Chapter Text
Alvin hadn't bothered getting dressed. It wasn't that uncommon for either of them to sleep in the nude, at least back before things had gotten complicated and contentious between the two. Being chipmunks, there was a certain level of acceptance and normalcy surrounding the concept of nudity. Two of them being in close proximity without clothes on would not have felt inherently sexual until either one made it so. Clothes were more of a tool. A tool to fit into human societal norms. And a tool to remove any sense of intimacy from a private moment between two chipmunks. As such, when Brittany paced back into the bedroom from the attached lavatory actually wearing her thong and having readjusted her bra so that it fully covered her, he felt a tangible wave of disappointment sweep over him.
The handcuffs hung limply from the handle of the chipette's bedside table drawer, having been locked in place there by her husband as a light practical joke. He had hidden the key within her pillowcase on the side that was face-down, confident that it wouldn't take her that long to find it. But as she trudged around the foot of their bed, stepping over the ropes that had been carelessly tossed to the floor the moment she was free of them, shuffled to her side of the bed and removed an elegant bottle of hand lotion from that same drawer, she didn't even seem to notice or care about the cuffs dangling from it.
“You didn't need to get dressed,” Alvin whimpered sympathetically as she applied the ointment to each of her paws.
“Honeymoon's over, babe,” she grumbled, clearly no longer in any sort of an affectionate mood.
Alvin pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Technically,” he nervously corrected her, “we never even had a honeymoon.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” she shot back at him, monotone like a zombie who barely had a care in the world left to give.
After rubbing her hands together for well over a minute, spreading the lotion to every square inch, pressing it between her fingers until it was perfectly saturated on her skin, she carelessly picked up and threw the top corner of the covers on her side of the bed over, partially uncovering Alvin’s top half. He recoiled from the sudden breeze of cold air and shot her an annoyed glare, which she either did not notice or simply did not react to. The chipette simply climbed up onto the mattress, laid her head on her pillow, facing away from her partner, and ripped the sheet and comforter on top of herself. The eldest chipmunk watched the entire scene and sighed deeply. He was fulfilled physically, but somehow still felt empty. And frustration brewed within him from the realization that his wife, regardless of whether or not she felt the same hollowed out sensation, was projecting a dulled, beaten down emotional indifference.
He looked to the ceiling, contemplating how to begin a conversation out of a desperate desire to not end the night in such an anticlimactic fashion. “I’m sorry that I had to work today,” he finally whispered.
“It’s fine,” Brittany grumbled through a yawn without moving an inch.
There was another long, awkward pause, complete with Alvin playing with both his thumbs and sliding his right foot around in a fidgeting pattern near the bottom edge of the bed. “You know that I only want the best for all of us, right? Like I do my best.”
The chipette exhaled, mildly aggravated but politely trying to conceal it, then turned her body around to face him. “I know you do. We both do.” She wanted to go to sleep, and he could tell.
“You guys - you and Laney, I mean - you both mean the world to me,” he insisted, eyes pleading her in the dark for some semblance of affirmation, some form of compliment.
Instead, he received a subject-changing question: “what’s bothering you?” It wasn’t particularly cutting or accusatory, but rather a soft and genuinely concerned inquisition.
It froze Alvin in his tracks. Even after years of marriage, and several more years of a close relationship before that, he still was not completely used to the absolute ease that Brittany found in reading him. It made him feel uncomfortable to a certain degree, likely stemming from their age-old rivalry that pushed him into a natural desire to hide things from her that left him feeling vulnerable. “Why would something be bothering me?” was the first and best response that he could conjure.
“That’s a good question,” she replied, unwavering. “But there is something. I know you, I can tell. So… what is it?”
He sighed in reluctant defeat. “I honestly don’t know,” he acknowledged. “I guess… nevermind. You can go to sleep.”
There was a brief pause, as Brittany legitimately considered his offer. She was tired, still mildly wine drunk, and haunted by the knowledge that her daughter was inevitably going to wake up early and that she would have to get out of bed when that happened. But, she shook her head, and demanded: “no. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I just wish I could understand how we got so distant. So cold. It’s not even that we act like we hate each other like we used to sometimes. We both barely show any emotion at all. And I know that sounds weird, coming from me. Like, of all people, you’d think I would be the last person to be bothered by any of this. But I see us drifting apart and it’s really been digging at me.”
The chipette bit her lip, considering the large load of feelings that her husband had just dumped on her. She knew in her heart that he was right. She had felt the same thing long ago, long before that night, and it had torn her apart until she finally gave up and accepted their loveless dynamic. It had made her numb. Perhaps, permanently so, and with that in mind, was there even any point in discussing it or attempting to mend it? “Honestly, I can’t remember a time when it didn’t feel like this,” she confided through a sigh. “You’ve never been the best at expressing yourself. And maybe I’m not the best at it either. Sometimes I’ve thought that you and I just weren’t meant to stay together. Not in a serious way, at least. I mean, do you think anyone who’s known us our whole lives would have said that either of us were ‘marriage material’? Our feelings and our actions change direction more frequently than the wind.”
Alvin’s eyes widened. Though she did not mean those words in such a harsh way, they pierced him like a deliberately sharpened icicle. “Not marriage material?” he repeated back to her in an offended tone. “What do you mean? Why?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by her husband continuing his internally retrospective monologue.
“I know we have an extremely hot and cold relationship. We always have and probably always will. But that doesn’t mean we haven’t always cared for each other.”
“Caring for each other is not the same as true love,” she interjected.
The chipmunk gulped down the pain he felt hearing those words. “What are you saying? That you don’t truly love me?”
“No, I’m not saying that,” Brittany groaned, rolling her eyes.
