Survival of the Fittest

 

Author's Note: as always, please don’t take this stuff seriously. It’s all for fun and I mean no offense at all, whatsoever, blah blah blah. Hope you enjoy it.

~*~

 

Chapter 3

 

Marshall finished up his breakfast meeting and went straight back to his suite. He thought about working out, but he was so tired it exhausted him to even think about lifting weights or running on a treadmill. He grabbed his Britney notebook and flopped down on the bed, thinking of all the things that rhymed with Savannah Rae…

 

~*~

 

“Marshall.”

 

Huh? Was someone in his room? Marshall’s sleep-fogged brain struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He heard another noise – laughter? He rolled onto his stomach with a groan and hugged his pillow tighter. Maybe if I ignore it, it’ll go away..

 

“Marshall?”

 

There it was again. And it sounded like Paul. He snorted and turned his face to the side, “wha-,” was his only response.

 

“You have… you have..”

 

He heard him laughing loud and clear that time, and Marshall’s eyebrows snapped together in annoyance. What the fuck was Paul doing in his bedroom, and why was he laughing like some kind of deranged lunatic? “What?” He growled, opening his eyes to slits.

 

“You have a.. you have a… oh, God!”

 

Seriously annoyed now, Marshall opened his eyes all the way and turned onto his back. “I have a what, Paul? And why is it so goddamned funny?” He snapped.

 

“…a singing telegram..”

 

Say what? “Who would send me-.” He began.

 

And then he heard it. Someone in the entryway of the suite, belting out a …Mariah Carey song? Marshall jumped out of bed and stormed past Paul into the living area of the suite. “Look, I don’t know who sent you, but- holy fucking shit!” He yelled, skidding to a stop.

 

Paul came up behind him, laughing so hard he could barely speak. “I t-tried to tell you,” he hooted. “I swear…”

 

Marshall just stood there with his jaw unhinged. He was dumbstruck by the sight before him, and was therefore completely unprepared for what happened next.

 

The Mariah Carey impersonator finished up her song and sauntered right up to him to plant a wet, smacking kiss on his mouth. She got a handful of his ass at the same time, and gave it a good squeeze. “I’m supposed to tell you that’s from Savannah Rae, baby.” She purred.

 

Marshall yelped and flew back, nearly losing his balance. “I – you… get the..” He started yelling, but Ms. Carey was already on her way out the door. She gave him a little hand wave over her shoulder and pulled it firmly shut behind her.

 

He jerked around when he heard Paul trying to choke his laughter and exploded, “I’ma kill that woman! Do you hear me? I’ma kill her!”

 

Paul’s face turned red with the effort not to laugh, and he narrowly escaped one of Marshall’s left hooks by diving over the couch. “Aww c’mon, Marsh! Give her some credit – who woulda ever thought of-.”

 

“Don’t say it!” He roared.

 

“Did you see how tall…”

 

“Shut up, Paul!”

 

“The Adams apple…”

 

“Shut up!”

 

“And he kissed you! He grabbed your ass!”

 

Marshall flew over the couch and decked him. Paul abruptly stopped laughing and tried to sit up. “Hey now, that shit didn’t turn you on, did it?” He asked, deadpan. “You’re not trying to cop a feel or anything, are you?”

 

~*~

 

Two hours had passed since the ass grabbing, mouth kissing, Mariah Carey impersonating transvestite had swished out his door.

 

Marshall still couldn’t believe it. He’d even had to throw Paul out when the son of a bitch hadn’t stopped laughing after ten solid minutes. It was either that or crack a lamp over his ugly head.

 

He looked down at his notes, and even though he had plenty of rhymes worked out – that just wasn’t gonna to do it.

 

He picked up the phone and dialed.

 

~*~

 

The next day

 

“Uh… Marsh?”

 

“Be quiet, stupid!” He hissed.

 

“What the…”

 

Marshall watched from around the corner as the concierge stepped off the elevator and approached room four-sixty. He elbowed Paul in the stomach to shut him up, and heard a muttered curse from behind him.

 

The concierge knocked on the door, and a minute later Savannah Rae opened it looking sleepy and warm, and maybe just a bit grouchy.

 

Marshall smiled to himself. So the darling little witch wasn’t a morning person either. “Yes?” He heard her growl.

 

The concierge produced an envelope and handed it to her with a flourish. “An invitation from Mr. Mathers, ma’am.”

 

She took the envelope from him and nodded her thanks. She didn’t look at all pleased though, and Marshall grinned ear to ear. The concierge turned to leave, but Savannah Rae stopped him. “Wait. How did he get my room number?” She questioned.

 

The man raised one eyebrow, and gave her a smug smile. “I imagine the same way you got his,” he replied, with more than a little censure.

 

“Really. He rubbed up against one of the bell boys? How interesting.”

 

She shut the door in his face, and the flustered concierge hurried back to the elevator. Marshall snorted, “See? She always gotta have the last word.”

 

“That guy was being a dick, and you know it.  Did you see the way he looked at her?”

 

“Did you see the way she looked right back at him? Like she wanted to chop off his nuts and stick ‘em in a jar?” Marshall laughed.

 

Paul turned and started to walk back to the service elevator they’d taken. He stopped short of pushing the button, and looked back at him. “You’re having the time of your life. Aren’t you?”

 

“Nah.”

 

“And that’s not all...” Paul was warming up to his topic, obviously. “You’re proud of her.”

 

“I am not. Push the damned button already, will ya?”

 

“Admit it, you’re having a blast – and you’re proud of her.”

 

He scowled at Paul, refusing to answer. “Push the goddamned button!”

 

He did, with a smirk aimed at his employer. “I’m right. I know I’m right. And mark my words, pal – this one’s gonna give you a run for your money.”

 

“The only one that’s gonna be running after tonight is Savannah Rae,” he retorted.

 

“You think so, huh?” Paul shook his head in amusement, and the elevator doors slid open.

 

~*~

 

Marshall got back to his suite and was stripping out of his shirt to take a shower when the phone rang. He picked up, absently thinking that it was probably Hailie calling before she left for school. No one else in the world would call him that early in the morning and expect to live.

 

No one else but Savannah Rae, it turned out.

 

“Good morning, rap superstar. How are you today?”

 

His smile was instantaneous. Man, she’s pissed. “Yo, baby!” He exclaimed in an obnoxious tone. “Didja get my invite?”

 

“I did. There’s just one thing…”

 

“What? You can’t make it?” He feigned hurt.

 

“Oh, no.” She gushed, “It’s not that. I was just wondering…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you have a dick, or should I have my friend Mariah loan you hers?”

 

He laughed, “I got a dick, sweetheart. You could come polish it for me, if you wasn’t so cranky this morning. Why is that, anyway?”

 

She slammed the phone down, and Marshall was still grinning when he stepped into the shower. It was gonna be a beautiful day.

 

~*~

Chapter 4

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Author: jenn@shadyfiction.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.