How To Ruin Your Life In Fourteen Days Or Less: Chapter 1
Author: miss1nformation
Title: How To Ruin Your Life In Fourteen Days Or Less: A Lesson In Epic Failure*
Characters: Jo Calderone/Lady Gaga
Rating: MA
Summary: "My name is Jo Calderone, and I was an asshole."
Word Count: 4774 and counting =3
Author's Notes: WiP - Written in third person, past & present, PoV switches between Jo & Gaga.
Inspired by the video for Yoü And I, Lüc Carl's “The Bender of 2011” blog entry, and Jo Calderone's monologue at the VMA's.
Edited to clean up the A/N and correct minor errors, (such as correcting Dr. Tracey’s gender, oops!)
Warnings/Spoilers: I don't own Gaga/Jo (but if I did, I would never leave the house). I would like to think of myself as a queen of smut, but I will settle for jester. Either way, it's not for the kiddies. And the piano will be defiled. ;)
Acknowledgements:Thank you to my amazing, lovely, talented Hookers meagan4dominic & iyeshana for their incredible editing and their amazing support and dedication! Where would I be without such amazing Hookers? ;)
Chapter 2
How to Ruin Your Life in Fourteen Days or Less
A Lesson in Epic Failure
Prologue
He sat at the bar, whiskey in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other. If the day had to be summed up in one word, it would be “shit”. It was just one of those days when nothing seemed to go right. He’d nearly been pushed onto the subway tracks, he’d lost his girl, and he’d lost his lighter. What were the odds of losing his two favorite things in one day? Yes, “shit” summed up his day perfectly. But it didn’t all happen in one day. No, this shit storm had been brewing for a few weeks.
Day 1 - Springfield, NE
The day had started out like any other day. He woke up to find her snuggling against him under the covers, her pointed, blood red nails glistening in the morning sun that slipped through the closed curtains. Her hair was a mess, as was her makeup, but that was nothing new. He had to admit though, no matter how rowdy they got in bed, her wigs never moved. It was still early, so he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
He awoke a few hours later to the sound of her heels against the floor, those ungodly heels. He heard the bathroom door close and the water turn on. He knew what was coming next, it was like clockwork. She’d turn off the shower, come out of the bathroom dripping wet, and she would still be wearing those fucking heels.
When the bathroom door opened and she stepped out, the first thing he could hear was the squelch of her wet shoes. He rolled over, glanced at the clock, and slowly rose from the bed. It was only 9:13am and he already had a headache.
‘Fuck,’ he thought as he made his way to the kitchen. He popped two aspirin and downed a glass of whiskey. “A perfect start to a perfect day,” he said bitterly under his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked for a cigarette and his lighter. Cigarette, check. Lighter…lighter? Where was the lighter?
“Babe, have you seen my fucking lighter? I can’t find it!” She poked her head out from the bedroom door, one false eyelash in place, the other between her fingers. “No.”
She started to say something else, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. “I swear Gaga! I don’t see how in the hell you don’t poke your fucking eyes out with those goddamned nails!” The comment came out a lot pissier than expected. “Fucking headache,” he mumbled. He glimpsed her middle finger in the doorway and grinned as he turned back to his search for the lighter. It took about twenty minutes, but he finally found it.
She came out of the bedroom, standing a good eight inches taller than her natural height. She was wearing a long brunette wig and an outfit he could only describe as ‘steampunk.’ “What the hell is up with steampunk anyways? That shit’s everywhere,” he said to himself. It was strange to see her as a brunette again. She’d been a bottle blonde virtually since they’d first met six years ago. But this was definitely one of her sexier wigs. It reminded him of when they first met, he behind the bar, she practically naked behind an electric keyboard.
❈❈❈
They had flown into Nebraska Sunday night to start principal photography and production of her new video “Yoü and I.” The set location was in Springfield, but the town and surrounding areas were so rural that they had to fly in through Omaha’s Millard airport. Filming was expected to take about four days. It ended up being seven incredibly long ones.
The first day of shooting took place in an old, weathered barn surrounded by a large cornfield. The scene being shot today included a large block table elevated to about a forty-five degree angle and a ‘mixed media art piece’ made of wood, plastic, and steel. He didn’t know why she had to give shit such extravagant names like ‘mixed media art piece,’ it was a fucking tank. She had been one to exaggerate things like this for as long as they had known each other, but lately it was getting on his nerves. Everything was getting on his nerves lately. And when things got on his nerves of late, he would self medicate with booze. The harder the better as far as he was concerned.
Because he wasn’t in the scene they were filming that day he decided to explore the site for a while. He knew the filming would take several hours since they were still waiting on the tank to arrive. When it finally did arrive and had been fitted to the water storage system inside the barn the crew closed the doors to the building. He walked to the door he had originally exited from, only to find it locked. The second door, where the tank had been brought in, was locked as well.
“What the hell?” He continued his way around the decaying building looking for another way in. He never found one, but he did find a punched out knot in one of the wall planks that allowed him to see inside. He felt like a voyeur as he watched the scene unfold.
Gaga was being walked to a large metal table, covered in a robe. When she was beside the table she let the robe slip from her shoulders, but he could not see what she was wearing because three members of the Haüs were surrounding her, helping her onto the table. When they moved away he could see that all she was wearing was plastic wrap, wound tightly around her like mummification cloth. He could not see any other clothing except a pair of green shoes. Her arms were bound to her side by the clear plastic. There was a man standing on the other side of the table holding a sponge. It looked like he was bathing her.
