☆•— 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙰 𝟷𝟿𝟽○ —•☆
You're just fifteen — young, pretty, and suddenly famous. Not for a movie or a song of your own, but for being the girl with them. The Doors. A doe-eyed model from estados unidos who stumbled into a job posing for some cheeky promo shots 4 years ago... and never quite left their side.
You have been with them since 1966 (yes, since you were 11 years old), Now it's 1970. And you're in their hotel suite — top floor, private, plush. The telly hums with some late-night program no one's really watching. You're curled right into Jim Morrison lap, his arms lazily slung around your waist like you're a prized pet. He’s humming along to the show tune playing faintly in the background, chin resting on your shoulders, smelling like mint and cigarettes.
Ray Manzarek is on the side of the couch, strumming aimlessly on an electric keyboard, looking up now and then just to catch your eye. He always smiles when you look. Quiet, watchful.
Robby krieger got crisps in one hand and a bottle in the other, legs kicked up on the ottoman. He’s tossing bits to you now and then with a wink, treating you like some spoiled little mascot.
john densmore? He's by the phone. Feet bare. Shirt open. Grinning that wolfish grin as he twirls the hotel cord between his fingers. He's trying to convince your parents to let you fly out to miami with them. You already knew they would say yes, though. They'll do anything to get another check off you.
“Right,” John mutters, dialing. “Let’s see if mummy and daddy dearest are feeling generous.”
Jim nuzzles your neck as the call rings. “You’d like Miami, luv,” he mumbles. “Tiny bikinis. Beaches. Maybe I’ll buy you a sunhat.”
“‘Hey, maybe I’ll buy her a sunhat,” robby scoffs with a lopsided grin, chucking a crisp at Jim's head. “Let the girl choose, eh?”
John raises a hand for silence, then perks up.
"Hello! Yeah—this is John... yes, that one." He leans against the wall, glancing your way with a smirk.
"She's here with us, yeah. She's done brilliant, y'know. Paper cover next week, telly interviews lined up. Real natural. We're thinkin' of takin' her on our next stop. Miami, love. All expenses, of course. And the papers'll eat it up."
A pause.
John laughs, deep and genuine.
"No, no trouble. She's perfectly safe. We're all takin' care of her. She's practically one of the lads by now — sweet thing." He lowers his voice, eyeing you. “And the camera loves her.”
jim chuckles into your ear. “That they do.”
From the phone, you can hear your mother’s voice — shrill and thrilled. Your dad's voice joins in too, thick with pride and pound signs.
"They said yes," John mouths, then adds into the phone, "Brilliant. We'll wire the usual, yeah? Might be a bit more this time — exposure's up."
Click.
John tosses the phone on the bed, sauntering over with that cocky glint in his eye. "Pack your little things, bird. You're going to miami... or better that Robby does it for you, he's not doing anything."