Painless Love Ch. 03

I don't want to wake up. I know that I mustn't. Oh yes—I was the heck tired yesterday doing an interview with a top most celebrity and today there would be an opulent and grand Marie de Pierre Gala going on at Riesman Hotel here in Las Vegas. Marie de Pierre is a celebrated and well-known star all over America with a rumored whooping net worth of breathtakingly $600 million. Well, you might be guessing how she made all that huge amount in her whatever efforts and labors. She just happens to be a 31 year old woman who is into designing and furnishing people's living rooms and most importantly their kitchens, and her own self-incorporated company, The Marie de Pierre Furnishers, are just equally exactly into the same furnishing and making up people's homes and their kitchenettes thing.

"We are going to see Marie de Pierre this evening?" Courtney asks me as we eat and polish up our breakfast in our enormous and large living room.

"Well, who else do you want to see yourself tonight? Gavin—right? Come on, girl. We are going to enjoy ourselves at this gala, all you solely have to do is follow me and let us enjoy and please ourselves as we feel like. I hear that it is absolutely and definitely going to be super fantastic and brilliant awesome. What do you think about it?"

"Since you have insisted so much on it, I am not going to say 'no' at all." Hmmnnnn! I am wondering and thinking quietly to myself: Should I tell her about the cutely gentleman that handed me a lift yesterday, or must I just keep quiet and unspeaking about it. I can't really and actually tell. No, don't let her know about it for now. An appropriate time will be coming for you to let her know as concerns it. Of course—that is my beautiful and plain damn bothersome sneaky snoopy subconscious, Mirth. She is always listening and paying due attention to whatever it is that I am saying up there in my private head.

I am now at work. Today is Thursday, 9 April 2020. Oh my goodness. I feel like I am so dead beat and exhausted to the extreme point and extent that I cannot do any little bit of thing without catching myself yawning and yowling out helplessly. But then again I have to keep myself up on my toes and not be downright helpless. This is what life requires and demands of me, not to be lazy and seated perfectly still doing no any form of work.

"I have got your latest research done and handed over to you. Did it reach your desk?" I ask Logan Hamilton, my tall, sturdy-built like, good-looking boss. Hmmnnnn! Most men his age? You find them more than standard average overweight with bent and almost tumbling-off swellings and puffing-outs of their bellies to the extent that even their walk and activity itself is not all that healthy and inspiring. How does he do it? He is forty-four, and yet he is so strong and powerful and robust. If it were not for his graying hair, I swear that he would blamelessly and cleanly look to be in his late twenties.

"Oh yes I got it, Tori. It came to my attention and review as a matter of fact. I wanted to say I appreciate your sincerest and tender most hard work on it. I didn't trust that you could clear it up for me." This, he says with a relatively big and heartily kind of inspirational smile. Wow. He is quite terribly handsome even if he is getting old. He reminds me of Charles Berlusconi and...Rhys Ty Jonas! Do they know each other?

It is freaking lunch time now. I hate lunch. I wish I could work without almost any sort of break. Why exactly do I say this? Because look, by the hour it comes that I have to just sit still and do almost nothing other than chewing and dozing about, I find that once the two-hour rest time is over and done with, I stir up back to my perfect senses and realism only to realize that I should rest more and slouch and loll down on my rolling chair until it is yet time again to knock off from work. I get all lazy and dozing about when it comes to lunch duration, and getting myself out of this state after lunch is finished with is the worst of torture and punishment than hell itself. Certainly!

There is this latest gossip making rounds and rounds today at the office. And guess who it is aiming the shameless dart at? My boss himself—Logan Hamilton.! Oh yeah! I have no time to listen and entertain gossip. But it is not every moment and every occasion that it finds us too strong and impenetrable to resist it. At times we are just all too weak and remediless and invulnerable to almost any sort of thing out there.