He continued to watch through his peep hole in the side of the barn wall. He could see that the man standing over her was cutting away the dressings. Her arms were now free and her breasts exposed. She cupped them in her hands while he continued to attend to her fittings. The cameras rolled back and Gaga was helped off of the table, and then walked over to the tank, which was filled to three quarters. Here she climbed a ladder and stepped down into the tank. The plastic wrapping was still around her and as she became submerged it began to unravel, filling the space with its almost eerie presence.
The cameras panned back in, their focus on the tank, which was beginning to fill with water again. The ghost of her plastic confines floated weightlessly around her, causing the water to appear cloudy. When the water was to the top he could see that she had started to float, her hair moving in sinuous strands. The cameras rolled out again, and some of the water began to drain.
When it was low enough that Gaga was able to stand on her feet again, the water now down to her chin, she half turned around. Her back was partly facing him now, and he could see that she was wearing a different pair of high heeled monstrosities. The camera rolled close for one last shot in the tank. As it drew near, she turned so that her back was completely facing the camera, and placed her left hand against the clear tank wall. He could see now that she was completely naked. His pants twitched at the sight.
The water drained slowly from the tank, causing her body to look oddly distorted. Wet plastic clung to her hips. He knew she was very confident, at least outwardly, in her sexuality, but was thankful for the modesty the plastic afforded her at the moment. Mark helped her out of the tank and back into her robe. As they were walking back towards the mock dressing room in silence, Gaga looked excitedly around the set. When she realized he was nowhere to be seen her smile faltered briefly. His heart sank at the flash of sorrow in her eyes.
As soon as one of the entrance doors was open he rushed inside, anxious to find her. He knew she would think he was an asshole for not being there. And while he knew he was an asshole, it was not for that reason. By the time he finally got inside and maneuvered around all of the props and cables she had already disappeared. He could hear Laurieann lecturing her about the choreography again. He had not been on good terms with Laurieann ever since she was quoted by some magazine as basically being the brain child behind “Lady Gaga.” ‘Bullshit,’ he thought. ‘That bitch has about as much talent as a lug nut and about as much brains too!’
He started to light a cigarette and pull back the curtain to the dressing room when Laurieann rushed him. She grabbed his wrist with unnecessary force, causing him to drop his un-lit cigarette. “Whoa stud! You can’t go back there. Gags is having trouble with the choreo again and has to re-shoot one of the dance numbers. She keeps fucking up the timing,” she said the last part just loud enough that Gaga would hear. “Anyways, she doesn’t have time for you babe,” she added, her voice laced with malice. As she said this she was hitting him hard against chest. He staggered backward a few steps.
He stared at her for several moments, his mouth agape, his expression incredulous. Laurieann turned to go back behind the curtain. “Gaga!” he called out over her shoulder. Laurieann was suddenly in his face. “Get out of here you miserable fuck!” she hissed, and disappeared behind the curtain, a satisfied smile stretching her lips.
He wanted to storm through after her and slap that shit eating grin right from her face. But his mother had taught him not to hit a woman out of anger. Instead, he clenched his fists and calmly walked out of the old barn to finally have a smoke. Behind the curtain and out of his earshot, Gaga asked who had called for her. Laurieann told her it was no one, and continued her lecture about the choreography she kept messing up.
After about fifteen minutes of lecture and demonstration, Laurieann was ready to let Gaga try the moves again. Gaga came out from behind the curtain dressed in black leather straps, leather boots and a long teal wig. She followed Laurieann towards a series of straw covered platforms of varying heights on the other side of the barn. She was unsteady on her feet as they traveled across the large space. As she was about to mount the center platform she trembled violently and crumpled to a heap on the golden straw.
Just as she was going down, he had re-entered the barn. The moment he realized what was happening, he was rushing across the large room towards her. He almost slipped on the hay twice, but finally made it to her side. She was freezing cold and trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Panic consumed him as he reached out to her.
“Jo…” she whispered weakly as he enveloped her into his arms, pulling her limp body close. “Babe, are you ok? What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need to lie-” “Where were you?” she asked faintly. He looked at her in bewilderment. “I went outside to scope the place out, but when I came back, all of the doors were-” She cut him off again, but he was not upset, only worried. “Shhh,” she whispered, and nuzzled her face into the bend of his neck.
Everyone was crowding in around them, inching closer; everyone except Laurieann. Montana, who was standing at the back of the crowd, watched as Laurieann walked silently out of the barn, phone in hand. Ian was on the phone with the physician Gaga kept on retainer, nodding vigorously as he explained her symptoms. Worry wore away at Ian’s features. Mark had ran out to the black SUV Gaga had arrived in and brought back a bottle of cold water. Michael brought in a blanket.
Gaga’s arms were wrapped as tightly around Jo’s neck as her weakened state would allow. As soon as she was securely wrapped in the blanket, arms still firmly around his neck, Mark gave him the opened bottle. “Here, try to drink some of this,” Jo said, his voice not as strong as he wanted it to be. When she looked into his eyes, he could see fear. He knew immediately why she was afraid. While lying in bed one early morning after making love, she had confided in him that one of her biggest fears was that she would cross from being borderline positive to having full blown Lupus. She’d had the same fear in her eyes then too.
He blinked rapidly; he would not let her see him cry. He had to be strong for her. She drank a few more sips of water, her hands cupping the bottle, but not really holding it. When she signaled that she was finished he sat the bottle beside them and gently rocked her back and forth. He hummed softly in her ear while he waited for Ian to finish his call. He could feel that her breathing had begun to regulate, coming in slower, more even measures.
