Page 5 of Taken By the Twins

Sometimes it works. Gossips in our circle always start whispering whenever Jared and Sierra have another of their random hook-ups over the years, but despite the occasional invite into her bed, Sierra has never invited him back into her life, and that frustrates the hell out of him.

That makes me the fallback guy. What’s worse is that, over the years, I’ve been desperate enough to fuck him when I had no one else. He’s never come out andsaidthat I’m the backup plan when Sierra’s avoiding him, but when it’s obvious, it’s obvious—and tonight, it’sobvious.

Of course he needs a date for New Year’s. If I thought my need to get laid to compensate for my overwhelming loneliness was bad, that’s nothing compared to Jared. He, at least, has some level of success. Me? I’m the most famous has-been there is these days, even if I’m trying to make something of myself.

And that does not include starting my new year full of regret. Fucking Jared Turner out of pure desperation? It might feel good in the moment, but I’ll definitely regret that on January 1st.

So instead of answering him, I leave the horndog on read.

The party I got a last-minute invite to starts at nine. It’s the sort of shindig that you don’t show up on time to, so thoughit’s about eight-thirty now, I was just finishing up my make-up and checking to make sure that the little black dress I bought on clearance was perfectly revealing when Jared’s first text came through.

There’s time to at least humor my own curiosity. Closing the messages app and flicking open my search engine, I type in ‘Whiskey Rose’ and wait to see that she’s singing live tonight in Times Square, or that she’s been named the number one pop singer by Billboard for the third years in a row, or her latest movie made billions?—

Holy shit.

Sierra ispregnant?

Everywhere I’ve gonethese last few days, all I see is red.

Well, red and green, but that makes sense. I’ve been in Manhattan since the beginning of December, headlining this nostalgia show one of the midtown clubs run four nights a week—and twice on Saturday—to sucker in all the cash from the increased number of tourists who visit the city for the holiday season. As a former member of the hit girl group, Thr33peat, I have the prestigious position of closing out the show, singing a couple of our old hits with the help of a few backup singers.

It’s New Year’s Eve. It takes me longer to get across town than I want it to, but that’s to be expected. The ball drops at the stroke of midnight so that all of New York can celebrate ringing in the new year. It’s crawling with those same tourists, and though my home base in central Jersey these days, I like to think of myself as a city girl at heart.

I know the tricks. I know the shortcuts. I sure as hell know how to get to the Dorado, though I’ve only been here a handful of times.

Sierra has the entire floor below the penthouse. A building full of celebrities, if it wasn’t for the fact that Billie Bickles—‘Two’ in Thr33peat, another one of my best friends, and the only one who gave me the tiniest benefit of the doubt that I wanted to hurt Sierra when I hooked up with Jared—invited me in before while Sierra was busy, I’d never have known how exclusive of an apartment building it is.

Billie is Sierra’s manager these days. The two are crazy close, and Billie made it clear that she will choose Sierra’s side no matter what. At the same time, she fuckinghatesJared, and once I presented my side of the story, she at least didn’t hateme.

Then the strangest thing happened. About six months or so ago, last summer when I was taking a break between the two cruise tours I’d been hired on at to sing, Sierra reached out to me.

Honestly? After twelve years, I never thought she would talk to me again. I wouldn’t blame her, either. Whatever my reasons were at the time, the truth is that Ididfuck her boyfriend. When it came out that Jared hadn’t quite ended things with her while he was sleeping with me, she dumped him and I… I didn’t. We stayed together until Jared moved on to the next girl, and by the time I realized how much I messed up, she refused to hear me out.

I would’ve done the same thing. Oh, I tried to explain—but how could I? I was wrong. I’ve paid the price for it a million times over now, watching Whiskey Rose soar while Tandy jumped from gig to gig, guy to guy, all while carrying around the black mark of what I’d done as a reckless twenty-year-old kid.

And then Sierra reached out through Billie, and though she invited me to sit down with her at her place, meet face to face inthe privacy of her fancy apartment in the city, I couldn’t bring myself to go.

Part of that had to do with most of the publicity surrounding Sierra. About two years ago or so, some whackjob tried to go after her with a gun. Then she had a very public meltdown on her latest tour before disappearing from the public eye for a while at the end of last year.

Since then, she’s come back with a vengeance. She starred in her third movie, won all these awards, and started prep on her next album. I couldn’t imagine why now, out of nowhere, she felt like we needed closure or to work things out, but I came up with excuse after excuse to avoid meeting in person.

We talked on the phone. I finally got the chance to apologize, she seemed to accept it, and though there wasn’t any scuttlebutt about her having a man after another one of her crazed fans broke into her apartment, she must be a pro at hiding her private life because, right there as part of Pop News’s breaking story, was a picture of a visibly pregnant Sierra.

It had to be snapped by a pap. She’s walking down the street, with our old head of security Roy right at her elbow, and it doesn’t matter that she’s wearing a coat to ward off the December chill. She’s got a bump, and I have questions.

Is it my business? Of course not. But we were the best of friends growing up. From fifteen to twenty, we were closer than sisters. Nearly every black mark on my record—in this country and countless others—is because I did something with Sierra that Billie always ended up rescuing us from. So we had a falling out. In the last few months, it almost seemed like we were friends again.

For fuck’s sake, Sierra even sent me a Christmas card to the club where I’ve been performing these last few weeks. Of course she was too busy to catch the hour-long performance, but a cardsigned by Sierra Landry—hand-signed, too, not a replication—has to count for something, right?

And now I discover she’s pregnant because Jared is freaking out. She’spregnantand she didn’t tell me?

On the downtime during those long ago tours, we would talk about what our future husbands and children would be like. As far as I knew, Billie’s latest relationship ended badly and she’s off communing with nature or some shit to get over it. Sierra’s tete-a-tetes are worldwide news nowadays, but at least I’m pretty sure she hasn’t secretly gotten married.

Me? I’m perennially single, with no hope of having any kids unless my birth control fails—and I’m careful enough that that will never happen.

But Sierra… maybe it’s the loneliness of the recent holiday getting to me. Maybe it’s my new year resolution to make amends with Sierra, find a steady job, and maybe search for a real relationship instead of another fling… whatever it is, I don’t head toward the party I’m supposed to be going to. Instead, I make my way to the Dorado.

I might have fallen out of the limelight over the last couple of years, but I still have connections. My face is still pretty recognizable. And, sure, I expect to be reminded of my youthful indiscretions whenever someone figures out that I’mtheTandy Lewis, but after talking to the night doorman and concierge at Sierra’s building, none of that is necessary.

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