28. THE ONE WITH LITTLE DICK LARRY
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE ONE WITH LITTLE DICK LARRY
HexedHeroine and WestParkerComedy are tagged in a video: Got to see them in action at a New Haven show… Can confirm they’re as hot as the OG video
Comment: “I like smart witches” ?!??!?!!! omg
Comment: More. We want more of THIS.
Comment: Why is this video 3hrs long?
“JoJo, I’m so sorry.” Frankie looks like she’s about to cry, and I think my heart might shatter if she keeps it up.
“I swear to god, if you apologize one more time…” I sit on the edge of the king-size bed of my hotel room. We got to New York City last night, and since we have a few days off, Frankie decided to take the train in this morning and surprise me with tickets to see Hamilton on Broadway.
Her friend Jules, from her Broadway National Tour days, is playing Angelica and promised to upgrade our seats if I could get her tickets to one of West’s sold-out shows.
I’m sure I can bat an eyelash or two and get Enzo to figure it out for me.
After another short clip of us went viral from the first New Haven show, both of our followings across platforms skyrocketed. I can’t keep up with all the individual counts, because by the time I finish, they’re different anyway.
All our platforms are out performing most big creators right now, and I’ve been sorting through brand deals like candy, only choosing the best ones to bring to West’s attention.
So far, I’ve got a few in the works, but nothing I’m willing to let him sign right away. I know what his brand is worth—I’m not taking deals just to take them. I want money—enough for both of us.
If we’re going to exploit our lives in this way, we might as well be paid for it.
“I’m gonna be sick.” Frankie shoves all her things into her bag haphazardly. “Like, what could they possibly need to talk to me about so urgently it couldn’t wait until I got home later tomorrow afternoon?”
Frankie’s record label called her about five minutes ago, demanding she be at a 7:00 a.m, meeting. That’s not usually a good sign…
“You’ve been unhappy with them for a long time.
They’re doing nothing for you, other than trying to make you sound like every other pop star out there.
” If I don’t tell her these things, who will?
“Frankie Lou isn’t… you…” I hesitate with that last word because the rhyming feels ill placed in a moment like this, but that’s the name they’re trying to get her to adopt, along with a new identity.
Frankie flops down on the chair in the corner of the room. “I know,” she groans, letting out a long and defeated sigh. “I guess I just thought when the time came, it would be me doing the breaking up. Not the other way around.”
I help her finish packing and then walk with her to the subway station.
It’s October, my favorite time of year, and the weather has changed pretty quickly over the last couple days. Wind shoots through the buildings, people’s scarves whipping behind them as they plow through.
I pull Frankie into a big hug and tell her I love her before letting her go. “Call me as soon as the meeting’s over… and before if you need to!” I shout at Frankie’s back as she walks down the first few steps. “Oh, and let me know when you get home safe, please!”
She looks over her shoulder and yells back, “Yes, Mom! I will.”
I flip off her back and laugh to myself as I turn and walk back to the hotel.
I’m super bummed Frankie had to leave, but I’m not going to let it ruin my night. Before going back up to the room, I stop by the bar downstairs and order a dirty martini with bleu cheese olives to sip while I finish getting ready.
I pin my hair up in curlers while doing my makeup in smoky colors with black liner and a sharp cat eye, choosing a dark red lip stain as my statement piece.
When my makeup’s done and I’ve finished listening to the audiobook I had playing, I put on one of my favorite pop-punk playlists and get dressed.
Slipping into a black sweater dress, I adjust the top to fall off my shoulders.
It’s a tighter fit, showing off the swell of my hips and not long enough to cover most of my thigh tattoos.
My boots are black leather, cutting off just below my knee.
They’re simple, but the platform adds to my height.
I’m closer to six feet in these than I’ve ever been.
I decide to forgo any stockings or tights. I’ll be inside the theater for most of the night, and it’s not a far walk from the hotel. My coat is long enough to cover my legs, and the boots cover whatever it can’t.
If I can survive clubbing in my early twenties during Boston winters, I can walk a few blocks on a windy night in October in New York City.
The last sip of my martini goes down smooth. I dance around to a song I haven’t heard in what feels like a million years, gently taking the curlers out of my hair. Giving my head a good shake, I run my fingers through the bouncy curls and then douse my hair with a lightweight hairspray.
Spritzing with my favorite perfume combo in the mirror, I watch the excitement l’d felt while getting ready fall from my face, the light in my bright eyes dimming.
Weeks ago I would have been excited to make a Hex video before going out—probably already had multiple planned out. Right now, I can’t find it in me.
My phone vibrates on the dresser beside me, and I stare until the screen goes dark. When I finally pick it up, I find three texts from West.
West
Have fun with Frankie and the founding fathers! Say whaddup to George for me!
Frankie should start a band called Frankie and The Founding Fathers
I’m texting her that right now so you don’t take the credit!
He manages to get a smile out of me, pulling me from the depths of my mind.
Me
Which George?
West
Uh idk, the one who sings?
I hum a laugh through my lips and glance up at myself in the mirror again.
Jesus Christ, Jo. You’re too hot not to document this.
