Beastie boys, CharlotteCarrendar, Christian, gay, hotel, Humor, music, No Limits, racing drivers, Renaissance Hotel, role play., T1Legend, The Renaissance Hotel, Tom Selleck, Village people, Williams Cynthia, writing
Cynthia unlocked the door to Bobby’s apartment, then stormed in to the main foyer, taking her purse and slamming it down on the nearest hall dresser before turning around sharply and glaring at a sheepish looking Bobby, who was shuffling in behind her. The press conference was nothing short of a PR disaster, and Cynthia now knew that she had one hell of a battle to get Bobby’s image up and out of the gutter tabloids. The latest scandal, of the mayor’s daughter, was the icing on the cake of a rotten week.
“Sixteen?! How could you not tell, the girl was a minor?” Cynthia asked with a disgusted face. You could see all her worry lines and crows feet were coming to the fore, and that if he kept up this kind of behavior, that she was going to be needing botox by the end of the week, to stop her from aging so rapidly. Bobby shrugged as he walked past his manager, who clearly was at her wits end.
“It’s not like when you bed a girl you say…Oi, love, you got some ID on you, so I am not committing a federal offense. Kinda kills the mood don’t you think?” That said, Cynthia whacked the back of Bobby’s head, just for good measure. “Well don’t do it again. Hopefully, her father will do the right thing and rush her to the nearest family clinic.” Bobby then brightened, as the wheels in his mind started to turn. “Might not even be mine. You know how girls are these days. All you have to do is blow in their ears and their panties drop off. Could have been the town bike. Ack! Oi…she might have given me a disease.” he said with a stricken expression.
“One can only hope.” Cynthia said, rolling her eyes at his inability to grasp the seriousness, of the situation. Finding focus, she then realized they had more pressing matters. The time trials.
“I need you to get a good night’s sleep, so you will be at the track at six am. So…no more parties, no more hookers. No more. Do you understand?” She said, wiggling her finger at him in a threatening manner. Bobby pulled an innocent face and then made the scouts symbol with his fingers. “Scouts honor. I shall have a little Asian take out and go to bed.”
Thinking he meant it, Cynthia snatched up her purse and headed for the door, as Bobby continued to look innocent. “Good, about time you listened.” With that she left the apartment, while Bobby waited, then rubbed his hands together gleefully.
“Now for some Asian…take out.” He picked up the phone, to call the nearest brothel that specialized in pretty Asian girls.
“Hello? Sun Le’s House of Pleasure? Mhm…Bobby Williams, room 1123 at the Renaissance Hotel. I would like you to send over the South Korean special…no, make that two. Yep. Thank you so much.” Hanging up, Bobby did a little dance, and went off to shower in preparation of his ladies arriving.
Quoth the Whore (Nevermore!)
There came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at his chamber door. A swarm of giggles punctuated the knocking, only to be followed by a female’s voice that was more squeek than speech—–a pitch two octaves shy of a dog whistle.
“Missaru Wiryams! Prease escuse, Missaru Wiryams! ” Christian groaned at the unwelcome disturbance and burried his head beneath the pillow he had been sleeping on. He folded it around the back of his head and held it tightly against his ears to no avail. The girl, whoever she was, had a voice that seemed to have been dialed to glass shattering frequency. It easily bypassed the flimsy walls of his pillow.
“MISSARU WIRYAMS! YOU DERE MISSARU WIRYAMS?” The knocking grew louder and more persistent. Soon, it wasn’t knocking at all, but furious closed-fist hammer blows that rattled the walls of his hotel room with their terrible pounding.
” I’M COMING! STOP BEATING ON MY DOOR, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! ” The furious pounding ceased abruptly and the room was overtaken by a silence that was only broken by the occassional hushed chortle. Christian swung one leg out of the bed, then the other. His toes curled into the carpet, depressing into the textile surface. He looked to the door—-it seemed to have somehow gotten further away from the bed in his sleep—and wiped a hand down the coarse stubble of his cheek. The action produced a sound that was not unlike that of sandpaper sliding against wood.
He stood up with a great, heaving sigh. Christian did not remember ordering room service and he /did/ remember flipping the little laminated cutout that fit around his doorknob so that it read Do Not Disturb in bold, intimidating type. “I haven’t the foggiest fucking clue”, he muttered aloud to the flowers on the wallpaper and nothing else in particular.
