Note from Meghan: Let’s be honest, Bellini is the worst villain, ever. Because of this, I went to my fans to see how they would like to see her demise. I made it a competition and picked two fans and infiltrated their ideas in finally giving Bellini what she deserves. Thank you to Mo Phillips and Karen Jones for the great ideas. I hope I did you justice.
**WARNING, ONLY PROCEED if you want to read something completely over-the-top ridiculous that most likely would never happen in life but is completely justified for the blonde wench of this series. Enjoy.**
BELLINI
“Glad you decided to show up looking like a trash bag once again, Mauve,” I say as she approaches me with the stupid iPad she clutches to her chest as if it’s holding her tits up. I wouldn’t put it past her to use it as a bra; the woman has zero class.
“Your insults aren’t going to get you out of this, Bellini, as they are the reason why you’re in trouble.”
“I’m sorry, but when you speak, do you realize piles upon piles of rotten, mutilated remnants of trash fall out of your mouth?”
“Denial, is that how you’re going to play this? That’s mature.” Mauve folds her arms over her chest and stares at me.
“Mature? You want to talk to me about being mature?” I ask, popping a Tic Tac in my mouth. “This coming from the woman who wears man boots with ratty shorts that show off your gross clam every chance you get.”
Mauve rolls her eyes and then says, “You should know by now that whatever you say has no effect on me. Do you realize what’s going to happen to you, Bellini?”
God, she’s so annoying. Her black hair looks like a gaggle of woodland creatures decided to nestle in for the winter, her tank top is entirely too big on her, showing off way too much side boob area—Miley Cyrus called, she wants her look back—and those disgusting boots she insists upon wearing. Puke worthy. How Reese can even consider her attractive is beyond me. Apparently he loves humping a garbage can.
Ever since I received a letter about some asinine idiot, who worked with me during a photo shoot, suing me, Mauve has been harping incessantly into my ear about morals and being a kind person.
I’m kind. I tried to find her a lesbian to love. That was until she told me she’d lied about liking women. Here I was being the perfect Samaritan and trying to find a lonely, atrocious-looking troll to love and it’s just thrown back in my face. That’s what you get for being nice.
I passed off the letter as some ridiculously confused moron who drank way too much Barton’s vodka, found an old IBM computer and typed up a silly, cretinous letter full of lawyer forgery. At least that’s what I thought it was . . .
“Are you listening to me?” Of course I’m not listening to her. She’s putrid. “You’re going to lose everything.” That grabs my attention.
I snap my attention up to her grotesque face. “What do you mean I’m going to lose everything? That’s a horrid thing to joke about? Is your life that pathetic that you have to make up lies to make the pretty people temporarily have heart attacks?”
Not showing one ounce of remorse over her joke, she sets her electronic item down and says, “Bellini, I’m not fucking around with you.” Ugh, see, trash floats right out of her mouth. “Your contract with Wally Rose is terminated due to violating your code of conduct. You are being sued for millions upon millions of dollars. You will be bleeding money by the time this is all over, because not only is Sam Bidwell suing you for defamation of character and damages, but so is the production company for violating their code of conduct on multiple occasions.”
“What blasphemous code of conduct?” I screech, my mind whirling with the information Mauve is spewing at me like venom. “And who the hell is Sam Bidwell?”
Sighing, Mauve says, “Sam Bidwell is the set designer we’ve hired for photo shoots that you, on a routine basis, have referred to as Bob Vila, Fromunda cheese, Gouda guy, and charcuterie pits. He was the one you harassed when he brought a regular bench to the set rather than an African blackwood one.”
“Oh, that imbecile. He deserves the harassment. Anyone who believes oak is the same as African blackwood should be crucified. He deserved what he got.”
“No one deserves that kind of treatment, Bellini. He is a human being and should be treated with respect. That is why you are being sued by him and by production. If you’d read your contract, you would have seen that the code of conduct clearly stated unethical behavior such as harassment to others will not be tolerated. Wally has been lenient with you, but he’s had enough. He’s pulling up every offense ever committed by you, including your idiotic pet names for all of us.”
“He can’t do that! I’m the most influential person in this industry!” I pound my fist on the arm of my chair. “He’s going to lose money by cancelling my show.”