So, I do. I get out of my head, grab my headphones, and pull a simple mask out of my bag. I wasn’t able to bring anything too big or fragile on tour, but this one has always been a favorite with rhinestones raining off the end to cover the bottom half of my face.
Propping my camera up, I angle it to shoot my reflection in the mirror, keeping it out of sight.
Hex and her masks have always felt like an escape—a way for me to forget about everything in my life and just become someone else.
It’s like watching Frankie play different characters on stage.
Or like West becoming West Parker during a set.
I become Hex.
The creative energy takes over, and I get lost in the fun of making content and talking about books like I used to. I’m not sure when I’ll get this feeling again, so I don’t rush it.
Eventually, I glance at the time on my phone, realizing I’ve only got thirty minutes to get to the theater. “Shit!” I toss my mask on the bed and grab my coat and small clutch I’m using for the night. I shove my phone, ID, some cash, and my credit card inside.
On my way out the door, I check to make sure my straightener and curling iron are unplugged—even though I didn’t use them. I back up, see my lip stain’s still intact, and practically walk like those Olympic speed walkers… except not like that at all, but I do feel like I’m moving that quickly.
I get into an elevator full of people, mixed with many different stares as I step in.
A man in a nice business suit gawks at me like I’m a snack he’d like to take back up to his room. I don’t shy away from his stare. I raise an unfriendly brow at him, actually.
He averts his gaze immediately.
The elevator opens to a busy lobby, voices from the bar in the center echoing off the tall ceilings, creating a vibrant atmosphere. Somehow, over the noise, I hear my name. “Jo!”
I catch Enzo waving me over to him and a few other guys I don’t know. Kell’s not with them, and neither is West.
“Where’s Franceska?” he asks when I get to the table.
I frown, tucking a strand of my extra curly hair behind my ear. “Her label called and told her she needed to be at a meeting early in the morning.” Enzo grimaces, and I nod. “She’ll call me as soon as it’s over tomorrow, but I feel bad she had to go home alone.”
Enzo pulls his phone out of his back pocket but doesn’t look down at it yet. “Yeah, me too.”
One of the guys behind him interrupts our conversation. “Is this the infamous Sexy Hexy everyone’s been talking about?”
I think everyone in this corner of the bar catches the shift in energy because it quiets for a few beats longer than natural. I freeze, eyes locking on the strangers.
“Don’t call her that,” Enzo says, barely missing a beat.
“What? Hex? That’s her name online,” the guy quips back with a laugh.
New Haven was my first experience with people calling me Hex and asking for pictures. I was able to avoid it most of the time, still unsure how I’m supposed to act in these situations, but I can’t do that forever.
I’m not like West—I wasn’t born for the spotlight.
I liked my inconspicuous corner of the internet…
which no longer exists, meaning I need to figure out how I want to handle assholes like this guy, because he won’t be the first or the last to pull this shit with me.
It doesn’t feel any different than being a woman in business.
Good thing being mean to men is one of my favorite pastimes!
I fight the smile pulling at the edges of my lips, not letting this man see my cards before I lay them—and him—out.
“I’m not staring at a computer screen, are you?” The tone Enzo takes with the guy isn’t one of a friend. This dude must be here with someone else.
I rest my hand on his forearm. “Enzo, it’s okay,” I say loud enough for everyone to hear. Bringing my hand back to my side, I drag my gaze over to the stranger. “What’s your name?” I ask as sweetly as I can manage.
He smiles, and I’d like to reach across the table and smack it off his face.
“Larry,” he offers me his hand to shake.
What a stupid fucking name for a man in his twenties.
My eyes bounce from his hand to his smug smirk until he feels awkward enough to let it drop to the table between us.
“You can call me Sexy Hexy, that’s fine—”
“See!” He cuts me off, patting Enzo on the shoulder once and thinks twice about going for another with the look he receives from the six-and-a-half-foot tattooed giant. “You didn’t need to get all—”
I’m the one to interrupt this time, keeping Enzo from getting thrown into an NYC jail. “I wasn’t finished talking. Kinda rude, Larry.” The whole table stills again, but this time I’m the one in charge of it. “You’re not a rude guy, are you?”
Larry blanches, shocked at my outburst.
I wait until he’s about to reply, choosing to dismiss whatever he’s about to say before it’s even out of his mouth.
“Actually, you know what? Don’t answer that.
I get it.” Waving my hand, I fake an understanding smile.
“Big guy want attention from hot girl he think not smarter than him.” I cut out all the connector words to make sure he follows.
“Which just feels like you’re compensating for something other than your low IQ.
” I tap my chin. “Oh, I bet I know! We can both have nicknames. How cute!” My nose scrunches, and I wiggle my shoulders.
“I’m Sexy Hexy.” I touch my chest, preening.
“And you’re Little Dick Larry.” The last part is said with a seriousness I find somewhere deep inside.
Everyone, including Enzo, bursts into laughter.
Larry obviously doesn’t laugh. He grinds his teeth, angry at becoming the butt of everyone’s joke.
I don’t laugh either, but I give him a smile I hope he never forgets.