God
, the chipette thought to herself,
why is he acting like such a girl
? She understood why her choices in vocabulary were being misinterpreted by her husband in the way that they were, but that could not stop her from feeling an increasing frustration by it. Perhaps the alcohol was interfering with her filter to a greater degree than she originally believed. “I guess I just… I don’t know. Now’s not a great time to be talking about this, anyway. I’m tired, I’m bloated, and I’m tipsy. Can we save this topic for tomorrow sometime?”
“Yeah, I get that,” Alvin sighed. “That’s fine.”
“Thank you,” his wife cooed, immediately taking the opportunity to twist her body so that her head once again faced the opposite direction.
The chipmunk struggled to resist the urge to bother her with anything else. To bring up their spat earlier that night, to request she not interfere with his parenting in the future, to discuss their daughter in any capacity. It was just another thing on the long list of items that was actively nagging him and depriving him of sleep. That conversation had not satisfied him at all. If anything, it only opened an entirely new line of questions that were racing through his mind and making him question the meaning of his existence. Had the truth finally come out from his wife’s lips, in her intoxicated state, or had she misspoke? It was a gut-wrenching concept for him to wrap his mind around, and he wasn’t sure what he feared most; that he might never get the opportunity to steal the truth from the chipette, or that he would indeed manage to convince her to admit it and that he would not like what she had to say.
XXXXX
The warm and cozy Theonor home maintained its petrified, still silence broken only by the living room TV projecting five CNN political analysts discussing the “massive upset” that had just concluded. Eleanor's face was an unchanged, fearful grimace as she sat with her back pressed into the cushions of her couch. Theodore stood hunched over the countertop next to their stove, watching both his wife and the screen, scowling hopelessly.
It was unsurprising for both of them that Eleanor's phone began ringing in her lap, but their hearts sank regardless. The youngest chipette turned it over to glimpse its screen, which plainly informed her that the caller was Jonny Rankin, the CEO of ABC and both hers and Theo's boss. At least, he was for the time being. Was this really happening so soon? She pressed the green button near the bottom, held the device up to her right ear, and squeaked out, “Mr. Rankin?”
“Eleanor,” he calmly responded, uttering her name with the slimed confidence of a man who was enjoying power over someone else. “Are you watching the news.”
She silently gulped, tears beginning to well in her eyes from the impending soul-crushing exchange. “Yes,” she croaked.
“Are you watching on ABC?” he asked her sharply.
She pursed her lips and retorted, “would it make a difference if I was?”
Completely shifting the subject, Rankin casually mused, “so, this should come as no surprise to you…” he paused and waited, perhaps to see if Eleanor would interject with some desperate pleas to keep her job. To maintain the league that she had put her sweat and blood into building from scratch. Or to at least show some sign that she could predict what his next words would be. But she kept silent, awaiting the second half of his blow. “We're not going to be able to renew the WFA for a second season,” he finally finished. “Sorry for the bad news.”
Eleanor shut her eyes, trembling, trying to compose herself. “No, that's not a surprise. I understand,” she managed to whimper through the building urge to cry. Perhaps, she hoped, with her polite and calm response, the conversation might end there and further disaster could be avoided.
“Oh, and another question,” the man on the other line continued, “is Theodore busy preparing for his show tomorrow?”
Ellie's blood froze and her eyes widened. “Yes…” she hesitantly admitted in pure fright.
“Very unfortunate,” he purred with a sickening cynicism. “Be a doll, will you, and ask him to stop preparing please?”
And there it was. The chipette's vision went white. Her heart seemed to entirely stop. Her soul was crushed, her mind racing through all of the events that led to this. She managed to convince herself that this was all her fault, but the self hatred soon transformed into rage. “Johnny…” she huffed, intentionally waiting for him to acknowledge her again before finishing her sentence.
Believing that this was the moment he'd get the pleasure of hearing her get on her knees and beg him, he wasted little time in responding, “yes?”
“I know for a fact that there is something - some secret, something about yourself or your past - that you would rather die than have exposed to the public. Whether it's a money laundering scheme, some other crime, a former colleague… or maybe an adulterous, hidden relationship, perhaps. I need you to know - and I need you to go to sleep every night knowing - that the only thing standing between your role as CEO of ABC and embarrassing termination, that the only thing keeping your job safe, is the fact that I am currently unaware of precisely what your secret is. And I hope you understand that the moment my lack of clarity on the dirt in your life disappears… so does that safety.”
It was a cold, spiteful, threatening message, which Rankin still seemed oddly satisfied with. “Goodbye, Eleanor,” were the only two words he uttered before hanging up, as if he did not believe for a second that she would or could actually follow through with her warning.
The chipette solemnly let her phone drop back down into her lap, sighed, composed herself despite the awful, crushing feeling of allowing both her world and her husband's world being lit into flames. She turned her head to look longingly over her shoulders at Theodore, who was still watching her in the same hunched over position, frowning at her, obviously knowing what had just transpired despite not even being able to hear any of the rich man's words.
XXXXX
There was a contrasting mood at the “Jeanette Seville for Senate” headquarters, as one of the staffers released the cork of a champagne bottle into the stratosphere, partially covered the mouth with their thumb, and proceeded to violently shake it around their eye level. This caused its contents to eject in all directions like a garden hose, prompting excited hoots and howls from many others in attendance. It was like watching the locker room of the winning team of the world series after game seven. Chaotic, energetic, fun.
Jeanette had a massive smile on her face as she watched the victory party commence in pure bliss. A noticeable twinkle in her eye. Shuffling through the conference room from one clique of her volunteers to another, enjoying the sights and sounds of them drinking, laughing, and celebrating, despite the spillage of outrageously priced bubbly on the felt carpet in her rented office space. They were toasting her; her victory, her revenge. It was just so damned sweet.