Christian slid open the mirrored door that granted access to the closet and snatched a complimentary robe from one of the coat hangers. It was white, fuzzier than he would have liked, and branded on the lapel with the Rennasaince Hotel’s insignia. Christian looped the robe’s cloth belt around his waist and tied it around his waist. So armed, he answered the door.
When he opened the door, Christian could only stand at the threshold in a bewildered silence. A throng of scantily clad women were lined along the opposing wall, forming a queue that trailed down the hallway and around the corner. One of the women stepped forward and inclined her head to the floor, so that instead of her eyes he could only see the top of her scalp. She had bright red hair and wore what ammounted to a torquoise string bikini—–they were all wearing the same bikini, as a matter of fact. He thought it might have been some sort of uniform, but he didn’t know of any hotel staff that wore /that/ to work.
“Missaru Wiryams! So happy for to take care you. My name is-a White Lotus. ”
“White Lotus? Er, can I help y—” He had been unable to complete the sentence. Before he could, the throng pressed forward. Each girl bowed as the first had as they went past him, uttering a brief “Hai!” in the process. Across the hall, a silver haired woman opened her room door open wide enough to see what all the commotion was about. The elderly woman wrinkled her nose at Christian and narrowed her eyes into a scowl before abruptly slamming her door shut.
“Hey-uh…ladies. I think you’ve got the wrong idea here. See, the thing is—WOAH. WHAT THE FUCK?” He had been so surprised that he hadn’t noticed before—–that, and he had made it a point not to gawk—–but these ‘women’ had an unsightly bulge in a place that, anatomically speaking, they should not. Some of them had facial hair and fur under the pits of their arms as well—-and these women were Asian, not French. One of the broads even had a stiffy!
White Lotus stepped forward, sporting a hard on that was all too visible beneath the thin fabric of her bikini. ” Mr. Wiryams, I hope you not fraid of Godzirra movies….”, she said, thrusting her pelvis forward.
“Oh-Kaaaay.” Christian stumbled back inside and made a bee-line to the phone, suddenly feeling woefully underdressed in his robe. One of the he/she/its gave his rear a slap as he hurried to the bedstand, and the stereotype of female Asian submissiveness disolved into cat calls.
“Hello?! Yeah, listen buddy, you have got——sure…..I’ll hold. ” Christian offered the transexual prostitutes a polite wave as he held the phone to his ear. They did not seem to notice, as they were all presently engaged in a massive pillow fight. Johnsons and testicles flopped freely as feathers drifted throughout the room.
“Yes, this is Christian McQueen….room 1122. No, I do not want to pay $75 dollars extra for wifi access——THE LINEN IS FINE, THANK YOU. BUT THAT IS NOT WHY I AM CALLING YOU. THERE ARE TWO DOZEN TRANNY PROSTITUTES IN MY SUITE AND I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW OR WHY THEY GOT HERE! ”
Christian plugs one finger into the ear not pressed against the phone, the better to drown out the caterwauling cackles of his guests. “What do you mean…you know. What sort of misunderstanding? I see. Uh-huh. Right. Oh. You’re going to comp me a day to make up for it? HOW IN THE FUCK DOES THAT SOLVE THE SITU—–NO, I DO NOT WANT BE TRANSFERRED TO ANOTHER DEPARTMENT!”
Christian slams the phone down and throws open his door. Now it is his turn to pound on someone else’s door—-room 1123 to be exact. “EXCUSE ME. I THINK YOUR PACK OF WHORES WAS DELIVERED TO MY ROOM BY MISTAKE.”
It had been sometime since Bobby had ordered his Asian take out, and though he was expecting them to be knocking at his door just twenty minutes after he had called the Sun Le’s House of Pleasure, he lay in his bed waiting eagerly, only to see the illuminated digits on his bedside alarm clock go over an hour. Strange, they were usually a little more prompt than this. Picking up his puppy “Tread”, he gave him a bit of a cuddle, feeling a bit deflated he was not going to be getting any Asian pussy, when all of a sudden there was a mad rapping at his front door.
“EXCUSE ME. I THINK YOUR PACK OF WHORES WAS DELIVERED TO MY ROOM BY MISTAKE.”
