Yes, sprawled out on her California King was my boyfriend, the only guy I’d ever given a BJ. Which was the furthest we’d gotten, and that had been his choice, not mine. Clearly, today his body loved banging Mom.
Why wouldn’t he? Identical to Catherine Zeta Jones, Birdie appeared hot-to-trot for her age. I’d always been jelly of Mom’s beauty. It was her substance abuse that was fugly here, people. Not her leather and lace meets diamonds and pearls exterior.
In my almost eighteen years, I’d seen Mom do this, many times before. Totally! Although, not with my boyfriend. That was a new low, even for her.
Normally it was her friend’s husbands. Or sometimes my Daddy’s friend’s wives, my teachers and their spouses, the dentist, our neighbors, the doorman, her limo driver, personal trainer, recording manager, and let’s not forget her fans.
Birdie Easton’s fan club was freakishly ginormous. Sold out years in advance, her annual Madison Square Gardens’ Appreciation Weekend wasn’t coined Gang Bang Birdie for nothing.
But to have Mom screw Kelle, the dude who’d gone to the Connecticut Military Academy down the street from my boarding school—who Taddy, Vive, Blake and me had planned, plotted, and OCD talked about as my first—not to mention the son of Senator Dolley who was on the fast track for the White House, was way worse than crap-flying monkeys.
Uber Devastation….
The stress of this suddenly caused me to see itsy bitsy spots while I stood there. Resembling candy dots on strips of paper, their bright blue and pink tones suddenly faded to yellow and then white. I chewed the gum faster and prayed Mom, Kelle and the spots would all stop.
They didn’t.
Foaming at the mouth, not from what I’d watched but from what I’d chewed, I wiped my lip, and reached into my pocket for another piece.
I’d been going out with Kelle since the tenth grade. He’d reserved my vagina ages ago, like the first week Blake had told me in gym class to shave it. Blake and I had talked a lot about our pubic hair and whether we should trim it short or grow it out and dye it magenta. Bordering on cliché, pubic hair had been a normal go-to gym topic for us.
Kelle’s commitment to my cherry-popping had come with one uber-cray condition. I had to lose a few pounds. Alright, some might say a lot of weight. Friggin-A, I was so close. And our first time was gonna be in Paris. You know, for my birthday.
Avoir France!
Like Elle Woods in the movie Legally Blonde who’d studied her kitty off and passed the LSAT to get into Harvard Law School in hopes her boyfriend would married her—so had I!
Mind you, it was for a Bachelor of Arts in Women’s Studies at Columbia University and Kelle Sterling Dolley was no Warner Huntington III.
Kelle was flippin’ cuter. Waaay cuter. Think Josh Harnett in the movie Pearl Harbor. Holy Hershey Kisses I loved, luved, loooved, loved that movie.
And I wasn’t hoping to get married like Elle Woods neither. I’d merely wanted to get rid of my Lady V. So yes, I’d stalked Kelle from our private schools in Connecticut and had learned he was moving to Manhattan for college. I’d rallied my BFF, VBF and GBF to come along. I’d bribed. I’d begged. We all got in. Some of us were on academic probation with remedial studies, I might add. That would be moi, for math. Don’t wanna talk about it.
Okay, maybe the Legally Blonde analogy was a slight reach.
“Pull my hair. There you go lover boy. Get rough with mama,” Birdie sassed.
A feverish chill swept through me. I stood. I watched. I checked myself.
Sad? Meh!
Angry? A tad. Trust me I’d been through, oh my Godiva, so much worse.
Hurt? I’m sickened over this. No, like literally.
Knowing Mom would never ever do this to me if she’d been sober made it almost easier to swallow. Almost!
Her reply later, when she’d be all crashing down or buzzing back up, would be something to the effect of, “Kitten, its only sex. Grow up.” That’s what she’d say. I know.
And later, when she’d be sober, dryer than a saltine cracker, Birdie always stuck with her tried-and-true, “I have no idea what you are talking about. I did not raise my Alexandra Easton to be a liar. My heart hurts when you tell tall-tales, young lady.”
Notice how Mom had never referred to herself as “Mom” like ever. I was only allowed to call her the M-word when inside this penthouse. Her reasoning had been that it caused premature aging to hear it when out in public. Clearly Birdie’s rule applied to Kelle calling her ‘Mama’ in bed. WTF!
Birdie was so phobic about aging she’d stocked up the entire penthouse with oxygen tanks. She’d nearly given herself an O2 facial mist every day that I’d been here. When Mom wasn’t applying the oxygen to her skin, she was inhaling it, claiming the vapors made her inner body more beautiful.
I was surprised with all of her bong smoking and nitrous oxide tanks lying around she hadn’t blown the roof off this place yet.
Blake was right. I should have never moved back in with my folks while going to school. We should’ve enrolled at Pepperdine University in California. That’s what Taddy had wanted us to do all along and had suggested, “Sweet sorority Jesus. Forget this East Coast shizzicane. I want easy, breezy, beautiful. Darling, let’s go to Malibu…not Manhattan. No one knows us out west.”
Once my Ivy League training wheels to get laid by Kelle Sterling Dolling were rolling, I’d started to pump the brakes. I didn’t want to face those tabloids, chasing me between classes for dirt on my parents or Kelle and his family, again. At Avon Porter we were behind a huge brick wall which had prevented such harassments.
I’d toyed with the idea of registering under an alias so no one knew I was Easton’s daughter. I’d even met with the head of admissions and given them the name Wanda Maximoff, inspired by my favorite Avengers character, Scarlet Witch.
My Dad had approved of the alias, so did his publicist, the president of his record label, and the head of admissions even bought into Wanda Maximoff.
Leave it to my lovely Mom to veto such geniusness. She’d melodramatically argued, “Coming from someone who was robbed of finishing their GED, let alone never having the luxury to attend college, I pray that my only daughter will be proud to walk on campus and show her face.”
Proud? Never Ever!
And Birdie wasn’t robbed of squat. She’d dropped out of high school with the hopes of working as Bo Derrick’s body double in the movie, Bolero.