Applehead Fever

38 - dancing dirty

Clinton's Mercedes screeched to a halt in front of my destination. The brakes letting out a sharp and short squeal.

"You should probably get those breaks checked." I jested, scooting forward in my seat to try and fit Clinton's face in my vision rather than hopping out of the unlocked door.

The older blond man kept his eyes forward. Saying, "They just started squeaking today."

"All the more reason to get them checked. Better to catch it early on, hm?"

Clinton went silent. I could almost feel the annoyance wafting off of him. Though I knew it wasn't true annoyance. Our love language was bantering back and forth. Him pretending to be irritated by my pestering, me happily continuing my pestering. It was a routine between us.

His continual silence provoked another comment out of me. "You know, you should come visit me sometime on set."

This stirred him from his silent and lifeless staring into the abyss ahead. However, it did not take his gaze away. "And why would I do that? What would I have to do while you prance in front of a camera?"

"Watch me." I said as though it were obvious.

"Not for the whole twenty hours you're in there."

"It's not for twenty hours." I scoffed. "It's for twelve. Maybe ten."

He finally turned, blue eyes piercing into me while a blond, sparse eyebrow arched. "Is there a reason behind your incessant stalling?"

I chewed my lip. Surprised by his quick conclusion upon my otherwise unexplainable sudden interest in small talk. Maybe even a little offended.

"No."

Truth be told, there was.

I had been excited for a good majority of the ride to Long Beach, our filming location, at the thought of working on another music video with Michael. Further excited when remembering my new manager would be making an appearance. But when allowing my mind to fixate on Shelly, I realized the other factor.

Frank would also be present. And he had offered to manage me as well.

He hadn't been informed on my decision. It slipped my mind that telling him I'd chosen a manager so that he didn't have to wait anymore would probably have been a good idea.

Now I was showing up to set with a new manager without anyone having been informed. It seemed like a perfect situation to create unrest between me and the stubby man. Something I certainly did not intend and was not looking forward to.

Although none of this concerned Clinton. So I heaved a sigh and popped open the door to clamber out of his car. "Fine, I'm going, Mr. Grumps."

"Call me when it's time to pick you up."

"Will do." Before shutting the door, I added, "Seriously, you should visit me on set someday."

Clinton glanced at me, drumming his thick fingers on the steering wheel. "I'll think it over."

That was enough for me, and I beamed. "Okay, bye!"

With the door now shut, Clinton zoomed off, his car halting at a stop sign before disappearing at a right turn. I blinked at the spot his car I just been in. Remembering the times I did so when filming The Way You Make Me Feel. The days when I felt as though I were dreaming and my future was an unknown twisting trail to fame.