Chapter 8: Stripper Barbie
Two years ago...
Nico
Our tour had ended a few weeks ago, and I was still dragging ass. I was exhausted as I drove home after taking my Nonna out to dinner. She had managed to introduce the topic of my love life, and her non-existent great-grandchildren, no less than four times over the course of the two hours we spent together. It was a fucking blast.
I loved my Nonna, really, I did. She was one of my very favorite people on this planet, but shit, she was an expert ball-buster. Tonight, she had been very vocal about the fact that my choice of female companionship left a lot to be desired, aside from Allie, of course. Nonna loved Allie.
During our months on the road, I had asked Allie to help my mom and Nonna from time to time with various things they needed. It hadn't taken long before she and Gracie were pulled into the family fold. I was happy that they were growing close, but it also seemed to light a fucking fire under my Nonna - a fire which she had gleefully used to roast my ass over dinner. Nonna bitched about the groupies she saw hanging all over me in the tabloids, the supermodels I occasionally hooked up with, and the few other "bimbos" - her word - that I had dated over the pastyear. She finished her tirade by informing me that I should quit worrying about "wetting my wick" and pay more attention to my heart.
By the end of the meal, I was just nodding my head a lot, apologizing for my deplorable taste in women, and praying to whoever was listening that I never-fucking-ever had to hear my Nonna utter the phrase "wetting my wick" again.
As I pulled into my driveway, I saw a strange car parked in front of the house. The security light over the garage illuminated the interior just enough for me to see that the driver was a woman, and she appeared to be alone in the car. I decided not to open the overhead garage door and pulled to a stop by the front door instead. I left the car running in case I needed to make a quick getaway, as I considered my options.
The downside to fame, unfortunately, was dealing with fans who invaded my privacy, sometimes even to the level of stalking. Before I could decide on the best course of action, my mystery guest opened her car door and stepped out, confidently striding toward my car on her red stiletto heels. She looked vaguely familiar - mid-20's, tall, stacked, bleached blond hair - and was clearly unarmed, since I could see just about every inch of her in the revealing dress she was barely wearing. I still wasn't sure exactly who she was, but my unease was starting to fade. Still, I stayed in the car to be on the safe side and rolled my window down halfway as she approached.
Before I could say a word, she smiled seductively and purred "Nico, baby, I'm so glad you're finally home. I've been so lonely waiting on you, I almost had to start without you."
With that, she slid the straps of her dress down, until it pooled on the ground at her feet.What the actual fuck???Myjaw dropped, as she stood before me wearing nothing but those stilettos and a smile. I was sure that for some men she was a fantasy come to life. Under the circumstances, I was just creeped the fuck out.
Trying to act nonchalant, as if this were an everyday occurrence, I held up one finger in her direction and pretended to be talking to someone on my car's speakerphone. I stared at my dashboard and asked my phantom caller to "hold on one second, I'll be right back with you". I then looked at my unwelcome strip-o-gram and told her I hated to be rude, but I needed to finish this call in private, and would be with her as soon as I could. I suggested she put her dress on and get back in her car so she wouldn't get cold.
She shook her head with a girlish giggle that I was certain she had meant to seem enticing and gave me a satisfied smirk. I watched her as she strolled back to her car, sans dress, and reclined back on the hood. Again, What. The. Actual. Fuck???
I rolled my window back up and dialed 9-1-1. Keeping one eye on Stripper Barbie, who was now lying spreadeagle on her car, I gave my name and address to the dispatcher, then quickly explained the situation. He was silent for a moment then asked me to repeat myself, as if he couldn't quite figure out why I wanted to get rid of a naked chick. I explained everything again, adding that I thought she might be an overzealous fan. The dispatcher then said, "Wait, you're Nico Peretti, the guy from Storm Front?" Once I'd confirmed that I was indeed "the guy from Storm Front", his entire demeanor changed, and he assured me he was dispatching cars right away.
The LAPD had strict protocols for dealing with celebrities and potential stalking incidents, so I knew that he was now taking this call very seriously. After ascertaining that I was ina safe place - locked in my car - and that she seemed to be unarmed, he asked that I wait on the line with him until the officers arrived. He asked what "the intruder" was doing now. I simply told him she was sitting on top of her car hood. I didn't feel the need to share that she was now cupping an obviously fake tit with one hand, fingering herself with the other, and letting out porn-worthy moans that I could hear through my closed window. She was clearly putting on this display for my viewing pleasure. Unfortunately for her, neither I nor my cock wanted any part of whatever fuckery was happening here.
