Fic: Vanity Fair (VM/OB) 7b/8
Title: Vanity Fair
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB; mentions of OB/other and VM/other
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult themes all around. AU, angst, mentions of substance abuse, violence, mentions of promiscuity.
Summary: Orlando Bloom is living the perfect, enviable life of a celebrated male supermodel, but looks aren't everything.
Disclaimer: This is just a dream and a lie. No profit made.
A/N: This story has finally progressed from a WIP to Finished. Beta read by a dear friend. *hugs* Feedback is very much appreciated. :)
Previous chapters
After taking his time to get settled in at his mother's house, Orlando went to London to visit his sister, and Sam took him to a show that he’d absolutely loved - once upon a time, before embarking on a career in the modelling business, he had had some thoughts about maybe wanting to become an actor, but his dyslexia was too bad and Orlando wasn't one for school anyway - but the generic musical that was more on the 'meh' side and had Orlando yawning in his seat.
Sam teased him for being a bad gay man for not liking the musical better, and Orlando flipped her the bird most casually, telling her that there was more to being gay than liking some show tunes, mainly getting hot and heavy with another bloke.
“Orli!” Sam shrieked, shocked. “That's not something I want to know about my little brother.”
“Blowing some dude, you mean?” Orlando asked with a grin.
“Shut up, that's awful! I don't want to think about it,” Sam said, laughing, and tried to shush him.
“Come on, Sam, you must have engaged in oral sex in your time,” Orlando said, and then oomphed as Sam swatted his arm to get him to shut up.
“I don't want to talk about sex with you,” she said, feigning being put off, and took off down the street. Orlando jogged after her, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “But yeah, I have. Bloody jaw gets sore,” she said, and shot him a mischievous look.
“Now that's my big sister talking,” Orlando said approvingly. “And it does, at first. You need to practice more. Give my best to Barry.”
“God, you're terrible,” Sam said, and laughed. “But I will. I guess. I suppose you know more about blokes than I do.”
“I should hope so, since Barry was your first boyfriend!” Orlando said emphatically, and the siblings shared a grin. Sam then insisted that they make a quick visit to Hamleys because she wanted to get a few things for the children, and Orlando groaned when she hailed a taxi, only now remembering that Sam was just as bad as Elijah when it came to shopping, if not actually worse, and 'quick visit' was Sam-speak for a leisurely couple of hours' stroll around the store.
~
Her husband Barry was a nice bloke, Sam's senior by a few years, and he insisted on taking Orlando to his favourite pub 'just around the corner' for a drink or two one night when Orlando was visiting. Orlando wasn't sure that he wanted to go, knowing what kind of places Barry preferred, but his pleading look in Sam's direction went completely unnoticed.
“Just as well, I doubt I'd get a word in edgewise all evening,” Sam said, grinning. “With you two sci-fi freaks.”
The two men had discussed the Star Trek reboot films the previous night a bit too much for her liking, and knowing her husband, she guessed that he'd still be keen to continue the debate. Both were of the opinion that although they could re-boot the franchise as many times as they bloody well pleased, but they had better not touch Captain Picard. Sam had heard enough of the Enterprise and its many captains to last her two lifetimes.
“Actually I'm not that much into sci-fi,” Orlando said, just as Barry protested at being called a freak.
“Of course I'm acquainted with Babylon 5, Stargate, Farscape and the like,” Orlando said off-handedly. “But it's not like I get off on the stuff.”
Barry started to laugh at Orlando's quip, and assured Sam that they would be home well before ten pm and not in too bad a shape. Orlando gave a wan little smile, thinking that he had better not touch anything with alcohol in it, just to be sure.
Once in the pub, Barry ordered two pints and pushed one of them in front of Orlando. Orlando shrugged to himself and took a cautious sip. The pub was designed for sports enthusiasts, and there was a football match showing on the flat screen television, the focus point of most of the clientèle. Barry watched the game for a moment with his beer in hand, and moved away with a derisive snort when one of the teams scored a goal.
“I didn't know you supported Leeds,” Orlando remarked, who recalled having seen an Arsenal jersey on his brother-in-law at some point in the past.
“I don't, but I hate the bloody Chelsea,” Barry said.
He took a seat beside Orlando by the counter, and the two men sat in silence for a while. Orlando was trying to remember when he'd last been in a proper pub, when Barry suddenly spoke.
