Boredom and the Puppy
Improv# 7 Backstage at the Grammy's
She couldn't believe she was there! It was her childhood dream come true! It was amazing! It was fabulously glamorous! She was surrounded by her idols and peers. It was the Grammy's! It was incredible!
It was *BOR*ing!
It was old, boring, dull people sitting around for five *hours* with performances only every twenty minutes or so filled with *boring* waits for commercial breaks and *boring* award speeches and *boring* awards. She *still* wasn't sure why she'd even bothered. She wasn't even nominated.
It was just for appearance's sake.
For PR.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs one more time and sighed. She stared at the program. Not another interesting performance for another hour.
She sighed once more and got up. "Where ya goin', Baby?"
"Dunno, Mama," she answered. "Get some air or somethin'."
"Don't be too long."
"I won't," she smiled and left her mother and sister. Now, if she remembered right, she knew how to get backstage.
She knew Steven Tyler was back there somewhere for his duet with Pink and she'd take the opportunity to chat with them both if she could.
She was heading toward the hallway of dressing rooms when she saw a crowd of large black men laughing near a food table. She recognized them. They were *his* friends.
She knew he was around, he's already won an award and *damn* he'd looked good. She *loved* him in blue because it really brought out his eyes.
And okay. She could admit it. She'd thought about him a *lot* the past six months since the limo ride. Oh the limo ride! Her *insides* ached whenever she thought about it too long.
She walked nonchalantly over to the food table "'Scuse me," she said and they allowed her a path to the food. She wasn't hungry, but she took a soda and a few cookies. She *also* noticed he wasn't there. Where would he be?
"Yo, Nigga, where's Marsh at?" One asked.
"Dumb ass- back in his room where we left him, probably. Poor sick bastard."
Sick? He was sick?
He *had* looked a bit run down.
And then, she got an idea.
A wonderful idea.
Britney got a wonderful, awful idea.
She quickly headed for the hall of dressing rooms and deserted her plan of meeting Steven Tyler.
And why? Because she has a wonderful, awful idea and because she was *bored* and because he was sick.
She found the room labeled 'Eminem' and knocked lightly with no answer. She opened the door slowly and saw that inside it was basically dark save for the one candle. She could make out a couch and his form laying on it.
Why was he always asleep when she showed up?
She closed the door and used the light from the candle to make her way over to the couch.
"It time al*ready*?" He half-whined and half-whimpered, like a little puppy. He sniffled and threw his arm over his eyes. "Is it?" He repeated and he sounded congested.
She sat at the end of the couch and placed her hand on his knee and slowly slid it upward, feeling the same hard muscle that had been there six months previous.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" He growled and jumped up before coughing and blowing his nose. "What the- what are you *doing* here?!"
"Heard you were sick," she shrugged. "Thought I could make you feel better," she smiled softly.
"No offense," he said before coughing more and sneezing. "But unless you can-" then he jumped up and ran into the bathroom and she heard him puking. Okay- not *exactly* what she'd had in mind, but…
He walked woozily back out and took a sip of ginger ale. He fell onto the couch next to her before finished, "'Less you can be me and perform, there ain't nuthin' you can" sneeze, cough "do to make me better."
He really was… cute, all pale with his bravado torn down from the sickness. He wasn't the wolf he'd been in the limo, but a little fluffy puppy. It was a bit disconcerting.
She hadn't realized he was *that* sick. "Flu?" She asked and he nodded. "Why'd you even come?"
"It's the Grammy's," he shrugged. "Why are *you* here, Ms. Spears? You ain't nominated."
"I was…" she sighed and decided to be honest. "Hoping I'd run into you." And once she'd said it, she instantly regretted it. She *knew* it was stupid, but… she *had* thought of him every day. She'd *dreamt* of him and what it'd be like with him again. Would he go slow? Take his time with her? Would he take her hard and fast? Or slow and easy? Would he lick the column of her neck or her soft tan thighs?
"Why Ms. Spears, I do believe- fuck-" He jumped up and ran again into the bathroom and re-emerged a few minutes later. "Obviously now ain't a good time."
"Sorry," she said. "I'll just-" she hopped up and headed for the door. "Feel better," she shrugged.
"I thought abouchu too," he said almost inaudibly.
She froze. She didn't know what to do. She *knew* what she *wanted* to do. But he clearly wasn't in any shape to be 'sexy Eminem man'.
"Didn't think you'd have the balls to do whachu did," he said, flopping down on the couch and grabbing a blanket to cover him when he started shivering again.
She turned around and looked at him looking at her. "Well… I didn't take an *ad* out in the paper, but I'm not a virgin."
"Clearly," he stated with a small sickly smirk. "Just wish I could test that theory again."
"Well… you should drink some tea. That thera-flu stuff works too. But… you should rest and I should probably get back, so… maybe I'll catch you another time."
It was when her hand was on the doorknob, when she heard, "810-973-6728."
"What's that?"
"My cell phone. 810-973-6728."
"Get well, Puppy, 'n' maybe I'll give you a call."
"Aiight, Kitty," he laughed a bit before coughing again.
~*~
Part III, Hunger and the Caterpillar
Author: crazyevildru@yahoo.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.