Pisces_Mr. Imagination_The 12 Signs of Love Page 3

  The next message played…

  “Hi Paxton, this is Nancy. I wanna see you again! I really loved it when we got together last month,” came the sultry voice. “You told me I sucked your cock like no other… Let me give you the same service, only ten times better. Your cum tastes like ice cream, baby,” She giggled. “I wish you’d call me back. Let’s hook up soon. Call me, okay?” Paxton took a long drawl of his joint, his eyes turned to slits before he exhaled.

  Then the next message played…

  “Hello Mr. Starr. This is Ivy Faye. I’m a correspondent and journalist with the Las Vegas Sun and have been trying to connect with you.”

  A fucking reporter? Las Vegas Sun? How the hell did she get my number?! Paxton sat up higher in the tub, his high wearing off fast. The violation hit him like a ton of bricks.

  “I’ve been attempting to reach you for quite some time now for an interview. Now, I know you have stated in the past that you don’t do interviews, but I think you should reconsider. If you’d call me back at 702-544-0091 I can explain more and tell you why. Thanks!”

  Paxton snatched up his phone, tossed the joint into the water and called the intrusive reporter without a second thought. It was late at night, but he didn’t give a shit. He was ready to lay into her, but the woman’s voicemail came on. That was disappointing to say the least. He was in the mood to mind fuck and bring someone to tears with a few choice words.

  “Hello, you’ve reached Ivy Faye. Please leave your message and the best time to call you back. Thanks!”

  Is this her personal number? She didn’t mention the newspaper in her voicemail. After the beep, he began.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Hello Ivy Faye…hope everything is amazing for you tonight. Look baby, don’t ever call my fucking phone again. I don’t know how in the hell you got my number, but I don’t give it out and definitely not to anyone that is a member of the press. You reporters just don’t know when to quit. You’re damn right I don’t do interviews and nothing has changed. By the time you attempt to call me back, the number will be changed, so please don’t bother. Respect my request. Good night.” He disconnected the call, then immediately called his brother.

  “It’s about time! Are you sober? Because this is a conversation we need to have with you having a clear mind,” Major began, clearly sounding hyped up and ready to roll.

  “I’m as sober as I’m going to be.” Paxton slipped further back down into the water until it tickled his chin. “The show in New York can only happen on a Friday and I need a two-month notice. Book me. First come, first served, though. I need something handled ASAP, like in the next five minutes.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to get my cellphone number changed immediately.”

  “All right, I’ll have it taken care of. Now, back to New York. I’ll let them know and I’m negotiating your contract, too. Just out of curiosity, why do you need your cellphone number changed? You’ve had this same number for at least two years now.”

  “Some fuckin’ reporter called my private line and—” Just then, his phone buzzed, alerting him to another caller. “Son of a bitch! It’s her again! Major, I’ll call you back.” He immediately clicked over. “WHAT. THA. HELL. IS YOUR PROBLEM?! What part of don’t call me again don’t you understand?!”

  “Thanks for calling me back, Mr. Savelli. Oh, I’m sorry, that’s right, you prefer to be called by your stage name of Starr. Anyway, that was very kind of you. What a privilege.” The woman completely ignored his voicemail, his anger, his rage. He sucked his teeth in annoyance but was intrigued by her complete dismissal of him nevertheless. “It’s evident that I have called back before you’ve gotten your number changed; hence, we are speaking now and I just want you to know that competition in your field of expertise is getting pretty hot in Vegas, and that could cut your income in half.”

  “That’s rather dramatic and reaching, don’t you think, Ivy?” He yawned as he flitted about in the water, taking notice of the soggy joint bobbing past him.

  “I don’t believe it’s a reach in the least, Mr. Starr. With that fancy place of yours, the cars, the women and everything, you’ll need money to keep up this lifestyle.”

  “Is this the part where you offer me a reverse mortgage and a free water bottle and kitty calendar for the upcoming year?” He grimaced and rolled his eyes before closing them.

