Title: Alternate Realities: Chapter One, Plain and simple
Rating: R/NC-17
Warning: violence, language, sexual nudity




It was over before it began. One of those relationships that withered so quickly. He had known going into it that it would be. But at least he got something out of it, besides a few months of standard sex. He got a full album's worth of songs. And it was high time to call the band back together for it.

Shuffling down the hallway in pj pants, he headed towards a phone. Picking it up he collapsed into a black ovverstuffed chair, dialling the first number that came to mind. It rang thrice before a voice pickedup, a feminine voice.

"Ma?"

"Adam, do you know what time it is?"

"Uh, nighttime?"

"She left you, huh?"

"No. I kicked her out after finding her in bed with another man," he responded.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. You should come home."

He considered that for a moment. I wasn't a bad idea and clearly fate meant something for him or else he wouldn't have called his mother on accident. Returning back to the old life wasn't such a bad idea. Only for a week. He would visit for a week, then call the band.



Going home was not like flying across the country and driving down some country road. Born and raised in the LA area and still residing not that far from the greater metro, it was more like an hour drive to his mother's house. That had been one of the first things he purchased when the band got big: his childhood home for his mother. That seemed like a cliche thing to do, but he didn't care. It felt like the right thing to do.

Pulling up into the driveway, his eyes dropped to the clock on the dashboard. It was just after 5 am, meaning he had called his mother at least around 330. That bothered him some but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Getting out of the black vehicle, Adam locked it and headed up to the door. He didn't have the chance to insert his key into the lock before it opened. There stood his mother in her floral housecoat. He would swear up and down that woman never bought a new one, had worn that one since before the beginning of time. She denied it of course but it was rather comforting to see her wearing it. That and her arms opened wide for him.

It wasn't until her arms embraced him and pulled him into the house that emotion filled him. He could already smell coffee and bread baking. That made him smile alone. Though it was tempered by the release of emotions churning in his soul, Adam was glad to be home. She ushered him into the kitchen, not really saying anything of any importance. She wouldn't even allow him any comment either, not until he had a cup of coffee in his hands and the bread was cooling.

"I really thought this time was different, Ma," he proclaimed.

"She was a model, Adam. You need a woman with more substance than that. Someone whose brain outweighs her breasts. Though I suppose fake boobies aren't all that heavy," she declared, slicing off a bit of the bread and slathering butter and homemade jam on it before offering it to Adam.

"Her breasts were real."

"Ha! Honey, nothing is real in LA. I've lived here long enough to know that," she claimed.

He shook his head, chewing his bit of bread before replying, "I'm sorry I woke you up, Ma."

She waved dismissively, "No need to apologize. I understand. How long ago was it that you kicked her out?"

"What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"The....?"

"Twenty-second."

Adam thought for a moment before replying, "Three weeks ago."

"And did you leave the house during that time?"

"Uh.... no," he responded.

Shaking her head, she clickd her tongue, "No wonder you're so thin."

"Ma," he whined.

"We'll get that fixed," she set another loaded slice of bread in front of him. "Then we'll work on fixing the rest of you."



Standing in front of the mirror, she brushed her mousy brown hair back from her face. Gathering it into her regular bun, she stuck a few pins into it and decided it was good. Brushing the cat hair off of her dark gray blouse, she headed back to her bedroom and slipped on her plain black oxfords. Not glancing at her reflection again she headed out of the apartment after pausing to make certain the cats' dishes were full.

She waved to her neighbor as she unlocked her bicycle. Never once in her life had she owned a vehicle other than her bicycle, at least not for long. When her mother passed she inherited everything, the two cars, the Beverly Hills house, all the jewels. But without even a thought, she auctioned it all off, because her father had purchased it all and she wanted nothing to do with him at all. He may have purchased her mother's affection but clearly he had not hers. She liked her plain and simple life. It fit her very well.

Plain and simple. That was the best way to describe her. Mousy brown hair, unexceptional brown eyes, a figure no one had cause to compliment, unnoticeable clothing was an apt description of her. She took after her maternal grandmother, never able to slim down under a siz 10, wide hips, rounded tummy, natural breasts. Her figure was not unlike Marilyn Monroe's and that was something she took pride in. Schoolteachers did not need to be statuesque at all.

She wasn't supposed to be a schoolteacher. She wasn't supposed to be plain. That's precisely the cause of the divide between her and her father. When she defied him at the age of ten when he wanted to send her to fat camp, life instantly changed. She was no longer welcome at family events, sent to her room whenever anyone was around. But she didn't care. She hated the man who cared so little for his family, for his wife, who flaunted his supermodel whores around. He wanted nothing plain in his life, in his house. That's precisely why her parents named her Kylia Winona. She hated her name, instantly taking Jane as her moniker instead, though it had no real root at all.

Her mother had generally been supportive of her. When she announced she was going to be a schoolteacher, her mother acted supportively. However she pushed Jane to teach at a private Beverly Hills school. Naturally she chose a rough and tumble innner city school. They needed teachers too. And so Jane taught disadvantaged first graders. A plain and simple job.

Which was precisely where she was headed that morning, dressed in a gray blouse and black slacks. Plain and simple. Her bike ride wasn't overly long and more pleasnt that morning than usual. Maybe she would make a point of leaving fifteen minutes earlier from then on. Greeting a few of the older students, whom had been in her class before, she locked up her bicycle and plucked her bag out of the basket. Just another plain and simple day in her life.