Odd, that sounded awfully male, coming from outside his door. Dressed in just a pair of tidy whities, Bobby set down his puppy, and then ambled to the front door, rubbing his right eye with a closed fist. On reaching the door, he peered through the peep hole and on the other side he could see a very angry and flustered looking Christian McQueen, who was wearing a hotel toweling robe. What was he going on about; a pack of whores. Bobby had only ordered two of the south Korean specials.
Bobby unlocked his door, only to grin awkwardly at Christian. “You been enjoying some Asian flavour, Bro?” He tried to do a high five and then when he realized he was not going to get one in return, he self high fived and peaked out his door.
“I don’t see no whores? Are they in your room?” Bobby asked inquisitively, before curiosity got the better of him and he snuck down to #1122 and took a gander through the door. What he saw…made him suddenly gag. A group of scantily clad transvestite Asian hookers were dancing about in sapphire blue mankinis with their meat and two vege doing a thigh slapping routine that left him cold. He turned around from seeing the all Asian circus, and his face was like that of a ghost.
“Shit man. That’s not what I ordered. And I don’t think I want any of their deep fried dumplings either.” Bobby cringed and crept up past Christian to escape back into his own apartment. “Gosh, is that the time?. I need my sleep before time trials. Good luck getting rid of those skanks!” He cried, as he tried to slam his door and escape the madness.
“Gosh, is that the time?. I need my sleep before time trials. Good luck getting rid of those skanks!”
Christian’s foot had wedged itself in Bobby’s door the instant he seemed remotely disinclined to continue the conversation. Bobby slammed the door and in turn the door bludgeoned his foot—-it would swell nicely within the next few minutes, to be sure. This was preferrable to whatever awaited him back in his own suite, however. Christian considered that he would have gladly given the foot up for amputation if it meant escape from that deranged orgy.
He took the opportunity to thrust his hand into the gap between the door and the frame—Bobby struck him as the sort of person who might continue slamming the door even with his foot in it. At that moment, a man dressed much as Christian was walked by. He carried a small container of ice in one hand, gripping it by the rim and swinging it ever so slightly with each step. His robe was pink, however.
And there was more than a skip in his step.
The man in the pink robe was not oblivious to the scene, either. His pace slowed as he had drawn near, and he eventually stopped in front of the door where Christian had literally put his best foot forward. The interloper viewed the pair with an expression of coy amusement. “Oh, my goodness. Lover’s spat? ” The man wagged his brows, and when he did they looked like wriggling caterpillars. Thick, wiry hairs sprouted out of the patch of chest not covered by his robe. He had a handlebar mustache that Tom Selleck would have envied, neatly trimmed to frame his upper lip.
“Listen darling,” the man with the impressive facial hair began. “I’ve been there and done that. If you can’t convince yourparamour to let you back in…..” The man leaned dangerously close, so close that Christian could feel the bristle of Quigley’s chest hairs. He would not be going down under anytime soon either, thank you very much. The prickly sensation made his skin crawl, but with his foot trapped in the door he was ill equipped to escape.
“I’m just down the hall. Room 1118. Stay fabulous, darlings! ” And with that, the Tom Selleck look alike continued on his merry way. Christian shoved at the door with the entirety of his weight rather than explaining it wasn’t what it looked like, hoping Bobby might be surprised enough by the sudden exertion that he could force his way in.
“I didn’t order any hookers. You did. The least you can do is provide me with sanctuary! The hotel must be hosting some kind of gay convention or something! Let me in, Goddamnit!” What the fuck was up with this place? Was RuPaul in town?
Bobby was living a true nightmare, the only thing that could have made it worse, was if his manager Cynthia decided to come back up to check on him. Course, she wouldn’t do that, would she? Trying all he could to escape the gaggle of asian trannies that were tearing up Christian’s room, he sought to get back into his own apartment as quickly as possible. Little did he realize that Christian wanted to escape as well, going as far to wedge his foot in Bobby’s door to stop him from locking him out.
“Every man for himself!” Bobby squealed, with an unusually high pitch voice. Right on cue, one of Christian and Bobby’s neighbour’s came strolling past. A rather flamboyant gent in a very pink robe. With extra bushy brows, and bush in many other places that were plainly visible, he appeared to think that Christian and Bobby were having some sort of lover’s spat.
