#viv is a true multitasker

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Shining Star | Part Three

Words: 3k

Warning(s): explicit language, sexual situations

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"Hello?" I answer the phone with a yawn. 

"You just, like, left?" Nikki says from the other end. 

"Don't say it like I knocked you up and left without a trace. I left you coffee, a pop tart and a thank you note." I shrug. "And how'd you get my number?" 

"Tommy. So that's it? No relationship talk or anything?"

"N-No?" I furrow my brows a little. 

"Really?"

"I mean, if you wanna date, sure. I guess."

"No, no, that's not what I meant...it's just, chicks usually get attached and stuff and cling." He explains. "So when I woke up and you were gone without me asking you to leave, I don't know. I just wasn't expecting it."

"Oh, well, you're welcome. I guess."

"But, if you wanna do it again sometime—"

"—I don't sleep with the same people twice unless we're in a relationship." I inform him.

"Worth a shot." 

"Tansy, who's that?!" My mom calls from the living room. 

"I gotta go but I'll see ya later." I tell him. 

"Bring your friend. I need someone to shit on." He replies and I roll my eyes. 

"You need to be careful. Viv doesn't put up with bullshit for long." 

"Yeah, yeah, see ya later." 

"Later." 

Me two years before then would've had a steel grip on his leg, refusing to let go. 

I kind of had to train myself to accept that sex doesn't automatically equal anything more than just sex. After Vince got Tami pregnant, and slept with my mother—tell you about it in a moment—I had major issues with the perception of monogamous relationships, and to avoid being hurt again without being able to control it, I decided if I was going to be fucked over, I was gonna at least get to control who fucked me over. So I began building up my tolerance for sleeping with guys without getting attached, or at least tried. I'd still wipe a few tears on my way home if I truly liked the guy and realized he was just using me for sex, but never calling them back or acknowledging them as little as possible always helped a little.

That's all I'd seen, though. My dad always avoided my mom, my mom always dodged my dad like a bullet, even when they lived in the same house. They were never really in love—my mom was a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader and got pregnant with me in the back of a rusted truck with a Mississippi license plate. They decided to keep me and she moved in with him a state away. 

My dad was a good dad. As good as he could be. He stayed drunk most of the time, just so he could tolerate being in the same room as my mom without having to mentally be there...but he adored me. He even cut back on spending money on booze to put it towards my beauty pageants. 

Don't ask me why my mom felt the need to have me compete to be the prettiest two year old in our county, but she did. 

With the money from two successful pageants, at three years old, my mom decided she and I were gonna move to California so she could pimp me out to an industry that was going to take everything it could from me. 

My dad tried to fight for custody, but my mom played the "he's an alcoholic" card and got custody. He wrote often, and sent presents, and as much child support as he was able to, but anytime he would call she would hang up. He eventually drank himself to death when I was four, and that didn't phase my mom a bit. He'd been dead to her before she even gave birth to me.

One of the many things he and I had in common.

I hang up and finish stirring my coffee. 

"That was Vivian." I tell my mom when I pass by to go to my room. 

"You need to be spending some more time with her. She's a good kid." She states. "She knows how not to fuck every guy in her graduating class and beyond." She adds and I stop and glare at the back of her head before deciding it's not worth an argument.

"Don't forget you have practice at 3:00." She adds and I sigh. 

How could I possibly forget? She never let me go a day without reminding me we were broke because she put all of our money towards my pageants and competitive cheer—things she wanted me to be in, not things I chose. They looked good. Pretty. Things 5'3", 120 pound barbie blonde's did. Things my mother did and things she'd be damned if her daughter didn't do, too…

One thing about cheering, though. In the midst of a stunt, where you're elevated anywhere between 10-15 feet, your equilibrium can't be fucked and fried. And after a night of snorting anything with a powder base, and drinking your throat raw with vodka or Jack…

"What the hell is wrong with you, Tansy, can you not understand what '1, 2, down, up,' means?!" My mom barks at me as the gymnasium spins from where I fell, my head aching while my vision splotches for a moment, my cheermates leaning over me, all of them asking me if I'm okay. 

"I lost my balance." I shakily reply, trying to sit up, seeing my mom bulldoze through the girls to see me.

"No shit, Sherlock, if you were in proper form and prepared you wouldn't have fallen. Now get up and start over and if you fall again I'm taking you to the hospital and fucking leaving you there with the bill. Get up." She snaps. 