The chipette finally spotted her husband and Mitch together in the far corner, forcing uncomfortable smiles and chit-chat, each holding a glass that had not had a single sip drawn from them. They nodded at her as she approached them. She could not help herself but to wrap both of her arms around Simon in a warm embrace the moment she was close enough, and to pull him in and plant her lips on his. The RNC representative raised his eyebrows, bit his lip, and looked about nervously as if worried someone was watching the two kiss. After a few seconds of enduring the discomfort, he finally interrupted their moment by snapping, “alright, alright. You two can get all your disgusting little animalistic desires out with each other after your speech.”
Jeanette broke apart from her counterpart and glanced upwards at Mitch, pure annoyance written all over her face. “What's your problem?” she fired at him.
“Me?” He gave her a shocked and rejected look. “I've just led another hopeless campaign to victory. I've created a Republican seat in a barren wasteland of blue. I am about to fly back to DC and be celebrated and rewarded as if I was fucking Christ himself reincarnated. I have no problem at all. And I certainly don't have a problem with you being in your little joyous, shameless, horny fit either. Although the thought does make me gag a little. I would just prefer you save it for your guys’ bedroom, okay?”
Jeanette rolled her eyes at the quick-thinking, witty Louisiana man, while her husband couldn't help but chuckle. “You know what?” Simon chimed in. “He's funny. Say what you want about him, but he's funny.”
“You know what else is funny?” Mitch retorted, glaring down at the two of them. “Is watching just how excited the two of you are. Neither of you has the slightest clue what you've just gotten yourselves into.” Satisfied that he had successfully dampened the mood, the man finally took his first lengthy, loud slurp of champagne, then continued. “Look, enjoy this moment. Celebrate this night. You won, and to be honest, I did not think there was a chance in hell that you would. But understand that this job that you've just earned is not a party. It's not glamorous, and it certainly isn't fun. If you think having me nagging you non-stop has been miserable, just you wait until the true evil puppet masters get their hands on you.” He observed the two chipmunks silently adjust themselves, allowing their faces to sink into an uncomfortable and anxious frown of self-doubt and doom. This made him smirk, and he finished by cooing in his silky-smooth southern drawl, “and on that note, don't think for a second you've seen the last of me, either. My job with you is just beginning. I've made you a senator, now my role will be to ensure that you are as obedient and depressed as possible while you bend the knee at the every whim of the party. You are still very much my property. You're my pet parrot, who will do and say everything that I command because if you don't, you'll be on the streets crying about the cruel unfairness of this world like… fucking… Al Gore, or something.”
“Okay,” Simon threatened, “that's enough talking to my wife like that.” In his mind, he theorized that perhaps a large portion of the blame for Jeanette’s transformation into the unrecognizable, maliced politician she had become was to be placed squarely on the shoulders of people like Mitch, who had been hounding her from the moment she began her campaign.
In response, the man simply smiled, raised his glass at them, and said, “enjoy the party. And fucking be on that stage at the right time without looking or smelling like a piss-drunk sailor.” And with that, he walked off and disappeared into the crowd of degenerate staffers.
Jeanette turned to her husband and smiled at him with a reaffirming warmth. “You don't have to defend me like that, even though it turns me on,” she purred at him. “Mitch is harmless. All bark, no bite. Unlike me.” She gave him a seductive wink.
Simon sighed, not allowing her charm to defuse his anger. “You shouldn't let him speak to you like that.”
“It's fine,” she insisted, giggling. “That sort of thing comes with the territory. Besides, he doesn't actually mean any of it. Guys that high up in this profession are assholes. I can deal with it. I'm a big girl.”
“That… honestly sums up my entire problem,” Simon groaned.
“What problem?” she asked him, raising a concerned eyebrow.
“You've changed, Jeanette. And I just flat out don't like it.”
“I have changed, in a lot of ways,” she confirmed, nodding her head. “I've grown confidence. I've learned to navigate and negotiate with people. I've…”
Simon cut her off. “No, that's not what I'm talking about. It's as though you've entirely lost your empathy. Like, you've calloused your emotions and become so hardened that your grasp on morality has blurred. You're numb to the harsh ugliness of your new world. You don't hesitate to seek vengeance. You've become… hardened. Cutthroat even. You can't see that?”
“I was cutthroat towards one person,” the chipette defiantly humphed, “and he's out of the picture now. I've put on the facade of a strong, emotionless woman because that's the type of person that people want in office. I guess I should be proud of myself that even you fell for it, but honestly I'm kind of stunned hearing all this.”
“You let a guy curse at you, call you names, boss you around, and force you to kick your own sister out of your house on live TV. And the moment you got the power that you were hell-bent on accruing, you very visibly let it get to your head. None of that is strength.” Simon was growing increasingly frustrated as he chastised Jeanette over the droning sounds of the chatter, glass-clanking, and obnoxious laughter of the party around them.
His wife stared into his eyes with legitimate hurt and downtroddenness in her own. A frown that resembled a permanent wince of pain. “I did things I'm not proud of,” she eventually admitted. “I allowed myself to get suckered into a war and once I was in that war, I felt so desperate to win that, at times, I was cornered into impossible decisions. And I am thankful you supported me through all that. I hope you will continue to support me because, thankfully, that war is over now. I won. Things can go back to normal.”
“You think it's over?” Simon scoffed brashly, berating her in a significantly more raised voice than previously. “Did you not hear a word Mitch just said? Our lives are only going to get more stressful for at least the next six years!”
Jeanette sighed, a single tear forming in her left eye which she promptly wiped away before anyone else could see. Her lips were quivering as she continued to stare through her partner's soul, and as he stared right back, beside himself with a pleading agony and nostalgia for his old wife. She suddenly checked the silver Rolex watch on her wrist and exclaimed, “shit! We've got to go.” After a powerful inhale, a grit of her teeth, and a dejected glance back up at Simon, she muttered, “it's been a hard year for both of us. But I promise, now that this whole campaign is over, you're going to see me relax. A lot. Now please… come with me on that stage?” She motioned with her head and right shoulder towards the doorway leading out of the office.
