BEAUTIFUL MESS -- CHAPTER ONE
Title: Beautiful Mess; Chapter One
Author: geekintehpink
Pairing: Dennis Wideman (Boston Bruins) / Boyd Gordon (Washington Capitals)
Characters: Dennis Wideman, Boyd Gordon, random coffee house patrons, random coffee house owner
Word Count: 1,457
Rating: PG
Summary: ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! Boyd Gordon is a struggling musician and Dennis Wideman is the son of a record executive. I can't really summarize it beyond there, as I haven't figured it out myself. XD
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, k?
Dedication: To ovielove because plotting sessions at 5am are for the win. ILY, dear.
Thank You: To my beloved beta, neekbreek, because where would I be without you, my bride? ♥
The old guitar sat up on stage, awaiting his arrival as he took a drink of water and prepared himself for the set that night. It wasn't like it was new, but every night at Uptown Espresso, there was a different crowd. A half-dozen familiar faces and then a whole crop of unfamiliar ones that made him wonder why he even wasted his time there. Every night for two years, he'd been in the crappy, run down apartment in Southie, wishing, hoping for a bit of luck as to whether tonight, or the next night would be 'his night.' The night that he finally found the turning point as to what he used to be confident would be his Behind the Music story. Used to be. But the management at Uptown Espresso were beginning to get impatient with him. He'd stopped bringing new patrons in because they'd all seen every cover that he'd done. And the faithful were beginning to tire of it as well. They told him, find new material or he was finished.
It was hard to find new material, however, when one's writing capabilities were kind of...lacking. He'd tried, many times to come up with something even semi-feasible as far as a song went, but the best he got came out as almost a remix of Smelly Cat from Friends, and he decided that, no, he was not going to play that in front of a hard-to-please crowd at Uptown. Deciding on going through toned down remakes of all kinds of eighties classics that night, he made his way to the stage, smiling as he stood off to the side and watched the owner of the coffee shop make his way up to the mike to introduce him. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to see that so many of you made it out tonight! You're in for a treat. Being our Tuesday night crowd, you get to bare witness to the makings of a superstar. I'd like you to give a nice Boston welcome to Boyd Gordon!”
Sitting in the corner of the coffee house, Dennis Wideman's head perked when he heard the coffee shop owner speak, mentioning that entertainment was finally on it's way. Not that reading the New York Post wasn't entertaining-okay, yeah. That was exactly what it was. He tossed the paper to the table and turned in his chair so that he was facing the stage, watching as a shy, quiet looking guy sat on the sidelines, guitar in hand, and made his way to the stool when the intro was finished. Already, Dennis was intrigued. Chiseled features, looking like they were straight out of a woman's romance novel, and a model's physique sat on that stool, guitar in hand, and immediately, Dennis was almost hypnotized.
The shy smile on his face, and the way his voice seemed to caress every word he said, even when he said that he was going to be covering eighties classics and got a sarcastic clap from a couple of finicky, impatient patrons. He didn't get how anyone had a right to complain, as they were the ones who came there to hear him perform. But they could complain all they wanted. Dennis, however, was more intrigued than ever as to how a guy with a guitar and no backup was going to delve into the age of beeps, blips and boops and electronic everything. He got out of his seat, leaving the copy of the Post on the table, seeing as he wasn't with his dad and had no need whatsoever to look professional, and took a seat at a table closer to the front, listening carefully to what he had to say, or sing, as it were.
Boyd leaned forward to speak into the microphone, a slightly nervous look on his face as he noticed the sort of impatient looks on the patrons faces. God. If there was ever a time for 'do or die,' this was it, wasn't it? He cleared his throat and spoke as he checked the tune on his guitar. “I know you guys are skeptical as to how any eighties song can be played on just a guitar, but...” he paused, biting his lip and looking around as he started to play the opening. “I'm hoping that by the time you leave tonight, your opinion will be changed. The first song I'm gonna sing for you tonight is 'Don't Dream It's Over' by Crowded House...”
Listening as he started singing, as the words originally sang in 1986 were turned into the most beautiful acoustic piece that he had ever heard in his life, whatever part of Dennis wasn't captivated before, was captivated then. The way his voice treated each word as if it were it's own song, the way his eyes seemed to communicate everything he was feeling and how personal that song was to him, it took Dennis by surprise. He'd seen a lot of musicians in his time working with his father, but he'd never seen anything like that before. He took a look around, trying to share his reaction with a couple of others, but they seemed to either be bored or not paying attention. And that bothered him.
