MTV,” Starr said. She was actually surprised at herself. For one, that she told her mom. And also that Diva of Dish had gotten to her.
Sasha waved her hand dismissively. “Haters throwshade because they hate to see someone shine,” she said. “Don’t worry about a bunch of silly school kids, Starr.”
Starr opened her mouth. She wanted to say, I’m one of those school kids.
“But Ma, people are laughing at me.”
“What should I do?” Sasha rose to her feet. “We’ll go shopping when you get home from school,” she said, turning to leave Starr’s bedroom. “Retail therapy cures everything.”
Starr eyed her computer. “Actually, I saw a few things I wanted online,” she began. “Can I just order those?”
“Go ’head,” she said over her shoulder with another yawn before closing the bedroom door behind her.
Starr tossed her uniform toward the end of her bed as she eased back over to her desk. One by one she logged into her Barney, Nordstrom, Neiman and Bergdorf accounts and used her father’s credit card info to pay for the items she had saved in her shopping cart.
A pair of Chloé boots here.
A Stella McCartney outfit there.
New undies. An organic romper. A new gold clutch.
The total came to somewhere around two grand. A little light shopping that did absolutely nothing to make Starr feel better.
Having a party to top all parties and the Diva of Dumbass’s head on a platter would have to do that.
fourteen
Marisol
September 14 @ 10:45 a.m. | Mood: Amorous
Today was the last day of taping for the documentary about her father, and just like every other time the swarm of cameras and crew was at her house, she was dressed to the nines. The BCBG sleeveless bib dress she wore was so very completely different from her usual Sunday attire of leggings and a fitted tee. She loved the way the charcoal looked against her bronze complexion. She put on very light makeup, and with one last shake of her now-curly black locks, Marisol slipped her feet into a pair of suede gladiators and slid her BlackBerry into the hidden pocket of her dress before she left her room.
Marisol had discovered that she loved the cameras and they were crushing on her, as well. And she used the opportunity well, being sure to be wherever the cameraswere when her dad was filming. Her impromptu fashion show this week served two purposes. She was well aware that her image was going to be in millions of homes and…
“ Hola, Corey,” Marisol said in her best flirty voice as she walked into the large and airy—and thankfully empty—kitchen. Remember, Marisol. Smile. Just enough to say “I like you” but not enough to scream “I’m psycho.”
He stopped wrapping a thick black cord around his arm to look over at her with a quick smile. “Hi, Marisol,” he said, before he stooped down to place the cord in a large black case. “You look pretty as always.”
Marisol’s heart soared. She knew it was today or never. She was soooo tired of waiting for him to make the first move. How many times had she tried to will him, through mind control, to ask her out? She really wasn’t going to accept the premise of the book He’s Just Not That Into You.
“We’re wrapping up here after your parents do the tour of the house,” he began, looking at her with eyes that made her heart race like she just finished a mad dash through a Neiman’s sale.
Marisol pouted to let him know how much of a downer his leaving was.
“Maybe we could hang out sometime,” Corey offered, leaning back against the edge of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets.
Yippeee! In the privacy of her room she would do aflip. Marisol reached out and lightly touched his hand. “Not maybe. Definitely. ”
They both whipped out their cell phones and programmed each other’s numbers, e-mail and social networking sites. It was always necessary for couples to stay in touch.
Corey’s eyes fell on Marisol’s glossy lips as he slid his cell phone back in the pocket of his
Sasha waved her hand dismissively. “Haters throwshade because they hate to see someone shine,” she said. “Don’t worry about a bunch of silly school kids, Starr.”
Starr opened her mouth. She wanted to say, I’m one of those school kids.
“But Ma, people are laughing at me.”
“What should I do?” Sasha rose to her feet. “We’ll go shopping when you get home from school,” she said, turning to leave Starr’s bedroom. “Retail therapy cures everything.”
Starr eyed her computer. “Actually, I saw a few things I wanted online,” she began. “Can I just order those?”
“Go ’head,” she said over her shoulder with another yawn before closing the bedroom door behind her.
Starr tossed her uniform toward the end of her bed as she eased back over to her desk. One by one she logged into her Barney, Nordstrom, Neiman and Bergdorf accounts and used her father’s credit card info to pay for the items she had saved in her shopping cart.
A pair of Chloé boots here.
A Stella McCartney outfit there.
New undies. An organic romper. A new gold clutch.
The total came to somewhere around two grand. A little light shopping that did absolutely nothing to make Starr feel better.
Having a party to top all parties and the Diva of Dumbass’s head on a platter would have to do that.
fourteen
Marisol
September 14 @ 10:45 a.m. | Mood: Amorous
Today was the last day of taping for the documentary about her father, and just like every other time the swarm of cameras and crew was at her house, she was dressed to the nines. The BCBG sleeveless bib dress she wore was so very completely different from her usual Sunday attire of leggings and a fitted tee. She loved the way the charcoal looked against her bronze complexion. She put on very light makeup, and with one last shake of her now-curly black locks, Marisol slipped her feet into a pair of suede gladiators and slid her BlackBerry into the hidden pocket of her dress before she left her room.
Marisol had discovered that she loved the cameras and they were crushing on her, as well. And she used the opportunity well, being sure to be wherever the cameraswere when her dad was filming. Her impromptu fashion show this week served two purposes. She was well aware that her image was going to be in millions of homes and…
“ Hola, Corey,” Marisol said in her best flirty voice as she walked into the large and airy—and thankfully empty—kitchen. Remember, Marisol. Smile. Just enough to say “I like you” but not enough to scream “I’m psycho.”
He stopped wrapping a thick black cord around his arm to look over at her with a quick smile. “Hi, Marisol,” he said, before he stooped down to place the cord in a large black case. “You look pretty as always.”
Marisol’s heart soared. She knew it was today or never. She was soooo tired of waiting for him to make the first move. How many times had she tried to will him, through mind control, to ask her out? She really wasn’t going to accept the premise of the book He’s Just Not That Into You.
“We’re wrapping up here after your parents do the tour of the house,” he began, looking at her with eyes that made her heart race like she just finished a mad dash through a Neiman’s sale.
Marisol pouted to let him know how much of a downer his leaving was.
“Maybe we could hang out sometime,” Corey offered, leaning back against the edge of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets.
Yippeee! In the privacy of her room she would do aflip. Marisol reached out and lightly touched his hand. “Not maybe. Definitely. ”
They both whipped out their cell phones and programmed each other’s numbers, e-mail and social networking sites. It was always necessary for couples to stay in touch.
Corey’s eyes fell on Marisol’s glossy lips as he slid his cell phone back in the pocket of his
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