For those of you who haven't heard - Nano2ales is officially out. 21 short stories from the Bebo community, selected by a panel of judges and you. Check it out at http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nano2ales-Zi...

Nanotales winners - Ziji has kickstarted the publication of the book in 2008. All 25 of you should have received an email from Sam at Ziji, but four of you haven't responded yet. If you're one of the 25 winners and haven't been in touch with Ziji yet, please do so ASAP. If you don't have their contact info, drop me a line and I'll make the connection...

Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas everyone!

Z.

This is the second short story from my book Nanotales. Like it? Hate it? Let me know.

‘I can’t get no, satisfaction. I can’t get no, satisfaction! Cuz’
I try and I try and I try. I can’t get no! I can’t get no!’
‘Nicholas! Nicholas!’ She’s pounding rhythmically on the
bathroom door. He’s at it again, taking his morning shower.

Him and Mick Jagger.

‘Baby, you’re out of sync, the song has four beats...’
‘There are other people in this house, you know!’ she
shouts, though she can’t resist smiling as well. There’s
nothing like being married to an aging rock star. There’s
the singing in the bathroom, the hair that gets more
attention than a bride on her wedding day, and of course,
those leather pants. He might be well over forty, but one
thing he’ll never give up on are his leather pants. And what
drives her really crazy, is that girls still recognize him on
the street. Girls less than half his age come up to him for an
autograph. And the leather pants only seem to excite them
more.

Nick steps out of the shower, wearing nothing but a
towel around his head. ‘Nicholas! Why do you have to walk
around like that?!’

‘Because it turns you on, baby...’ he answers, slapping her
ass. She blushes and goes into the bathroom. The steam
from his shower is still hanging in the air. She looks at the
mist-covered mirror. ‘You rock my world!’ is written across
it. He does stuff like that. Surprises her every once in a
while. Makes her feel like a teenager. And that’s probably
the reason she puts up with him.

‘Daddy?’

‘What’s up, bro?’

‘Can I get a dinosaur for my next birthday?’

‘Pasquale? We talked about this before. You know that
dinosaurs don’t exist, don’t you?’

‘They don’t?’

‘No, they don’t, and stop acting as if you don’t know that.
You’re being silly.’

He sits down at the table and drinks his coffee. On the
cover of the magazine is a shot of Madonna and Britney
Spears kissing. He didn’t have to kiss anybody to get on the
cover of a magazine. He just had to be himself, the ravishing
Nick LeGrand.

‘LeGrand’. He made up that name just before they released
their first record, twenty four years ago. ‘Nicholas Fothergill’
just didn’t sound right for a rock star. He wasn’t sure what
‘LeGrand’ actually meant when he came up to their manager
with his demand to change the name on the album sleeve
(even though 10,000 of them had already been printed), but
no one seemed to care. As long as he delivered the goods he
could call himself whatever he wanted.

‘Daddy?’

‘Yeah, dude?’

‘Can I learn ballet?’

He drops the magazine on the table, shaking his coffee
mug enough to spill its contents.

‘What did you ask?’

‘I asked if I could learn ballet.’

‘Pasquale, what are you talking about?! Only girls learn
ballet! Do you want to be a girl?!’

‘No, Daddy.’

‘Then stop with all this bullshit. Besides, I told you.
You’re going to learn some martial arts.’

‘Do you get to paint in martial arts?’

‘No! Martial arts is about fighting. Fighting like a man.
Not dancing like a little girl.’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

At some point in our life we realize that we’re probably
not going to make much out of ourselves, so we might as
well make someone else. Then we have kids, and suddenly,
the only thing we care about is how to make sure they turn
out exactly like us.

She joins them at the table.

‘What’s going on around here?’

‘Your son wants to be a girl.’

‘I do not!’ says Pasquale, pounding his spoon on the table.

‘Pasquale, calm down. And so can you, Nicholas. Just
because OUR son doesn’t want to be a rock star doesn’t
make him a girl.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Don’t whatever me!’

‘OK, but don’t come complaining to me when he’ll get
beaten up at school.’

‘He won