Fandom #10 - Conventions (Igby Goes Down)
Title: Conventions
Author: Gen X (genx88)
Fandom: Igby Goes Down: Modern day psuedo-retelling of "The Catcher in the Rye"
Word count: 768 words
Note: Takes place post movie. Mostly dialogue.
Taunt: Holden Caulfield would be proud of my fandom, yo.
Convetions
It's twelve-thirty in the morning when Ollie's door rings. The maid has turned in for the night so Ollie finds himself peering through the peephole to see a rather encumbered pizza delivery boy. He opens the door and greets the boy with a flat look and perfunctory politeness. "May I help you?"
"Had a delivery for this address." The delivery boy is probably a good five years older than him, with more than a hint of an Italian accent. He shifts the stack of pizzas until he finds the receipt. "Comes to $321.86 with tax."
Ollie frowns and says, "Just a moment." He closes the door almost all the way and goes to retrieve his wallet because he is not going to get into an argument with a delivery boy. It would be bad form after all. He comes back, hands the boy four crisp hundred dollar bills, asks for a receipt, then bids him to take the pizzas with him as he leaves. For an eighty dollar tip there's no argument, no matter what the level of confusion is.
Then he pours himself a drink, because he's sure he's going to need one, and sits down to make a phone call.
"Hello?"
"Nice, Igby."
"Good," says Igby and Ollie can hear the feigned refinement in his tone. "You got the pizzas then. I was worried that something might have happened."
This is the part where Mother would launch into a tirade of promises of what Igby's forthcoming future would hold. Instead, Ollie sighs. "Twenty pizzas is a bit excessive don't you think?"
"I wasn't sure what you were in the mood for. Did you know the pizza in California is really disgusting? I thought everything was supposed to be better in California but they just can't seem to get the pizza thing down."
Ollie takes a sip of scotch because it's better than sighing yet again. "You do realize it's after midnight here?"
And there's silence on the other line which means that Igby-- being Igby-- forgot about the time difference. "It's a surprise birthday gift."
And Igby recovers with yet another lie. Ollie isn't even fazed, yet alone surprised. "My birthday was four months ago."
"That's why it's a surprise." Igby's smirk nearly translates through the phone because Ollie left himself wide open for that. Not that he cared.
"Did you want something Igby?"
"I was just talking with some friends and it reminded me of the time when you wanted to get the terrier and Mom wouldn't--"
"That was you," Ollie corrects. "And it was a dachshund."
"Oh. Right." Another pause because the dog story didn't really relate to the pizzas in the first place. Another abrupt transition seems par for the course. "So how's the engagement?"
"How did you know about that?" It would be a stupid question because it made the variety page and the fact the announcement had already hit the papers but Ollie's pretty sure Igby doesn't exactly have access to the New York Times.
"Sookie." Igby sounds smug but not resentful. "Some people can actually keep in contact." Another pause. "So... do I have to come back?"
"The wedding isn't until next year. The venue's not even set yet."
"Oh." Yet another non comittal sound.
Ollie finishes his drink and goes with the truth. Ollie was always fine with blunt honesty, it was the tactful part that tripped him up on occasion. "You'd just be bored anyway. You wouldn't want to come to rehearsal and you'd insult the bride--"
"Conservative?"
"Very."
"Ugh." And Ollie doesn't have to imagine Igby's wince through the phone. "Family?"
"Republican."
"Fuckwits," Igby translates. "Your type of people."
"Right."
"You're right. I wouldn't want to go," says Igby. Because they've always had an interesting relationship. Because if Mother were here she'd probably drag Igby back by his earlobe, stuff him in the tux and promise to send him to a taxidermist if dared to make a fool out of his brother. Still. It's what he's supposed to do. But then people are supposed to go to their own parent's funerals also. "You can send me an invitation," Igby says. "I'll even frame it. Something tasteful. Gold flake lettering. You know. That sort of thing."
"I'll remember that," says Ollie and he'll send one too. Because he's Ollie. The quintessential perfect son. "Was there anything else?"
"Well just... I... well I kind of..." and Igby exhales into the phone.
Ollie waits a moment, then a moment more. "I'm going to hang up now Igby."
"Yeah. Okay. Goodnight Ollie."
"Goodnight Igby." Ollie sets the phone back on the cradle and stares at it for a moment more. "Yeah, I miss you too."