I get up like a puppet master tugging the strings of their puppet, demanding it to move.

"You need to work on your front tuck. It's  sloppy." Mom informs me once practice is over as we walk to the car. 

"My hip is acting up again." I tell her, honestly, the joint of my left hip aching with each step and she sighs. 

"I don't see how with all the time you spend on your back." 

"Will you stop, mom?" 

She looks at me with raised brows. 

"I'll stop when you stop opening your legs for free. I'm gonna make you start payin' rent if you don't start sleeping with men that can write a check that doesn't bounce."

"I'm not a prostitute, mom."

"Oh, please, everybody's a prostitute, Tansy, but it's up to you what you accept as profit. Love isn't profit. Tangibles you can deposit into an account for interest or rack up value over time, is profit." She argues, pointing at me, before leaving me standing. 

"Well, maybe I don't want 'tangibles' or whatever." I suggest, following after her. 

"Okay, put it this way: everybody's gonna die at some point. Would you rather be well known across the country for actually being a somebody, or have your only claim to fame be 'that midget-short, blonde slut that did everything for a bindle of coke?"

Before I can answer she cuts me short:

"Well, you'll be the second one, regardless, but at least strive to be known as 'that rich and famous midget-short, blonde slut that did everything for a bindle of coke'."  

"I'm not a slut, mom." I tell her calmly when we get into the car. 

"Not what I've heard." She pulls a cigarette from her purse and cranks the car. 

"Not everything you hear is true, you know."

"So, you weren't simultaneously sucking and fucking Chance Scarbors and Duke Vera a couple weekends ago at Tracy Lennols party you just had to go to?" 

My heart sinks when she asks me and I look at her and can't confirm nor deny. 

"If you could multitask like that while cheering, you'd be able to have a tighter front tuck than what you've got now." She states and I bite my tongue. "I wasn't a whore when I was in high school, it's obviously something you must've picked up from your dad. God, burn his soul, selfish bastard." 

As she starts on a rant about how shitty my dad was, which I know he wasn't, I just close my eyes and zone out. 

Every mistake I made was my dad's fault...at least to my mom. All my talent and looks was all her, but my rebellious streak, my addiction struggles, my "weak heart" and sensitivity...and people pleasing, was all my dad's fault. And honestly, maybe it was.

All he did was try to make my mom happy, he just had to have enough alcohol in his system to tolerate her screaming at him. 

Looking back, it's safe to say I am definitely my father's daughter.

TWO MONTHS LATER.

"Fuck this." I grit out, trying to cover the dark circles under my eyes with concealer. To no avail.

Freshly washed, teased, blonde hair, blue eyes, healthy skin—aside from the dark circles.

I finish putting my makeup on and get dressed to go out tonight. 

"Viv's coming at seven!" I shout down to my mom. 

"Are you gonna eat while you're out?!" She calls back to me. 

"Probably!" I reply. 

She doesn't answer. 

Once I hear Vivian's car pull in, I put my heels on and step to the living room. 

"You can't eat if you don't have money to buy it." My mom tells me as I pass by where she's sitting in her chair. 

"Viv's got money." I shrug. 

"Vivian shouldn't have to pay for your lazy ass." She snaps at me. 

"She doesn't care, mom." 

"Hey," Vivian says when she comes inside, smiling at me. "You look so good." She adds. 

"Vivian, c'mere," mom calls and I roll my eyes, clenching my jaw as Viv slowly goes to the living room, looking at my mom. 

"Ma'am?" Vivian asks and mom blows her cigarette smoke past her lips. 

"Where you girls headed?" 

"The Rainbow to grab something to eat." Vivian lies.

"I heard you got a boyfriend." She says next. 

"Um, he's not my boyfriend, we're just—"

"—He gonna be there tonight?" She interrupts and I cross my arms as Vivian shrugs.

"I don't know." She answers, honestly, and my mom looks at the two of us, skeptically before she finishes, "quit giving her free handouts." She motions to me, before waving us off dismissively.

We go to the front door and she adds, "don't do anything stupid!" 

"'Just friends', yeah right." I say to Vivian as we get into the car. 

"Shh!" She scolds me. "If your mom finds out she'll tell my mom and my mom can't know I even know Nikki or I'm screwed." 

"No if Charlette Renée Kinston finds out her innocent Jesus-baby is getting fucked by Nikki Sixx on the regular—"

"—Will you stop saying it like that? It's not like that, we don't do that." 

