Chapter Text
Fall 1991
/I'm no longer young/, Robbi thought to herself. It hadn't mattered to her before, she ruminated, idly hitting buttons on the clicker to change the channel in her hotel room in Los Angeles. She was no longer young, no longer the lion cub with potential or the lioness in her full regalia strutting. She was a tired, worn, grumpy lion matriarch, tired of the music business and playing people's games. She had been already kicking around ideas for a new album, even though Manic Nirvana hadn't been out all that long, but in this day and age it paid to stay relevant, didn't it?
/I'm no longer young./
She ran her hand over her rounded belly. /And I have little Jessie who will be coming soon./ She had avoided the father for far too long; as usual the situation was awkward and conflicting.
Barb, who still managed her and a few other artists, appeared from the suite that joined Robbi's, was clad in a fuzzy bathrobe and brushing her teeth, her greying red hair damp. "Rob? Somethin' wrong?" she said to the expression the blonde wore on her face.
"Mmmph," was the only answer, then the singer picked up the phone on the nightstand and dialed.
Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. When she was just about to hang up, the phone picked up.
"Hullo?" a familiar, nasally voice greeted, but not the one she had expected.
"Jimmy?" she snorted in surprise. "What are you doing there?"
"How do you have this number? This is a private line," countered the guitarist.
Robbi gritted her teeth. Oh, those two. Guess they're now fucking. Wonderful. Just wonderful. "Put David on the line."
"Rob, listen, can we just talk, just for a minute--"
"Put him on the phone!" she roared. She expected him to hang up, but she heard footsteps and muffled speech, then David spoke.
"Robbi? Darling, is that you?"
"It is indeed," she said with clenched teeth.
"It's been months. Actually, Jim and I both haven't heard from you in months. Are you ok, love?"
"You tell me. I see there's a party and I wasn't invited, by my husband or my lover. Or his lover. I can hardly keep up anymore."
"Your ex-husband, Robbi," David rebuffed gently. "And you refused to see me or answer my calls. But it's no nevermind--just tell me you're all right."
She heard other voices in the background and Jimmy noodling on his guitar, feedback as he fiddled with his pedals, and it dawned on her the two fuckers were working on music. Behind her back. Oh, this made it so much worse. "Oh, I'm fine, fine," she rasped. "Just called to talk to the father of my little girl who'll be coming soon. No big deal."
A loud bang sounded in her ear as the founding member of Whitesnake dropped the phone.
"David?" Jimmy noticed the singer swaying, and quickly ran over to steady him. David's lips were white and he was struggling to speak. The guitarist picked up the phone and began talking. "Robbi, what's going on? What did you say to him? Please. Rosette. Say something."
"I told him--" she couldn't say it, could she, say what was the truth to the love of her life? Could she? "Jimmy, sit down. Are you seated?"
"Yeah, yeah, on an amp."
"I'm pregnant, Jim."
"What?" the man whispered, his green eyes wide. He started counting back to the last time they'd been intimate, and it had been nearly a year.
Robbi chuckled. "It's not yours, I can assure you. She's David's."
Jimmy shook his head, she was in her forties now, this wasn't like when she had their sons and she was in her twenties and bounced back with little trouble. And this was with a bloke she had had a very public feud with, accusing him of copying her, and now here he was with her former spouse and father of their surviving child together..
David had recovered enough to grab the phone from Jimmy. "Robbi, where are you? Who's with you, Tim? Ah, Barb, good. Let me come get you. Jim and I will come get you."
"What do you think you're gonna do?" Robbi snarled bitterly. "Sounds like you're working on an album together. Among other things. I was feeling lonely and down and thought maybe for Jessie's sake we could at least be friends. Yes, that's her name--Jessie Leigh Plant."
"Rob, no no no don't hang--"
But she had already slammed the phone into its cradle.
Jimmy put his face in his hands and cried. Not because she was pregnant by the man he was currently banging, but because she didn't want to speak to him. Didn't want to confide, among not wanting to play music with him or do interviews with him or be a part of the tracks he was meticulously remastering for re-release. Did she feel nothing at all for him anymore?
Barb stood there with toothbrush in hand, mouth open and toothpaste dribbling out, staring at Robbi. "What the fuck was that?" she finally sputtered.
"I thought I wanted to talk to David," the singer responded. "But now I wanna go beat some ass." She stood and began rummaging through her suitcase. "That's what I'm going to do."