“Dr. Tracey seems to think she’ll be fine,” Ian said in a rush. “I told her what happened, explained the tank and the draft. She thinks it may just be mild fatigue and maybe a cold coming on. But, given her history, she needs to rest for a few days and stay hydrated.”
A look of panic replaced the fear on her face. “But I can’t miss any days on this shoot! My Little Monsters will be expecting this video soon!” There was an edge of pleading in her voice. She looked around at the crowd imploringly and began to cry. “They already call me ‘Latey Gaga!’ If this video is late, I don’t know what I’ll do!” He pulled her closer to him, stroking her tangled teal hair. “Shhh, baby, shhh. They’ll understand if it’s late. I’ve spoke to several Little Monsters on Twitter. And yeah, some of those kids are fucking bat shit crazy, but they all adore you, and wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick trying to overdo it. We’ll just go back to the hotel, get you a hot bath, and go from there. What do ya say? Eh?” He winked at her mischievously. She managed to nod her head in agreement; her body quivered from tear induced hiccups.
The crowd began to move back, giving them room to get up. Mark and Ian were on either side of her, each supporting an arm, while Jo stood up. As soon as they were on their feet, Mark and Ian trailing close behind, they made their way to the large black Suburban. Pete was behind the wheel, his expression a mixture of concerned and vigilant.
The drive back to the hotel seemed to take forever. The longer they drove up Highway 50, the more things began to look the same, blurring around the edges like in a dream. Jo was sitting in the very back of the SUV, Gaga curled up beside him, her head in his lap. She was sound asleep within five minutes of leaving the set.
Pete had given him one of the two-way radios so that they could communicate across the mass vehicle without shouting. They had been discussing the drive back to the hotel while she was still awake. As soon as they were sure she was asleep, the tone of their conversation changed. “Poor kid, she works too hard,” Pete said. “She just gives and gives until her little body can’t give any more. I keep telling her that if she doesn’t slow down a little that I’m going to call Joe. I used to threaten to call Cynthia, but the threat of Joe is much more effective,” he laughed. “Ha ha, yeah, I know what ya mean,” Jo replied. “I’d threaten to spank her, but I think she’d enj-” Pete cleared his throat loudly, stopping Jo mid-sentence. Jo realized he didn’t want to continue this train of thought with the Dutchman, who was like her father away from home. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.
Finally, Pete broke the silence. “How is she? Is she still sleeping?” “Yeah, she’s knocked out cold. But she’s finally warmed up. I was getting worried for a minute that she wouldn’t warm back up.” “Jo, promise me you’ll make her call her dad tonight or in the morning. He’s been really worried about her.” “I’ll give him a call tonight just to check in, then I’ll have her call when she’s had a little rest,” Jo assured him. They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from the sleeping starlet.
When they arrived at the hotel the paparazzi were waiting. The photogs knew nothing of her collapse, just that she was staying there. The black SUV drove around to the service entrance. Jo knew not to try getting out until Pete had opened the door for them. Not wanting to wake her, he gently lifted her head from his lap and laid it down upon the seat. He moved to the middle row to get a better view of the back lot. When Pete finally opened the door to give Jo the all clear, he asked him to follow him to the back of the SUV. Pete opened the back completely, laid the back seat down flat, and began the slow, careful removal of his charge. Jo stood by expectantly, ready for Pete to put her into his arms.
“Hey Jo, can you run up to the front desk and ask them to send up two security guards ahead of us? Just to make sure no one is waiting to ambush us,” he added in his thick accent. Jo began to protest, but realized making a scene with a man almost twice his size was unwise.
By the time he reached the suite they shared, Gaga was already tucked into bed, and Pete was sitting in a chair by the wall, just outside the bedroom. The suite was adjacent to Pete’s, and the two were connected by an interior door. “If you need me, just knock,” Pete said as he got up. “Thanks man,” Jo said and they shook hands. Jo did not see Pete or anyone else with the Haüs or crew the rest of the night.
❈❈❈
When Gaga awoke it was 11:45pm; they had left the cornfield at 7:00pm. Jo had been in the sitting room reading an autobiography by Keith Richards, when he heard her stirring in the next room. “Jo?” she called, her voice still heavy with sleep. He dog-eared his page and laid the book down on the table. When she saw him poke his head into the door frame she smiled weakly. “Hey you.” she said, her head tilted slightly to the side. She slid back, making room for him on the bed. “Hey yourself doll,” he replied, sitting beside her. She nestled her knees behind him. “How are you feeling? You look a lot better now that you’ve rested.” “I feel a lot better, thank you,” she said in a tiny voice.
“I see Pete managed to get those shoes off,” he said, applying extra emphasis on shoes. She replied by sticking her tongue out. He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose, then pressed his lips softly to hers. Pulling herself up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning deeper into the kiss. After a few moments Jo pulled back and took in as much of her as he could from where he sat. “Did Pete change you too?” he asked, grinning. She leaned back and pulled the covers down farther to look for herself. Pete had indeed changed her out of the leather bondage straps and into a soft, lavender slip style dress. He had also removed her teal wig. “I guess he did.”
He studied her appearance for a few moments, her natural hair, with its dark roots, the way it brushed against her shoulders. The spaghetti thin straps of the dress were lost beneath it. He took in the low dip of the dress, and how it clung to her in all of the right places. He licked his lips, his breath coming a little slower than before. Leaning in, his lips found hers again and he inched in closer. Using his left hand for leverage, he put his right hand around her neck, fingers entwining her hair. He edged closer, pulling her towards him. Her hands rested on the side of his waist, pulling gently at the cotton of his t-shirt. She moaned softly as the kiss became more intense. His fingers traced down the line of her neck and hooked around the thin strap resting on her shoulder. As he pulled the strap down his lips feathered a trail from her lips to her neck. She shuddered beneath his touch.