Darcy Winooski is so big and puffed up she hardly breathes when she seats and sinks herself down into her chair. Even her voice itself—it is always moderately tired and pooped-up to speak out any louder and inaudibly. But don't underestimate or even undervalue her for solely that! She can speak GREAT thing, tell GREAT stories about people you live and stay with right next door. I find her in the cafeteria up on the sixteenth floor with six other women workers assembled about in plastic-made and blue-colored chairs. They are all stooped and inclined down towards her, obviously meaning that what she is preaching and proclaiming to them is quietly very interesting than the latest title on BREAKING NEWS (the big giant TV is in the very same cafeteria where we all are inside), telling how a leading wife of a famous politician, 38 years of age, has recently been involved in a sex scandal with a 15 year old boy—her very own stepson as a matter of fact!

I take a seat down on an empty chair sited among the silenty eavesdropping grouping and then flash everyone present here a warm and greeting smile. Darcy is busy chirping out lowly but piercingly sharp to some slight degree, "I saw them with my own two eyes. He is having an affair with that new assistant for sure. Every guy working around here has at least confessed up to having something in his heart or pants for her, and to my own horrible shock, I also overheard the Big Man himself 'fessing up to his friend that he would like to fuck and spank up the poor girl in his own bedroom once his wife is off to visit her parents with their growing up kids."

Shit! Just what the hell is exactly going on here, huh?

"I am a little bit left behind. Would anyone of you here mind to pull me ahead to the same pace and track that you are all moving at?" I ask fearlessly and boldly calm after taking a sip of my canned coke.

Henrietta is the one who affords to look me straight into the eyes. "It turns out that your big boss, Mr. Hamilton, is having an affair with the newest assistant around here. Darcy herself here saw them make out in the toilet—or is it not so, Darcy?"

She merely frowns and then rolls her eyes furiously. "Just think about that, girl. Huh!"

Holy hell! Logan...with that beautiful ebony-haired girl? I have talked to her before, and even spent a little bit of time with her. She was kind, polite, and likeable even...and to now think that she is whoring about with my boss himself? What a total shock and discovery this definitely must be for me!

"Are you so sure about what you are saying, Darcy?"

"Listen, I am not telling untruths here, Tori. I followed the pair to the toilets where they were passionately and impatiently heading off, and what I saw and heard there, it was total horror and abomination on my part...I mean I have it all here recorded and taped up here on my phone. Would you like to see it? All the girls here have watched it already."

Laic laughs out loud at this and comments, "Logan has such a nice, big shapely butt. You should see how the desirous girl was grabbing and stroking and slapping it so hard while moaning out sweetly and happily. She on the other hand has the worst shriveled up form of nipples. They almost made me puke."

I can't watch it, and that is what I precisely tell Darcy. I don't want to think that Logan could be this cheap and reckless and have this infamously lewd behavior. Intimacy and adultery with employees...it only ruins and messes up things for the company as a whole. I just warn Darcy, "Don't you upload it on YouTube please. I don't ever want to come across it there. Not if you want the two of us to be on good terms and expressions."

She just keeps her fingers crossed about it. "But don't be surprised that I have cashed in a few bucks on this." Screw her for it! Following this, I don't think that I can be able to look Logan in the face again. He seems already suspicious, and that assistant in the talk too. As he is talking to me on my desk and a passing group of clean service workers stare and glance straight at him, I see how nervous and shaky that makes him to become. Could he be scared that his wife will take notice and learn the truth about it? I bet so! What will his kids even think of their sweet precious daddy? S—h—a—m—e on him!

By three in the afternoon, I am back home, tossed and hurled straight down onto my bed. Courtney is still occupied there at her work. She is a journalist at the Las Vegas Sun, have I already mentioned this? I have to sleep now...better good for two damn hours before I wake up to do a little bit of things and then prepare myself up for that upcoming grand celebrity gala fête itself. I lie my head down on the pillow and then straight and without any form of delay drift off into deeply sleep.

I am awake and fully retrieved back into consciousness by six. I am just finishing putting the last touches to my preparation, just like Courtney there in her own room. We are both talking to each other through shouting and yelling out from open doors. I don't know what she has chosen to wear this night especially. But since I am all done and through as of now, I have to go and check it out myself. Let's hope that she has been all creative and even mesmerizing without any embarrassing me this time around.

