Television off, Party On

“RACHEL!” Aimee’s strident voice pierced my peaceful reading environment. “I need you to vacuum the foyer! Your father just came in and tracked dirt everywhere!”

“Do it yourself you stupid bitch,” I mumbled to myself.

“RAAAACHEEEEEEEEEEL!”

I sighed and got out of my bed. I thought about why Aimee hated me so much, and that put me in a worse mood. Even as a little kid, I always had an inkling that Aimee never liked me very much. I thought it was because she was jealous of the relationship my dad and I had. But when I was ten, the truth came out.

I was sleeping over at my uncle Marc’s house (he really is my uncle, unlike Jonathan and Caleb, he and my dad are step-brothers). I remember that I was sitting in his kitchen table, and he was getting himself a beer out of the fridge.

“Rae, it breaks my heart to see you pining over your mother,” he said, setting a coke down in front of me and sitting across from me. Back then, I still called Aimee “mom”. “I’m going to tell you a story, but you need to promise that you’re mature enough to hear it.”

I had rolled my eyes. “Uncle Ma-arc! Of course I’m mature enough to hear this.”

He laughed. “Okay then, Miss Rae. Never forget that your dad loves you. He loves you more than anything in the world.” He then became serious. “When your mom found out she was pregnant with you, a decade ago, she wanted an abortion. She was on top of a great career as a swimsuit model-“

“Uncle Marc,” I interrupted, “she was a Playboy model.”

He smirked. “Okay, she was on top of a great career as a Playboy model. Her job was to look young, thin and attractive. Plus, she was never fond of kids. So, she told your dad she was getting an abortion. Never asked him if it was okay. Kyle was…stunned, to say the least. He was brought up to believe that abortions were wrong and he couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone stand there and let his wife kill a baby. That’s what he saw it as. Blatant murder. So, he pleaded with her, bribed her, and when that didn’t work, he threatened to leave her. Now, they signed a pre-nuptial before they got married-“

“Uncle Marc,” I interrupted, “What’s a pre-nuptial?”

“It means that if there’s a divorce, your dad would keep the stuff and money he had before the marriage, and your mom would keep the stuff and money she had before the marriage. It’s a way of protecting your dad from your mom taking his money or house, or vice versa.”

“Oh,”

“Anyway, your parents signed a pre-nuptial, so that your mom wouldn’t be able to get a cent out of him in the divorce. . Either she loved your dad more than she hated children, or she loved your dad’s money more than she hated children. Between you and I, though, I always had a hunch that Aimee married Kyle for his money. And you know the rest from there.”

“But why did dad marry mom if all she wants is his money?”

“That’s the million dollar question,” Uncle Marc said, winking.

“And that’s why I don’t have any siblings.”

“Yep. One was enough, Aimee was sure to stay on the pill after that.”

“And what about Tiffany?”

“I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re going to tell Tiffany what I just told you, then she’s going to wonder about her family, probably pester me until I tell her, and then tell you, right?”

“Yep,” I said, beaming.

“Okay, Tiffany’s mom and dad really, really wanted kids. And it broke everyone’s hearts when they found out that Tiffany’s mom was nearly sterile. The doctor even told her that she had a one in a million chance of getting pregnant. But a miracle happened a year later. She got pregnant. So, Tiffany’s their miracle girl. Shorter and sweeter than your story, fortunately or unfortunately, depending on whose opinion you get.”

So, after that day, mom turned into Aimee, and I started hanging out at Tiffany’s house more.

Of course, just because my family and friends knew not to mention Aimee’s former career (now she was a full time trophy wife), that didn’t mean my schoolmates shared the same good grace.

And that’s where the next day found me, insulted by at least half of the student body about something I couldn’t control. Welcome to high school, best years of our lives.

“Hey Rae! How much is an hour with your mom?” One asshole shouted.

“They need to learn the difference between a Playmate and a prostitute,” I muttered to Tiffany.

“At least her mom isn’t free like yours! Your mom would jump anything with a dick!” Tiffany shouted back.

“Ugh, Tiffany, don’t encourage them,” I hissed and tugged her down the B wing hallway before the conversation grew more uncomfortable.

“Hey, I was defending you. And you don’t like Aimee anyway, so why does it matter?”

“I don’t exactly like to broadcast the fact that I’m the daughter of a whore.”

“Rae, your mom is not a whore. She just likes to pose naked on magazines for skeevy old men.”

“Shut up Tiff,”

The school day was relatively boring. There was a pop quiz on A Midsummer Night’s Dream, much to Tiffany’s horror and my sadistic delight, and the captain of the football team fit the basic cliché by thinking up a new insult to hurl at me.

At the end of the day, Tiffany was begging Mrs. Solderitch for extra credit and I was heading outside of the school to wait for someone to pick us up. There were one or two buses for our school because everyone got rides from chauffeurs or parents. Welcome to the lovely Los Angeles.

Navigating through the busy halls was tricky, and you were bound to accidentally hit someone. Case in point when I was slammed into by Kayla, drama queen extraordinaire. She was lead in all of the school plays, and her life was like a soap opera.

“Jesus Christ!” She stopped and screamed at me. “Watch where you’re going, whore! Why don’t you go get raped or something!" She stormed off.

My eyes widened in shock for a second, before I furrowed my eyebrows. “I’m the whore?” I mused to myself. “Okay then,”

Fifteen minutes later, Aunt Monica picked us up. I opened my phone and texted Tiffany so that Aunt Monica wouldn’t know what we were talking about. If she heard that Tiffany failed her Shakespeare quiz, she’d get pretty mad.

raeeee: how’d it go with solderitch?

tiff: no good. :(

raeeee: what are you going to do?

tiff: dunno. study for the test?

raeeee: need a tutor?

tiff: duhhhh

raeeee: ;)

tiff: what are you doing for your next youtube video?

raeeee: idkk. remake a music video? or do like a stop motion film?

tiff: either one. include me this time. ;)

raeeee: k

Monica dropped me off at my house and I thanked her for the ride. I went in through the front door, dropped my backpack and ran up the stairs.

I went straight to the music room, which was probably my favorite room in the whole house. It was supposed to be a bedroom, but my dad pretty much wallpapered it in promo posters for Forever the Sickest Kids. My favorite one was the one right above the piano. It was for a tour with Forever the Sickest Kids, Cobra Starship, Sing it Loud, and Hit the Lights.

My dad filled the room with guitars, bass guitars, drums, and a piano. I usually played one of the basses or guitars, but today, I headed straight for one of the drum sets.

I wouldn’t admit it, but Kayla’s whore comment really upset me. I didn’t get why the people at my school were so obsessed with the fact that my mother was a Playboy model. This was fucking Hollywood, it wasn’t anything new.

I worked out my anger by playing the drums, extremely loud. I was feeling a bit better until Aimee barged in and told me to keep it down, she was getting a migraine.

I flipped the bird when her back was turned and put the drum sticks down. I picked up a guitar and started playing Mom by Guttermouth loudly.

After I finished that, I felt better, so I put down the guitar and went into my room to talk to Tiffany online.