful swallow. But then, he decided just to march through the gauntlet and get to the waiting door. Just ignore everything and get to where he was going. Except, after a few steps, he wasn't marching so much as sashaying. Stepping confidently in his high heels. His hands went up and gave waves to the fans and the photographers. He even blew kisses. It was almost like being possessed, only he was in control. He was in control and somehow just knew what to do.

Then came the long delay while they did sound checks and whatnot and constantly touched up his hair and makeup before changing him into the costume for the first performance of the night. It was a horrific ensemble consisting of hot pants that looked like cutoff jeans, but were of a stretchy fabric that molded to his bubble-butt like they were painted on. A massive pushup bra (an E-cup, it turned out, and if the fan sites could be trusted, he'd had surgery to augment his natural Cs) with a too-small white tank top over it that had an image of a unicorn head and a rainbow on it. And finally high heels that resembled sneakers.

Ever since the hotel, his face had been made up with tons of pale concealer with blooms of pink blush on his cheeks. His hair was done in two big buns like mouse ears or pompoms with short tails of more pink hair sticking out behind them. He looked like a little kid playing dress up. Or a doll. And for over an hour he sat facing this bizarre face in the mirror.

Sitting in the chair waiting for things to start a cold sweat began to coat him. How could he go on TV looking like a sexed-up pre-teen girl. It was lewd. It was weird. It was abso-fucking-lutely humiliating.

The entire time, members of the band and backup dancers came up to him and told him how excited they were and how great this was all going to be. He nodded and made the appropriate comments, wishing everyone would break a leg. But inside a deep panic built.

Walking the carpet was simple. Hell, he'd probably seen other people do the same thing and he just subconsciously copied them. But there was no way he could sing and dance.

Just before he went on, his assistant, Deb, handed him a phone.

"Hello?" he asked hesitantly.

"Hello? Hello?" A scratchy smokers voice said condescendingly. "Is that all ya' got for me, Kiddo?"

"Aunt Becky, is that you?"

"What? You think I wouldn't call? Look I know you wanted me there, but you're a big girl now. You don't need me to back you up all the time. You've become a bigger star than I ever imagine you could be. So, let your old aunt rest her bones here on the Mediterranean—thanks again for the use of the villa, Kiddo. Antonio and I are really enjoying it. But I wouldn't let you go on without calling. Now, go out there and show them what a strong, powerful, and CUTE girl can do!"

And before he knew it, Parker was being pushed out on stage. Lights glared down at him. A live audience were on their feet cheering. Why had no one said anything about the live audience? His heart seized at the sight of all the people staring at him. The band and backup dancers watched him expectantly. They were worried. He was supposed to be doing something other than gawking at the crowd.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

His eyes drifted down to the cameras. Four of them circling the stage ready to pounce. Next to one of them was a screen with words on it. A teleprompter. Lyrics.

He read the first two lines: "Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! There's a storm brewing!/A unicorn thun-dah-storm is coming, cra-ah-ah-shing down!"

Something in his head snapped. He strutted out to center stage and began belting out the lyrics. The dancers came in and he joined them, mixing into their routine, flawlessly. Even while twirling and twerking, he kept up with the song. Even when he couldn't see the teleprompter, the words were right there on his lips.

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Janet had been right, he could do this in his sleep.

The rest of the performance had been a mad, adrenalin fueled race. It was a blur of costume changes and dance steps. The interview barely felt real. The well-practiced answered spilled from his mouth as if on their own. He even hit all the right inflections while sharing an amusing anecdote about recording the album involving an event he had no memory of whatsoever. By the end of the show, Parker felt drunk. Exhausted, excited, and dizzy from the applause. And what applause!

Never in his life has he been cheered on by a crowd. It is a high unlike anything he has ever known.

He wants more!

Parker almost doesn't care that he's being stripped naked by strangers in the dressing room. The air feels fresh on his bare skin as it dries out his sweat. But it's only for a few minutes until someone else helps him into a plush bathrobe. Although once the makeup and sparkles are cleaned off and a new layer of less intense makeup is applied, he's out of the robe and into clothes again.

It's weird having an unknown woman help him into the silk pink panties or help him on with another pushup bra, but he lets her position him and do her thing. Soon, he's dressed in fluffy pink sweatpants and a tank top that says "Girrrl Power!" in bold pink letters. His boobs  stretch and distorts the writing with their big round domes. His hair is brushed out and put in a long braid that reaches his ass.

Champaign is popped and a glass is thrust into his hand as Deb ushers him to the sofa in the dressing room. 

"That was amazing!" she says. "You sure know how to play a crowd! Angie's triaged the fans and their all set. Are you ready?"

"Ready?" he asks utterly lost.

"The meet and greet. Pictures. You know? Okay, I'll ask her to send the first group in." She texts something and a moment later, the dressing door opens and a teenage girl with three tweens comes in.

Deb introduces him to them reading their names off her phone screen. The older girl is chaperoning her sister and her friends. She stands back as the younger girls gush over him. He signs autographs and takes selfies. Then they're taken out, and another similar group is brought in and another and another. Always a young girl or several young girls with a sister or a mother. Or in one awkward case a father. The dude even wants a selfie with just the two of them. Eww!

Parker's on his third glass of the sparkling wine, when Deb says with her hand on the doorknob, "Okay, last one. We've got Michelle and Sheri with their mother Elaine. You should remember them from when you played the Coliseum last year.

The group is brought in. The girls are around twelve and fourteen and both seem super cute. They both wear Pamala Paradiso shirts and are head to foot in pink. The mother, surprisingly, also wears one of his merch shirts. She is what he'd call a classic MILF. Tall, blonde, her body still toned, and her face relatively unlined for someone in their early forties. His eyes are immediately drawn to her big heavy breasts.

Parker doesn't mind at all when she sits beside him and presses into him as they take a group shot. After the pictures are taken, she says, "We've all been waiting for you to come back to town. Last time was so special." There's something about how she says this that makes him think there's a double meaning to her words. Something she's trying to tell him that her daughters aren't supposed to pick up on. But he's clueless to what it could be, and soon the pictures are taken and they're shown out of the dressing room.

It's nearly eleven by the time he gets back to the hotel. 

The natural high is wearing off, and Parker feels sore and ready to sleep for twelve hours. But there's food laid out for him and his entourage, and he realizes how hungry he is. It's a light meal of cheese and fruit with lots of small deserts, and he's so busy pecking at the buffet, he doesn't really notice the room emptying out until it is only him and Deb. Janet was the first to leave and she'd been loud about congratulating him again for the show. For all her nagging earlier, she seemed overjoyed that things went well. But the others slipped out almost scared that he might chew them out for leaving.

"Alright, I'm out of here," Deb says. "So, everything's set for your...um...after show entertainment. I'll pass off a room key on my way out."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

As she's walking out the door, Deb says, "You're groupie, of course. What? Did you think I'd forget to arrange it?"

 

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