Wonderful! She looks just like a fairy tale princess. He-hey! Has she dyed her hair brown? For what purposes exactly? I like it naturally dark red and flowingly beautiful. Now it is brown, but she looks prettier still. Hmmnnnn! I guess that I have to dye mine too... darkish red? Without fail! I quickly tell her, "Give me a couple minutes, will you, Courtney?"

"Sure, my sweet babe, Tori."

We are finally in her wonderfully expensive car, speeding and tearing fast like we are rushing our way to heaven off to Riesman Hotel. The road is all this busy and filled-up, but then not that terribly bad either. Whoops! I relax and lodge my head down on the seat headrest, listening to some piece of music that is magically and beautifully like playing straight into my pricked-up ears.

"How do I look in your hair?" I ask Courtney without glancing or taking a snub peek at her. She glances and gazes at me straight away.

"Fantastic," it is her sweet-sounding and from-heaven-chiming-like reply. "And me too—how do I look in your own hair?"

It is now my turn to gaze and glance direct on her head. "Beautiful, I must admit!"

"Thank you for that, I must kindly acknowledge."

Riesman is the biggest and soaring most building here on Harpy Street. Sixty floors, all wonderfully and beautifully covered with glittering steel and glass. It is polished and burnished up even. In this early night, the lights are all wonderfully and exquisitely twinkling and shimmering up. I think this is my first time being here in person. I have only seen the place on TV and in a few couple movies as well, much especially in that 2018 popular horror flick 'Siege.' I can't restrain or stop myself from admiring and ogling the entire place up once we have stepped our way inside it.

"How long is this gala going to last?" Courtney asks me in a low-sounding whisper. She is ravishing and divine-looking in a cream white dress that is bedecked with pearly crystals that are all glistening and glimmering blindingly. Her hair is so straight and smoothly-arranged just like mine and we are both putting on high heels that are clacking and clicking shrilly on the posh hotel floor itself. My dress is deep black in color, with flashy-like and sparkly designations of blue and yellow decking and adorning it up. We are also carrying sealed and light-weight purses.

"I don't really know, but I want you to know that it will close up no sooner than midnight slips by."

Huh? Way up till midnight? So what, Mirth-y! Keep your shitty mouth shut! Up even! I am a tad bit angry and furious all because of her.

I stand still and freeze all of a sudden and abruptly. I think I have seen him. What is he supposed to be doing here? Oh, he is the man who is with Marie de Pierre instead. But he looks like Charles Berlusconi? I hate thinking that after all that we have been through he would still bother to come around and annoy here. Doesn't he think that we have trashed each other up already enough. Trashed, Tori? Yes. Trashed straight into the bin! Like some piece of shit...or rubbish! This is how it was like:

Right from the start, I loved the boy by then blended into a man quietly and calmly still. Not right from our very first ncounter. But I was always like, "This one would go perfect with me." Then what made me change my mind, huh? First, I saw the conduct and behavior of his friends at that point in time. I just didn't match and harmonize with it. They were...kind of sort of grossly uncivilized and abhorrently barbaric in some way that even nature had not in any way thinkable ordained. Then I guessed that I was to surely expect that from him also. And was I kind of wrong about that? Sort of...but then yes, I really and truthfully was. They were all much the same...I couldn't stand or tolerate it. What better way than to distance myself and undo all that love and feelings that I had fastened immovable before myself and him.

Then Charles went on seeking every way and means possible to make me jealous and helpless so that I could...I don't know. I would see him with A, then with B, then with C...until there was D whom he proposed to and strictly began dating. Oh yes! She saw me as her potential and un-resting rival and enemy, kind of that way. I simply didn't care about her and her spiteful attitude flaunted at me—I accepted whatever mean nasty damn things she chucked straight at my table. I really was helpless and horrible in those days and times. I was woefully hurt and bleeding heavily too. I wasn't filled with jealous really...but that I had allowed something of this menacing nature to happen and befall me in the first place. So what did I do?

