When in Rome: Part 4

Kimberly was trying to be mature about losing the social media coordinator gig, but she couldn’t help it: she felt sulky. Really, really sulky. Bobby’s mom had no idea just how many strings Kimberly had pulled to turn her son into a daughter, obviously, but being treated like a dumb teenager still stung her ego. “Barbie” was her creation, after all. She deserved to have a hand in things, and not just as a glorified security blanket.

Kimberly did her best to hide her displeasure, but once they were in their seats, she slumped down and busied herself with her phone to avoid interacting with her ex’s mom. The good-looking Roman centurion from earlier in the afternoon had already sent her a DM, suggesting a date at what was supposedly the best pizzeria in Rome, followed by dessert at his place -- he was confident, she had to give him that much.

She tapped out a non-committal reply, then scanned the audience for Nino Romano again. So far she hadn’t managed to spot him. The front rows were full of fashion-hungry types eager to see the latest styles, or else be seen seeing the latest styles, but a fair share of the onlookers were excited young Italian guys likely more interested in the models themselves than what they were wearing.

The lights went down, the music went up, and Kimberly watched without much interest as the first few models took to the catwalk. She only sat up and took notice when Bianca Buccino appeared. The girl was gorgeous, there was no getting around it, and her body was absolutely to-die-for -- especially her boobs, God. They were perfectly symmetrical, perfectly shaped, and looked ready to spill out of her lacy pink bra at any moment. Whatever plastic surgeon was responsible must have been pretty freaking proud of himself.

The Italian model sashayed down the catwalk, smiling brightly. She struck a pose with her hands on her hips, gave a playful wink, then started back towards the curtain with a spring in her high-heeled step. Kimberly heard some impressed murmurs from around her, and plenty of hooting from the “horny male” section of the audience. She hoped, fervently, that Nino Romano wasn’t one of them.

Beside her, Bobby’s mom sniffed skeptically. “Not an ounce of personality,” she said, in a low voice. “Happy isn’t a personality.”

Kimberly gave a shrug. She was new to the world of modelling, but in real life she knew girls who looked like Bianca Buccino could do just fine with a one-word personality, probably even if the word was “psychopath.”

The next wave of models took to the catwalk, and while at first she was relieved that Bobby wasn’t among them -- Bianca would be one tough act to follow -- it quickly turned into worry. Her ex had assured her that he was willing to do anything to beat Serena, and was willing, by proxy, to do anything to get the Blush campaign. But she’d deliberately kept the details of the fashion show vague, knowing he might balk at the whole lingerie thing. Without her backstage to talk him around, had he lost his nerve?

She was on the verge of sending him a check-up text when a blonde girl in skimpy black lingerie appeared at the far end of the catwalk. She leaned forward intently, vaguely aware of Bobby’s mom doing the exact same thing beside her.

Her ex strutted forward, hips swinging, and she realized the platforms he was wearing were at least two inches taller than most of the other models’ footwear, rivalling the stripper heels his big sister had forced him to wear day in and day out. Kimberly remembered how desperate Bobby had always been to hit six feet, and she reflected, with some irony, that he had to be close at the moment.

The extra-high heels leant an extra swivel to his step, making his taut butt swish seductively from side to side, and the added tension to his calves made his long tanned legs seem even shapelier than usual -- it honestly took Kimberly’s eyes a second to even register the outfit, a teddy-style babydoll in black lace that looked like it had been designed for the sole purpose of being torn off.

The gauzy black lingerie showed off every curve, and the V-neck style didn’t have a built-in bra, meaning Bobby’s growing breasts were on their own, quivering slightly with each precisely criss-crossed step. His makeup was dramatic, with smudged racoon eyes and sexy-messy hair that suggested he’d just slipped out of his lover’s bed, and the bored, slightly disgusted pout on his face was absolutely perfect.

While Bianca had bounced her way down the runway, happy-go-lucky and maybe, in retrospect, almost too eager to please, Bobby walked like he owned it. And like he owned everybody in the building, too, and was strongly considering returning them for being below his standards. Kimberly could see shades of big sister Serena in his poise, but to her surprise, there was also something fundamentally Bobby Vickerson about his preening, ultra-confident strut.

It was the same attitude he used to exude stepping onto the basketball court, and now, channeled in a wildly different direction, it made a huge contrast to Bianca’s peppy good-girl vibe. Kimberly was pretty sure every red-blooded male in the audience was imagining Bobby strutting into their bedrooms instead of into a gymnasium, a pouty blonde vixen dripping in black lace.