I could only hope my neighbors weren't home to witness this shit. Old Mr. Flanagan, who lived to my left, had a bad heart, and while he would probably enjoy the show she was putting on, I wasn't sure his heart could take it. Miss Shaw was a retired school principal who lived to my right. She would definitely not be amused. She was not a fan, of my music nor of me. In fact, if the icy cold death rays she always shot in my direction were any indication, I would go so far as to say that she loathed me with the fire of a thousand suns. I wasn't sure why exactly, but I strongly suspected it was because of a pool party I'd had shortly after moving in. To be fair, it did get pretty fucking wild. I mean, it wasn't Roman-orgy level, but it was a little much for the average person.
It had happened just after we'd signed our first contract, and I was trying my best to live up to everything I thought my new rock star lifestyle should be. Miss Shaw was not impressed with the noise coming from my backyard pool, the cars parked up and down the street, or the beer bottles she found tossed in her daffodils the next morning.
She was even less impressed to find the naked couple who had snuck over into her back yard apparently in search of aprivate place for a quick fuck. They had fallen asleep, or possibly passed out, right there on the lawn, still tangled together in all of their post-coital glory. They only awoke when she turned the hose on them as if they were a pair of stray cats. The fact that they had trampled her tulips in the process of getting their freak on seemed to have pissed her off more than anything.
I was fairly certain that Matt singing Tiny Tim's "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he helped me clean up the beer bottles from her yard hadn't helped matters at all either. The next day, I had given her my sincere apology along with a huge fruit basket, assured her it would never happen again, and had a landscape company replace her damaged flower beds. She was not impressed. I had settled down considerably since then - hell, it had been years - but Miss Shaw was clearly not the forgiving type. That probably explained why there was no Mr. Shaw around.
The officers, four in total, arrived within minutes. I turned my engine off and stepped out of my car as the first one approached. My uninvited guest, who had stopped moaning and finger-banging herself when the first patrol car pulled up, finally took my earlier suggestion, and put her goddamned dress back on. She was quickly handcuffed and placed into the back of their car, but not before crying out that she loved me, and asking how I could treat her this way "after the incredible night we'd shared last month."
Oh shit...no wonder she'd sort of looked familiar. I'd picked her up in the VIP room of a club downtown a couple of nights after we got home from the tour. Usually, I would take my hook-ups to their place, but she said her roommates were home, so I'd had the car bring us back to my house. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. She wasn't inclined to leave after we'd fucked the firsttime, so I'd let her stay for round two. I was a little drunk, and a lot tired, so I offered to call her an Uber after. Unfortunately, I had fallen asleep before it arrived, and the crazy bitch sent the driver away and crawled back into bed with me. Color me fucking surprised when I awoke to find her there the next morning, with only the haziest of memories of the night before. After declining a good morning blow job, I had called for another Uber, and watched as she actually got in the damned thing that time. I'd found her phone number scrawled on my bathroom mirror in red lipstick after she left and couldn't clean that shit off fast enough.
While the police were wrapping up their report and arranging to have Stripper Barbie's car towed from my driveway, I took a few minutes to have a three-way call with Michael and Lana, our publicist, to give them both a heads up about tonight's incident. I was sure the paparazzi - who typically monitored police scanners - would get wind of it sooner rather than later. Michael immediately suggested I find a new, more secure place to live. He also suggested that I quit bringing random groupies home with me. They were both valid points.
I'd been considering buying a new house for a while. This place was nice, not a typical celebrity mega-mansion, but nice all the same. However, I had been thinking of getting a place big enough for an in-home rehearsal studio, and after tonight, something more secluded and secure was clearly needed. I was sure Miss Shaw would throw a tastefully low-key brunch to celebrate my departure from the neighborhood.
The next day, Allie called me bright and early. "Hey, Michael told me what happened last night. That's so scary," she said. "I'm glad you're all right. It could have ended up so much worse."
"Yeah, it was pretty fucking crazy," I admitted. I really hoped Michael had kept some of the shittier details to himself, like the finger-banging on the car hood, and the fact that she was a former one-night stand who I didn't even really remember. Not one of my finer moments, I would admit.
She chuckled, "I'm sure it was. He wanted me to let you know that he called your attorney first thing this morning to get the restraining order filed. Also, he said you're thinking of moving, and wanted me to get you a referral for a realtor. I have the contact info for the one Tony used when he bought his penthouse. I know he was really happy with her. Would you like me to contact her to set up a time for you to meet?"
I thought about my schedule for the next few days. "That would be great. See if she has availability tomorrow morning, or anytime Wednesday."
"Sure thing," she replied. "If you'll send me a list of what you're looking for in a property, I'll forward it on to her so she can have info gathered on any available listings that might work for you."
I had a sudden thought, "Hey Sunshine, would you mind going with me to look at the houses? If I'm going to get an actual 'grown-up house', I could probably use a woman's perspective."
She gasped, "Oh God, yes, that would be so much fun! I would love to get a peek inside all of these fancy houses."