She tilted her head to the left and arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her fingers tightened on his shirt and she lifted it up, exposing the skin around his waist and his Armani boxers. Slowly lifting the cotton upward, she let her nails graze his newly bared skin, and delighted in the horripilation this elicited. In the same slow fashion, she pulled the shirt over his shoulders and tossed it to the floor, where it would be forgotten until morning.
Sitting on her lower legs, feet beneath her, she motioned Jo onto the bed. He crawled over her and sat with his back against the headboard, legs outstretched. She turned to face him, and languidly lifted the hem of her short dress, exposing her unicorn tattoo. She straddled him, lowering herself haltingly. Cupping his face, she bent in to kiss him again, an underlying urgency rising to the surface. He returned the kiss with just as much urgency. He allowed his hands to roam, moving lingeringly down her back, finally coming to rest on her thighs. Moving slowly upward, he slipped his hands under the silken material of her dress. As his hands progressed upward, he realized she was wearing no panties. He was instantly hard, his erection straining painfully against his pants.
Feeling his stiffness beneath her, Gaga leaned into him, grinding her pelvis against his erection. He moaned loudly into her mouth, bucking his hips to meet her. With languid fingers Gaga unclasped Jo’s belt and pants. Once he was unzipped her fingers curled around the waist of his boxers. Jo lifted his self off the bed slightly to allow the offensive pieces of clothing to be pushed down. He settled on to the bed in a slightly reclined position.
She leaned forward, her hot skin brushing teasingly against his newly exposed flesh. She licked his neck, just below the ear. He shuddered beneath her. Continuing to focus on his neck, she began to rock slowly back and forth, gradually moving her hips in a languorous, circular motion. Her movements allowed physical contact while preventing penetration.
Jo grabbed her hips, trying to control her movements, but she removed his hands. “Uh, uh,” she breathed into his ear. “Stef,” he said in a ragged breath. He could feel her smile against his neck as her lips traveled towards his clavicle. Hips never quickening, she leaned in, her lips exploring his chest. She allowed her movements to slow as she worked her way towards his stomach, hands on either side of his waist.
He moved his hand toward the minute space between them, trying again to gain any semblance of control. She would have none of it. She sat up straight, resting at the top of his thighs. Taking one hand, and then his other, she pinned each below her knees. A wicked smile played across her lips.
He groaned, half in pleasure, half in frustration. He was as hard as he could ever recall being, and here she was being a fucking cock tease. He tried, half-heartedly, to free his hands, but she only shook her head. He wondered if she was trying to torture him to death. If so, she was succeeding beautifully.
She leaned in, his erection hard against her stomach, and licked his lips. With her right hand on the headboard for support, she reached between them. Taking his cock into her hand, she began to slowly work up and down against its length. Jo gasped at the sudden, full contact, his breath like fire against her face. When he tried to free his hands again, she let him, and he rested them on her hips.
After a few moments of slow, deliberate attention, she finally allowed him to penetrate her. She lowered herself onto his length as slowly as she could manage. Her breath caught in her throat as she reached his hilt. Sitting upright now, she rocked her hips in a torpid, meticulous circle. As her pace picked up, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, hands gripping the sheets.
His hands explored her body, brushing over every surface within his reach. He sat upright and wrapped his arms around her back, drawing her flush against him. He kissed her with a fever he had not felt in quite some time. His lips planted kisses on every naked surface they could find. He brought his right hand down between them, letting it slip beneath her dress, and began to massage her pulsing nerve bundle.
A guttural growl escaped her lips as she rocked harder against his now sweat drenched body. He pulled at the other strap of her dress, offended that the fabric was still between them. Finally he was able to work both straps off of her shoulders, allowing the silken garment to fall, gathering at her hips. His free hand fondled her breasts, the other still at work between them. He sucked the hard nub of her nipples, gently nipping them with his teeth.
As his fingers quickened and pushed harder against her, she quickened her pace, now almost manic. Primal sounds filled the thick air between them as they worked towards their shared goal. The quicker he moved, the faster her hips would rock. The louder he became, the more savage the sounds escaping her became. She was leaning back now, knuckles white against the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath them. They were both on the edge, hanging on that final moment of truth.
“Jo…oh God, Jo,” she said in a breathy moan. She tried to say his name again as the first wave of ecstasy crashed against her, but she had no breath. As she came, she turned her face away from him, like she was trying to hide her true, most vulnerable self from him. She arched her back as far as her body would allow and screamed his name, screamed his praises, screamed for the hell of it. But she never let him see her face.
As the first wave of her orgasm reached its peak, Jo reached his, his body trembling violently at the release. Just as his orgasm crested, she was hit by an aftershock, her body convulsing as she came again, more fiercely than before. But still she did not let him see her face. He tried to force her to look at him, but she refused to be moved.
They both collapsed onto the bed, panting but satisfied. She turned onto her side, her back facing him. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, drawing herself up as small as she could manage. “Stef?” No response. “Stefani?” Still no answer. “Gaga?” he asked, no trace of confidence in his voice. Her only reply was a stifled sob. He shrugged off his pants, leaving the boxers on. Sighing dejectedly, he turned on his side to face her, and fell asleep to the sight of her back quivering beneath silent tears, her dress still gathered around her waist.