“No, he’s going to gain money. Remember, he’s suing you.” A smirk spreads across her hideous face, making me cringe.
“You’re a man beast,” I shout, clearly upset.
“And I will add that to the list of harassing things you’ve said. Wally and Jasper will be here shortly, along with your lawyer, to go over the violations of your contract. I would like to say it was a pleasure working with you, but it’s been an absolute nightmare. I’m not one to wish horrible things upon people, but I truly hope you end up being someone’s bitch in jail.” She tacks on a smarmy smirk, flips her offensive hair, and walks away.
Vial woman.
But . . .
Is she right? Am I really going to lose everything? This can’t be. I’m too valuable for them to do that to me. I’m TV royalty, right?
Feeling unsure, I call out to the one person I know will blow steam up my ass. “Pocket!” I scream, clutching Pope Francis into my chest. “This can’t be, Popey. I’m a good person, you’ve said if yourself. You chose me. Why else would God’s creature choose me? If I was so horrible, you wouldn’t be mine.” Frustrated, I scream again, “POCKET!”
Scurrying from the hallway, Pocket stands before me, holding bottles of Fiji water.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Getting ready for company. I heard Jasper and Wally Rose are coming over to discuss your contract.”
A little perturbed that she knows this information, I ask, “How do you know that? Have you been listening to my conversation?”
She nods enthusiastically. “I listen to everything. It’s for your benefit.”
“How is your gigantic, blackhead-filled nose being in my business benefiting me?”
“So I can protect you,” she says without skipping a beat.
“So you can protect me?” I deadpan. She nods again and for a second, I wait for her to say something else, like she’s joking, but she’s not. I scoff. “How on earth would you be able to protect me? You barely know how to insert a tampon, what makes you think you can be a bodyguard?”
Leaning forward, she looks around before looking around and saying, “I know how to use a knife.”
Sitting back in my chair, Popey on my lap, I start to slow clap for her. “Well done, Pocket. You know how to hold out a pointy object. A baby could wield a knife if you gave it one. Do you really think you could defend me with a knife? You imbecile, why do I even keep you around?”
“For knife protection?” she asks, a question in her voice.
Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I say, “Get out of my sight. You are completely useless. Actually, just leave, forever. I don’t need you anymore. You’ve been nothing but a nuisance since I’ve met you, and I don’t need your annoying fire-crotch self around me right now when I’m going through such devastation.”
“You don’t mean that,” Pocket says jokingly.
I clench her jaw in my hand and force her to look at me. “Listen to what I’m saying. You’re a waste of human life, and I want you gone in five minutes. Do you hear me?”
“I’m confused. You want me to leave?”
“How is what I’m saying confusing? Yes, leave!”
“Bellini,” Jasper’s voice calls out. Letting go of Pocket, I see Jasper, Mauve, Wally Rose, and their lawyer walking down the hall.
I immediately put up my walls. Was Mauve serious about me losing everything? Over some stupid carpenter who couldn’t decipher between oak and African blackwood? How is that my godforsaken fault? Why should I be punished? If anything I was looking for a certain service to be delivered and when it wasn’t, I made it known. There is nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with getting what you want.
“Bellini, you know Craig, our attorney,” Jasper says, waving his hand toward Craig.
“He’s the man with the giant mole you couldn’t stop talking about,” Pocket cuts in. For heaven’s sake what is she still doing here?
“Pocket, I told you to leave. You can either vacate the premises yourself or I can have security remove you.”
“But . . .” she pauses, “who’s going to brush your hair?”
Exasperated and not in the mood, I flair my arms and say, “Anyone. Any other person can brush my hair. It’s not your privilege anymore. Get that through your pea-sized brain.”
“But, I brush your hair.” Her voice is meek as she backs away. I think it’s finally starting to hit her, thankfully. “I’m supposed to help you.”
“Help me by removing your dilapidated body from my home.” She starts to walk away as I realize I’m being a terrible person. “Hold on.” Hope beams in her eyes as I turn to my unwelcomed guests. “Would you like some water?” They nod their heads so I direct my attention back to Pocket. “Pocket, get us all some Fiji water and then leave this house. If I hear from you again I will be pressing charges. Do you understand?”