She was totally captivated as Bobby arrived at the end of the catwalk, and judging by the sudden change in atmosphere, so was everyone else -- she could practically hear the sound of fifty guys behind her squirming awkwardly in their seats. But her ex wasn’t done: Bobby struck a sexy pose, using one hand to fluff his blonde hair while the other trailed teasingly down his body, toying with the bow tied beneath his breasts as if he could unspool the whole outfit with a single tug, pushing the naughty bad-girl vibe as far as possible.

Kimberly heard an involuntary gasp from somewhere behind her, and understood the sentiment entirely as Bobby made a graceful pirouette, gave his perfect ass a little wiggle, and started back down the catwalk.

There was a split second of silence, then a rush of raucous applause from the Italian guys, and a mixture of delighted and disapproving murmurs from the fashion-hawks. Kimberly felt a grin spreading across her face. Maybe there was something to Mrs. Vickerson’s “personality” thing -- the audience certainly seemed to think so. Hopefully Nino Romano had been watching.

Kimberly had created a monster, and she kind of loved it.

#

It took Bobby a while to figure out what was going on, and when he did it shook him to the core: he was back in the zone. As in, the zone he used to treasure as a basketball star, the state of mind where all distractions faded into the background and time pretty much stood still, leaving just him, the ball, and the hoop. The zone where every time a shot left his fingertips, he knew it was going in.

Somehow, as weird as it was, he was now feeling the same way about prancing down a catwalk in platform heels and lingerie. As soon as the organizer had shoved him out onto the stage, it was like he’d gone on total autopilot, with Serena’s merciless boot camp routine moving his body for him: chin up, tense your core, breathe on every step, roll your hips, pose, Barbie, look sexy, Barbie, show them the goods, little sis.

The lights were so bright he couldn’t make out a single face in the audience, meaning he might as well have been stuck in the studio with his big sister, and despite the adrenaline racing through his body there just wasn’t any time to freak out. There was only time to walk, pose, walk, get changed -- the wardrobe lady was now eagerly helping him in and out of every lingerie set behind the curtain -- and then start the whole cycle over again.

He’d grabbed the stripper heels by total accident, passing over slightly more sensible footwear to grab the most familiar-looking shoes. The other models had shot him skeptical looks, but by the time he returned backstage from his first walk, their looks had turned to grudging respect, and Bianca had been overjoyed, insisting he keep wearing them.

“Oh my God, Barbie, your walk is like, sex,” she’d gushed. “You must keep them on! Use your biggest strengths, you know?”

The proclamation had been accompanied by a hug that pushed Bianca’s own “biggest strengths” against his almost-bare breasts, resulting in a very tingly sensation. So he kept the ridiculous shoes on, kept mincing and posing, and before long he had lost all track of time. He was stunned when he realized he’d done his last walk, wearing a painfully-tight corset plus smoky nylons, and the show was over.

Bianca had already been changed by the time he got backstage, somehow looking almost as good in leggings and a baggy sweater as she had in lingerie, and insisted on exchanging contact information before she disappeared in a flurry of assistants, or fans, or whoever the people always following her around were. Apparently she was doing another show across town in less than an hour.

Bobby felt a combination of dazed, tired, and just slightly pleased with his own perseverance. He was leaning down to finally take his shoes off when he heard his name spoken in a thick Italian accent. He straightened up, expecting to see one of the show’s organizers, but instead it was a guy around his own age. Bobby remembered the distant hooting and hollering he’d heard from the end of the catwalk, and grimaced. Apparently he already had fans in Italy.

But the Italian teen had some kind of pass on a lanyard around his neck, and he didn’t look particularly star-struck -- instead, along with the usual helping of lust, he seemed torn between amusement and disdain. And on second thought, when the boy had called his name it had sounded less like “Barbie” and more like…

“Bobby Vickerson,” the Italian repeated. “Ha.”

“It’s Barbie,” Bobby said, flushing as he made the hated correction. “Barbie Vickerson.”

“I see,” the boy said. “But I do not think you were expecting to see me here, yes?”

Bobby stared. “Um, yes?” he said. “No? Look, I don’t know who you are and I have to get changed, so…”

The Italian teen’s face turned slightly red. “It’s me!” he blustered. “Come on! Are you serious? It’s me, Andreas!”

Bobby took a closer look, and his mouth fell open.