The chipmunk rolled his eyes and sarcastically grumbled, “what would the voters think if you went up there without me?”
Choosing to ignore him, Jeanette turned and with a rushed, arguably panicked pace, began quick-stepping towards the exit. As she passed through the crowd of her volunteers to the tune of the occasional cheer, or, “knock ‘em dead”, she went to work wiping away at her eyes and cheeks to do her best to dry them. To rid them of her tears and runny mascara and any other evidence of her emotions. Simon watched her do it as he followed a distance behind her.
Together, they made their way behind the modest little makeshift wooden stage in the lobby, in front of which were dozens of members of the media anxiously awaiting the fashionably late chipette's appearance. She stopped just behind the backdrop wall that protected them from view of the cameras, spun around to see her husband begrudgingly trudging behind her, and waved him on impatiently, raising her eyebrows at him. The moment he was close enough to her she pulled him into a side-to-side embrace with her right arm. “Ready?” she whispered to him.
“Yes, I'm ready,” he responded in a mumble, appearing by all metrics more like a prisoner of war than an excited spouse.
“Chin up, darling,” the chipette teased, playfully enacting a blatantly faked and over-emphasized British accent. “We just won a fucking election.”
“Correction: you just won a fucking election,” the disgruntled chipmunk retorted.
“Nonsense!” she fired back at her husband. “We accomplished this together. And we will continue to do great things… together.” Before Simon could respond, she yanked him in the direction of stage right and exclaimed, “now come on! Let’s go bask in it!”
And so they both manifested from around the wall to the immediate tune of emphatic reporters screaming questions their way. The two of them smiled and waved at the crowd but answered none of their inquisitions verbally as they climbed the stairs. Jeanette’s trademark clumsiness shone through for just a brief second as she tripped on the second step and nearly fell, but managed to catch herself on her opposite leg without making too much of a scene. Simon’s feigned grateful appearance was significantly less convincing than that of his wife, who seemed too giddy to even contain herself. It was a short and deliberate march to the center, where Jeanette took command of a podium with a microphone, and where her husband sheepishly stood by her side, right hand cupped over his left in front of his crotch area.
Jeanette, slowly, clearly, and assertively addressed the room full of men and women: “well this was a historic night!”
Simon glanced up and to his right slightly and watched his wife’s face for the remainder of her speech. He noticed more than anything else that there was not even the faintest sign of the harsh discussion that they had taken part in not even a minute prior. Her eyes and cheeks were as full of life and hopeful as he had ever seen them. Her smile, captivating. Her hair, straightened, free of curls, entanglement, and most off-putting of all to the chipmunk: out of her bun. It was something that only bothered him a little bit during the entirety of the campaign, like a splinter that dug too deep under his skin to remove. Her posture was upright and confident, a complete reversal from the slunken solemn chipette that he had literally just confronted on becoming a worse version of herself. It was as though the emotions that caused her visible pain and frustration in the conference room were totally wiped away, replaced with only a vain emptiness. It was uncanny, Simon remarked in his own head, how she transformed herself literally while speed-walking through only a couple of hallways. It was like witchcraft, as if she were a plastic doll that a ten year old girl passionately drew makeup on.
In her best imitation of every victorious politician she had ever studied and worked for, she continued, “in a moment, I will make myself available to answer your questions. But first, I have some people I want to thank. I would like to thank my husband, Simon.” The middle chipmunk, suddenly remembering he was in a room full of people with cameras, increased the width of his smile and nodded at his wife as she turned and gestured towards him. “He has been my biggest supporter through so many years of marriage. He has stood by me through it all, and I can say with certainty that I would not have been able to do any of this without him. Next, I would like to thank my volunteers around the state. A few of them are here with me tonight, but there are many more, from San Diego all the way up to Ferndale, who are watching at home with a renewed and restored hope in the people of California. Like my husband, I also could not have done this without each and every one of you. Most of all, I must thank the people of California. It was a close one; a real nail-biter. You guys truly made the ballot counters earn their pay, but in the end, it was confirmed that the people of this great state made the correct decision. And for that, I want to thank you all for the faith and trust you have placed in me. For those who did not vote for me, I would like to thank you regardless for performing your civic duty and participating in the process that makes our nation so great. Please understand… that I have each of your best interests at heart and I will carry out my responsibilities in a manner that reflects that.” Jeanette paused for effect as a stark uptick in flashes of cameras brightened her face. “Finally,” she announced, raising her right index finger in a command for the attention to return to her words, “I would like to thank Senator Gary Martin, who called me not very long ago and congratulated me on my win. He told me that he was praying for my husband and myself, as well as our success and the prosperity of Californians everywhere. Mr. Martin, thank you for your kind words, for your prayers, for the class that you have shown throughout this campaign, and for the service you have sacrificed for this state as well as the United States of America.”
XXXXX
It was Monday. Alvin, predictably, had lacked either the willpower or the necessary timing to converse with his wife over her true thoughts or feelings regarding their relationship. Which was all the same to Brittany, who wholeheartedly regretted even suggesting any deep-rooted troubles in her semi-drunken state Saturday night. The way she saw it, she did not understand her own emotions well enough yet to have even the faintest hope to try to explain them to anyone else, let alone someone as quick to assumptions as her husband.
Despite the time of day - that being just past 11am - she sat on her living room couch, sipping the iced latte she had made for herself, hair haphazardly thrown into a ponytail, wrinkles under her eyes which stayed locked in a thousand yard stare in the direction of her daughter. Laney was playing with two Barbie dolls and a Ken doll, pretending the three of them were having a very intense and dramatic conversation. Something about a love triangle between the three of them, though the exhausted mother barely had enough effort within her body to pay attention to the specifics.
