33. THE ONE WITH THE SHIRT
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE ONE WITH THE SHIRT
HexedHeroine is tagged in a picture: Met Hex tonight at @WestParkerComedy’s show in Philly and you guys… SHE’S SO KIND West is a LUCKY MAN!
Comment: My GOD!! Mommy for sure.
Comment: I’m hoping he’ll kick her ass to the curb soon
ItsFrankie.mp3 commented on a picture HexedHeroine is tagged in: Bet they’re engaged by the end of next year. Fifty bucks, paid in all ones!
Comment reply: Ummm aren’t you Hex’s best friend?! IS THIS A HINT???
Between staying on Hex’s posting schedule and juggling deadlines for multiple brand deals for myself and West, I’m doing my best to be present for my best friend who’s now also jobless in her thirties.
What a pair we are!
Sunday’s show is an earlier start than usual at Philly’s Twentieth Annual Oktoberfest. It was added on during the last round of new dates, and when West found out the people in charge of this weekend’s entertainment were donating a portion of their ticket sales to a local non-profit helping families who’ve been affected by drunk driving, he told Enzo to donate whatever he was supposed to make off tonight’s show to them instead.
I open my notes app and put number three in bold and add another exclamation point:
3. Do not fall for West fucking Isakson!!!
West’s headlining tonight’s comedy show before a band closes out the weekend with music until midnight.
A gorgeous dirty-blonde in her forties named Olive opens for West, reminding the crowd tonight’s performance is intended for audiences 18+.
She’s wearing a tight dress with boobs spilling out the bodice, the skirt tight against her slim body.
Olive’s hilarious with a knack for belittling men, and the crowd loves it.
Frankie and I hoot and holler just as loud as everyone else.
When the stage manager found out we wanted to watch from the audience, he had a couple chairs added to the VIP section for me and Frankie.
Tonight’s show is sold out with over 2,000 seats. It’s the biggest I’ve seen West play yet… I wish I was backstage to see his pre-show excitement before this one.
I shoot Enzo a text.
Me
Get some videos of West for me before he goes on stage from back there, pleaseeeee!
I tell myself it’s for content purposes and not my own selfish reasons.
Enzo reacts to my message with a thumbs up.
Olive’s nearing the end of her set and people are still filing into the grandstand. I record videos of the crowd, smiling like an idiot.
“Proud cougar, are ya?” Frankie leans in with a big grin like it wasn’t her idea for me to have a one-night stand with the hot comedian I’d never see again…
Look how that turned out, Frankie!
“I’m literally in this position because of you. Hush,” I reply when the crowd laughs at something Olive says.
I’m not paying attention to her anymore, sending a short video of the growing audience to West.
Me
No pressure, but I overheard someone saying tickets sold out in less than twelve hours after they added your name to the lineup.
I hit send on my first message but type another, sending it as soon as I’m done so I don’t chicken out.
Me
Proud of you
West
I know I asked you to take the night off and enjoy your time with Frankie… and I hope you are, but I kinda wish you were back here with me.
Couldn’t do it without you, Joey baby (in a platonic way)
“Thank you so much for having me, Philly.” The start of Olive’s goodbye pulls my attention to the stage. “I hope you’re ready for tonight’s headliner. He’s all anyone can talk about right now, taking social media by storm.” She pauses, a playful look in her eyes as the crowd cheers for West.
My phone vibrates again with back-to-back texts.
West
Enjoy the show
I hope you like my shirt
In comedy, there’s not always a wait time in between sets like a band or musician would have. At an event like this, everyone’s using the same equipment, so when I look up from my phone, I’m not surprised to see West entering from stage left.
The grandstand roars with applause.
He’s slipping his phone into the back pocket of his black cargo pants, like he’d been sending a very important message seconds before joining Olive on stage.
West dances along to the music they play for his entrance, turning around to perform an impressive twerk. The dark acid wash T-shirt he’s wearing is cropped at the perfect length, giving everyone a peek of his gray Hanes and the tight muscles around his lower abdomen and back.
I wish I had the luxury of admiring the view, but I can’t… Not when I’m fixated on the shirt he’s wearing.
The audience is going fucking wild, and West’s feeding off it. Whoever’s controlling the soundboard deserves a raise, because he catches all West’s cues. Stopping a song when West pretends to be out of breath, only to start a new one at the best time.
He’s got a cordless mic in his hand but hasn't tried to use it yet. There’s no use with how loud it is.
I know the moment Frankie places the shirt too. Her jaw hangs suspended, but the smile pulling at the corners is still evident.
When I reached my first million followers on a single platform, I collabed with an artist who drew fifty different Hex drawings, inspired by my most popular videos and turned them into one-of-a-kind-T-shirts.
