“There is neither the time or money to re-shoot.”
“Lou, we look ridiculous. We look stupid. We look…we look like a boy band!
“Kevin, you are a boy band.”
“Yeah, no one’s gonna forget that now, are they? How can we convince anyone that we want to be taken seriously when we are prancing around in the rain? In only an open shirt and underwear?”
Kevin was pissed off. He knew the final cut for the ‘Quit Playing Games’ video depicted the boys as not much short of sex objects. He wanted a re-shoot, and soon. He tried to fix his manager with his most intimidating stare, his intense green eyes flashing anger, but it cut no ice with Lou. Shit, he thought, that works every time with the other guys.
“Give it a rest, Kevin. It’s not your choice, it’s the management’s. You do what they want…and they want the video to stay as it is. So it stays as it is. They love it-”
“Because they know the fans will love it!”
“Is that really such a bad thing? That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you are doing this? So that the fans will love you?”
Lou was getting fed up. He was sure he was about to throttle the young man in front of him. At present, the Boys remained blissfully unaware that they were purely the public front of what had to be a well-oiled machine, but their naïve ignorance was frustrating: as yet, Kevin was unaware that the decisions were not his to make. But strangling him wouldn’t do, Lou thought. This guy is one fifth of my potential fortune.
“We want the fans to love the music, not the way we look half-dressed and wet!”
“We’re just giving them what they want to see, Kevin. The video stays as it is. End of story.”
Kevin’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to shout, yell, scream at the man in front of him. Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
* * * *
“I like that one. We’ll take this one please.” The imposing, sharply dressed woman motioned to the shop assistant, who scuttled across the changing room to collect the dress from a hook and take it away to be wrapped up.
“Mom, that dress looks ridiculous. It makes me look stupid. I look…I look like a twelve year old!”
“You don’t look like a twelve year old. It’s a very pretty dress, and it makes you look your age. That dress is much more suitable than the ones you were picking out.”
“At least the ones I picked out were nice.”
“The ones you picked out were much too old for you. You would look absurd: like a little girl playing dress up.”
“Not true! They would make me look sophisticated, instead of twelve!”
“I’ll remind you again, shall I? You are only fifteen Nikita!”
“Yeah, no one’s gonna forget that now, are they? How is anyone gonna take me seriously in this dress? They’ll take one look and wet themselves!”
Nikita was pissed off. She was standing in front of a mirror in the changing room of some designer store, in the most hideous dress she had ever seen. Since the last shop she and her mother had visited, at least. She tried to flash her mother her sweetest smile, play the obedient daughter, but it cut no ice with her. Damn, Nikita thought, and it works every time with Dad.
“Give it a rest, Nikita. You are only fifteen, it’s not your choice to make. When you are earning your own money, you can start choosing your own clothes. Until then, I will be the one to decide how to spend your father’s hard earned money.”
“Hard earned money? He was born loaded!”
“Is that really such a bad thing? You should be grateful that he has always been able to give you everything you have ever needed, so stop being so selfish.” The older woman turned away, shaking her head angrily, then adding loudly, “I’ll bet that this foolish new found independence has something to do with that Melinda girl’s influence.”
Rebecca Cavenaugh was getting irritated. It was enough that her ex-husband was determined that his daughter be present at his latest wedding, in Hawaii of all places, but it was imperative that Nikita dressed respectfully. Rebecca couldn’t handle yet another argument with her (ex) in-laws about how she brought up her daughter. She felt close to strangling Nikita, who never quite seemed to understand that Rebecca should be the one to make important decisions about her life. But throttling her wouldn’t do, she thought wryly. Child abuse charges, lawsuits, courtrooms.
“I just want some say in what I wear! A little bit of freedom, a little bit less of you telling me what to do all the time: that’s not Mel’s fault, it’s just a perfectly natural reaction to a domineering mother. Because of you, everyone at this stupid wedding is going to think I’m a little child!”
Rebecca was fuming now. She was thoroughly fed up with this conversation, and it was not the first time that they had been through this. Composing herself, she responded calmly to her daughter. “I’m just giving them what they want to see, Nikita. Your family expect you to look like a child because you are still a child. You are wearing that dress. End of story.”
Nikita’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to shout, yell, scream at her
mother. Instead, she turned on her heel and stomped into the changing room,
slamming the door behind her.
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