“ Barbie, how could you ? I didn't want you to find out this way, Rapunzel! I swear! Ladies , please ! Not in the middle of the ball ! Let's talk about this outside !”
Brittany had taken her sweet time in actually consuming her drink, only taking a small sip whenever the after taste became so stale and uncomfortable in her mouth that it drove her to desire one. Unfortunately for her, at the exact moment she was reminded of her drink by that same sensation on her tongue, her phone began ringing. In response, she hurriedly placed the mug on the coffee table in front of her and answered the call, which was coming from an unknown and unrecognized number. “Hello?”
“ Hi , Mrs. Seville ?” It was Mrs. King on the other end of the line, Laney's principal, asking that question as if Brittany did not possess one of the most recognizable voices on the planet.
“Yes,” the chipette cooed, snapping out of her trance in order to attempt to sound like a polite, calm, well-adjusted individual. “This is her. Is this Principal King?”
“ The same ,” came the blunt, somewhat ominous response from the woman. “ Mrs. Seville , I am sorry to call you this morning with bad news , but I am afraid that I have to inform you that Laney's suspension is going to be quite… extensive. ”
Brittany's eyes widened and drifted down towards her daughter, sitting with her legs crossed on their carpeted floor, oblivious to all but the imaginary world she had created. A million questions immediately raced through her mind. Questions like what could have possibly changed in the last three days ? Was it because of those damned photos on the news ? Was it something she did ? “I'm sorry,” she croaked, struggling with every fiber of her being to maintain her composure. “Can you hang on for just one minute?”
“ Sure , no problem .”
The chipette stood from the couch while keeping her eyes glued on her daughter, who only stirred out of her game briefly to glance up at her mother before returning her attention towards Barbie. Doing her best to be unremarkable, Brittany shuffled up the stairs into her bedroom and closed and locked the door. “What happened?” she hissed into the phone in a semi-accusatory tone.
“ I really can't go into too much detail ,” King groaned, “ all I can say is that the school is now being faced with a lawsuit related to the incident between Laney and Julie Maggart. Until that lawsuit is resolved, the district cannot afford for your daughter to return to school .”
“‘Until the lawsuit is resolved’?” Brittany repeated with a scoff in absolute bewilderment. “Couldn't that take months? Am I wrong? Like, several months?”
“ I’m not in a position where I can discuss specifics on the case. And that includes projected time frames. But… yes, it could be an extensive period of time. ”
The chipette stood silently, slack-jawed from shock and anger, knuckles white from clenched fists. “You can’t be serious,” she protested. “What is Laney supposed to do for months? Just miss out on an education?”
“ What we can do for Laney is we can set her up with enrollment at Los Angeles’ 2-C-C-S. It stands for Second Chance Correctional School, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it ? It’s actually very lovely, and they have the facilities and staff equipped to deal with her case. They are also very used to temporary students for odd time periods .” She was politely but legitimately trying to be helpful. Brittany could tell.
The dumbfounded mother had heard of this school before. It had an impressively undesirable reputation, essentially functioning as an entirely separate school district in downtown Los Angeles. It was a cesspool of the most problematic students from each of the systems in the region. Students that had either behavioral problems, learning difficulties, or some combination of both. The idea of transferring her daughter into that system, even for a relatively short amount of time, was frightening and unacceptable. Brittany feared not only that Laney could pick up endless bad habits from her peers, but that she would be significantly less safe there than she already was at her proper, designated school. As a revolting cherry on top, it was very much public knowledge that 2CCS had a putrid record for educational standards. Graduating from their “high school” didn’t even earn a diploma, but rather, a GED. “She’s not going there,” the chipette spat defiantly.
“ There are other options for you ,” King sighed, “ such as private and homeschooling. But as far as our district goes , there is nothing more I can do. There won’t be an exception made here. ”
Brittany grumbled and rubbed her temples with eyes clenched shut. “Should we be prepared for an additional lawsuit against us personally?”
“ I am neither qualified nor authorized to offer you any legal advice here ,” the principal responded matter-of-factly.
The oldest chipette waited for an addition to that statement, yearned for one. However, even after two seconds of silence it did not come. “I see,” she finally responded, her muscles twitching and shaking anxiously, a pit fully formed in her stomach. “Thank you for informing me. Have a nice day.”
“ You have a nice day as well. I am sorry , again , for being the bearer of bad news. ”
The pink-clad female chipmunk hung up the phone in disgust not even a split second after King had finished her sentence. She set it down on the dresser drawer next to her, staring with blurry vision at the wall across from her, ran her fingers through her hair from stress, scratched her palm, sweat forming underneath her fur throughout her body. How could all that be happening to her family? What had they done to deserve this major interruption to her daughter’s development? How could that Maggart bitch possibly think it was appropriate to sue the school over such an insignificant little fight? Brittany realized she was never explicitly told that the lawsuit was being filed by Julie’s mother, but who else could it be? After several moments of contemplating her life, Laney’s life, Alvin’s life, their options, their income, their time, she shook her head and decided she had to speak to her daughter. She had to find a way to somehow explain to her that she won’t be going back to school anytime soon, and that her mother was still unsure as to what they were going to do with her.
She spun around, took a few steps forward, and swung her bedroom door open. And there was Laney, just on the other side of the frame. The little one jumped backwards slightly from the surprise of the sudden and swift opening of the painted white egress, but calmed herself long enough to stare into her mother’s eyes, confusion and worry evident in her own.
XXXXX
Alvin stood in front of the massive sliding glass doors, outside the greeting area of the towering Jett Records office building, hands in pockets, glancing anxiously between the multitude of vehicles that drove past him. He bit his lower lip, wondering to himself why she was running late. She wasn’t that late. How late was she? He checked his silver watch, noted that it said twelve thirty-six. So, about thirty six minutes late.
