“We’re going out later. You didn’t have to phone.” Janie pouted, flouncing her hair.
“Come on, don’t be like that. Who else is going to tell you about all the crazy people I’ve met this week?”
They both perked up instantly. “No way! You were at another one of those parties?”
“Yeah, it was a brunch first, then a yacht party. You remember the ones I told you about?” Though I never told them that the brunches were religiously scheduled on the same day and time every month, just in case they let it slip to Sally. I told myself that Fischer security would never let Sally through the front door. But if there was any positive thing I could say about my mum, it was that she was tenacious.
“Ugh,” Tammy groaned, “now I’m really jealous.”
“Are you sure you can’t take us?” Janie’s eyes widened hopefully. “We swear we’ll be good!”
“I’m sure you’d be angels, but the guest list is usually full.” And I wasn’t going to thrust them into the social politics and bullshit gossip of the Fischer brunches.
“Oh my God, Dom, did you get another autograph?” Janie's eyes sparkled, hope filling her face.
I shook my head, smiling back at them. Bunny was an idol to them, a total obsession, and all of their friends agreed. Not only for being cute and ‘popular’, but because the girls loved the way Bun kicked off and caused drama.
I rolled my eyes when I walked into their room years ago to find a life-size poster of Bunny in her grungy ‘punk look’ when she was engaged to Max, Cat’s husband, before Bun’s music career really kicked off. I wasn’t going to burst their bubble by telling them how she was in real life, but I’d heard enough gushing from the both of them that I’d come close.
“You don't need any more.” I'd had Bunny sign things for them over the years. I sent them periodically for special occasions instead of drowning them with presents all at once when I found out our mum sold them off as soon as she got her hands on them.
“Wait, does that mean you had lunch with Bunny Collins?” Tammy’s jaw dropped and she paused painting her nails to meet my eyes.
“Yeah, we were at the same party and hung out for the evening last week,” I said, leaving out that we both got so drunk that she started crying about being too awesome to find someone to match her. Which was actually hilarious, considering how annoying she could be.
“She’s off to Italy to record her next music video, so I won't see her for a month or two.”
“Oh my God, then who else? Who else was there?”
“Hmmm…let’s see…Well, Jazz was away, but Max Rider, Damien Priestly, Mallory Fischer—”
The two of them bounced around and started babbling like they always did when I told them about those things.
I grinned as I watched them. That was the part of them I wanted to preserve. They deserved to be real teenagers and get the childhood that I didn’t. Sally had left off teaching them the same tricks as me, but it didn’t mean they were immune to her schemes.
Even if it were the same people I saw every month at those events, their excitement made it better. Though I probably had to make the best of it. I doubted Harry would reveal the details to anyone as soon as I was discovered, but when Molly returned, I’d be booted off of every guest list in the country.
“What are you two screeching about?” The door slammed open, their video screen shaking as Terry shouted across the room.
The girls instantly froze, and I caught a look of fear from Janie before Tammy slipped the phone behind her back.
“We-we were just messing around,” Janie stuttered.
“I’m unpacking the shopping, so shut the fuck up.” His voice was gravely from years of smoking and drinking, and spending his entire life pissed off. “Don’t you have homework to do or something?”
I tried to keep calm. We all knew how he got. As long as they didn’t provoke him, he’d keep his anger to himself.
“What’s that? Is that a fucking phone!?” he yelled, stumbling toward them. Janie screamed, and there was a thud. I grabbed the side of the kitchen counter, forcing myself not to snap back. I couldn’t do anything from where I was, and it would take me five hours to get to them if they needed me.
Suddenly, the screen blurred until my stepdad’s ugly face swam into view.
“Well hello, Terry,” I said, my upper lip curling, holding back the pure rage running through me. The simple fact he'd shouted at them gave me enough cause to go up there and beat the shit out of him. That aspect of him was never going to change.
“Dom, my son, how are you?” If he thought I didn’t notice the way he softened like butter the moment he saw me, then he was a fucking idiot.
“I’m fine, Terry. How have you been? You’re looking healthy, as usual.”
He was such a greasy piece of shit. He rarely shaved, had sallow skin, a massive nose, and beady eyes. He was balding on top, and usually wore stained t-shirts and jeans, splattered with some kind of sauce. He had the same soulless look I saw in clients who knew they were heading straight to jail for the rest of their lives.