*fin*
Author: Gen X (genx88)
Fandom: Igby Goes Down: Modern day psuedo-retelling of "The Catcher in the Rye"
Word count: 768 words
Note: Takes place post movie. Mostly dialogue.
Taunt: Holden Caulfield would be proud of my fandom, yo.
Convetions
It's twelve-thirty in the morning when Ollie's door rings. The maid has turned in for the night so Ollie finds himself peering through the peephole to see a rather encumbered pizza delivery boy. He opens the door and greets the boy with a flat look and perfunctory politeness. "May I help you?"
"Had a delivery for this address." The delivery boy is probably a good five years older than him, with more than a hint of an Italian accent. He shifts the stack of pizzas until he finds the receipt. "Comes to $321.86 with tax."
Ollie frowns and says, "Just a moment." He closes the door almost all the way and goes to retrieve his wallet because he is not going to get into an argument with a delivery boy. It would be bad form after all. He comes back, hands the boy four crisp hundred dollar bills, asks for a receipt, then bids him to take the pizzas with him as he leaves. For an eighty dollar tip there's no argument, no matter what the level of confusion is.
Then he pours himself a drink, because he's sure he's going to need one, and sits down to make a phone call.
"Hello?"
"Nice, Igby."
"Good," says Igby and Ollie can hear the feigned refinement in his tone. "You got the pizzas then. I was worried that something might have happened."
This is the part where Mother would launch into a tirade of promises of what Igby's forthcoming future would hold. Instead, Ollie sighs. "Twenty pizzas is a bit excessive don't you think?"
"I wasn't sure what you were in the mood for. Did you know the pizza in California is really disgusting? I thought everything was supposed to be better in California but they just can't seem to get the pizza thing down."
Ollie takes a sip of scotch because it's better than sighing yet again. "You do realize it's after midnight here?"
And there's silence on the other line which means that Igby-- being Igby-- forgot about the time difference. "It's a surprise birthday gift."
And Igby recovers with yet another lie. Ollie isn't even fazed, yet alone surprised. "My birthday was four months ago."
"That's why it's a surprise." Igby's smirk nearly translates through the phone because Ollie left himself wide open for that. Not that he cared.
"Did you want something Igby?"
"I was just talking with some friends and it reminded me of the time when you wanted to get the terrier and Mom wouldn't--"
"That was you," Ollie corrects. "And it was a dachshund."
"Oh. Right." Another pause because the dog story didn't really relate to the pizzas in the first place. Another abrupt transition seems par for the course. "So how's the engagement?"
"How did you know about that?" It would be a stupid question because it made the variety page and the fact the announcement had already hit the papers but Ollie's pretty sure Igby doesn't exactly have access to the New York Times.
"Sookie." Igby sounds smug but not resentful. "Some people can actually keep in contact." Another pause. "So... do I have to come back?"
"The wedding isn't until next year. The venue's not even set yet."
"Oh." Yet another non comittal sound.
Ollie finishes his drink and goes with the truth. Ollie was always fine with blunt honesty, it was the tactful part that tripped him up on occasion. "You'd just be bored anyway. You wouldn't want to come to rehearsal and you'd insult the bride--"
"Conservative?"
"Very."
"Ugh." And Ollie doesn't have to imagine Igby's wince through the phone. "Family?"
"Republican."
"Fuckwits," Igby translates. "Your type of people."
"Right."
"You're right. I wouldn't want to go," says Igby. Because they've always had an interesting relationship. Because if Mother were here she'd probably drag Igby back by his earlobe, stuff him in the tux and promise to send him to a taxidermist if dared to make a fool out of his brother. Still. It's what he's supposed to do. But then people are supposed to go to their own parent's funerals also. "You can send me an invitation," Igby says. "I'll even frame it. Something tasteful. Gold flake lettering. You know. That sort of thing."
"I'll remember that," says Ollie and he'll send one too. Because he's Ollie. The quintessential perfect son. "Was there anything else?"
"Well just... I... well I kind of..." and Igby exhales into the phone.
Ollie waits a moment, then a moment more. "I'm going to hang up now Igby."
"Yeah. Okay. Goodnight Ollie."
"Goodnight Igby." Ollie sets the phone back on the cradle and stares at it for a moment more. "Yeah, I miss you too."
*fin*