Chapter Text
Pizzazz's limo screeched to a hault when she finally recognized the building. She'd spent the last half hour trying to remember the directions she'd been given repeatedly over the last 24 hours, but frankly ended up only finding the place by following other limo's and looking for a crowd. Still, it was better to be almost late than too late.
And just how loud do I have to scream to make someone ignore a red light, anyway? I should only have to say once, 'GO!' and that's it.
She resisted the urge to swear at her driver for almost making her late, but instead slammed the door shut behind her and made her way to the crowd. She'd been planning for this charity event for so long, it wasn't going to be ruined by anyone else's screw-ups.
Looking ahead she saw a familiar face at the start of the queue to get into the gala. He threw his hands into the air, trying to signal her down, shouting to her for attention, only to get pushed aside as she began cutting ahead of everyone else that was too spineless to do anything but wait around. That always -did- sum up Eric, utterly spineless.
“And what are you going to do when they bid on you, exactly?! Did you think about that at all?! Pizzazz, please, stop! ”
Eric Raymond's voice came from -somewhere- behind her as she pushed her way through a crowd of well-dressed gentlemen. He'd become lost in a sea of fourty-and-up socialites and philanthropists after taking an elbow to the nose, and it was getting harder and harder to make out his objections over the posh cries of “Oh well excuse me” “Well I never” and “by Jove!”.
I have all this planned out as much as I need to, Eric. Gonna show little miss perfect up at her own charity.
“Pizzazz, you-” Traffic noises, muttering, pompous guffaws, and footsteps were all that came out as Eric tried to grab hold of her arm through the mob, “-the letter. You have to listen-” The slamming of the glass door behind her. And with that, Pizzazz was home free.
It'd been three weeks since she'd heard about the bachelorette auction. Several prominent single women were auctioning themselves off for a date for various charities. She'd tuned out most of the details when Eric was talking about it then, until she hard 'Starlight Homes.' Immediately her attention had been piqued, and she knew she had to crash the event, somehow.
But how? Oh, oh. We rush the stage, we perform a song about how stupid charity is. Blow everyone out of the water. Chaos everywhere. Crying babies.
Then Stormer got sick. She just had to get the flu, just a few days before all of this went down. But it didn't matter, Pizzazz had a plan. Pizzazz always had a plan, she knew she could think on her feet.
I'll... ...think of something. Something amazing. Something outrageous.
Her dad had nagged her a few days before not to make a scene, how he knew many of the old fogies that would be at the auction and her actions would reflect on him and his business ventures. He'd probably said other things, maybe even to just stay put, but Pizzazz hadn't caught any of that. Her mind had been elsewhere, it always was. In and out of daydreams of fame and fortune, and the chaos she wanted to bring. Thoughts like 'How far could I fling that big dumb office chair of his out the window? If I tried hard enough could it clear the street?'
And now was the moment of truth. What was the plan? Something concrete, surely. The most well thought out plan she could muster.
I'll just... I'll have them bid more on me than her. And she'll feel ashamed, because she's worth less than I am. Yeah. Yeah! That'll show her. Little miss goodie two shoes and her orphans can't beat out me and the me-charity. All of that money too...
It was as good a plan as any, at least. She didn't have time to pick out a special outfit for the occasion and ended up dashing to her limo in her usual black and white getup, with Eric trying to scream something at her as she got in. How he'd manage to catch up in his clunker of a car was beyond her, but then she'd caught him in the crowd outside.
Why does he even care? Is it because he didn't have a say in this plan? Worried I can function without him?
The dining hall was big and dark, with the only lighting being on top of each of the little round tables and above the stage at the opposite end of the room. Boring brown and red tiled carpeting everywhere, and the green felt made each table look like a four person poker pit, all filled by stuffy-looking guys in tuxedos. The stage itself was mostly hidden behind a big red curtain, with only yet another stuffy-looking tuxedo-wearing older man standing off to the side with a podium.