“You know,” Barry said, “it's not really my place to say anything, but since Sam is my wife and you're my brother-in-law, I think it's okay if I meddle a bit.”
“Yeah?” Orlando asked.
He hadn't the faintest clue what Barry intended to say, but he hoped it wouldn't be anything related to marriage trouble. Then, Barry had said something about him being the one meddling, so it didn't seem likely. The idea of him meddling in anything at all was a bit ludicrous. The two men had always got along, but it was more due to Sam than anything that they had in common. Orlando had always assumed Barry didn't think too highly of his modelling career, and he had always found it a bit hard to relate to his brother-in-law's profession as an engineer; it was a family in-joke that Orlando and technical appliances didn't mix at all. The only reason he had bought an iPhone was because Jennifer had made him do it.
“Yeah. You know Sam adores you. You're her baby brother and everything. So don't think it's because she doesn't love you or anything rubbish like that.” Barry took a swig of his lager and left Orlando processing this.
“Yeah?” Orlando prompted again after a few moments, none the wiser. Did Sam think he had overstayed his welcome? He'd been there for three days, and they had talked about a full week, but since they had children, they might find his visit a bit taxing.
“It's been hard on her that you live so far away. She says you never call, and you never answer her calls or her e-mails, and mate, I know you have the best intentions at heart but she would appreciate a postcard, or a phone call, more than she appreciates another designer bag. She's been a bit resentful about the fact that you seem to think that a gift sent on birthdays and Christmas makes up for the lack of any other sort of communication. You know, just because you can buy her or your mum something expensive doesn't mean that you shouldn't put in any more effort. I know you're busy, mate, and Sam knows you have your career and everything, but it hurts her that you don't seem to remember you have a family too.”
Orlando had never heard Barry give such a long speech before, and he gawked at his brother-in-law in stunned surprise. It stung to be told off so abruptly, but before he could word a defensive reply he replayed Barry's words in his mind, and bit his lip to keep from saying something he didn't mean. 'Bugger off' probably wasn't the best reply he could come up with, he thought. Barry deserved better than an offended brush-off, even if what he said could perhaps have been worded a bit more diplomatically.
He was never the one to meddle or to gossip, so for him to talk to Orlando about Sam's feelings meant that it really was important.
Besides, Orlando couldn't deny any of it.
While he had been working in the States, Sam and Barry had started a family, and they had a new baby boy, born in early November, and a toddler. He had two nephews who barely knew Uncle Orlando, and he knew it was his fault. He hadn't even asked Sam to visit.
Not that they had money to spare, being a young family with one income, but Orlando could easily shoulder the cost of plane tickets for the whole family, and made a mental note to do so after he got back to L.A. Come to think of it, he had distanced himself from his whole family after his move to the States, often only returning calls after a few weeks, and the worst part was that he hadn't even noticed that.
Orlando watched Chelsea score again on the TV, and sympathised with Barry who swore into his pint.
“I hear what you say, and I appreciate you saying it,” he told Barry, who looked a little embarrassed after his outburst, and not a little surprised at Orlando's non-heated reply. “I know it was on Sam's behalf. And I know I haven't always been the most thoughtful of people. I hope you know, both of you, that I'm working on that. I mean, really working.”
He'd booked his next appointment with Michael for the day after he returned to Canterbury. He didn't want to become dependent on his psychologist, but so far everything he had suggested had worked in Orlando's favour, and he was glad to have someone like that in his corner. He still didn't feel too comfortable advertising the fact that he was seeing a psychologist, but Barry and Sam were family. It was unlikely they would alert the media to his personal trouble.
“I didn't mean to lecture you, mate,” Barry said. “I got a bit carried away there. And Sam didn't put me up this, if that's what you're thinking. I just happen to know that it weighs on her mind. And you've always been the type of bloke to call a spade a spade. So, still friends?”
“Always,” Orlando confirmed, and they shook hands to seal the deal, and moved on to other things. Barry ended up buying another pint, but Orlando declined and asked for a coffee instead. They watched the game on and off, and when it ended and another game started they made a joint decision to call it an early night.
Once back in Sam and Barry's home, Orlando went to his big sister who was just coming out of the children's bedroom after putting them to bed, and took her in a long hug. Sam was perplexed but pleased at this unexpected display of affection, and since she couldn't blame it on the liquor she shot her husband a curious look. Barry just grinned and shrugged.