As if on cue, a Tesla Model X with a light blue neon “UBER” sign slowed to a halt curbside directly across the sidewalk from him. The rear right-side door cracked open cautiously, then swung fully ajar, revealing an absolutely stunning young woman with blonde hair. She stepped carefully out of the car and stood straight up, staring in awe upwards at the imposing building before her, noticed Alvin by the entrance, and smiled at him. She was wearing jean shorts that revealed her curves with questionable intention at best, and a white tank top that was decorated with a hot pink heart drawn around the letters “LA”. After shutting the door behind her, she sheepishly approached Alvin while he waited for her without moving from his position.
“Alvin Seville!” she awkwardly exclaimed as she climbed the four round, fancy concrete steps on her way towards him. This caused the chipmunk to dart his eyes around instinctively, and brace for a sudden outburst of attention from the people in the vicinity, but no one had a reaction. “I can’t believe I’m here in front of you!”
He grinned at her politely, slightly uncomfortable as he hadn’t had anyone excited to meet him in at least a few years. “The one and only,” he chuckled. “Sorry about the rental car mix-up last night. I wish I could’ve been there to help you straighten it out. You got to your hotel just fine anyways, right?”
Maia nodded, likewise smiling with excitement from ear to ear, as she finally reached Alvin’s spot. “Yeah, I just Uber’d there. It wasn’t a huge deal.”
“Yeah,” he groaned, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment from the lack of professionalism that the label had displayed by not having all of the expected accommodations for a potential artist. “I’ll get the company to refund you for the two rides. And we have a car here for you, too, during your stay in Los Angeles.”
“Thank you,” she gratefully cooed. “I’m sorry I was late. I spilled some coffee on myself after I left the hotel. That’s why I’m wearing this touristy thing.” She pinched the bottom of her tank top and pulled it out and away from her stomach towards him, showing it off.
The chipmunk waved her off, rolling his eyes. “It’s fine. Better late than never. Sorry about your shirt. The new one suits you, though.”
“Thank you,” she chirped, blushing.
Alvin cleared his throat, gestured towards the massive sliding glass doors behind him, and chuckled, “come on inside, I’ll show you around!”
Maia nodded and followed him into the reception lobby, which came complete with grand art and decor, as well as comfortable, lavish leather furniture in the waiting area.
“Shelley,” Alvin acknowledged the young brunette woman sitting behind an impressive granite desk with a subtle head nod.
“Welcome back, Mr. Seville,” she warmly responded along with a grin. “And this must be our guest that you’ve been expecting.” The receptionist’s expression as she turned her attention towards Maia was more one of jealousy. Her attempts to conceal it were poor. Alvin knew that she would spend time around himself, Ramos and many other of the big shots at the label company as frequently as she could, often “accidentally” leaving her own privately recorded songs in areas where they were sure to find them. Despite her best efforts, her job still only consisted of sitting behind that desk and answering phones.
“Yep,” the chipmunk awkwardly stuttered, “this is Maia…” he drifted off, only then realizing he didn’t know his new prospective star’s last name.
“Wells,” she filled in for him, maintaining her friendly smile as if either ignoring the jaw-clenching envy on the greeter’s face or being blissfully unaware of it.
The receptionist nodded and simply said, “gotcha,” under her breath. “You guys are good to head on up.”
And they did, ascending up the massive building in one of the two elevators behind the lobby desk that impressed Maia with gold-plated handrails. She appeared to be so enamored by the entire situation, so whimsically mesmerized, that Alvin couldn't help but crack a smile at her. It reminded him of himself in an odd way, when he and his brothers first rose to stardom. Now his role in life was to find, lift, and mentor others through the fast lane life that he once enjoyed.
The elevator finally came to a halt with a ding noise, having arrived onto the floor of the building where is office laid. The steel door slid open, revealing the rather dull, poorly lit, and ordinary maze of cubicles that he navigated on a daily basis. Maia's expression of enchantment faded almost instantly, prompting the chipmunk to roll his eyes. “This is where they imprison those of us who scour the internet all day, every day looking for… well… people like you.”
“It looks nice in here,” she lied, forcing a polite smile down at him.
“No it doesn't,” Alvin scoffed, “I hate this place. But it puts food on the table, I guess.”
Rather than responding, she pursed her lips and widened her eyes as if worried she had just offended him. With the chipmunk’s short legs, his small but quick strides, it was difficult for her to smoothly follow him through the office. As they passed by other employees, Alvin briefly introduced her to each one. “This is Don, he's been working here since before I started singing. He's great.”
A cordial but awkward head nod was shared between the two.
“That's Juliet over there, by the coffee machine. She's my boss's secretary.”
“Got it.” Maia was wildly terrible with remembering names. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would forget every single one that this anthropomorphic chipmunk was overwhelming her with in less than five minutes.
“And over there in that corner, that's Dean's office,” Alvin murmured, leaning in closer to her, pointing in the direction of his most hated coworker's cubicle.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything's fine,” he sighed. “We're just… not going to go over there. As a matter of fact, it's probably best for both of us if you just don't talk to him at all.”
“Talk to who?” Dean's annoyed, cutting grumble originating from directly behind Maia and Alvin caused the chipmunk's eyes to widen and his heart to skip a beat.
Both of them spun around to glimpse the balding man standing with his arms folded across his chest, looking every bit as dejected and on edge as he usually did. Fortunately, Juliet also appeared in that moment, trudging around Dean, carefully carrying a cup of black coffee in both hands that was full almost to the brim. “Jules,” Alvin called to her, causing her to stop dead in her tracks, and likewise causing a few dribbles of Java to spill onto the outside of her mug and drip onto the carpet. “Could you let Ramos know that Maia Wells is here and ready to see him?”