Pizzazz pushed and shoved her way between the tables to the stage and climbed up the side, ignoring or completely missing the stairs before grabbing and hunching over the podium and leering at the bespectacled little man at the microphone.
“Gabor, Pizzazz. Star of this show. Where do you want me, twerp?”
The man gulped and looked down, puzzled. He shuffled through his papers, muttering indecipherably
“You are... you aren't on the list, I-”
“What do you mean I'm not on the list!? I signed up weeks ago! I'm the HEADLINING STAR HERE! Just who do you think you are!?”
“I... oh. Gabor. Phyllis I....”
Before he could finish Pizzazz slammed her fist down on his podium top hard enough to cause the microphone to bounce and topple over. “Pizzazz. Get it right. P. I. Z. Z-”
“I'm sorry. Ms.... ...Pizzazz. I just... you didn't fill out your form correctly, so we sent it back with a letter informing you that you could only participate if you chose a valid charity. We spoke to a Mr. Raymond about it and he said that he would talk to y-”
The bastard. Why didn't he tell me!? Making me look stupid, making me look-
“What do you mean a valid charity? I wrote a perfectly valid charity!”
“Under charity you just wrote 'Me.' I'm sorry, Ms. Gabor, but even if your father wasn't worth over-”
Pizzazz grunted loudly and banged her fist down onto the podium again, this time causing the mic to just roll merrily off and onto the floor, hard. That time she caught it, she heard that loud thump echo all across the room. His mic had been on, for the whole humiliating ordeal.
“So what the HELL do you want me to do now, then!? What am I supposed to do!? Just let that prissy Jem show me up? Just sit here and watch this boring ass show!?”
She leaned even more across the podium, nearing the now near-cowering man's face, her breath fogging up his glasses as he gulped.
“Y-y-y-” He stammered, then tried to clear his throat. “Y-... you may stay. We... we have a dinner planned with the event. You'll... we'll comp you... as apologies. Please... please don't hurt me.”
Oh but I want to, oh but I so badly want to.
Grumbling loudly, Pizzazz resisted the urge to push the podium over and crush him like the cockroach he was, and instead stomped her way over to a table in the front row that only had a single old man sitting at it.
“You. Move. This is mine now, find your own.” She said coolly but angrily, yanking his chair out from under him and plopping down on it instead. Then gestured for someone, anyone, to come and take an order. This night was going to need booze, and plenty of it.
Little miss perfect... this was all your fault, somehow. You and Eric. And Stormer. And daddy. All of them.
Ten minutes, two martinis, and one shot of scotch had passed before the show had started. Pizzazz was slumped over the back of her chair, facing the center of the stage so she could boo and hiss at everyone that walked on. She was already out here, she wasn't paying for any of this, and she wasn't about to miss an opportunity to at least get some entertainment out of this.
“THERE you are.” The happy buzz she'd been experiencing was cut by the ever-so obnoxious authoritative tone of Eric Raymond, yet again. “Did you tell them I was stalking you!? I had to fight with a guard to get in here. I had to call just to get someone to verify who I am!”
She snorted. The truth was actually that she'd said to a guard outside that he had tried to beckon her into the alley earlier and she was feeling frightened. Anything to give her a head-start so she'd get on stage and he couldn't nag her anymore about why she should go with one of -his- plans instead of hers.
“Look, you can't be here. We've been on rumor control this week, and this is the absolute last place you need to be. Why the hell are you even here? Don't you notice that it's nothing but -men-?”
Pizzazz sneered. “Yeah so what? It's a free country. They try to do anything I'll kick their asses, just like I'll kick yours.”
“That's... that's not what I mean. Pizzazz. Don't you think that maybe after your little scandal with that night club last week that the last place you should be is bidding on a bunch of single women?”
“I had a blast last week, and I don't care about whatever you're talking about. And I'm not bidding! I was going to be bid on! But they won't let me... and it's all your fault..” She began to trail off, the drinking catching back up to her.
