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The Babysitter	By : redqueeninwonderland Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Green Day Views: 12259 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Green Day. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: The Babysitter

Rating: R (for later chapters)

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody but Ava. I'm not trying to say anything about what people do when the cameras aren't around. I'm just having fun.

Summary: So I was reading through this site and found a surprising number of
stories involving minors. Then the wheels in my little Lolita driven head
started turning and I wondered if I could write one that was believable and
didn't have my readers going "Ew... she's only
seventeen and he's OLD..." So yeah, hope ya'll enjoy, and don't be afraid
to tell me what'cha think

@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@
�Ava, I need you to do me a favor,� Tom
Monroe spoke into the open conservatory, knowing if his daughter wasn�t at the
piano she�d be on the couch reading. She looked up form her hard back copy of Wicked
and grinned wolfishly.
�Yeah, Daddy?� This week her long hair was bottle black. Her
eyes were ringed with purple and she had a guitar pick on a chain around her
neck.
�Can
you baby-sit a couple of kids tonight? One of Jane�s
clients has an emergency and is in a sort of a bind.�
Ava
Monroe stared at her father in quiet amusement. His accent had the clipped
tones of a Brit, but muted as though he�d been here a while. She�d only lived
with him for six months and he still treated her as though he should ask for
permission for the slightest thing. It was cute.
�He�d
pay you, of curse, and if he didn�t I would. And-�
�Dad,�
she sat up, putting the book at her feet and standing slowly. �It�s okay. I don�t
have plans.�
�Oh,�
he seemed relieved and she wondered if he thought there would have been a
fight. �Well then, here�s the address. Jane says to be there by six, and I
suppose that�s all. Thank you, darling.� He placed his hands on her shoulders
and looked as if he would have done something else. Kissed her cheek maybe,
before fishing the folded scrap of memo paper from his pocket and handing it to
her.
She
glanced at the scrawled directions. It was only a three minute drive and she
had a few hours yet. Ava wondered what the kids would be like. Her father
worked for Jane Foley, some music industry big wig who managed enough �names�
that she thought she was a minor deity. Tom Monroe was her PR rep and good at
his job. When Ava�s mom decided to move to Japan, Ava jumped at
the chance to move in with her dad. After six months in a new school, a new
town, all of it, she was finally beginning to feel like she was fitting in.
He
was lucky he�d caught her early though.
For
the past few months her Friday nights were spent with this guy she�d met at the
beach. Surfer boy right down to the puka shells.
Horrible taste in music, but a tan the color of melted caramel, eyes like smoky
topaz, a head of curly dirty blond hair that Ava secretly felt was absolutely
wasted on anything with a penis, and white, white teeth. Overall, a great cat,
she thought with a grin. Normally by now she�d be getting ready for a date, but
she hadn�t heard from him for tonight so it looked like Matt�d
be fending for himself for a night.
Maybe
she should have fought him on the babysitting thing, but she had a special
affection for her dad. He�d gone out of his way to make her feel at home. There
was a cerulean blue �53 Chevy Corvette sitting in the driveway with her name on
it, a little rough around the edges but otherwise a great find, that he�d
bought for her as soon as he�d found out she had a valid driver�s license. He�d
given her three credit cards and carte blanche to redecorate the room that
would be hers as well as a wardrobe more fitting to the climate of Southern
California (her last address being Chicago) and so what if maybe a little more
than half of his efforts had been not so obviously veiled attempts at a
popularity plug? It hadn�t been her decision to live thousands of miles
away from the man, and if Daddy wanted to stick it to Ma, who was she to argue?
She
padded up the stairs to her room, two kids. Boys. Under the age of six. She grinned, time for superheroes. Ava�s
closet in Chicago had been legend.
Lovingly dubbed the Prop Closet by her group, it had everything from vintage to
Underoos. She rooted through a random pile of
clothes, emerging triumphant with a pair of plum colored fishnets she went to
the closet, shedding the outfit she was wearing as she went.
Standing
in front of her closet in a bra and a pair of panties she threw a pair of faded
and ripped blue jeans over her shoulder and got down on her knees to fish out a
pair of beaten up motorcycle boots. On the way to the bureau she flicked on the
stereo and grinned when the tail end of Toxicity blared out of the
speakers. This mix CD was Cara�s gift to her before she got on the plane. The
next track was a Louis Armstrong/ Ella Fitzgerald duet called Paper Moon. Ava affected a smoky voice, bopping on the bed as she shook out the tee
shirt.
She sat back, pleased
with the look she decided to go ahead and hop in the shower. She turned the
stereo up higher as she headed toward the bathroom. Forty five minutes later,
she emerged from the shower pink skinned and shivering because the hot water
