God will you just leave me alone?
Glenn, my personal wardrobe guy, finished fitting my dress on me. It was a very short dress that went to at least above mid-thigh.
I'm not really into that short dress, sex symbol thing.
God, I wanted to rip the thing to shreds! But, there was a good thing about it. It was my favorite color: powder blue. It had little sequin diamonds around the edges, so they'd kill me if I ripped it.
I'd say it was an accident.
My annoying blonde hair was hanging over my shoulders down mid-back length. Why did they have to dye my whole damn head blonde? I miss my light brown hair. It was nice. They had to dye it for the movie.
Cause it called for a blonde leading lady.
My premiere had finally arrived. Like I said before, I was less than ecstatic. With my fake hair, fake dress, fat thighs, what else could go wrong?
Justin would come up to me and tell me I was hot.
God, fantasy again. Get a grip, bitch Jade. Why did my parents even call me Jade anyway? I had brown hair, brown eyes, nothing Jade about me.
But they thought it sounded pretty.
I'd rather be called Sarah. I had a great-grandmother with the same name. She died before I had the chance to meet her, but my parents always would be like "Oh! Grandma Sarah would have loved you!"
Yeah, if I were a Sarah and not a Jade.
I blink my eyes briefly as I look myself over in the life-size mirror Glenn has brought in for me. I smoothed out a wrinkle in my dress and run a hand through my bleached hair.
"Uh-uh-uh!" Glenn snatches my hand after I am done fixing my hair better than it was before, "Not touching the hair!"
Damn French designer. He don't know anything about good hair styling.
"God, Glenn," I spit out to him, flipping him off and screamed, "Do you know anything about good fucking style?"
"You know what? When you turn into international designer, Jade, you come to me!" Glenn yelled back to me, storming out of the room.
Revenge of the mega bitch. That's my job. And I really hate it. With a strong passion.
"And you're not my fucking hair stylist!" I yell at him once again, brushing a hand through my hair again, just to piss him off.
"Be lucky you pay me good! Otherwise, I wouldn't work for Jade Vincent, queen bitch!" he yelled back to me from the other room.
Hugo, my REAL hair stylist, walks in the room and looks me over. Sick pervert.
But I can't really say much about him. He'll be the end of my bitchy streak. He don't put up with any of my shit. I dish it out, and he takes it like a man. Unlike that pussy Glenn.
"You look like a doll, Jade," Hugo states, wrapping his strong arm around my waist. Like I said, a pervert.
"Thanks Hugo," I reply, squirming myself away from him. I don't need him all over me. If it were Justin Timberlake, that'd be a different story…
"You can run a hand through your damn hair if you want to! It's not concreted today," he states.
Finally, someone who cares about MY hair and not their own.
"Why thank you for caring," I say harshly to him, putting on my annoying stiletto heels. 6 inches too tall, 140 karats too bright, and 50 times more painful than any other platform diamond shoe I've ever worn.
"I'll go with my manager, if you don't mind, Hugo," I pass him by quickly, already feeling the pressure on my size 9 feet from those damn heels.
Remind me when I get home to throw the damn things away.
"Bye sweet cheeks!" he tells me before I leave the room, slapping my ass with his burly hand.
How I wish I could deck him at that moment, but I sweetly smile at him as I walk out of the hotel and meet my limo outside, where I was not destined for a surprise.