With a resounding nod, she goes off to get us water.
“Now, where were we?” I ask, trying to put on a brave face.
“You’re being sued for over fifty million dollars in damages,” Jasper says, cutting straight to the chase.
Did I hear him right? Fifty million dollars? Do I even have that much money?
“Fifty dollars?” I ask, thinking I heard him wrong.
“No, Bellini,” Jasper says with a serious tone. “Fifty million dollars.”
How can that be? Over a carpenter? My mind starts to whirl turning into mush, my body feels faint, and the urge to start praying with Pope Francis is overwhelming.
Fifty Million dollars.
No.
Noooooo!
“Water anyone?” Pocket asks with a cheery look on her face.
“Daddy!” I scream.
Fifty million dollars . . .
I stare down at her while I prepare the plastic bristles of my brush. I’ve saved this hair brush for this exact moment, when I finally was able to take her in, when I was able to make her my very own life-size Barbie doll.
Fitting her into the dress I made was rather difficult, but I made it work after taping her breasts down with duct tape. If I were to be honest, her boobs were weird looking. Where was all the hair around her nipples? I don’t understand why she didn’t have any. And they were more round, no flat against her chest like mine. It was off all around.
Getting her here was easy. I was able to taint the Fiji water with laxative, giving me plenty of time to remove Bellini while everyone else was in the bathroom. Naturally, I roofied her, because otherwise she would have argued with me.
What she doesn’t know is that I am doing this for her own good. I saw those lawyer’s papers, I knew they were going to suck her dry, so I commenced my emergency action plan I’ve always dreamed of engaging.
For one, I got to ditch that damn dog of hers, Pope Francis. I don’t care how godly he is, he was hurting my ability to get close to Bellini. But not anymore, I made sure to drop him off at a nunnery before I brought Bellini back to my home. The nuns were quite excited about receiving a dog in a roman cassock and rosary. I’m sure he will have a nice life. Thankfully it’s not with me.
Then I took Bellini to my studio apartment in Harlem. I know she’ll love it. It’s six-hundred square feet, fully decorated in pink and Bellini-head wallpaper, along with my vast collection of Barbies that take up all my living space. It’s why I sleep like a curled ball in the corner of my apartment.
But I made room for Bellini. I duct-taped a chair to my kitchen counter, it took some precision, but I made it work. It looks like a beautiful silvery throne. And then I propped Bellini up in the chair and secured her with zip ties. It’s for her own benefit so she doesn’t slide out of the chair.
As for me, I have a little beanbag chair on the counter as well so I can sit next to her and watch her whenever I want. I get to change her and feed her and brush her hair. It’s a dream come true.
She starts to stir, her head moving from side to side. Oh goody, she will finally get to see her new home.
“Where am I?” she says in a groggily voice.
I brush her hair with my oversized Barbie doll brush and coo in her ear. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me, poppet.”
She jerks to the side and looks me up and down, then she proceeds to take in the entire apartment. My chest is held high as I beam with pride over the sanctuary I’ve provided for both of us.
“What the hell is going on?” Bellini demands. “Why the hell am I in a ten-year-old’s dream land?”
“I saved you,” I say. “They were going to take everything from you. So I did what I had to do. I drugged them, drugged you, and brought you to my place where you will stay forever.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” She looks down at her body and gasps. “What is this preposterous outfit I’m wearing? Is it polyester? I can’t possibly be wearing polyester.”
“It’s a replica of Birthday Barbie’s dress, because being with you every day is like my birthday. It looks beautiful on you.”
“What kind of drugs are you on?”
“None. This has been my dream for a long time, being able to take care of you like one of my dolls.”
“What do you mean take care of me? Unhand me at once.”
I shake my head. “Can’t do that. By the time the lawyer and everyone else is finished in their respected bathrooms, they will see that you’re gone. Of course they will think you fled the country and probably transferred some of your money into an offshore bank account never to be seen. When in fact, you’re with me, in my small apartment in Harlem, where we will talk Barbies and stare at pictures of you on my wall. It’s a dream come true.” I comb her hair thoughtfully as I say, “Don’t worry, Bellini, I will take great care of you. Just as you took care of me.”