Juliet shot him an impatient glance and muttered, “sure, but he's in a meeting right now. It'll probably be a little while,” while simultaneously continuing on her way back to her desk.
Without wasting time in the general vicinity of Dean, Alvin lightly touched Maia's shoulder and motioned her away with his head. “Come on,” he urged, “I'll show you my office.”
“Okay,” she unconfidently agreed as she once again followed behind him, leaving the middle-aged stick in the mud standing alone, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes in detestment.
The moment Alvin opened the glass door separating his corner, window-laden office from the rest of the droll, depressing cubicles, and the second that Maia stepped foot inside and caught a glimpse of the sturdy, lavish wooden desk and the views of Los Angeles, her obvious look of amazement returned. She peered around the various items inside, including the high-end rolling chair, and she was clearly impressed, which gave the chipmunk a great sense of satisfaction. “Grab a seat,” he beckoned her while pointing out the less expensive chair that stood on the side of his desk opposite to where he worked.
She obeyed, still a little unsure of herself, or perhaps how she had managed to be there.
“This meeting with Ramos,” Alvin told her, haphazardly launching himself onto his own chair and allowing it to freely spin until his dress shoe-covered feet were kicked up on top of his desk. “Don't be too nervous about it. Just be yourself. He just wants to get a feel for you, make sure you're not going to be a problem child. Which I don't think you will be. But even if he thinks you are, your talent will win him over anyway.”
Her eyes lit up with a noticeable twinkle, as if her entire world had just been warmed by a new Sun. “Thank you. What's he like?”
“Erm…” Alvin paused for a moment to consider how to answer that question politically. He eventually gave up doing so. “He kind of sucks too. Not as bad as Dean, but he's a hard ass. Very blunt.” He watched her face drift back into a perpetual state of severe nerves and reminded himself to be encouraging. “Like I said, just be yourself. He's going to really act like he doesn't like you. Until he decides he does like you. After that, he will really act like he likes you. And I know he will.”
Maia grinned, lowered her gaze to the floor sheepishly, raised her eyebrows and shrugged, feigning humility. “So…” her voice trailed off as she debated amongst herself how to smoothly change the subject. “You've got a daughter, right? Laney? That's her name, I think.”
Alvin's face lit up at the thought of his child, and he nodded faintly at the young woman.
“How is she?”
“She's great,” the chipmunk shrugged, adjusting his position on his seat, mildly surprised at the topic of conversation being shifted to something personal. “She had a little incident recently that got her kicked out of school. I guess she definitely has my genes. But she's actually a really great kid, she really is. She's the light of my life. The most important thing in the world to me.”
“That's so sweet,” Maia swooned. “I'd love to meet her some time, if that's okay with you. I love kids so much! My half sister is a lot younger than me. She just turned ten, but she's the best. It's like, everything she says is just hilarious.”
“Sometimes kids can be that way. Just saying the darndest things, you know?” Alvin sighed, not being able to help but let his mind drift to negative thoughts about himself as a father. Wrapped up in convincing himself he was somehow a failure.
“What about Brittany?” That question from the young woman sitting across from him very visually caught the chipmunk off guard.
“What about her?” he squeaked, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Well… I know she's been going through a tough time lately.”
“Oh,” Alvin chuckled sheepishly. “You're talking about that .”
“And, just…” Maia interjected before trailing off, eyes glued to the ceiling, blushing, “like, how are you guys doing?”
The chipmunk cleared his throat, thoroughly uncomfortable. Maia, in response, recognizing she might have struck a cord, bit her lip apologetically. Suddenly, as if he were being saved by the bell, his desk phone interrupted the conversation by ringing, causing them both to jump. Alvin picked his feet up and dropped them to the ground, leaned over and pressed the button to accept the call. “Jett Records, Alvin Seville speaking,” he enthusiastically answered.
“ Alvin ,” Juliet's depressed, mumbling voice patronized him, “ Mr. Ramos will see you now .”
“Tell him we'll be right there,” he responded before promptly hanging up, glancing over to where Maia sat anxiously twiddling her thumbs. “We should get going.”
The meeting between the two of them and Ramos went swimmingly, surprising even Alvin, who had lied to Maia to some degree about his expectations for his boss to lighten up. Typically, he did not do so until at the very least after hearing a potential signee sing in person. However, in this case, the man seemed absolutely infatuated with Maia within five minutes of meeting her. Her personality was just so charismatic and energetic. The nerves she displayed in meeting Alvin seemed to disappear the moment she stepped foot in Ramos’ office, as if she had literally flipped a switch. Her smile won him over. Her Midwestern charm was relatable and relaxed. She even persuaded Alvin's boss to explain to her the entire process of getting somebody signed onto the label, something never before seen by any prospective artist prior to his final decision being made. The entire scene, though Alvin managed to wisely hold his tongue for the majority of it, made him giddy with flashes before his eyes of not only a renewed possibility of keeping his job but even a possible promotion.
Unfortunately, the chipmunk's phone began ringing, interrupting Ramos’ monologue to his evident annoyance. “Sorry,” Alvin apologized in a murmur as he dug through his pockets with wide eyes and gritted teeth. This was one of if not the biggest pet peeve in his supervisor's arsenal; being interrupted by a phone when speaking. He had seen his mood instantaneously transformed from melancholy to irrational rage even from an important meeting reminder from Juliet via his desk phone. After scanning the screen, the oldest chipmunk read that it was his wife who was calling him, gifting him with his own sensation of seething anger. She knows not to call me when I'm at work , he thought to himself as he picked up the call. “Hey,” he spoke as calmly and as softly as he could force himself to, “now's not a good time, Brit.”
“ Alvin ? Sorry , I know you're working , it's just that Laney's school just called , and -”
Brittany was impatiently cut off by her husband, “look, is this an emergency?”
