So now the stage is set. Enter potential dilemma number one: Although Stormy has completed a promotional photo shoot for Wicked, it turns out that these are “January Convention” photos, and thus Wicked chose not to provide Stormy anything she can sign. In their ultimate wisdom, they see no problem with setting the poor girl at a table between Devinn and Julia, who each have stacks of free 8x10s to sign and give away. I subtly mention that in my opinion my buddy the Wicked owner (pardon the expression, Steve), should have to sit with her as she tries to explain the “corporate” thinking on this. I am kind enough not to mention what I consider to be a significant slight to a young woman already overwhelmed by the “contract situation” to the head of publicity for Wicked Pictures, also present at the event. OK. I’m kind enough not to mention it more than every 10 or 15 minutes, for the few hours we were there.
Prior to actually “beginning” their appearance we were hanging around the table and doing the typical looking for places to get food, etc. (It is an anomaly beyond the scope of this article that companies do not consider hanging in the midst of throngs of fans to be “appearing.” “Appearances” begin when you sit behind the table, apparently.) During this time, I discover that Stormy has indeed been hearing from heretofore “friends” that since she’s become a Wicked Girl, she’s “not as nice as she used to be.” I do my best to assure her that it’s nothing she has done personally, it’s the vein of jealousy in the business that we always claim doesn’t exist. I do not think I have convinced her at this point.
We’re standing in line for really greasy burgers and chili fries when Stormy announces that she’s heard she’s been approved as a Penthouse Pet. When all present assure their sincere congratulations, Stormy announces, “I’m going to buy 178 copies and send them to all of the people in my graduating class.”
I have many years of higher education. I have many more years of Entrepreneurial Experience. With nary a moments hesitation, I am able to immediately deliver the perfect question. “Why?” I ask.
“Because everyone barked at me when I went up to receive my diploma at graduation,” she openly explains. “I was so ugly in high school that I had to pay someone to go to prom with me.”
I’m on a roll, and I don’t intend to let it slide. I’ve got the “ghetto know-how” as Dee is fond of saying, although admittedly it sounds much better when Dee says it. I ask, “How much?”
“A hundred bucks,” Stormy shrugs, “but I was already stripping, and so it wasn’t that much.”
The already much maligned Wicked PR Director (He’d been hearing about the meanness of not bringing anything for Stormy to sign for about two hours at this point.), graciously pointed out, “I’d have done it for fifty.”
Yes, he’s economical and wise, this one.