  “No, but if you want to stay relevant and on the winning team, you need to think about that mortgage and your upcoming year from a fiscal perspective. You need to think long and hard.”

  “I like how you said those last three words, Ivy… Say them again.” There was a brief silence, and he grinned knowing he’d struck a nasty little nerve.

  “Mr. Starr, If you grant me an interview, it will draw your fans closer to you and earn you new fans, too.”

  “I don’t give a flyin’ fuck about earning new fans. Either someone likes what I do or they don’t. My work speaks for itself.”

  “That’s nice, Mr. Starr, but let’s be real here for a moment… no illusions, no magic tricks, no games. You’re not in your prime anymore. Sure, you’re still young, but for your profession, mmmm, you’re getting a bit long in the tooth. Thirty-four, right? Birthday is March 13th.” He relaxed more into the water, watching the fizzled joint sail on by like a tiny boat. Back and forth it went. “So, let me help you. Let’s help each other.”

  “You want to help me? I wouldn’t mind some company… Your voice is sexy. What do you look like, Ivy?”

  “Does how I look play into whether you will grant me an interview or not?” He hopped out of the hot tub and hotfooted over to his laptop on the kitchen island, impatience taking him asunder. Dripping wet, he turned the thing on as she kept rambling, saying things he didn’t give a fraction of a shit about. He started typing in the Google search box.

  Ivy Faye, Las Vegas Sun newspaper.

  If she wants to play a mind fuck, I can play a mind fuck, too…

  “Well look at you!” He chuckled. “A Black beauty. Wow, I like your hair. Locks, right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your hair. I was—”

  “No, back to the Black beauty statement, please.”

  “What about it? I thought you were White…”

  “Do I sound White, Mr. Starr? If so, how does a White woman sound? Maybe you can enlighten me.”

  “I never said you sounded White, Ivy. I said I assumed you were White. There’s a difference. You’re cute as fuck, you know that?” He leaned in closer to the computer screen, his cock getting hard in an instant. “Nice little shape on you, too. I bet this picture I’m looking at does you no justice. Showin’ some cleavage here, too. Did you have your tits done?” At this, he heard her sigh, and that tickled him so. “I hope not. I really wish women would stop cutting on themselves to subscribe to some unrealistic beauty standard. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love fucking the daylights outta models and actresses, and they have to do what they have to do to compete, as you say. But a natural body is what truly gets my attention… something soft, something that grew straight from Mother Nature. No silicon, no injections, no Botox, no fillers. Just flesh, muscle, rounded hips, nice lips… both sets, that is. I like a soft wet pussy that hopefully still has a good grip. Does your pussy have a good grip, poison Ivy?”

  “Mr. Starr, I understand this is your attempt to scare me away so I won’t bother you about an interview anymore, but it won’t work. I believe deep inside you know this is a good opportunity. I also already know you enjoy female company to the utmost. You also have a reputation for being quite private and when you feel that privacy is violated, you lash out. I expected this from you, but what I’ve said to you remains the same; it remains a fact. If you do not speak out to the public, soon, your fan base will dwindle and the newcomers will take your spot. They will mimic you, steal your ideas, and reinvent them for a more youthful audience. Popularity is fleeting and fan loyalty is a fickle figment of the imagination.”

&n
bsp; “I have one question. How’d you get my number?”

  “These new guys aren’t nearly as gifted as you, but talent is only half the equation. Certainly, you are intelligent enough to already realize this, or are you?”

  “How the hell did you get my number, Ivy?”

  “People buy not just talent but relatability and someone who feels like a friend, Mr. Starr. Right now, you’re untouchable. That worked in your favor initially, but it’s not anymore, and you know it. Social media has allowed people to interact with their favorite celebrities with the mere push of a button. This mysterious brooding man you’ve portrayed is played out and will lead to vocational suicide. Just watch everything disappear, and that’s a magic trick you can’t escape.”

  “I am hanging up right now if you don’t tell me how the fuck you got my number!” he screamed so loud that his throat burned as he gripped the phone.