They all have a number hidden inside the drawing somewhere and HexedHeroine across the top in my own bubbly cursive handwriting.
I kept #1 and #13.
Frankie picked #22 and #49.
Hilda wanted #38.
And I have one mystery number in a box hiding under my bed, just in case someone comes along who wants one.
I did a giveaway for the other forty-four shirts and had Frankie pack them so I didn’t know what number was missing.
There were dupes floating around for a little while, but they were obvious. I spent a lot of money on my fifty, going as far as shopping for an ethical shirt company.
West isn’t wearing a dupe.
How the fuck had he gotten his hands on one of them?
Cutting the shirt into a crop wasn’t enough. West had to remove the sleeves too, making one of my rare Hex shirts the perfect boxy crop top for his body.
I can’t decide whether to stare at his biceps, the deep V between his hips, or the hands decorated with corded veins and an assortment of rings.
It’s giving 1992 Calvin Klein Ad… but better!
“Guten tag, Philadelphia,” West annunciates every syllable of the city, finally addressing the crowd once they’ve quieted enough for him to speak.
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“I’m so glad you all got the memo that I like it loud.” West crosses his arms across his chest, resting the microphone against his bicep.
“I gotta get you somewhere you can scream for me.” West’s words from the night we hooked up in NYC replay in my head, making it hard to stay calm.
“We’ve gotten a few memos about you,” Olive says, reminding everyone she’s there.
He raises a brow. “Oh?”
They play off a couple things people towards the front shout.
Playboy. “They’ve approached me, but I’d never be able to sit through another family dinner again, so I keep politely declining.”
Big. West says nothing at this, only winks.
I cross my legs and swallow hard. I’m not going to make it through this entire show without spontaneously combusting.
“You love MILFs.” It’s Olive who speaks this time. She sizes West up, publicly checking him out from the floor up.
I’ve been on tour with West long enough. I’m used to women throwing themselves at him, but there’s something about the way Olive’s looking at him that makes me uneasy.
And by uneasy, I mean jealous…
West doesn’t miss a beat. “Hex does have a pet snake.” Any bit of jealousy I felt seconds ago dissipates, and I’m suddenly reminded how I’m almost always the center of West’s attention.
He’s had four weeks to bring another girl home… and he hasn’t.
He won’t.
The crowd gets louder at the mention of Hex.
West hands Olive the cordless mic when she exits the stage, settling in by himself as he grabs the wired mic from the stand and wraps the cord around his arm.
With a show this big, West has to adjust his delivery, relying more on his natural ability to tell a joke than the improv of crowd work.
It works, because he continuously keeps everyone laughing, and there’s never a lull in his flow.
He’s able to sprinkle in some of his famous crowd work with the front few rows, saving enough time at the end of the show to do what I’ve been expecting him to do since the moment he stepped on stage.
My heart’s been racing with anticipation for an entire hour.
Views have been down overall. Not bad… Just down.
We agreed it was time to start setting up for more on-stage moments after our family taco dinner earlier this week. That was after I turned down filming actual content together—that might be what the people want, but I can’t imagine bringing anyone into the Hex filming process.
The world has seen me as Hex online, but no one’s ever seen her in person. Not Frankie. Not Hilda. Not Frankie’s hot lesbian guitarist friend. No one.
West turns to where Frankie and I sit inside the VIP lounge. Others might not be able to tell exactly where his eyes are, but I know they’re on me. I can feel them like tiny laser beams.
They flick to my best friend, wiggling in her seat excitedly. “Hi, Franceska Louise,” West says sweetly into the microphone.
Frankie waves like a fool. “Hi, Westifer Parker!” Last night, she decided his one-syllable name wasn’t enough and nicknamed him something longer.
People turn to look our way. I scan those closest to us, watching a few put two and two together when they recognize me.
“Who’s your friend?” West nods in my direction.
Frankie looks at me, and then back to West. “Her? Oh, you wouldn’t know her.” I appreciate her deflection, but where was it the first time?
He hums into the mic, eyes trailing every inch of my body he can see from the stage. “She looks so familiar.” West’s gaze drops to his shirt long enough for most of the audience to take notice. “I just can’t put my finger on it.”
He changes his infliction on the word finger on purpose.
Warmth pools between my legs at the memory of him cleaning his off after using them to bring me to an orgasm in record time.
West’s setting the scene for another viral video, just like we talked about… but nothing about what he says next feels like a joke. “She must remind me of my future wife.”
Everyone erupts into drunk whistles and cheers, as if West needs any encouragement.
He winks at me, wrapping the show as he always does—with a special callback to the brother he lost.