She said she wanted to keep me company while I prepped, but instead she became the entertainment. Miss Chatty liked to talk, but she should’ve been a stand-up comedian. She had us in stitches, imitating various celebrities, and cracking lame jokes that were so absurd, we couldn’t help but laugh. There were different women working with me this time. Tanya, B.B.’s roommate, looked like a hard-core biker chick. Colorful tattoos ran down one arm and peeked out from various spots along her black leather vest and mini-skirt. Her spiky blond hair, cut close to the scalp, worked well on her. Not many could pull it off without coming across as grunge. Georgie’s accent sounded French. Her streaked hair, white with two-inch pink strips all around and cut on an angle toward her chin, looked stylish on her. The most striking part—she wore a fuchsia halter dress with zippers at strategic spots, offering sneak peeks along her breasts, hips, thighs, and if she bent at a certain angle, a flash of her ass, and between her legs.
