Newly engaged, Firerose and Billy Ray Cyrus were 15 minutes into a Zoom conference with their hair extension broker when the shrooms hit. Hard. Or maybe it was the Dream Weed. Whatever. Firerose, being Sagittarius, flowed with the moment. “So if I can’t comb it when it’s wet and it could become matted if I shampoo counter-clockwise we should get a live in hairdresser…what do you think babe…Babe?
But Billy Ray, a triple Virgo and 40 years Firerose’s senior, was super out-of-it and regretting the jar of chicken seasoning he’d just consumed as a ‘gourmet tangent.’ “Shut up Anton,” he snapped, even though the hair extension broker was silent. “I need to know this right now, no bullshitting – could my hair become possessed? Like if something happened to the person whose hair it was, they would come for it, right?”
“No,” said Anton, “because it’s extensions not a transplant.”
“Right,” replied Billy Ray, “so it’s like you’re saying my hair extensions are a migrant, not an ex-pat.” Unable to tell if Cyrus was arcing up to complain about the hair budget or meandering into a philosophical cul de sac, Anton changed the topic to THC infused Neem hair oil with gold dust from Didymos.
The cost? “It’s astronomical but nobody else has this yet…not even Hailey Bieber or Rihanna.” Firerose immediately perked up and ordered a bulk supply but her fiance seemed lost in his own thoughts. Was he conducting a hair seance? A one-time indigo child conceived semi-immaculately during her mother’s Reiki activation session, she sensed something was up.
The screen shimmered and Anton disappeared as if into a vortex, clutching skeins of acrylic ash blonde hair. Billy-Ray stiffened: “She is here,” he said. Firerose was confused. She who? Another ex-wife? The daughter? “It’s Elektra, my accountant. You haven’t met.”
“Well dear, we’re about to become acquainted,” trilled Elektra, manifesting on the screen in a burst of static. “My team and I are seven minutes away. Billy-Ray, I’m assuming that the money you apportioned to reinforcing the helipad was, in fact, for that purpose. I only mention it because it appears to have been paid to a gentleman in Kiribati, which is 4000 miles away…”
Billy-Ray slumped, furiously tapping his Mayan mantra tattoo and murmuring affirmations. “Why is her skin silver?” hissed Firerose.
Electra sighed, her lilac dusted eyelids drooping wearily: “It’s not silver. It’s from a platinum infusion shower filter, just part of a current regime. By the way I’ve taken the liberty of freezing some of your purchases, notably the DJ booth and lessons plus the ponies. Billy-Ray, we will initiate discussions on tax restructuring, succession and how best to handle your succession upon arrival.”
Billy-Ray swore under his breath. That tedious old miser Saturn had just cock-blocked his Neptune-Venus transit.