Pam Grier

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Summary

Boys at play...

Genre:
Drama / Humor
Author:
niyatwhiteauthor
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
1
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
16+

Pam Grier

Another blonde.

But this one’s already pregnant--so that’s a new one for Dad.

They wanted us to all get acquainted before the nude pictures hit IG and Twitter and I could imagine Mom screaming about all of this. But she learned a long time ago not to bother talking Dad out of anything.

Me--one of the triplets and my brother-- one of the twins--are watching one of my stashes of movies. My brother and I love these quiet times before my Dad’s huge parties; they rage pretty much over several hours. They go on until everyone either leaves or passes out.

Officially, we’re at Mom’s during these drug-fueled orgies but unofficially-- all of the “boys” as everyone calls us—find our little quiet corners, or if we were able to cordon it off quickly enough, kept to our separate wing of House One.

That’s another thing—

My dad owns several houses—one for each function. According to any article you read about the family real estate, he only has a few houses nearby—but he really owns every house within a mile radius.

House One is where he and his girlfriends and/or wives live--and occasionally us boys when Dad needs publicity photos here or at the factory. Sometimes he takes to nice places, but usually all we do is play games in our “wing” until it’s time for the photoshoot.

House Two through Four is basically for staff—nannies, housekeepers (Dad’s new girlfriend--the pregnant one--said we shouldn't call them “maids” anymore). House Five is for full time assistants (Yeah, he needs at least five people to make up his schedule every day).

House Six is interesting—only Dad's allowed to visit; it’s rumored to be for “unofficial” girlfriends. Rumors said this new pregnant one was there for six months before her famous “first date” with my Dad.


On screen, a woman was sadly staring ahead, watching TV but not really watching it. My brother watched her numbed look for a bit, then commented that we all looked like that. I did a little chuckle then thought about how Dad no longer really talks to us. We are at his house to watch people make fools of themselves. Including him.

“They’re thinking about calling the new baby, Baby X.”

My brother casually mentioned this as I put on another movie. The byline of this one was, “A chick with drive that don’t take no jive". We laugh all through the movie though it had some heavy stuff happening in it, like rape—but then there was a problem.

Between all the soda we can drink—and my brother sneaking away a half-full bottle of whiskey from behind a bar—we had to go to the bathroom.

This party was a monster of several thousand people all over the house and grounds and we’re only safe from any stupidity if we stayed inside our rooms. We didn’t get a chance to cordon off the wing this time.

People in various states of being conscious—and half -unconscious—wandered around everywhere.

I lost the “Rock, Papers, Scissors” challenge to be the first to explore the hallway for any crazy obstacles, and a quick peak out the bedroom door revealed nothing, so out I went-- only to be stopped by a kissing couple just out of line of sight from the bedroom door, but too near the bathroom door to be uninterrupted if I wanted to pee.

I immediately noticed how the man was trying to pull the woman into the bathroom—likely so they can do a lot more than just make out. But the woman was resisting a bit, swaying on her feet with drunken confusion at someone having their tongue shoved down your throat while at the same time trying to move you somewhere else. It took me minute, though, to see that this was my Dad and he was not kissing the pregnant woman he was supposed to be marrying in Montreal next year.

Usually I couldn’t care less.

“The Bleached Barbies” (as the twins call them) know what they’re getting into—a guy who’s arguably the most famous businessman in the world will know how to work women like he works anything else. My dad just has a way with people. But my stomach and chest burned when I finally saw who the girl was.

And she is a girl.

Fifteen years old and also a connoisseur of movies from the 1970’s, Mika was my favorite Ad Astra student volunteer and we had great conversations on just about everything—from favorite games to favorite places to visit around the world. And yeah—just like most of the other student volunteers and teachers, she had a crush on my dad, but everyone gets over that when he all but ignores them and they don’t get invited to any of his parties, even when the Ad Astra house—now just known as “House Two” and no longer a school but the place where the nannies stay-- was just across the street from the main mansion. I didn’t want to think about what she had to do to get invited to this party.

My Dad gave Mika’s wrist a big yank and she was dragged like a ragdoll into the bathroom, the door slammed shut behind them. I will NEVER forget the image of my dad—red, puffy, sweaty face with a wolfish smile and giant hands yanking a petite blonde girl into the bathroom, trapping her with whatever god-awful intentions. A girl my age…

The loud slam brought out the faces of my brothers from their rooms, including the twin still waiting to go the bathroom. The other boys were interrupted from a gaming marathon--their eyes wide from staring at jumpy images on a mega-wide tv screen.

“The fuck was that?” asked the other twin. Just like Dad, ‘fuck’ was their favorite word.

I mumbled a response—something about the bathroom being occupied. The twin who had been watching movies with me looked at me a bit—sort of the same way he studied the woman with the sad face in the previous movie. Then he said, “you can use ours.”

He was referring to the small bathroom in the twin’s room. It was usually off-limits to anyone else.

About a half-hour later we were all back to watching movies. All my brothers cramped together in the smaller room for us triplets, passing around one of Dad’s decades-old bottles of whiskey--our faces alternating between contortions from swallowing bitter, burning liquor and pleasantly watching lovely people on the tv screen. The tv in the room for us triplets was not as big as the twin’s, but it was awesome sharing that moment.

One of the triplets--the "youngest" by three minutes-- was staring at the cover of the DVD we were watching. He noted that I had a poster of the star just behind the bedroom door, where I wouldn’t have to constantly explain it to people like my dad.

“What’s this actress’ name, again?” He asked.

“It’s—"

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