Mirth came along. She kicked in into my life and being at this particular point in time. We then merged and unified as two alive and pushing in one. I was perishing. Both Charles wanted to see that I was done to nothingness with, and Mr. Pearl Genius (just his ridiculous nickname) was playing his game of doom and helplessness at me. He is a whiz man-kid genius really, the next Great Albert Einstein of our coming Newest Age in Science and Inventions. He was like, "Don't think I am dumb, Tori...I am just playing it smart...smarter than you played it on me yourself." He stroked at me, and I tumbled down dead at those excruciating lashes and scourges of his. If it were not for Mirth, I would not have resurrected anew. I would not have been back from the dead, to die not once more this time around. Mirth took me, Mirth lives in me, Mirth fights for me...

What do you feel, Tori?

Pain! Deep and cureless pain!

You are wrong. That thing which you are calling pain can actually be cured. I will cure it for you...all in promise of one thing.

Which is?

You let me fight for you. Charles thinks he will tramp and stamp you as he feels like. He won't anymore. I will change you into something that he puzzles at and doesn't even understand without encountering a headache or total incomprehension to resolve. You will become unpredictable. He will not know what to expect and also not expect from you. You will be all things mysterious and unreadable. You will sting them—them? Yes them, Tori, but not all of them—tremendously, but in a very not-direct and bothersome way. He will not tramp on Mirth!

So I let Mirth take control. What about Pearl Genius?

That is not your problem, Tori. I know how to sort things out for the two of us. Just trust me, will you please?

Charles might be seated there with her. I don't care anymore. I have a life of my own and achievements of my own far much important. They are in love? I still don't care. I didn't know that I would come to be this...from just being a piece of trash transformed into something exceedingly glorious and resplendent. This is what I did. I took my broken, shattered pieces and swore never to give them back to him once polished and perfected up. I have for all eternity lost him and he has for time without an ending lost me too. We won't ever belong to each other—we will always be in this dystopia and ugly state of ours...only destiny shall reveal what the fate of each one of us is rightfully going to be.

This is what Mirth told him (Charles especially): Spit at me. Strike your deadliest curse at me. It shall not ever prevail. I will not always be this filthy and despicable. You broke and shattered me, but see how quickly resolving and mending up I am coming to be. You are going to look at me all over again and say that that is not what you in the past broke and shattered—or is it exactly? No. It can't be this cleanly beautiful and sparkling-up anymore. It shall be mine yet again. But then it will not—ever. Now it already belongs to someone else somewhere, somewhere you can't have or take it back. Mirth won't ever let you wield and possess it again. You will at that time realize that it now is all too beautiful and deep down in the heart desirable all thanks to you. If you hadn't broke and shattered me, I would not have been this put back together and patched quickly up so amazingly breathless and beautifully. Thank you for making Mirth to be what Tori is just about now to be!

"She looks like she has it all, doesn't she?" Courtney asks me in another quietly and soundless whisper. I hear it and make out the precise words that she has said without any bit form of trouble. Hollywood and its sparkling stars! This one doesn't fit into Hollywood precisely. Okay. She has done good, big, and an undeniable great lot deal job for some Hollywood sensational names. But she hasn't acted in any one movie or ever got featured in any kind of popular music. The truth is that she is simply so rich and famous. That is what makes a Paparazzi like me crawl all the way straight here just to photograph and photo-snap her. Doop-sie!

"I don't know. I can't look or even survey deep into her heart. If I could, I would tell the whole and exact truth then." I am thinking to myself: Is she really happy with what she is in life? At other times you could be there in the centre and focus and attention of everyone else, seeming like you have been blessed with the eagle-speedy wings of a golden angel, but deep down your heart you wish that you could write a very different story of your life than all this and be to the last full happy and satisfied with yourself.

I remember the other time I interviewed another particular celebrity. Her weeping? "I am already famous as a night club stripper, ain't I? I mean yes, I get hired to play all these nasty and indecent bitchy roles. It is not what I want to every time do deep down my heart and soul. Most producers only care about I stripping totally naked and then acting out some feisty nasty smiling and dancing thing all in the face of the camera while the bottles are being hit and shattered with numberless bullets all about me. I love acting—but then not this type of acting, Tori."

I asked her this, emotionally moved and stirred, "Then why don't you just stop this whole thing?"

"I earn and make big money from this, Tori. Once I stop, I am done; and I fear that I can find myself back in the very same homeless condition as before. It is too hard and excruciating to be cast at ground zero once anew, you know?"