The previous week she'd gotten chewed out for some reason or another for being photographed in some night club downtown. She wasn't entirely sure where, she'd moved from bar to club to bar to club all night that night after being stuck inside for a few days. Her dad had yelled, something about how she would tarnish the Gabor name, then Raymond had yelled about how people would boycott Misfits records and she'd never be able to tour in America again. At this point, she didn't care. After the previous year full of world-touring and dealing with the whole Riot mess, she was getting burned out on the business side of things and was getting even more burned out on people trying to tell her what to do. She'd gone solo before, she could do it again.
“Besides, I get drunk in plenty of clubs and it's never hurt my rep yet. It's my image, Eric.”
Eric pinched the bridge of his nose tight and lowered his head, grumbling as he maneuvered to sit opposite her at the alcohol-soiled puke-green felt tabletop. “You just... You don't get it do you, Pizzazz? That wasn't just any club. You can't just stumble drunkenly into a gay club and not have people start talking.” His voice lowered into an angry yet concerned whisper.
“So what if it was a gay club? The others weren't Drinks are drinks. Nobody thinks I'm a gay. You maybe. Always hanging out with that one loser. The one that doesn't like girls touchin' him.”
He flushed, then grimaced. “I... ...Even if I was, Techrat is far from my type. I've had wives! Two! Took everything I had. I... look. Please, just... collect yourself, let's get out of here. You can be drunk at home. The hell do you even mean to ge-”
Before he could finish, there she was. Jem was center stage and the cowardly man at the podium began to speak.
“Next up we have the lovely Ms. Jem. She's the front woman for the new wave musical group The Holograms, with multiple charting songs under her belt. She is representing Ms. Jerrica Benton's Starlight Homes, an organization that helps out orphaned children right here in California. Shall we start the bidding at $5,000?”
Pizzazz's booing was quickly drowned out by shouts of “5,000!” “5,500!” “6,000!” Men were standing up, shouting over one another. None of the other bachelorettes had gotten quite this attention.
And it's all hers... none of it for me. Spotlight's all hers. And what do I have? Second rate booze and a used car salesman in producer's clothing. ….no... no, no, no. Not having it.
“$10 GRAND! Pinkie's mine!”
Eric Raymond's eyes nearly popped out of his socket. He slammed both palms onto the table and stood up. He didn't hear Pizzazz right.
“I... ...well this is... this is a turn of events... I have. I have $10,000 from Ms. Gabor in the front. Does... ….do I hear $10,500?”
Eric grabbed her arm and shook her. “Pizzazz what are you doing!? You're killing your career! Do you know how this looks!?”
“Shut up, dingus. I'll have her, and I'll make her do my bidding. I get the attention, and she has to be my slave for a night. I know what I'm doing! I ALWAYS KNOW WHAT I'M DOING! $10,500!”
The auctioneer made confused noises into the mic, before finally saying “I... I hear $10,500... again from Ms. Gabor. Does... does anyone besides Ms. Gabor want to bid?”
The room went silent. Jem stood there, as confused as everyone else. She'd raised her hand to block the stage-lights to try to get a glimpse at the drunken mess that was shouting to her a few feet from the stage.
“Going... going... and gone. Ms. Jem. That's ten-thousand five-hundred raised for Starlight, thanks to a... more than charitable... thank you.” He ran out of things to say, opting to instead wipe the sweat from his forehead and gesture for Jem to leave the stage so the next bachelorette could walk out.
Low, muttered cursing started popping in and out near Pizzazz, spaced out with table banging and cries of “why me, why me...” What a baby. Eric couldn't stand not being in control. Always has to be the brains of an operation.
“I know what I'm doing. Loser. It's all a prank. A great prank. And she's the ass of it. I know what I'm doin'.”
“No, Pizzazz. No, you don't. Even if it is a prank. You know how I know? Because I've had to clean up after all your 'pranks'. Arson? Not a prank. Attempted murder? Not a prank. Blowing up buildings? Surprisingly, not a prank. I don't think anyone ever sat down and told you what a prank -is-, Pizzazz. You can't just run up to someone, smack them with a baseball bat, and then squeal 'ha ha, fooled you.' Do you know how many times you've nearly gone to prison? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep you out!?”