Andreas. He had completely forgotten about the stuck-up Italian exchange student he’d had a few classes with back in sophomore year, but now it was all rushing back. The green eyes and wavy black hair were familiar, but Andreas had gotten taller and filled out, giving him the muscular shoulders and broad chest Bobby’s hormone imbalance had totally robbed him of, not to mention a thin, well-groomed moustache.

For a moment, Bobby couldn’t help but feel a twinge of intense jealousy -- for the muscles, not the moustache. Then it was his turn to flush, as he realized he was standing in front of the guy he’d gotten Jefferson High to call “Andrietta” for a full semester all decked out in an incredibly skimpy lingerie set.

Worse, despite knowing who he was looking at, Andreas was every bit as attentive as the Italian guys outside had been. His gaze was travelling slowly up and down his exposed body in a way that made Bobby’s face burn. Rumors of Andreas’s gayness had clearly been exaggerated.

“Small world,” Bobby said weakly, crossing his arms protectively in front of his chest. “Well, gotta run…”

“It is a very small world, yes,” Andreas said. “In fact, I am here to visit my uncle, Nino Romano. Maybe you have met him already?”

“Nope, don’t think so,” Bobby said, casting around desperately for an excuse to escape. Fortunately, Kimberly was now at the edge of the backstage area, tapping furiously at her phone. “Oh, there’s my social media coordinator!” he blurted. “She must need me for a photo. Nice, um, catching up?”

He turned to flee as quickly as he could in stripper heels, hardly caring that he was presenting Andreas with a perfect view of his panty-clad bottom as he did so.

“There you are,” Kimberly said. “Great job, Barbie. Your mom is, like, over the moon. She’s getting us gelato.” She shot a puzzled look over his shoulder. “Who’s your friend?”

Bobby glanced back -- Andreas had followed him, wearing a shit-eating grin on his face. “Nobody,” Bobby said, glaring at him. “You need me for something, right? Like, right now?”

“I am Andreas Romano,” the Italian interjected, stepping forward and offering his hand for a shake. “Nephew of Nino Romano, of course. You will maybe not believe this, but I know ‘Barbie’ from school in America.”

Kimberly’s eyes bulged slightly, then, to Bobby’s puzzlement, she shook Andreas’ hand with an unnaturally cheery smile. “I’m Kimberly Quinn, Barbie’s social media coordinator,” she said. “Could you give us just a second, Andreas? I need to update Barbie on some stuff, and then I’d love to talk with you about...stuff.”

Bobby had thought he was saved, but instead of telling Andreas to get lost, Kimberly just moved him about two feet away. She shot another fake smile back in the Italian’s direction, then spoke in a whisper. “Okay, what the fuck?” she demanded. “You know him from school? As in, Jefferson High?”

“Sophomore year,” Bobby said through gritted teeth. “Before you moved to Green Lake. He was an exchange student, or whatever.”

“And you were, like, friends with him?” Kimberly whispered, almost pleadingly. “Tell me you were friends with him.”

Bobby scowled. “Are you kidding? Look how he freaking dresses, Kimmy. He’s got a pink scarf. And it’s not even winter. And it’s pink.”

“Okay, one, that’s a bit rich coming from the guy in a corset,” Kimberly snapped -- Bobby blushed. “Two, now is the time to make friends with him, fast, because he’s Nino Romano’s nephew. Did you not hear him?”

“I heard him,” Bobby said defensively. “He said it twice.” He paused, frowning as he considered a frightening possibility. “Is that, like, a Mafia boss or something?”

“Do you need flashcards?” Kimberly hissed. “Come on. Nino Romano. The marketing director for Blush!”

Bobby threw another glance over his shoulder, to where Andreas was casually waiting, hands in his pockets. “Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Yeah, okay, so we weren’t exactly friends. I maybe…”

“You maybe what?” Kimberly demanded, her grip on his arm becoming painfully tight as she gave another “just a second” wave to Andreas.

“I maybe got the whole school to call him Andrietta,” Bobby said. “And told him soccer was for chicks and I maybe, uh, made everybody think he was gay.” He yanked his arm free before Kimberly could do any permanent damage, rubbing it ruefully. “And once he made this pesto stuff to bring for lunch and I told everybody it was snot,” he added. “I said snot was, like, a delicacy in his country. It was his mom’s recipe and he maybe cried a little.”

“Anything else?” Kimberly asked, in a faint voice.

“It’ll probably come to me,” Bobby said glumly. “This is bad for the plan, right?”