"Oh, please, Vivian. That's all he knows how to do." I reply. "Unless, like, you guys just 'make love'." I pretend to swoon and she cuts her eyes at me. 

"It's 'sex'." She corrects me. "It's not screwing or 'making love'. Just say 'sex'." 

"Technically I said 'fucking.' And there's a difference between 'screwing' and 'fucking'." 

"Whatever you call it, just don't say anything to Tommy or Vince about it, alright? Tommy would lose it and Vince wouldn't let me live it down so just don't mention it." She tells me. 

"Mention what? The fact that you lost your virginity to Nikki Sixx and have been bending over sinks and carhoods for him ever since? I wasn't going to." I reply and she glares at me. "You get, like, tested afterwards, right?" 

"Ha. Ha. Funny." She tells me and I smile, chuckling. 

"I was kidding." I say, buckling my seat belt. 

"Probably wouldn't hurt to get tested, honestly." She thinks aloud and I laugh.

When we get to where we're going, she finds an empty place on the lawn crowded with azalea bushes and what seems like endless vehicles parked where they can fit. 

"I swear if anyone hits my car…" she mumbles as we get out and shut the car doors. 

We can hear the music from out here, and Vivian waits for me to catch up before following me inside. 

"Shy or something?" I ask and she rolls her eyes. 

"I don't know any of these people." She replies. 

"And you think I do? This was the address the guys gave us." I remind her. 

We head inside, people shoulder to shoulder and I can feel Vivian tense up. 

Makes two of us. 

"Okay, um, look for Tommy. He's gotta be the tallest person here." She says to me as loud as she can over the bustle of people talking and drinking. 

"Got it." I nod. 

Apparently I didn't get the memo we were splitting up because in a second, she uses her long-ass legs to her advantage and is leaving me behind. 

"Ugh," I huff out, glancing around, not seeing anybody I recognized, and certainly not seeing ten foot Tommy. "Damn it."

Can't beat 'em, join 'em.

I go to find the booze, eventually finding it in the kitchen, keeping an eye out for Viv and the guys. 

I spot the cooler and as soon as I reach for it, a hand bumps into mine. 

I'm immediately looking up to see a sweet-faced guy with naturally curled, golden hair, and blue eyes. 

Before I can say "sorry" he's snatching his hand away like mine burnt him or something. 

"Sorry," I say anyway as he motions to the cooler and says, "no, you're good, go ahead." 

I grab a beer, and hand him one, too. 

"Thanks." He mumbles, not bothering to make eye contact. 

Which is fine because it gives me a couple more seconds to examine him. 

"Do I know you or something?" He asks me innocently after he catches me staring. 

"I don't know, maybe I've seen you around…" I shrug a little, smiling at him. "I'm Tansy."

"Steven." He replies, grinning. 

"Tans!" I hear someone yell and I turn to look through the crowd in the living room and see Vince.

"Um, I gotta go." I tell him. "But, I'll probably see you around some time." I add.

"Yeah, see ya around!" He says over the music as I'm walking away. 

We did eventually see each other around, about four years later.

"The hell have you been?" Vince asks me with a half grin. "Been looking all over for you."

He slings his arm over my shoulders as we head upstairs and I roll my eyes. 

"Why are we going upstairs?" I ask him, already knowing what's on his mind. 

"I needed help finding the bathroom." He chuckles, slurring a little, and I raise a brow but don't argue. 

People move down the hall, shifting into bedrooms in a frenzy as soon as others leave the rooms vacant, and I finally pinpoint a bathroom, opening the door, and stopping in my tracks. 

Vivian's on the counter, legs wide open, her hand in Nikki's hair as his mouth coaxes between her legs. 

She and I make eye contact for a split second before she's frantically pushing him away, accidentally poking him the eye in the midst of it, and he lets out a "fuck, Vi—" only for her to cover his mouth with her hand all while Vince approaches and asks, "what is i—" 

I don't give him time to finish asking, my hand shoving at his forehead before he can peek around the door, knocking him back as I slam the door.

He sloppily, and dramatically, braces himself against the wall and looks at me with wide eyes. 

"What the fuck, Tansy?" He asks me. 

"Sorry, it wasn't empty." Is all I say. "Here, I'll help you piss in the azaleas outside." 

"Whatever." He shrugs, grabbing my hand and I help him back downstairs. "Now my head hurts." He mumbles.

"Sorry."

"So I need a blowjob, too." He states pathetically. 

"Yeah, yeah."