She heard all that. Every word of that one actually got through. The buzz was gone again, and everything else went quiet as she was left to think on her past actions.
I've... I know what I'm doing, right? This is going great. Eric's just an asshole. He's never known what he's talking about, that's why he depends on me. I keep him afloat. I'm -his- life preserver, not the other way around.
“Look.... I don't think you're gay. Honestly, I know you're not gay. You know why? Because that would imply you're capable of caring for someone besides yourself, which you aren't. Right now you're barely even taking care of yourself, because I guarantee you those flashes all over this room were catching you, right now, a week after your little gay scandal, bidding on a woman you've followed around the world for the last three years. For a date. Do you know what that sound is?” Eric paused, staring her dead in the eyes, waiting for any response. Not getting one, he continued, “That's the sound of your record sales plummeting. That's the sound of the south and mid-west dropping any future tour plans you have in those regions. That's the sound of television personalities dragging your name through the mud. My name through the mud. Your father's name through the mud. That's the sound of your fortune, my fortune, and his fortune going right down the toilet.”
Pizzazz quickly sobered up. This, this was why she was drinking tonight. And the night before, and the night before that, and the week before that. That's all she was hearing anymore. How she'd almost killed The Misfits last year, how she wasn't doing her share of the work anymore, how all she did was cause drama and that it wasn't helping anyone anymore.
“I know... what I'm doing. Eric. And I'll show you. I'll show you just how wrong you are.”
Pizzazz stood up and walked around the side of the room, going up a small set of stairs to get onto the stage and slip behind the curtain, away from him and anyone else that would question her.
This is going to go right, this is going MY way. And when it goes my way, they'll all stop questioning me for once. I am going to call the shots. ME!
She shoved her way past two guards and a few of the already-auctioned bachelorettes, catching Rio and Jerrica near the opposite end of the back. She stood on her toes, looking around to see where her prize was, but couldn't find anything. Sighing, she went back to shoving her way through the rest of the ladies between her and enemy numero uno: Ms. Jerrica Benton.
“Look, Pizzazz, I don't know what you're-” Rio started, before Jerrica put her hand in front of him to stop him.
“No, Rio. Look, I'll deal with this. We'll just... we'll have to raise the money some other way, alright? Just let her go, I'm not dealing with a fight tonight.”
Rio started to say something else, but just threw his hands up left through the back exit. Jerrica sighed angrily and turned away, reaching for a payphone behind her.
That's right, you go away. Grape colored doofus. Mind your own business, I'll manage my business just fine.
“Well, you had your laugh, alright? Just... go ahead and leave. I know you're just going to say something mean to me, laugh, and then leave. I know we're not going to see a dime of that, so just-” A long pink nail suddenly pressed to Jerrica's lips, as Pizzazz angrily hissed and started digging through her purse.
It took moments, however many. A long, awkward silence as Pizzazz yanked out a checkbook with her freehand and, while still keeping a finger to Jerrica's lips, attempted to sign the checkbook with the very same freehand. Pressing it to the wall next to the payphone, sloppily jotting down some a signature.
“I don't remember what I bid. You write it down, and you take it. Alright? Now where's ms goody goody? Where's my fucking date.” Pizzazz shoved the checkbook angrily into Jerrica's chest, then pulled her other hand away, putting both to her hips and scrunching her face into something that almost resembled a scowl but seemed, to Jerrica, to be more upset than angry.
Jerrica peeked into the checkbook that had been so roughly forced on her, verifying that she did indeed now have a check for 'Starlight orphans' from 'Phyllis Gabor.' “Is this... you're kidding, right? Why are you doing this?”
“I do what I want. Now, take your check. Write the numbers. I'm... guh.”
“Drunk?” Jerrica softened, sniffing at the air.
