by Gini Koch
Plus I was uncomfortable. Under normal circumstances—you know, before my husband had somehow become the Vice President—I’d have been in jeans, my Converse, an Aerosmith thermal of some kind, and my nice, warm snow jacket. Or I’d have been in what the A-Cs, who were love slaves to black, white, and Armani, always wore—a black slim skirt, a white oxford, and black pumps, with a long black trench coat.
Because we were now among the most public of figures, I was required to pay a lot more attention to what I was wearing. I’d also been assigned my own color—iced blue. I was in iced blue as much as I’d been in black and white before. In fact, I missed black and white, I was in this blue so much nowadays. This meant, therefore, that for this event I was in an iced blue pantsuit, with an off-white Angora sweater, and high-heeled boots that were of a neutral color. And pearls. Supposedly I looked great. I felt remarkably stupid dressed like this at a sporting event.
Chuckie got a text and grunted. “You need to pretend to be having fun,” he said.
Either his voice hadn’t carried or everyone else agreed with him, because no one shot the Evil Eye toward us.
“I’m trying.”
“It’s not working.”
Made up my mind. “Then I’m out of here.”
• • •
“What the hell?” Chuckie sounded ready to lose it, though he managed to keep his voice down.
“You can’t leave,” Raj said, as he tried to watch the so-called action on the field and look at me at the same time, with limited success.
“No freaking duh. I’m going to the concession stand. Now.”
Raj, sensing that the emergency was about a negative three on a scale of one to ten, turned his full attention back to the match.
“Couldn’t we just send someone?” Chuckie asked, sounding relieved. “You’re going to have to go with a contingent, and that’s going to be noticed.”
“I need to piddle.” I didn’t, but I needed to splash cold water on my face and drink about a gallon of coffee to make it through this ordeal. Of course, I was in makeup, so cold water on my face was probably out. It was also February and we were outdoors in the freezing cold. I was at risk of dying from hypothermia as well as boredom.
Hypothermia sounded better.
Chuckie heaved a sigh. “The Secret Service has to escort you.”
Gini Koch lives in Hell’s Orientation Area (aka Phoenix, Arizona), works her butt off (sadly, not literally) by day, and writes by night with the rest of the beautiful people. She lives with her awesome husband, three dogs (aka The Canine Death Squad), and two cats (aka The Killer Kitties). She has one very wonderful and spoiled daughter, who will still tell you she’s not as spoiled as the pets (and she’d be right).
When she’s not writing, Gini spends her time cracking wise, staring at pictures of good looking leading men for ‘inspiration’, teaching her pets to ‘bring it’, and driving her husband insane asking, “Have I told you about this story idea yet?” She listens to every kind of music 24/7 (from Lifehouse to Pitbull and everything in between, particularly Aerosmith) and is a proud comics geek-girl willing to discuss at any time why Wolverine is the best superhero ever (even if Deadpool does get all the best lines). Because she wasn’t busy enough, she’s added on featured guest columnist and reviewer for Slice of SciFi and It’s Comic Book Day.
You can reach Gini via her website (www.ginikoch.com), email ([email protected]), Twitter (@GiniKoch), Facebook (facebook.com/Gini.Koch), Facebook Fan Page (Hairspray and Rock ‘n’ Roll), or her Official Fan Site, the Alien Collective Virtual HQ (http://aliencollectivehq.com/).
