Last of the American Girls

It takes no more than 15 minutes for my station to be set. According to the paper work on my trailer door, I'll only be working on the guys. A flat iron, gel and lots of eyeliner should be my only tools for the day. "Nothing wrong with that." I think to myself with a grin.

I drop back into my chair and begin flipping through paperwork, signing each nondisclosure agreement and social media policy. My mind floats away, daydreaming every possible outcome of the days ahead. I'm brought back to reality as a loud knock sounds against the door. I jump up and stumble my way across the small trailer to answer.
"Bristol?" A tall blonde man says with a friendly smile. "Hey. I'm Mike." As if I didn't know. I smile politely and step to the side, giving him room to enter. I mumble a quick, nervous "nice to meet you" before my usual stylist mode kicks in.
"So what're we doing today?" I say with much more confidence. I may not know how to speak to celebrities, but I know how to do a hair consultation. I drag my fingers through his pin straight hair as he explains the "look" the video is aiming for.
"Spikey and punk?" I chuckle after he finishes his overly analytical description.
"Well... In layman's terms, yes." He grins.

I return the grin through the mirror and dump the bottle of gel into my hands. I begin working each chunk of hair into a spike, making sure it all blends and isn't too extreme. Mike doesn't seem quite as... "spikey" as Tre. I'll save the extreme look for him.

"So you're Ben's soon to be sister-in-law, huh?" Mike prompts, after a moment of silence. I almost cringe.
"Sister-in-law?" I repeat, more for myself to hear the words than him. "Assuming they don't break up in the next few months, I suppose I am." Ben has clearly told the whole world his plan to propose to Brittany at our grandparents 50th wedding anniversary. "Wait, you know Ben?"
"Yeah." Mike nods, just enough to be visible without screwing his hair up. "He's our producer, Rob's assistant. Only met him a few times."

"Alright. Done." I smile, quickly changing the subject and turning the chair to face the mirror.
"Killer. See you around set, kid." Mike winks, standing up and heading out of my trailer toward wardrobe.
"TRE! Play nice!" I overhear him yell, moments before a blurred flash of a person bolts into the trailer and into my chair.

"Make me beautiful!" The no longer blurred Tre Cool says in a husky whisper of a voice.
"I'm not sure that's a task I'm up for." I smirk, not feeling the least bit starstruck in front of Tre. He gasps in mock horror, burying his face in his hands. With a loud laugh, I tilt his head up so I can begin working.
"I want my mohawk more.... Mohawkier." He explains, choosing each word very carefully. I nod and squirt yet another glob of gel into my palms.

Tre can't seem to sit in one place for more than 30 seconds. As I work, I'm constantly pushing him back into the chair, and moving his head back where I need it. How he manages to sit behind a drum kit for hours every night completely baffles me. I laugh hysterically the whole time I style his fauxhawk, and apply a thick charcoal line around his eyes.
"You're like an adult toddler!" I scold, playfully as he jerks away causing a black line to be drawn over his cheek. He simply grins.
"I'm leaving this." I retort.
"WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!" Tre whines, rubbing his face profusely. I snort and grab my eye makeup remover and practically dump it over his face.
"What'd you do now, Tre?" A familiar voice calls from the doorway.
"Hi BlowJob!" Tre squeals as the voice, I now know to be Billie Joe's, enters the room. "BlowJob, meet B-Tom." he continues.
"Bristol Tompkins." I smirk at the nickname I've earned after only 30 minutes with Tre.
"Billie Joe Armstrong." He says, mimicking the smirk I shot at Tre.
"He'll be a second still." I nod, my gaze meeting Billie Joe's for the first time.

His deep emerald eyes seem to look not at me but through me. Within seconds, I'm sure he knows every single thought I've ever had. His stare is so intense that I feel a wave of nerves flow over me. I have to mentally force myself to look away. The new feelings pulsing through my veins distract me just long enough for Tre to finish mopping the makeup remover and eye liner off his cheek.
As soon as he's finished, he leaps up from the chair and throws his arms around me
"I look so beautiful. FUCK!" He screams into my ear, squeezing me tightly. "We're going to be best friends now, B-Tom. Call me every 5 minutes."

I roll my eyes, almost unsure of what he said as I'm now deafened by the scream. He steps outside, continuing on about how "sexy" I made him look and Billie takes a seat in my chair.

"So what are you thinking for your hair?" I ask, my sheepish attitude returning now that the two of us are alone. I look down at his hair, and trail my fingertips through it. He looks at me through the mirror with a lopsided grin on his face. His eyes droop closed for a moment as he sighs. Hes one of the few guys I've ever seen enjoy themselves while I simply play with their hair. Clients usually get weirded out by it. I won't lie, I'm really enjoying myself too.

Eventually his eyes pop open and he frowns gently.
"So.. that was embarrassing.." A nervous laugh escapes his lips. "Just messy, i guess."
I nod, unsure why he's embarrassed but begin styling his already messy locks into a more controlled mess. With Mike and Tre, I had no nerves. It was like i'd known them for years, but not Billie Joe. The way he looks at me, so calm.. cool.. and collected. It makes my stomach do backflips and my mind & heart race all at once.

"Are you hanging out on set today then?" Billie asks, breaking me of my daze.
"Huh?" I ask, jerking my head toward the mirror. "Oh. Yeah, I'm here until the end of the shoot."

I catch a break in his cool persona for a moment as he smiles. His eyes glimmer in such a boyish fashion. I smirk, letting him know I saw that.
He stands, looking right past me as I finish up and turns to leave.
"Catch you later." He says nonchalantly, as though I was someone he had no interest in speaking with. I stand dumbfounded in the doorway, watching him walk away. Every step he takes is more graceful than the last.

"So that's the game we;re playing..." I murmur, closing the door. "Bring it on, Armstrong."