“A little bit.” Pizzazz admitted, stumbling a little bit. “I'm fine. I've got a limo. I just... what do I do now? Hows this work. You better not try to cheat me out of this.”
Jerrica's eyebrow raised. “Cheat you out of -what-, exactly? ...Your... prize you said? You know what you were bidding on, right?”
“A date. Jem. I'm going to date the fuck out of Jem. And it's going to be amazing, and people stop questioning everything I do. You included. You and your purple-haired brown-nosing goon. Where's the pink one gone off to?”
Jerrica just stood there, trying to think all of this through, her brow furrowing. Words just weren't coming through, and she found herself just making confused gestures towards the exit.
She's trying to weasel out of this, isn't she? First Stormer then Eric now even little prissy miss Benton has to shit all over my plans.
“What, did she leave? The hell do I do now? Is she going to meet me? Do I meet her? Because I swear if you guys try to cheat me on this I'll-”
Jerrica's eyes bugged and she quickly went to try to calm Pizzazz down. The last thing the charity auction needed was a big drunk ruckus. She knew these people, these were good people supporting noble causes.
“Look, we're not cheating you. Just, neither of us thought you were actually bidding. Look, just...” Jerrica took a deep breath, then put a hand on Pizzazz's shoulder. “Just, come to Starlight Mansion tomorrow, alright? She'll be ready, let's say-”
“Five. I wanna go at five. Have her be ready then. And tell her to dress nice.” Pizzazz pushed Jerrica's hand away and started towards the back exit. “You tell her to leave her purse at home. I'm gonna give her a date she'll -never- forget. Because I'm a Misfit. Everything I do is better.” And with that, she jerked open the door and ducked out into the night.
I can do this... I can date. I've dated. Right? I think.
It was cold and loud as she tried to make her way back around the building to her limo. Eric was there, leaning against hood impatiently. He started toward her, then quickly made his way around and into the side door to make sure she didn't take off without him. Sighing, she opened her own door and slid in.
“So, what did you do? What the hell are you even doing now, Pizzazz?”
I'm doing what I intended. I'm doing what I want, when I want, and how I want it. So you can stick that up your fat-
“I'm going to pick up Jem tomorrow evening, and I'm going to show her a time she'll -never- forget.”
Eric grimaced. “Look, I give up on convincing you to back out of this, so just... let me help. I just want to maintain this. I'm all for making Jem look horrible, you just... I don't want to have to pay anyone off again. The budget I get from your dad to keep you clean is running low. I called Techrat, he's coming over tomorrow. We'll work something out, alright? Just... god how much did you even drink? No, no. Don't answer that. I don't want to know.”
He's still talking, why won't he stop talking? All I want anymore is someone that knows when to shut up. Hell maybe I should be gay. Jerrica sure knew when to shut up.
Pizzazz's eyes shot up, catching her thoughts.
I... not that I am. I'm straight. I've liked guys. I tried to seduce Riot away from Jem. I think I even made a pass at Rio once. And then there was... ...God maybe I haven't dated. Stormer. That's whose help I need. She better fucking make it up to me, her flu is why this is even happening.
“I do need help. ...But not yours. You, out. I need to go see Stormer. Driver! STORMER. Let this turd out first.”
Eric didn't budge, opening his mouth to protest. Pizzazz wasn't having any of that, though. With a deep breath and a few seconds to compose herself she reached over, jerked open his door, shoved him out, and slammed it shut behind him.
“DRIVE! Stormer's apartment! Go! Moosh!”
If -anyone- knows the softer, lamer side of things, it's Stormer. She'll help me prove him wrong. I do everything better. -I'm- not the problem, damn it.
Eric shouted and pounded on roof as the limo took off without him, leaving him alone in the street. He would try to get to his car to catch up to her and try to take control of the situation, or worse he'd go right to her dad, but Pizzazz had prepared for that. As the driver picked up speed, she giggled to herself and lightly juggled a set of keys in her hands.
I -always- know what I'm doing, Eric. You need to learn to stop questioning it.