Act V – A Gust of Change and the Twenty-Foot Steed
Almost immediately after starting to use "The Stamp" as they called it, requests for Elite's models went up almost ten-fold. As more money poured into the agency, substantial amounts were funneled into my bank account, and I was completely fine with that. To once again quote Notorious B.I.G., I "went from ashy to classy" overnight. The higher-ups at the agency starting taking me to all of the highfalutin events they had to attend, and I was able to rub elbows with a lot of Hollywood A-listers. This eventually lead to many celebrities wanting to be "stamped" as well, and I don't mean that in any sort of sexual connotation, though I so badly wanted to turn it into a tea bagging joke. This (the "stamping", not my lust to make balls-on-face jokes) also lead to a rash of plastic surgeries by those wanting a more permanent decorative fixture on their bodies. How do you think Dr. 90210 actually got his start? He wasn't always doing karate on kids in Africa, or doing karate and helping kids in Africa, or whatever it is that he does now. I know it has something to do with karate and Africa.
I started being hired as a consultant, helping others decide on mole placement and configuration. Rhianna's back? Jessica Simpson's chest? The side of Enrique Iglesias' face, before he bitched out? That lump right between Russell Crowe's eyes? I actually didn't have anything to do with that one, but he should probably get that checked out. It could be a parasitic twin. The rest of that list, and many more, though, can be directly attributed to me. You're welcome. I even met a young(er) Ke$ha back when she was in her artist development phase, and suggested that she may want to consider a mole. She didn't take too kindly to it. She mumbled something about swagger, and then kicked me to the curb, apparently because I didn't look like Mick Jagger. Bitch.
My career hit the upper echelon when I was invited to the national M.O.L.E. (Mounds of Love, Eternally) event that very same year. I didn't even know it existed, and as flattering as it was to be invited, I have to admit it was pretty boring. I didn't want to seem rude or ungrateful, so I made my way around, chit-chatting and having a few drinks, just trying to kill time until it was over.
After an hour or so, I started to get a strange feeling in my stomach, and I started feeling very anxious. I passed it off as being something I ate. After some more time went by, I started having strange pelvic twitches, like I was trying to dance like Elvis, which is something I don't normally do. I decided it was time for me to head home before it got any worse. The closer I got to the exit the more my hips thrusting, but in the opposite direction, back into the building. It was as if my dick was trying to lead me somewhere. I started to wonder if someone gave me E and I was just getting ungodly horny.
Just as I made it to the door, someone working the event told me that I shouldn't leave yet. They informed me that a very special performer was about to take the stage. Just as they said that, a beautiful voice rang through the speaker system, sounding like a gaggle of Canadian Geese honking love poems to each other in the middle of an earthquake. That's right -- the voice I heard was none other than Aaron Neville's.
I was feeling worse by the second, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see a legend perform. I leaned against the wall, my body swaying to the music as I watched him sing. We actually made eye contact, and my heart went aflutter. I questioned why, but decided to live a little and go with it. I couldn't take my eyes off of him, and he couldn't take his off of me. My stomach was curling, and my hips were rocketing forward. At the same time, his voice started to changed. The sweet, soothing sounds started to fade, and he was left sounding like a cheap imitation of Keith Sweat. Which is horrible, by the way, because even Keith Sweat sounds like a cheap imitation of Keith Sweat. Who could sound worse than that? Nobody, baby.
Luckily for Mr. Neville he was only scheduled to play a very short set and he made his way through it. People attributed his shaky delivery to age, or possibly time away from the stage, and I hoped that they were correct. I had every intention to leave, but was held back once again as I heard someone calling my name. Someone I met earlier in the day wanted to introduce me to someone else, etc. I made my way over and talked to them for a few, feeling sicker by the minute during the entire conversation. Once it ended, I quickly made a B-line for the exit, stepping outside.
I would have never guessed that Aaron Neville was on the other side of that door.
I found myself unable to speak as I stood in front of the man. My eyes were locked on his mole, and I swore I could see it pulsing, as if it had its own heart beat. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I noticed he was beginning to sweat, and so was I. We stared at each other, jaws dropped, when he suddenly began to vomit. Simultaneously, my hips jutted up toward his face, almost sending me falling backward. He covered his mouth and ran around the corner of the building, and I grabbed each of my hips with my hands and held them back as I ran toward my car. It is very difficult to run like that, by the way. I had to look like an asshole.
Have you seen Hancock? You know how Will Smith and Charlize Theron start to lose their powers when they are near each other? It was like that with Aaron and I -- he lost his ability to sing, and to hold back vomit; and I lost my ability to not attempt to fuck a random, black, puking stranger in their face. That is not a good ability to lose, and that is an extreme understatement.
Once I had calmed down, I went to see Momma and told her everything that happened.
"Those are two powerful forces," she said. "When you get them that close to each other, who knows what's going to happen. It can be a powder keg."
"Are you saying this town might not be big enough for the two of us," I asked.
"I'm saying you need to decide what you want. Yin and Yang may sound like a good idea, but they can't always co-exist. This can't end happily for everyone."
She was right. I had seen first-hand the results of an irresistible force meeting an immovable object, and it was not pretty. If that was challenged any further, someone was going to get hurt, or even worse. No town was big enough for the both of us.
And, as much as I was enjoying my new life, his mole was mayor.
Momma understood that I had to leave, though she was sad to see me go.
"You know this is going to be the last time we talk, don't you," she asked.
"Yeah, I know. I wish it didn't have to be that way, but I understand."
It was then, that for the first time, Momma embraced me. She stroked the back of my head as she pressed my face to her chest, hugging me lovingly. "Feed," she whispered.
"You say really weird shit, you know that? I wonder if you do it on purpose," I told her I as pulled away, and then gave her another quick hug.
She simply smiled and turned, walking away. I did the same, until I heard her call out once more.
"Hey, take care of my baby. It's a precious gem."
Turning around, I answered proudly. "Neville. It's name is Neville."
Life is full of ups and downs, and you don't ever really know where you're going to end up. It doesn't matter what you have or what you don't have. What matters is if you positively affect the lives of those around you. It may be short-lived, but it still makes a difference.
It's funny how we can go through life, and major events happen throughout the world, but nothing changes. Things can change, and you can be the one to change them. The smallest of things can be an eye-opener. I want to help open yours the way mine were, and I want to thank Neville for doing it. Let my inspiration be an inspiration to you.
That was harder than I thought it would be – making this picture family-friendly, not my penis. OK, fine. It was hard, too. Are you happy now?
The End (Fucking Finally)