After an awkward two second pause, during which Alvin's muscles tensed from frustration of witnessing Ramos squinting and crunching his eyebrows at him, the chipette croaked, “ I… guess not. ”
“Okay, I'll call you back when I can.” The chipmunk couldn't hang up the phone fast enough. “Sorry about that,” Alvin muttered while waving apologetically at both of the people staring at him.
Ramos blinked. “Where was I?”
The remaining nine minutes of the meeting in the office went well, despite Alvin's unusual silence and his flustered seething. Maia herself seemed thrown off her game just a tad, though it was not enough to deter the chipmunk's boss from inviting her to the recording studio down stairs.
That was where she cemented her destiny. Belting out an acapella cover of “Hot N’ Cold” by Katy Perry with impressive range and the vocal control of a seasoned pro, she dazzled the two employees of Jett Records who watched her and listened to her from behind the sound-proof glass. Alvin periodically shot his manager a side-eyed glance, to assure himself that he was as enamored with the young woman as the chipmunk was. That he was also coming to the realization that Maia was a star in the making. The head nodding and the subtle grin at the corners of his mouth that Ramos tried to conceal was all the confirmation Alvin needed. Confidence in the stability of his life, his job, satisfaction in both, all renewed.
After Maia finished her roughly minute-and-a-half solo, Ramos held the green button down in front of his microphone and spoke into it, “I've heard enough. You can come out now.”
Her immediate reaction was that of worry and dread as she removed her headset and obediently exited the recording studio, concerned she had completely fumbled her chance. But upon approaching the two waiting for her in the mixing room, seeing the gleam in the eyes of Alvin's boss and the opportunistic smile spread across his face, her mood lightened.
“Well,” the man hummed with his arms folded across his chest, “you've made quite the impression. I'll tell you what, come back tomorrow morning and see Alvin in his office. He'll connect you with a couple of our songwriters and producers, and get you started on the process of recording for real.”
Maia practically jumped out of her skin with excitement. “Shut up!” she exclaimed. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he grumbled, quickly shifting to an uncomfortable posture due to overstimulation from the young woman's shriek and perceived disrespect. “And don't tell me to shut up.”
XXXXX
Alvin's head bumped and rocked to the beat of "Separate Ways” by journey as he navigated the dense Los Angeles rush hour freeway traffic on his way back home. His right hand rested at the twelve o'clock position of his steering wheel. His left hand caressed his hair. His windows and sunroof, fully open. His sunglasses glistened underneath the afternoon sun. His teeth were freely being shown off in an overjoyed smile. He felt on top of the world. He was back. He had conquered the challenges of his job and produced, something he was unsure of his ability to do himself. Being doubtful of his own capabilities was something barely comprehensible within the statutes of his own personality, and yet, such thoughts had lingered and infected him so long that he had forgotten what victory felt like. Not anymore.
Stop and go highway driving would normally have frustrated and enraged him. But not that day. He was legitimately enjoying his commute home from work, harmonizing with music that made him recall his own glory days. In a way, he felt as though he may be on his way to a sequel - of sorts - to those good times. Not as a celebrity, but as a mentor to one.
Less than a mile from his off ramp, he was in the second lane from the right, which was travelling at a slightly quicker pace than the exit-only lane beside him. He scanned the lane that he had to merge into carefully, as an almost stand-still line had predictably formed beginning nearly two miles back due to the lengthy stop light which existed immediately after the exit ramp. He did this every day, knowing there would be a car somewhere close to the fork that left just enough gap for him to get over at the last second. This day was no different, as he recognized it from a distance like a seasoned professional. A silver Toyota Prius was cautiously trailing the white Ford F-250 in front of it by a distance of at least three car lengths. “Yeah…” Alvin muttered to himself as he stalked his prey from behind and to the left. “There's my bitch.”
Perfectly as planned, he swerved in behind the pickup truck and in front of the hybrid without having to do anything reckless. Satisfied with himself, he peered in his rear view mirror to get a glimpse of whether the driver behind him was old or just clueless. With all due disrespect , he thought to himself, if your car had a top speed greater than ten , you might have been able to prevent that . However, the chipmunk was unable to get a good look at them before the break lights on the truck in front of him dimmed. Alvin followed closely, maintaining a distance of maybe a half a car length. I am a defensive driver. I am defending the hell out of my spot in this line .
As the brakes of the white Ford initiated, prompting him to also slow his custom-built SUV, he heard a jolting screeching noise from behind. Alvin once again glanced at his rear-view just in time to glimpse a dinged up grey 2008 Saturn Aura with a black replacement fender assert itself into the exit lane between himself and the Prius and come to a skidding halt mere feet behind his rear bumper.
Alvin chuckled to himself, “now that guy is a maniac.”
Moments later, likely due to a green light down the line, the exit lane picked up some speed. He rode the pickup in front of him, both getting up to about thirty-five miles per hour. The Saturn, for whatever reason, took a couple seconds to react to the lane moving and thus trailed a fair distance behind but eventually accelerated to keep pace.
Suddenly, the F-250 hit its breaks a tad harder than the oldest chipmunk was expecting. With impressive reflexes, Alvin pressed his own all the way to the floor of the car, managing to violently bring the SUV to a complete stop with a couple feet of distance between his license plate and the truck's tow hitch. The former pop star sighed a breath of relief. His heart jumped and was thudding within his rib cage. His blood turned thin. In that moment, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, through his rear-view mirror, a grey blur approaching him with an unchecked velocity that was obviously and terrifyingly faster than it probably needed to be in order to have even the slimmest chance of safely coming to a stop. And the first object in its path was Alvin’s SUV.
The chipmunk had only time to think to himself, oh no …
The Saturn slammed into his car's rear with a prolonged and pronounced crack and a crunch. The force of the impact drove the SUV forward, jumping, vibrating, skidding, until it collided with the white Ford.