After a few more slowed down, perfectly changed classics, Dennis watched as Boyd left the stage to hardly a clap, and started clapping on his own, ignoring the fact that everyone seemed to be staring at him for it. He shook his head and stood up, following Boyd to the back, looking up at the security guard and grabbing his wallet. He pulled his ID out, showed the security guard his card and his ID, and the guard stepped out of the way. Smiling as he stepped into the back hall, he flagged down the owner and smiled a little. “Hi...can you tell me which room Boyd Gordon is in?”
A very emotionally drained Boyd, standing on the other side of the door to the VIP room, heard the person on the other side ask for him and leaned against the door, listening to the conversation. He was almost sure he didn't want to hear what the owner had to say about him, but he listened anyway, just in case something different was going to happen this time. “It's right there, but...if you came to complain to him, I'm about to go in and fire him, so...if you could wait about fifteen minutes, that would be ideal...” he heard the older man say, and slumped against the door in defeat, turning to go and get his guitar packed, as well as all the things he'd collected over the couple of years that he'd sang there, so he could go out with his head held high and his dignity in tact. Maybe that was why they'd moved him to the room with the emergency exit.
Dennis stopped the older man before he made it to the door to the room. “No, no. I'm not here to complain. Actually, I loved the set. I was...coming back here to ask him when he'd be on again, but...” he paused and thought for a second. It was something he had never comprehended, how someone with actual talent could be overlooked, and Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson had these huge, illustrious careers, that they didn't deserve. “I can wait until you're done...” he finished, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall and watching as the other man knocked on the door and opened it slowly.
Raising an eyebrow as the other man looked around, shrugged a shoulder and turned around, Dennis stood from his seat and looked at the older man, who shrugged. “He left. Cleaned out the room and left. I'm sorry son, but...it looks like you're out of luck...”
With a sigh and a frown, Dennis turned around and bade the other man farewell, making his way to the front door in defeat. Figures that the first time he ever found an artist who could impress his father, it would be the very day he was about to be fired. The music that filled the room after that was obnoxious pop-punk and all the overrated trappings of what made popular culture what it was that day, and as he made his way out the door, Dennis wondered, not so inwardly, how this could keep people entertained, rather than the angelic sounds coming from Boyd's mouth just moments earlier. But then, knowing how large of a city Boston was, Dennis knew that he'd never get the chance to tell the other man what he thought. Because, he'd probably never see him again.
Author: geekintehpink
Pairing: Dennis Wideman (Boston Bruins) / Boyd Gordon (Washington Capitals)
Characters: Dennis Wideman, Boyd Gordon, random coffee house patrons, random coffee house owner
Word Count: 1,457
Rating: PG
Summary: ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! Boyd Gordon is a struggling musician and Dennis Wideman is the son of a record executive. I can't really summarize it beyond there, as I haven't figured it out myself. XD
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, k?
Dedication: To ovielove because plotting sessions at 5am are for the win. ILY, dear.
Thank You: To my beloved beta, neekbreek, because where would I be without you, my bride? ♥
The old guitar sat up on stage, awaiting his arrival as he took a drink of water and prepared himself for the set that night. It wasn't like it was new, but every night at Uptown Espresso, there was a different crowd. A half-dozen familiar faces and then a whole crop of unfamiliar ones that made him wonder why he even wasted his time there. Every night for two years, he'd been in the crappy, run down apartment in Southie, wishing, hoping for a bit of luck as to whether tonight, or the next night would be 'his night.' The night that he finally found the turning point as to what he used to be confident would be his Behind the Music story. Used to be. But the management at Uptown Espresso were beginning to get impatient with him. He'd stopped bringing new patrons in because they'd all seen every cover that he'd done. And the faithful were beginning to tire of it as well. They told him, find new material or he was finished.
It was hard to find new material, however, when one's writing capabilities were kind of...lacking. He'd tried, many times to come up with something even semi-feasible as far as a song went, but the best he got came out as almost a remix of Smelly Cat from Friends, and he decided that, no, he was not going to play that in front of a hard-to-please crowd at Uptown. Deciding on going through toned down remakes of all kinds of eighties classics that night, he made his way to the stage, smiling as he stood off to the side and watched the owner of the coffee shop make his way up to the mike to introduce him. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to see that so many of you made it out tonight! You're in for a treat. Being our Tuesday night crowd, you get to bare witness to the makings of a superstar. I'd like you to give a nice Boston welcome to Boyd Gordon!”