“This is freaking terrible for the plan,” Kimberly said. She shot another look at Andreas and took a deep breath. “But maybe we can salvage this. You just have to make nice.”

“It’s a little late for that, Kimmy,” Bobby snapped. “He obviously just came here to gloat a little, then go tell his uncle to take my name off the list.”

“He has also been totally unable to take his eyes off your ass for this whole conversation,” Kimberly said casually.

Bobby felt his face go beet red, but he didn’t dare turn around to confirm it. “So he came to gloat and to perv on me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Multitasking. Awesome.”

“Look, I bet he’s mad, but I bet he’s confused as hell, too,” Kimberly said. “If you go in there and apologize, act all contrite, pretend you were displacing your own insecurities…”

Bobby blinked. “Huh?”

“We can make this work in our favor,” Kimberly said, with a familiar gleam in her eye. “He probably just wants an apology, Barbie. And he probably wouldn’t say no to a date with a lingerie model, either. Come on, he’s cute.”

Bobby’s jaw dropped, but before he could put together a coherent protest, Kimberly was steering him back over to where Andreas was waiting. The Italian boy was still smirking, leaning back against the wall casually.

“Are you finished with your coordinating of the social media?” he asked innocently.

“Totally,” Kimberly beamed. “And we were just saying how this is such a cool coincidence, running into you here. You know, Barbie was hinting there was somebody here in Rome she wanted to see, and boom, you show up backstage! If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she had an ulterior motive for doing this show.”

Andreas blinked. “Oh!” he said. “That’s quite funny, because a moment ago, ‘Barbie’ did not even recognize me.”

Kimberly shot an imploring look sideways, but Bobby wasn’t about to help her pimp him out to some Italian douchebag just to secure a modeling contract. No freaking way. He had his limits. He had his pride. And it was Andreas, for crying out loud.

But then Kimberly mouthed one word, or rather, one name: “Serena.”

Bobby grimaced. Anything to screw Serena. The first hurdle was getting the Blush campaign over Bianca, and this was probably his only shot. If he fell on the first hurdle, he’d be out of the race before it even got going. Utterly hating what he was about to do, Bobby rearranged his grimace into a flustered look, then stared shyly at the floor through his fluttering eyelash extensions.

“You just look way different,” he squeaked. “You got a lot more, um, jacked?”

“She means muscular,” Kimberly supplied.

It was Andreas’ turn to look surprised, caught off-guard for the first time, but not quite able to hide his pleasure at the remark. “Well, you look quite different, too,” he said, in a slightly challenging tone.

Bobby flushed. “I know, and I do want to talk,” he lied. “I just didn’t want to do it dressed, like, you know…”

“In expensive Italian lingerie,” Kimberly said. “But you have to admit she looks pretty great, right?”

Andreas immediately took the invitation to check him out again, under the guise of inspecting the lingerie set. Kimberly made a motion with her finger, and Bobby, vowing to strangle her later, performed a graceful little pirouette to show off the goods. Judging by the stupefied look on Andreas’s face, the Italian boy had just briefly gone to heaven.

“Anyways, I checked her schedule and she’s free tonight,” Kimberly continued blithely. “You two seem like you have some catching up to do. How about you pick her up around nine? I’ll give you her details.”

Bobby watched anxiously as Andreas, returning to reality, narrowed his eyes. “And this has nothing to do with who my uncle is?” he asked suspiciously.

Kimberly plucked the phone out of his hand and started putting “Barbie’s” number in it. “Why, is he a Mafia boss?” she asked dryly. “Here’s her number. We’re about ten minutes from the Colosseum. Now you’d better let us go. Barbie needs a little beauty sleep back at the hotel, and you want her to look her best tonight, right?”

Andreas stared down at the new contact in his phone, then shrugged and pocketed the device. “Okay,” he said, looking directly at him and speaking very deliberately. “I was going to watch the football tonight, but guess I could change my plans.”

Bobby knew the Italian was all but daring him to correct him, and truthfully he would have liked nothing better than to do just that: tell Andreas that what he was watching was soccer, not football, and that it was the most boring, shitty sport in the entire world.

Instead, he plastered a pretty smile onto his face. “Cool,” he chirped. “I can’t wait.”

He wiggled his fingers in the Kimberly-approved style of waving, then made a bee-line for the changing curtain before he was forced to take drastic measures to wipe the smug look off Andreas’s face. This was going to freaking suck.

#