  “Simple. It was on a public court docket. I got it downtown.”

  “Those files are private.”

  “Not if you know the right people.”

  “Looks like there will be some firing taking place over the next few days…” he hissed. “Thank you for finally answering my question.” He leisurely walked to his bedroom, grabbed his bag of weed, and rolled up another joint. “You’re quite sneaky, resourceful and persistent. I like that. You’re also absolutely beautiful. I want to fuck you; therefore, I’ll grant you the interview.” He sat on the edge of his bed with a lighter and flicked an amber flame.

  “Thank you for the opportunity. Let’s work out the details but as far as fucking, no. I can assure you that’s not going to happen, Mr. Starr. I’m not going to sell my own ass to get an exclusive interview with you. I do have standards; ever heard of those?” She chuckled, which drew a smile from him.

  “We’ll see about that. Meet me at my home tomorrow at 10:15 A.M. Since you know what type of house I own and have knowledge regarding my mortgage, I bet there’s no need to send you my address. I’m certain you’ve already crossed that bridge on the way to Granny’s house. Be careful though, the Big Bad Wolf is over here, baby. If you are even a minute late, the deal is off.” He disconnected the call and placed the joint to his mouth. His lips curved in a grin.

  That sexy bitch is cool under pressure… Nice.

  Now that his call was over, he scrolled through his phone and Googled her on there as well. Crawling into his bed, he flung the sheets aside and placed his cellphone in a holster on the nightstand. Lying on his back, he reached for his cock and stroked himself as he stared at her image.

  You’re so fucking sexy, Ivy. Maybe I do need to do this, what you said, you know? I think you’re right… I like your voice, I like your face and your body… I like how driven you are… but there’s more to life than what you did, what you’re trying to achieve. You’re going to be my first interview…and I… I…

  He yelled out as he exploded, his cum flowing over his working and jerking hand.

  On a grunt, he shook his dick, his thighs sprinkled with copious cum. He got up, went to his master suite bathroom, and cleaned himself off. When he returned to the comfort of his bed, he took note of the time.

  I better get some rest. I can’t believe I agreed to this shit. I must be super high. No more weed for at least a week!

  And then he dozed off to sleep…

  CHAPTER THREE

  Catching Poison Ivy

  “He said what?!” Ivy sat with her best friend, Cassidy at the Egg and I Breakfast bistro on Sahara Avenue. The woman practically spit out her eggs as she giggled. “Oh my God. He’s a nasty bastard, isn’t he? I’m shocked. He seems so professional and well put together on stage.”

  “I know.” Ivy leaned back in her chair, rocking her leg back and forth as she took a brief, casual glance around the restaurant. The woman had been her best friend for six years. They did practically everything together.

  Cassidy was a newscaster for KTNV – Channel 13. They looked like complete opposites, but Ivy felt that made them even more adorable together. Cassidy was short and biracial with light brown curly hair that swayed against her petite shoulders. Her eyes were light gray and she had a natural ruddiness to her cheeks, making her appear cheery 24/7. Not much into frills, she was a simple girl who had relocated from a little town in Kansas to chase her dreams.

  Ivy, on the other hand, was born and bred in Vegas, well used to the hustle and bustle of a big city. Standing 5’11, dark complexioned with long black sisterlocks that swept down to the top of her ass, she attracted quite a bit of attention. Every inch of those tresses had grown from her own damn scalp, and it had taken eight long years to get them to the length she desired. They were her pride and joy.

  She enjoyed fancy clothing, nice dinners, weekend trips to California, and chasing the stories that eluded her rivals. Mr. Starr was no different—he’d be another notch on her occupational belt, and what a prize he was indeed. She had no intentions of blowing it, and refused to let the inappropriate, revolting, wealthy playboy put her off with rude behavior and racy words.