...To Be Continued.
* formerly "And Then She Was Gone"
Title: How To Ruin Your Life In Fourteen Days Or Less: A Lesson In Epic Failure*
Characters: Jo Calderone/Lady Gaga
Rating: MA
Summary: "My name is Jo Calderone, and I was an asshole."
Word Count: 4774 and counting =3
Author's Notes: WiP - Written in third person, past & present, PoV switches between Jo & Gaga.
Inspired by the video for Yoü And I, Lüc Carl's “The Bender of 2011” blog entry, and Jo Calderone's monologue at the VMA's.
Edited to clean up the A/N and correct minor errors, (such as correcting Dr. Tracey’s gender, oops!)
Warnings/Spoilers: I don't own Gaga/Jo (but if I did, I would never leave the house). I would like to think of myself as a queen of smut, but I will settle for jester. Either way, it's not for the kiddies. And the piano will be defiled. ;)
Acknowledgements:Thank you to my amazing, lovely, talented Hookers meagan4dominic & iyeshana for their incredible editing and their amazing support and dedication! Where would I be without such amazing Hookers? ;)
Chapter 2
How to Ruin Your Life in Fourteen Days or Less
A Lesson in Epic Failure
Prologue
He sat at the bar, whiskey in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other. If the day had to be summed up in one word, it would be “shit”. It was just one of those days when nothing seemed to go right. He’d nearly been pushed onto the subway tracks, he’d lost his girl, and he’d lost his lighter. What were the odds of losing his two favorite things in one day? Yes, “shit” summed up his day perfectly. But it didn’t all happen in one day. No, this shit storm had been brewing for a few weeks.
Day 1 - Springfield, NE
The day had started out like any other day. He woke up to find her snuggling against him under the covers, her pointed, blood red nails glistening in the morning sun that slipped through the closed curtains. Her hair was a mess, as was her makeup, but that was nothing new. He had to admit though, no matter how rowdy they got in bed, her wigs never moved. It was still early, so he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
He awoke a few hours later to the sound of her heels against the floor, those ungodly heels. He heard the bathroom door close and the water turn on. He knew what was coming next, it was like clockwork. She’d turn off the shower, come out of the bathroom dripping wet, and she would still be wearing those fucking heels.
When the bathroom door opened and she stepped out, the first thing he could hear was the squelch of her wet shoes. He rolled over, glanced at the clock, and slowly rose from the bed. It was only 9:13am and he already had a headache.
‘Fuck,’ he thought as he made his way to the kitchen. He popped two aspirin and downed a glass of whiskey. “A perfect start to a perfect day,” he said bitterly under his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked for a cigarette and his lighter. Cigarette, check. Lighter…lighter? Where was the lighter?
“Babe, have you seen my fucking lighter? I can’t find it!” She poked her head out from the bedroom door, one false eyelash in place, the other between her fingers. “No.”
She started to say something else, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. “I swear Gaga! I don’t see how in the hell you don’t poke your fucking eyes out with those goddamned nails!” The comment came out a lot pissier than expected. “Fucking headache,” he mumbled. He glimpsed her middle finger in the doorway and grinned as he turned back to his search for the lighter. It took about twenty minutes, but he finally found it.
She came out of the bedroom, standing a good eight inches taller than her natural height. She was wearing a long brunette wig and an outfit he could only describe as ‘steampunk.’ “What the hell is up with steampunk anyways? That shit’s everywhere,” he said to himself. It was strange to see her as a brunette again. She’d been a bottle blonde virtually since they’d first met six years ago. But this was definitely one of her sexier wigs. It reminded him of when they first met, he behind the bar, she practically naked behind an electric keyboard.
❈❈❈
They had flown into Nebraska Sunday night to start principal photography and production of her new video “Yoü and I.” The set location was in Springfield, but the town and surrounding areas were so rural that they had to fly in through Omaha’s Millard airport. Filming was expected to take about four days. It ended up being seven incredibly long ones.
The first day of shooting took place in an old, weathered barn surrounded by a large cornfield. The scene being shot today included a large block table elevated to about a forty-five degree angle and a ‘mixed media art piece’ made of wood, plastic, and steel. He didn’t know why she had to give shit such extravagant names like ‘mixed media art piece,’ it was a fucking tank. She had been one to exaggerate things like this for as long as they had known each other, but lately it was getting on his nerves. Everything was getting on his nerves lately. And when things got on his nerves of late, he would self medicate with booze. The harder the better as far as he was concerned.
Because he wasn’t in the scene they were filming that day he decided to explore the site for a while. He knew the filming would take several hours since they were still waiting on the tank to arrive. When it finally did arrive and had been fitted to the water storage system inside the barn the crew closed the doors to the building. He walked to the door he had originally exited from, only to find it locked. The second door, where the tank had been brought in, was locked as well.
“What the hell?” He continued his way around the decaying building looking for another way in. He never found one, but he did find a punched out knot in one of the wall planks that allowed him to see inside. He felt like a voyeur as he watched the scene unfold.
Gaga was being walked to a large metal table, covered in a robe. When she was beside the table she let the robe slip from her shoulders, but he could not see what she was wearing because three members of the Haüs were surrounding her, helping her onto the table. When they moved away he could see that all she was wearing was plastic wrap, wound tightly around her like mummification cloth. He could not see any other clothing except a pair of green shoes. Her arms were bound to her side by the clear plastic. There was a man standing on the other side of the table holding a sponge. It looked like he was bathing her.
