The penthouse suite of the Sydney Harbour Hotel had been
converted into a makeshift command center. Fairy lights twinkled from every available surface, empty champagne bottles lined the windowsill, and a massive television dominated the far wall. Lady Gaga was sprawled across a velvet chaise lounge, her silver gown now replaced by a silk robe embroidered with tiny sequined stars. She held the remote control like a scepter, her eyes fixed on the screen with an expression of profound disgust.
Catherine Zeta-Jones entered first, carrying a tray of tea that she had personally brewed because she no longer trusted anyone else in their entourage to do it correctly. Rihanna followed, the rosella Penelope perched on her left shoulder and Gerald the king-parrot on her right, both birds looking deeply unimpressed with their current accommodations.
https://sites.google.com/view/italia-come-dimagrire/home
“I hate this guy,” Gaga announced, gesturing at the television with the remote. “Dr. Phil. He’s a fraud. He’s a charlatan. He’s a man who built an empire on telling people they’re wrong while wearing a very unfortunate mustache.”
[Menu]
Catherine set down the tea tray and peered at the screen. “He’s… certainly intense.”
“Intense?” Gaga scoffed. “He’s insufferable. He sits there with his little notepad and his little glasses and his little judgments, and he acts like he’s solving the world’s problems one talk show episode at a time. But I have discovered a new better guy. Check this out!”
She hit the remote with dramatic flair. The screen flickered, and Dr. Phil reappeared—but now, his words were being overdubbed in rapid, passionate Italian. His gestures seemed more animated. His eyes burned with newfound intensity. He pointed at a weeping guest and launched into a tirade that sounded like an aria.
Gaga sat up, clutching her chest. “This guy really gets me! He
understands! He’s speaking directly to my soul!”
https://sites.google.com/view/italia-come-dimagrire/fisico-lady-gaga
Catherine stared at the screen, then at Gaga, then back at the screen. “What are you talking about? That’s the same Dr. Phil overdubbed in Italian! It’s the exact same footage! They just changed the audio!”
“Really?” Gaga asked, tilting her head. “He seems more passionate and fiery. More… operatic. I feel like he’s singing to me. Like he’s serenading me with the truth.”
“He’s telling a woman she needs to take responsibility for her choices,” Catherine said flatly. “That’s what he was saying before. In English. In the same condescending tone.”
“But the Italian makes it sound like poetry!” Gaga insisted. “Listen to that cadence! That rhythm! He’s practically reciting Dante! He’s a maestro of psychological warfare!”
Rihanna settled into a nearby armchair, the birds adjusting their grip on her shoulders. “Gaga, you can’t just overdub people in different languages and pretend they’ve become new people.”
“Watch me,” Gaga said, smugly. “I’m going to do this to all my enemies. Imagine Donald Trump in French. Imagine Kanye in German. Imagine—”
“Let’s not give you ideas,” Catherine interrupted. “We’ve already had enough chaos for one week.”
Rihanna leaned forward, stroking Penelope’s feathers. “Speaking of chaos. Did you get a nice apology present for Taylor? You know, for the whole breaking-and-entering incident? The battering ram situation? The Kevin situation?”
Gaga’s eyes lit up. She leaped from the chaise lounge and dramatically pulled a small velvet box from the pocket of her robe. “Have a look at this!”
She opened the box with a flourish, revealing a stunning necklace that glittered with what appeared to be diamonds. Catherine leaned in, her eyes widening.
“Wow!” Catherine breathed. “Is that real—”
“Glass?” Gaga interrupted triumphantly. “Yes it is! Most of her jewellery is perspex anyway. I’ve done my research. Her entire collection is basically upcycled costume pieces from the 1980s. This’ll fit right in. It’s beautiful glass. Hand-blown. Artisanal. It cost me more than actual diamonds would have, which is ironic but also very on-brand.”
Rihanna squinted at the necklace. “That’s… actually quite pretty. For glass.”
“It’s artisanal glass,” Gaga corrected. “There’s a difference. The artist’s name is Bernard. He lives in a yurt in Tasmania. He uses ethically sourced sand. It’s a whole thing.”
“And the rest of the apology?” Catherine asked. “You can’t just give her glass jewellery and call it even. We broke into her house. We used a man as a battering ram. We tried to bake a cake in her kitchen without permission.”
Gaga waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve got it covered. I’m giving her a few vouchers to use Kevin for his plumbing services and aviary work. It’s a two-for-one deal. Kevin is very versatile. He’s a man of many talents.”
“Kevin,” Rihanna said slowly, “the man who bounced off Taylor’s door. The man who bailed us out of prison with Spotify vouchers. That Kevin?”
“The very same,” Gaga said proudly. “He’s been training. He took a weekend course in basic plumbing. He watched a YouTube video about bird rehabilitation. He’s ready.”
Penelope the rosella let out a skeptical chirp. Gerald the king-parrot shook his head slowly, as if to say, This is a disaster waiting to happen.
“Gaga,” Catherine said carefully, “you can’t just give someone vouchers for a man who has no actual qualifications. That’s not an apology. That’s a liability.”
“Kevin has qualifications,” Gaga insisted. “He has a certificate. I saw it. It was from a website, but it looked very official. It had a gold seal and everything.”
“A gold seal,” Rihanna repeated flatly.
“A very shiny gold seal,” Gaga confirmed. “And besides, Taylor loves birds. She has an aviary. Kevin can help her with her birds. He’s good with animals. He once helped me with a very aggressive swan. It was a whole thing. Very dramatic. The swan had opinions.”
Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re giving Taylor Swift a necklace made of glass and a voucher for a man who watched a YouTube video about plumbing. And you think this will make things right?”
Gaga paused, considering. “I’m also including a handwritten note. Very heartfelt. I’ll write it on stationery that smells like lavender. It’s very sophisticated.”
Rihanna stared at her. “And you think that will work?”
Gaga smiled, a slow, confident smile. “Darling, it’s me. Everything works. I once convinced a room full of world leaders to sing ‘Bad Romance’ at a climate summit. I can convince Taylor Swift that glass jewellery and Kevin vouchers are the best apology she’s ever received.”
Penelope chirped again, this time with what sounded like reluctant admiration.
Gerald the king-parrot finally lifted his head and let out a long, resigned sigh.
Gaga turned back to the television, where Dr. Phil was still gesticulating in passionate Italian. “See? He gets it. He understands the power of transformation. The power of reinvention. One minute, he’s a condescending talk show host. The next minute, he’s an operatic genius.”
“He’s still the same person, Gaga,” Catherine said.
“Details,” Gaga said, waving her hand. “Now, who wants to help me write this note to Taylor? I’m thinking something like: ‘Dear Taylor, I’m sorry we tried to break into your house. Here’s some glass and a man from Hoboken. Let’s be friends.'”
“Add something about the cake,” Rihanna suggested. “She’d appreciate that.”
“The cake was very good,” Gaga said, nodding. “Even without the beef tallow. I’ll mention that. It’ll soften the blow.”
Penelope and Gerald exchanged a look that said, These women are completely unhinged.
And somewhere, in a small apartment in Hoboken, Kevin sneezed and wondered why he suddenly had a deep, inexplicable urge to buy a plumbing van.
https://www.facebook.com/people/Celebrità-Fisico/61591177555105/