Blind Item #14 - One Mad, Sad Moment Forever - A Himmm Blind Item - Part Seven

About then MS jumps out of the car.  She says she's got a cramp and laughs while hopping around on one foot.  It was then that everything froze silent.  Standing by the car, she noticed we were all looking at her with a dazed look in our eyes.  She turned to me and said, "What? What is it? Is my makeup smeared?".

Uh…no.  In a slow, zombie-like manner, I just nodded my head side to side.  My mouth open.  She looked down, catching her reflection in the car's window.  That's when she noticed it too – that around the cleavage of her dress was a rip that ran about six inches straight down her stomach, to the top of her undies.  How did she not feel the draft? Needless to say, she was very, very, VERY exposed.  But being herself, with that natural charisma – she adjusted herself and began laughing.  "Oh, well.  So much for THAT I guess."

Right in front of all of us, time seemed to stand still.  I stood there holding the door open, and she reached in and grabbed my small backpack.  She said she'd had it, been tired of fighting to try and stay proper in this Marilyn Monroe-looking dress.  Would I please unzip her in the back?

"Uhhh…WHAT?", I said.

Yep.  Unzip it please, she was peeling off.  And at her drunken request, I did just that.  And she did just that.  And then I…oh, my.  My goodness.  Okay, stay calm.  No big deal.  I was more concerned with someone seeing this, or thinking it was something besides what it was.  I started looking around for paparazzi or Japanese tourists with Nikons.  Thank heavens smart phones didn't exist back then or it would be front page on TMZ.

My God in heaven she really was beautiful.  Like a statue of Venus or something.  Very blonde, and very tan.  She reached over for my bag and pulled out a concert t-shirt I'd snagged to take back for my sister.  This gorgeous naked woman shimmied, arms up, and put it on.  Thank goodness it was a large because it barely covered her…uh…her shoulders.  She grabbed a new pair of boxers from my bag, and my oversize button-down shirt and leather jacket.  Then voila!  After she nicked a pair of sandals, she looked like a fashionable surfer girl refugee from a punk camping trip.  Very chic, even if it looked like she had no pants on.  A very crafty and adaptable woman.  She handed me the dress, and told me to keep it (!) as a souvenir.  Adding, "and you can tell all your mates that after you ripped off my dress and ravaged me I was so enthralled I gave you the dress to remember me by!".  She erupted laughing.  H3 and I looked at each other, eyes wide.
 
A fluff of the hair, an adjustment here and there – and we were ready to roll again, off to the next stop.  "Okay boys, you already got me out of my clothes – so what's next?".  I was about to slur an answer when we saw a very nice car pass very slowly by us.  Our driver says: "Oh hell! That's a government car!".  Confused, we asked him what he meant.  He said that's like an unmarked police car back in the states.  A government car for cops and important people.  We thought the bodyguard back at the hotel got pissed and called out MI-5 for us.  Not good.  Images of James Bond or Sherlock Holmes out hunting for an abducted drunken rock drummer.  We all hustled into our backseat, and watched the car slow to a crawl – then stop ahead of us.