had run out. The CD had started over and she belted out the lyrics to 18 and
Life along with Sebastian Bach. Talk about the crush she�d had on that guy
as a kid.
Her magenta colored
hair dryer hummed as she blew it through her hair, rummaging in a drawer with
her other hand she found her � inch barrel curling iron and plugged it in.
Ava�s hair was a
subject of hot debate among her friends. She changed it as often as she could
without actually cutting it off. Tonight for example, the majority she�d keep
straight. But the inch of so of cranberry in the front she�d braid in one long
braid down the side of her face and she�d use the curling iron to put a dozen
or so skinny, corkscrew curls in her hair. She eyed the effect in the mirror,
blew a raspberry at her otherwise naked body and reached for her makeup bag.
She didn�t feel like
anything too heavy, just eye liner and mascara, lip gloss for the hell of it,
and a tiny green jewel for her nose. The nose ring had been an epic battle with
Ma. She�d gotten it with Tom�s charge card and decided it was a great welcome
to Cali present for herself. When she�d told Ma on the phone, Emma had been
furious. No daughter of hers and all that. But dad had been great. Pointed out Em had a misspent youth too and at least Ava wasn�t
spending her time dropping acid in Berkeley. In fact, just to make a point, he said
she could get a tattoo as long as it wasn�t to grotesque.
Ava was seriously
considering it.
Maybe
the anarchy symbol just to see Emma�s face.
But the thought of the
needle really wigged her out. Well, that and the thought of Emma Rasmussen
tripping on acid somewhere in Berkeley.
She walked naked back
into her bedroom, this time belting her own rendition of the aria in La Boheme. She was mangling the Italian, she
knew, but she didn�t care. Ava pulled the thong over her hips and situated her
boobs in the bra. She looked at herself in the full length mirror and jiggled
her breasts in her hands. They cracked her up. How random is it that two
fistfuls of skin and fat were enough to make guys pant for weeks just for a look?
The top was a tee
shirt from a little boys Underoos package. Bright
green, it was the Incredible Hulk breaking out of wall. She threw herself on
the bed and grabbed the fishnets. They were the exact shade of plum as the
Hulk�s shirt, and Ava shimmied into them expertly. Next came
the jeans. She�d had them since before Chicago. A pair of low slung, softly kneaded
Diesels, she�d worn them on many an outing and once she�d worn holes in them
she�d never gotten rid of them. Last were the boots and then she stood to scrutinize
herself in front of the mirror.
She looked good. The
tee shirt showed an inch or so of her belly and the plum colored fishnets
showed through the holes in the jeans well. The boots finished off the outfit
as well as an assortment of rubber bracelets and a candy necklace that she
attached to her left hand like a slave bracelet, around her middle finger, then
around her wrist. She grinned and the nose ring caught the light. It was a good
look.
She glanced at the
clock. It was 5:40. Later than she thought. Fuck. Ava dove for her bag, throwing
stuff in as she went. Gum. Lighter. Phone.
Book. Nat�s (you could only go so long without a good
cig). Keys.
�Dad-!�
She bellowed for Tom as she switched off the stereo and hot footed down the
stairs. �Da-ad?!
Dad-Dad-Dad- Daaaaaaaaaaady, I�m leaving!�
Tom Monroe poked his
head out of his office and arched an eye brow at his daughter�s outfit. He was
a DC fan, himself. �Drive safe, love.�
�I will, dad.� She
kissed his cheek and munched one of the candies next to her knuckle. �Dunno when I�ll be home, but it might be late.�
�I know. Don�t kill
the man�s children, alright?�
Ava arched an eyebrow.
�Are they demon seed?�
�No more than you
were, darling. Now on your way.�
�Bye daddy,� she pounded
out the door and to her baby. The �Vette was branded
Ava�s as soon as her father gave her the keys. Zebra printed seat covers and an
assortment of glittering beads and key chains hung from the rear view mirror.
Her license plates read simply CLASSIC and she liked it that way. The
engine gunned to life and she set off in the direction of the house.
The man her father
worked for lived in a modern conglomeration of glass and steel and Ava rolled
her eyes as she pulled into the drive. What was it with California and modern digs? She thought
nostalgically of her mother�s redone bungalow in Chicago and sighed, slamming the car door
behind her. The house was pretty, she acknowledged, you know if you liked that
sort of thing.
She rang the bell and
stepped back, mentally going through her �responsible babysitter� checklist. No
answer. She sighed, just great. This time she leaned on the bell, hearing the
continuous buzz on the other side of the door she counted down slowly from ten.
Before she�d hit seven the door ripped open and Ava took her hand off the bell.
After letting it buzz for another full second.
�Hi,� she stuck out
her hand, �I�m Ava Monroe, Tom�s daughter.�
�Billie Joe,� he took
her proffered hand and Ava tried not to wince at the nasal voice. No wonder Tom didn�t tell her who the guy was. She�d have
turned him down flat. �So come on in.�
Ava shrugged,
following her new employer with a decision to tell her dad she�d never gotten
paid. She deserved double for this.
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The Babysitter