Sitting in the corner of the coffee house, Dennis Wideman's head perked when he heard the coffee shop owner speak, mentioning that entertainment was finally on it's way. Not that reading the New York Post wasn't entertaining-okay, yeah. That was exactly what it was. He tossed the paper to the table and turned in his chair so that he was facing the stage, watching as a shy, quiet looking guy sat on the sidelines, guitar in hand, and made his way to the stool when the intro was finished. Already, Dennis was intrigued. Chiseled features, looking like they were straight out of a woman's romance novel, and a model's physique sat on that stool, guitar in hand, and immediately, Dennis was almost hypnotized.
The shy smile on his face, and the way his voice seemed to caress every word he said, even when he said that he was going to be covering eighties classics and got a sarcastic clap from a couple of finicky, impatient patrons. He didn't get how anyone had a right to complain, as they were the ones who came there to hear him perform. But they could complain all they wanted. Dennis, however, was more intrigued than ever as to how a guy with a guitar and no backup was going to delve into the age of beeps, blips and boops and electronic everything. He got out of his seat, leaving the copy of the Post on the table, seeing as he wasn't with his dad and had no need whatsoever to look professional, and took a seat at a table closer to the front, listening carefully to what he had to say, or sing, as it were.
Boyd leaned forward to speak into the microphone, a slightly nervous look on his face as he noticed the sort of impatient looks on the patrons faces. God. If there was ever a time for 'do or die,' this was it, wasn't it? He cleared his throat and spoke as he checked the tune on his guitar. “I know you guys are skeptical as to how any eighties song can be played on just a guitar, but...” he paused, biting his lip and looking around as he started to play the opening. “I'm hoping that by the time you leave tonight, your opinion will be changed. The first song I'm gonna sing for you tonight is 'Don't Dream It's Over' by Crowded House...”
Listening as he started singing, as the words originally sang in 1986 were turned into the most beautiful acoustic piece that he had ever heard in his life, whatever part of Dennis wasn't captivated before, was captivated then. The way his voice treated each word as if it were it's own song, the way his eyes seemed to communicate everything he was feeling and how personal that song was to him, it took Dennis by surprise. He'd seen a lot of musicians in his time working with his father, but he'd never seen anything like that before. He took a look around, trying to share his reaction with a couple of others, but they seemed to either be bored or not paying attention. And that bothered him.
After a few more slowed down, perfectly changed classics, Dennis watched as Boyd left the stage to hardly a clap, and started clapping on his own, ignoring the fact that everyone seemed to be staring at him for it. He shook his head and stood up, following Boyd to the back, looking up at the security guard and grabbing his wallet. He pulled his ID out, showed the security guard his card and his ID, and the guard stepped out of the way. Smiling as he stepped into the back hall, he flagged down the owner and smiled a little. “Hi...can you tell me which room Boyd Gordon is in?”
A very emotionally drained Boyd, standing on the other side of the door to the VIP room, heard the person on the other side ask for him and leaned against the door, listening to the conversation. He was almost sure he didn't want to hear what the owner had to say about him, but he listened anyway, just in case something different was going to happen this time. “It's right there, but...if you came to complain to him, I'm about to go in and fire him, so...if you could wait about fifteen minutes, that would be ideal...” he heard the older man say, and slumped against the door in defeat, turning to go and get his guitar packed, as well as all the things he'd collected over the couple of years that he'd sang there, so he could go out with his head held high and his dignity in tact. Maybe that was why they'd moved him to the room with the emergency exit.
Dennis stopped the older man before he made it to the door to the room. “No, no. I'm not here to complain. Actually, I loved the set. I was...coming back here to ask him when he'd be on again, but...” he paused and thought for a second. It was something he had never comprehended, how someone with actual talent could be overlooked, and Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson had these huge, illustrious careers, that they didn't deserve. “I can wait until you're done...” he finished, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall and watching as the other man knocked on the door and opened it slowly.
Raising an eyebrow as the other man looked around, shrugged a shoulder and turned around, Dennis stood from his seat and looked at the older man, who shrugged. “He left. Cleaned out the room and left. I'm sorry son, but...it looks like you're out of luck...”
With a sigh and a frown, Dennis turned around and bade the other man farewell, making his way to the front door in defeat. Figures that the first time he ever found an artist who could impress his father, it would be the very day he was about to be fired. The music that filled the room after that was obnoxious pop-punk and all the overrated trappings of what made popular culture what it was that day, and as he made his way out the door, Dennis wondered, not so inwardly, how this could keep people entertained, rather than the angelic sounds coming from Boyd's mouth just moments earlier. But then, knowing how large of a city Boston was, Dennis knew that he'd never get the chance to tell the other man what he thought. Because, he'd probably never see him again.