  “Girl, I would have hung up the phone. He was trying to get under your skin. I would have been blushing, insulted, and tongue-tied all at once.” Cassidy cackled as she sipped on her freshly squeezed orange juice, her pink lipstick covered mouth twisted in a prudish way. “He is sexy though, Ivy. A tall, cryptic Italian. Damn! Super yummy. I may have taken him up on his offer to swing by,” she added guiltily. “Between you and me, don’t you want to find out if the sexual rumors are true?”

  “What rumors? The ones about him being a male slut?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust and crossed her arms over her chest. “I already know that’s fact and not fiction, so what’s the point?”

  “No! Not that rumor … about, you know!” Cassidy whispered, nervously looking around the restaurant before returning her attention to Ivy. She was acting as though she was about to relay top secret information, the kind only the FBI was privy to. “His…penis.”

  “His penis?” Ivy’s brow shot up. She tossed herself into the back of the booth and shook her head. “What? It does magic tricks, too?” She chuckled. “It probably needs a penicillin shot, if you ask me.”

  Cassidy burst out laughing once again, this time fanning herself as if the heat were too damn much.

  “No! Come on, Ivy. You mean to tell me your detective skills didn’t uncover this juicy tidbit that has made the celebrity rounds for at least the last couple of years?”

  “If you don’t stop beatin’ around the mulberry bush… Just spit it out.” She slapped the table and leaned forward. “What? Is his dick double jointed or something?”

  Cassidy shook her head, obviously fighting laughter once again. “No, silly! It’s supposedly huge, girl! We’re talking like mammoth! And not a pencil penis, either… the damn thing is allegedly long as my size 9 shoe and thick, like a baby’s arm.”

  “Pssshht!” Ivy waved the woman off. “That’s probably some bullshit he spread himself. I think less than 1% of the male population has a dick over seven inches, Cassidy, and why would God grant such a prize to a complete asshole? And believe me, he is an asshole to the 100th degree.”

  At this, they both burst out laughing.

  “I don’t know, but if you think about it, a lot of assholes are well hung. Maybe God has a sense of humor?” Cassidy shrugged.

  “Well, his ego is no laughing matter. This guy is something else. His personality is inflated to the point of bursting but I think that’s all an act, really. You know what they say about comedians and magicians, that they’re pretty dark on the inside. Anyway, he really tried to say some offensive shit on that phone but I wasn’t surprised. Someone who dodges the media for their entire professional career obviously has something to hide. Under normal circumstances I would have backed down but I knew what he was doing, and told him so.”

  “I wonder if he really looked you up on the computer? That’s something.”

  “He must’ve… he assumed I was White, I i
magine because I’m articulate. You know how some of these bastards are; they can’t even imagine a Black person saying complete sentences. I’ve had that happen more times than I can count.” She rolled her eyes. “But he definitely looked me up because suddenly he knew I was Black.” Ivy glanced at her cellphone. “It’s 9:00 A.M. Well, I better get going. I need to get everything in order and make a couple of calls in preparation, too. He said if I was even one minute late, he’d pull the plug and I believe him.” She grabbed her purse and flung it over her shoulder.

  “Make sure you call me and fill me in on all the juicy details, Ivy,” Cassidy said. “This is sooo intriguing.” The woman’s eyes gleamed with excitement as if she couldn’t wait to be tossed a morsel.

  “You know I can’t do that, Cassidy.”

  “What?! Why not? I’m your best friend.” The woman looked downright insulted.

  “Because you’re also the competition!” She blew her friend a kiss and headed out the door, her car keys in hand.

  Paxton stood in the middle of his lair as the cleaning crew finished up. Typically, they came over twice a week, but due to his soon-to-arrive visitor, he’d arranged an additional tidy up. He could be a bit messy at times; Paxton blamed it on his long work hours and need to decompress.

  His brother, Major, leaned against the wall, ankles crossed, twirling a toothpick in his mouth.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? It’s not too late to cancel.” Major looked over at him, his eyes half open as if he’d been drinking all night.

  “It’s not a good idea, but she made some valid points… ones I can’t refute.”

  “Pax, you know you can’t trust anything these writers say. They make their living off stretching the truth.”