He continued to watch through his peep hole in the side of the barn wall. He could see that the man standing over her was cutting away the dressings. Her arms were now free and her breasts exposed. She cupped them in her hands while he continued to attend to her fittings. The cameras rolled back and Gaga was helped off of the table, and then walked over to the tank, which was filled to three quarters. Here she climbed a ladder and stepped down into the tank. The plastic wrapping was still around her and as she became submerged it began to unravel, filling the space with its almost eerie presence.
The cameras panned back in, their focus on the tank, which was beginning to fill with water again. The ghost of her plastic confines floated weightlessly around her, causing the water to appear cloudy. When the water was to the top he could see that she had started to float, her hair moving in sinuous strands. The cameras rolled out again, and some of the water began to drain.
When it was low enough that Gaga was able to stand on her feet again, the water now down to her chin, she half turned around. Her back was partly facing him now, and he could see that she was wearing a different pair of high heeled monstrosities. The camera rolled close for one last shot in the tank. As it drew near, she turned so that her back was completely facing the camera, and placed her left hand against the clear tank wall. He could see now that she was completely naked. His pants twitched at the sight.
The water drained slowly from the tank, causing her body to look oddly distorted. Wet plastic clung to her hips. He knew she was very confident, at least outwardly, in her sexuality, but was thankful for the modesty the plastic afforded her at the moment. Mark helped her out of the tank and back into her robe. As they were walking back towards the mock dressing room in silence, Gaga looked excitedly around the set. When she realized he was nowhere to be seen her smile faltered briefly. His heart sank at the flash of sorrow in her eyes.
As soon as one of the entrance doors was open he rushed inside, anxious to find her. He knew she would think he was an asshole for not being there. And while he knew he was an asshole, it was not for that reason. By the time he finally got inside and maneuvered around all of the props and cables she had already disappeared. He could hear Laurieann lecturing her about the choreography again. He had not been on good terms with Laurieann ever since she was quoted by some magazine as basically being the brain child behind “Lady Gaga.” ‘Bullshit,’ he thought. ‘That bitch has about as much talent as a lug nut and about as much brains too!’
He started to light a cigarette and pull back the curtain to the dressing room when Laurieann rushed him. She grabbed his wrist with unnecessary force, causing him to drop his un-lit cigarette. “Whoa stud! You can’t go back there. Gags is having trouble with the choreo again and has to re-shoot one of the dance numbers. She keeps fucking up the timing,” she said the last part just loud enough that Gaga would hear. “Anyways, she doesn’t have time for you babe,” she added, her voice laced with malice. As she said this she was hitting him hard against chest. He staggered backward a few steps.
He stared at her for several moments, his mouth agape, his expression incredulous. Laurieann turned to go back behind the curtain. “Gaga!” he called out over her shoulder. Laurieann was suddenly in his face. “Get out of here you miserable fuck!” she hissed, and disappeared behind the curtain, a satisfied smile stretching her lips.
He wanted to storm through after her and slap that shit eating grin right from her face. But his mother had taught him not to hit a woman out of anger. Instead, he clenched his fists and calmly walked out of the old barn to finally have a smoke. Behind the curtain and out of his earshot, Gaga asked who had called for her. Laurieann told her it was no one, and continued her lecture about the choreography she kept messing up.
After about fifteen minutes of lecture and demonstration, Laurieann was ready to let Gaga try the moves again. Gaga came out from behind the curtain dressed in black leather straps, leather boots and a long teal wig. She followed Laurieann towards a series of straw covered platforms of varying heights on the other side of the barn. She was unsteady on her feet as they traveled across the large space. As she was about to mount the center platform she trembled violently and crumpled to a heap on the golden straw.
Just as she was going down, he had re-entered the barn. The moment he realized what was happening, he was rushing across the large room towards her. He almost slipped on the hay twice, but finally made it to her side. She was freezing cold and trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Panic consumed him as he reached out to her.
“Jo…” she whispered weakly as he enveloped her into his arms, pulling her limp body close. “Babe, are you ok? What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need to lie-” “Where were you?” she asked faintly. He looked at her in bewilderment. “I went outside to scope the place out, but when I came back, all of the doors were-” She cut him off again, but he was not upset, only worried. “Shhh,” she whispered, and nuzzled her face into the bend of his neck.
Everyone was crowding in around them, inching closer; everyone except Laurieann. Montana, who was standing at the back of the crowd, watched as Laurieann walked silently out of the barn, phone in hand. Ian was on the phone with the physician Gaga kept on retainer, nodding vigorously as he explained her symptoms. Worry wore away at Ian’s features. Mark had ran out to the black SUV Gaga had arrived in and brought back a bottle of cold water. Michael brought in a blanket.
Gaga’s arms were wrapped as tightly around Jo’s neck as her weakened state would allow. As soon as she was securely wrapped in the blanket, arms still firmly around his neck, Mark gave him the opened bottle. “Here, try to drink some of this,” Jo said, his voice not as strong as he wanted it to be. When she looked into his eyes, he could see fear. He knew immediately why she was afraid. While lying in bed one early morning after making love, she had confided in him that one of her biggest fears was that she would cross from being borderline positive to having full blown Lupus. She’d had the same fear in her eyes then too.
He blinked rapidly; he would not let her see him cry. He had to be strong for her. She drank a few more sips of water, her hands cupping the bottle, but not really holding it. When she signaled that she was finished he sat the bottle beside them and gently rocked her back and forth. He hummed softly in her ear while he waited for Ian to finish his call. He could feel that her breathing had begun to regulate, coming in slower, more even measures.