“Eh? No, this isn’t what it looks like.” Bobby lamented, still trying to shut his door. Only he saw the way that the Tom Sellek lookalike was leering all over Christian, and he had to admit for a moment, he actually felt sorry for him.
“I’m just down the hall. Room 1118. Stay fabulous, darlings! “ ‘Tom” chirped as he swanned his way back down the hall with fluid strut. Bobby shuddered seeing him finally leave, and was about to close the door on Chrisitan’s hand as well, when he heard that familiar screech.
~GASP!~ It was Cynthia. Suddenly, Bobby yanked the door open and went to grip Christian’s hand, to yank him into his room. It was one thing to escape the tranny hookers, it was another to escape Cynthia’s wrath. If Christian got pulled in, Bobby would try madly to lock the door, while down the hall, another door opened, and low and behold an aging 70’s pop group sensation came out. It was none other than the Village People.
The trannies heard the deep voices of the 80’s icons and all ran out of Christian’s room, squealing on the tops of their lungs.
“It’s da Viwwage People!!!” Turns out the hotel was having a gay convention, and the aging gay sensation was one of the main acts in the convention room down on the first floor.
Fighting her way through the gaggle of scantily clad girl boys, she barrelled up to Bobby’s door and hammered on it with her fist.
“I’m going to count to three….or so help me!”
Christian had lowered his shoulder into the door just as Bobby opened the door to pull him inside—–The Marlboro Man charged forward…..and kept right on charging. Fortunately, his progress was brought to a halt by room 1123’s Southerly wall. Christian slammed into it as though performing an upright (and dry) belly flop—-or a chest bump. He bounced off the wall and fell backward, landing on the floor with a resounding thud.
Someone was yelling, a puppy was licking his face, he could hear high-pitched screams in the hall, the lyrics to YMCA
(It’s fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A! It’s fun to staaaay at the Y-M-C-A!)
thundered against the walls, and there was only one rational recourse available to the two gentleman in room #1123.
” BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES! “
Either of Christian’s arms stretched backward behind his head, palms pressing into the ground while his legs lifted off the ground and his hips raised——launching him forward onto his feet, where he immediately shoved his hands against the end of the couch he had tripped over. Legs churning, he shoved the couch toward the door like a battering ram.”BRACE FOR IMPACT! ” It would serve as a decent barricade in the event of a homosexual invasion.
What to do now? He felt like one of the survivors in a zombie apocalypse movie. For now, it seemed as if the perimeter was secured…….
“BOBBY WILLIAMS…YOU OPEN THIS DOOR!” Cynthia screeched, her knuckles turning white as she hammered away at the glossy oak door. Bobby looked like a possum that had been caught in the headlights of a Mack truck. He didn’t want to open the door, and he certainly didn’t want to embrace the cavalcade of Asian he she’s, Tom Selleck and an aging gay band.
Out in the hall you could hear squeals and a rough rendition of YMCA. What had happened to the world? Was there a memo that the whole world had turned gay overnight? This was a truly frightening prospect, and not only that, Bobby was standing there in just his Y front white jocks. He really did feel very vulnerable.
He turned his head sharply, to catch sight of Christian, who had landed rather awkwardly after his charge into the room at top speed. Tread, Bobby’s puppy was doing the usual welcoming, save the leg humping, and Bobby knew it was just the two of them against a furious manager and a madhouse hotel. The English ex Formula one racer looked set to burst into tears, as he kept his weight against the door, to try and stop Cynthia.
Fast as lightning, Christian bounded off the floor in an epic flip movement that even had Bobby startled. It was then when he shoved hard against the couch, like some line backer and it was barreling right for the door, Bobby jumped out of the way, and nodded furiously at Christian’s call to “BRACE FOR IMPACT!”
Now joining Christian in leaning hard up against the couch, Bobby suddenly realized who Christian was. “Cor…I know you, eh. You’re Christian McQueen.” He then stuck his hand out to shake. “Rotten way to meet….but I’m Bobby, Bobby Williams. Driver for Satan Records. And for the record…I’m not gay. Not like everyone out there!”
Outside the door, Cynthia was getting really pissed. “I’m going to charge the door!…1..2..3!” She ran at the door and hit it full on, only to fall straight back, since the door was weighted and nearly impossible to ram open from the outside.