“Dr. Tracey seems to think she’ll be fine,” Ian said in a rush. “I told her what happened, explained the tank and the draft. She thinks it may just be mild fatigue and maybe a cold coming on. But, given her history, she needs to rest for a few days and stay hydrated.”
A look of panic replaced the fear on her face. “But I can’t miss any days on this shoot! My Little Monsters will be expecting this video soon!” There was an edge of pleading in her voice. She looked around at the crowd imploringly and began to cry. “They already call me ‘Latey Gaga!’ If this video is late, I don’t know what I’ll do!” He pulled her closer to him, stroking her tangled teal hair. “Shhh, baby, shhh. They’ll understand if it’s late. I’ve spoke to several Little Monsters on Twitter. And yeah, some of those kids are fucking bat shit crazy, but they all adore you, and wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick trying to overdo it. We’ll just go back to the hotel, get you a hot bath, and go from there. What do ya say? Eh?” He winked at her mischievously. She managed to nod her head in agreement; her body quivered from tear induced hiccups.
The crowd began to move back, giving them room to get up. Mark and Ian were on either side of her, each supporting an arm, while Jo stood up. As soon as they were on their feet, Mark and Ian trailing close behind, they made their way to the large black Suburban. Pete was behind the wheel, his expression a mixture of concerned and vigilant.
The drive back to the hotel seemed to take forever. The longer they drove up Highway 50, the more things began to look the same, blurring around the edges like in a dream. Jo was sitting in the very back of the SUV, Gaga curled up beside him, her head in his lap. She was sound asleep within five minutes of leaving the set.
Pete had given him one of the two-way radios so that they could communicate across the mass vehicle without shouting. They had been discussing the drive back to the hotel while she was still awake. As soon as they were sure she was asleep, the tone of their conversation changed. “Poor kid, she works too hard,” Pete said. “She just gives and gives until her little body can’t give any more. I keep telling her that if she doesn’t slow down a little that I’m going to call Joe. I used to threaten to call Cynthia, but the threat of Joe is much more effective,” he laughed. “Ha ha, yeah, I know what ya mean,” Jo replied. “I’d threaten to spank her, but I think she’d enj-” Pete cleared his throat loudly, stopping Jo mid-sentence. Jo realized he didn’t want to continue this train of thought with the Dutchman, who was like her father away from home. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.
Finally, Pete broke the silence. “How is she? Is she still sleeping?” “Yeah, she’s knocked out cold. But she’s finally warmed up. I was getting worried for a minute that she wouldn’t warm back up.” “Jo, promise me you’ll make her call her dad tonight or in the morning. He’s been really worried about her.” “I’ll give him a call tonight just to check in, then I’ll have her call when she’s had a little rest,” Jo assured him. They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from the sleeping starlet.
When they arrived at the hotel the paparazzi were waiting. The photogs knew nothing of her collapse, just that she was staying there. The black SUV drove around to the service entrance. Jo knew not to try getting out until Pete had opened the door for them. Not wanting to wake her, he gently lifted her head from his lap and laid it down upon the seat. He moved to the middle row to get a better view of the back lot. When Pete finally opened the door to give Jo the all clear, he asked him to follow him to the back of the SUV. Pete opened the back completely, laid the back seat down flat, and began the slow, careful removal of his charge. Jo stood by expectantly, ready for Pete to put her into his arms.
“Hey Jo, can you run up to the front desk and ask them to send up two security guards ahead of us? Just to make sure no one is waiting to ambush us,” he added in his thick accent. Jo began to protest, but realized making a scene with a man almost twice his size was unwise.
By the time he reached the suite they shared, Gaga was already tucked into bed, and Pete was sitting in a chair by the wall, just outside the bedroom. The suite was adjacent to Pete’s, and the two were connected by an interior door. “If you need me, just knock,” Pete said as he got up. “Thanks man,” Jo said and they shook hands. Jo did not see Pete or anyone else with the Haüs or crew the rest of the night.
❈❈❈
When Gaga awoke it was 11:45pm; they had left the cornfield at 7:00pm. Jo had been in the sitting room reading an autobiography by Keith Richards, when he heard her stirring in the next room. “Jo?” she called, her voice still heavy with sleep. He dog-eared his page and laid the book down on the table. When she saw him poke his head into the door frame she smiled weakly. “Hey you.” she said, her head tilted slightly to the side. She slid back, making room for him on the bed. “Hey yourself doll,” he replied, sitting beside her. She nestled her knees behind him. “How are you feeling? You look a lot better now that you’ve rested.” “I feel a lot better, thank you,” she said in a tiny voice.
“I see Pete managed to get those shoes off,” he said, applying extra emphasis on shoes. She replied by sticking her tongue out. He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose, then pressed his lips softly to hers. Pulling herself up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning deeper into the kiss. After a few moments Jo pulled back and took in as much of her as he could from where he sat. “Did Pete change you too?” he asked, grinning. She leaned back and pulled the covers down farther to look for herself. Pete had indeed changed her out of the leather bondage straps and into a soft, lavender slip style dress. He had also removed her teal wig. “I guess he did.”
He studied her appearance for a few moments, her natural hair, with its dark roots, the way it brushed against her shoulders. The spaghetti thin straps of the dress were lost beneath it. He took in the low dip of the dress, and how it clung to her in all of the right places. He licked his lips, his breath coming a little slower than before. Leaning in, his lips found hers again and he inched in closer. Using his left hand for leverage, he put his right hand around her neck, fingers entwining her hair. He edged closer, pulling her towards him. Her hands rested on the side of his waist, pulling gently at the cotton of his t-shirt. She moaned softly as the kiss became more intense. His fingers traced down the line of her neck and hooked around the thin strap resting on her shoulder. As he pulled the strap down his lips feathered a trail from her lips to her neck. She shuddered beneath his touch.
She tilted her head to the left and arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her fingers tightened on his shirt and she lifted it up, exposing the skin around his waist and his Armani boxers. Slowly lifting the cotton upward, she let her nails graze his newly bared skin, and delighted in the horripilation this elicited. In the same slow fashion, she pulled the shirt over his shoulders and tossed it to the floor, where it would be forgotten until morning.
Sitting on her lower legs, feet beneath her, she motioned Jo onto the bed. He crawled over her and sat with his back against the headboard, legs outstretched. She turned to face him, and languidly lifted the hem of her short dress, exposing her unicorn tattoo. She straddled him, lowering herself haltingly. Cupping his face, she bent in to kiss him again, an underlying urgency rising to the surface. He returned the kiss with just as much urgency. He allowed his hands to roam, moving lingeringly down her back, finally coming to rest on her thighs. Moving slowly upward, he slipped his hands under the silken material of her dress. As his hands progressed upward, he realized she was wearing no panties. He was instantly hard, his erection straining painfully against his pants.
Feeling his stiffness beneath her, Gaga leaned into him, grinding her pelvis against his erection. He moaned loudly into her mouth, bucking his hips to meet her. With languid fingers Gaga unclasped Jo’s belt and pants. Once he was unzipped her fingers curled around the waist of his boxers. Jo lifted his self off the bed slightly to allow the offensive pieces of clothing to be pushed down. He settled on to the bed in a slightly reclined position.
She leaned forward, her hot skin brushing teasingly against his newly exposed flesh. She licked his neck, just below the ear. He shuddered beneath her. Continuing to focus on his neck, she began to rock slowly back and forth, gradually moving her hips in a languorous, circular motion. Her movements allowed physical contact while preventing penetration.
Jo grabbed her hips, trying to control her movements, but she removed his hands. “Uh, uh,” she breathed into his ear. “Stef,” he said in a ragged breath. He could feel her smile against his neck as her lips traveled towards his clavicle. Hips never quickening, she leaned in, her lips exploring his chest. She allowed her movements to slow as she worked her way towards his stomach, hands on either side of his waist.
He moved his hand toward the minute space between them, trying again to gain any semblance of control. She would have none of it. She sat up straight, resting at the top of his thighs. Taking one hand, and then his other, she pinned each below her knees. A wicked smile played across her lips.
He groaned, half in pleasure, half in frustration. He was as hard as he could ever recall being, and here she was being a fucking cock tease. He tried, half-heartedly, to free his hands, but she only shook her head. He wondered if she was trying to torture him to death. If so, she was succeeding beautifully.
She leaned in, his erection hard against her stomach, and licked his lips. With her right hand on the headboard for support, she reached between them. Taking his cock into her hand, she began to slowly work up and down against its length. Jo gasped at the sudden, full contact, his breath like fire against her face. When he tried to free his hands again, she let him, and he rested them on her hips.
After a few moments of slow, deliberate attention, she finally allowed him to penetrate her. She lowered herself onto his length as slowly as she could manage. Her breath caught in her throat as she reached his hilt. Sitting upright now, she rocked her hips in a torpid, meticulous circle. As her pace picked up, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, hands gripping the sheets.
His hands explored her body, brushing over every surface within his reach. He sat upright and wrapped his arms around her back, drawing her flush against him. He kissed her with a fever he had not felt in quite some time. His lips planted kisses on every naked surface they could find. He brought his right hand down between them, letting it slip beneath her dress, and began to massage her pulsing nerve bundle.
A guttural growl escaped her lips as she rocked harder against his now sweat drenched body. He pulled at the other strap of her dress, offended that the fabric was still between them. Finally he was able to work both straps off of her shoulders, allowing the silken garment to fall, gathering at her hips. His free hand fondled her breasts, the other still at work between them. He sucked the hard nub of her nipples, gently nipping them with his teeth.
As his fingers quickened and pushed harder against her, she quickened her pace, now almost manic. Primal sounds filled the thick air between them as they worked towards their shared goal. The quicker he moved, the faster her hips would rock. The louder he became, the more savage the sounds escaping her became. She was leaning back now, knuckles white against the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath them. They were both on the edge, hanging on that final moment of truth.
“Jo…oh God, Jo,” she said in a breathy moan. She tried to say his name again as the first wave of ecstasy crashed against her, but she had no breath. As she came, she turned her face away from him, like she was trying to hide her true, most vulnerable self from him. She arched her back as far as her body would allow and screamed his name, screamed his praises, screamed for the hell of it. But she never let him see her face.
As the first wave of her orgasm reached its peak, Jo reached his, his body trembling violently at the release. Just as his orgasm crested, she was hit by an aftershock, her body convulsing as she came again, more fiercely than before. But still she did not let him see her face. He tried to force her to look at him, but she refused to be moved.
They both collapsed onto the bed, panting but satisfied. She turned onto her side, her back facing him. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, drawing herself up as small as she could manage. “Stef?” No response. “Stefani?” Still no answer. “Gaga?” he asked, no trace of confidence in his voice. Her only reply was a stifled sob. He shrugged off his pants, leaving the boxers on. Sighing dejectedly, he turned on his side to face her, and fell asleep to the sight of her back quivering beneath silent tears, her dress still gathered around her waist.
...To Be Continued.
* formerly "And Then She Was Gone"