~
He went out once with Sam and her girlfriends, and they thought it was both scandalous and awesome to go to a gay bar with him, especially when they realised just how much attention Orlando garnered. The boys were beautiful, and they were plenty, and it seemed all were intent on being his dance partner for the night. He went with the flow happily, wondering what the fuck he was doing in L.A. when the London blokes were this gorgeous, and friendly. He was tempted to accept a few of the many free drink offers, but then he thought of all the mornings where he'd woken up with a sour taste in his mouth, not knowing whether it was from booze or from semen, and it was a ridiculously easy thing to decline.
Sam was red in the face to see him dancing with some of the boys, though - apparently it was downright indecent - but since Orlando hadn't had anyone's hand down his pants, nor the dance floor dirt on the knees of his jeans by the time they went home, he counted the night a raving success, and pretty mild, as such nights went.
He remembered the last time he'd been out with Andrea, and how he had rung Viggo afterwards, eagerly anticipating their dinner together, and the enormity of how badly things had gone wrong since that night hit home again full force. He balled into himself on his bed, hugging the pillow to his chest, and wished that the night was already over.
* * *
He knew it was a dream, but the knowledge didn't make the emotions that the dream wakened any less powerful.
Being wrapped in a pair of strong arms, Viggo's voice whispering his name into the nape of his neck; their bodies stretched on a bed that was neither his own nor any other bed he'd ever slept on. A light morning breeze was making the white curtains billow, and Orlando relaxed in the gentle hold, knowing that he was home, in every sense of the word.
He was home, and he was loved.
Viggo kept saying his name, rocking against him, and the feelings of sensual pleasure washed over him like the waves of an ocean wash across the shore, slow, never ending.
When he woke up, his cheeks were wet, and his regret was a physical ache behind his breastbone.
* * *
“How do I deserve someone's love?” Orlando asked, and paced across Michael's Afghan rug. “What if I can never become the person that I want to be, and the kind of person that I think the other person deserves?”
He knew he was close to ranting, but he needed Michael to make sense of things. The dream had shaken him badly enough to colour his mood for the remaining visit at Sam's, but although his sister had noticed that he was quiet and withdrawn, she hadn't commented on it directly, but had otherwise been supportive and kind. Orlando realised he hadn't given the women of the family nearly enough credit for their understanding and empathy.
Michael looked thoughtful. “Why are you so concerned with deserving?”
“Because I don't want to let him down,” Orlando said and stopped pacing. “And because I want to be better. I don't think the old me was fit to be anybody's partner. And no, I'm not blaming myself for Davide smacking me about. That was all just him. But I let him do that. I thought I was protecting the other important people in my life by acting as a barrier between them. Sounds crazy, but it made a lot of sense.”
He knew he was reasoning again, and he snapped his mouth shut with an effort.
“What about acceptance?” Michael suggested. “Approaching love from a rational standpoint rarely gives any satisfying answers. The concept of deserving is an interesting one, but I doubt that anyone who loves you could pinpoint the exact reason why they love you, and why they find you worthy of that love. A new approach could perhaps be acceptance. Acceptance of that love and what it means to both of you.”
“I think that's where responsibility comes into play,” Orlando said slowly. “If I accept that Viggo loves me, shouldn't I also accept the responsibility of striving to be a worthy partner? Because if I can't be that, and if I can't give that, then it would be unfair to accept him loving me in the first place.”
“You have very strong protective tendencies,” Michael remarked. “Which is a good thing. I would be glad to see you extend those tendencies to yourself.”
Orlando offered his psychologist a small smile. “You and me both, mate.”
“As long as you realise you're not invincible. You can't stop all bad things from happening.”
Orlando looked like he wanted to argue, but then he went back to his armchair and plopped down into it. “No, I can't. But tell me, am I being ridiculous because I want to be better for someone I love? Is it wrong to think that way?”
Michael finally put his ever present legal pad away and looked at him seriously. “It's not wrong, or ridiculous. It's a very healthy goal. And when the day comes that you count yourself among those that you love you won't be needing me anymore. Sooner rather than later, I believe.”
“That's a bit scary,” Orlando admitted. “But I hope so too. I haven't had those nightmares for a while, you know. I actually had a very nice dream about Viggo. The only bad thing was that it ended.”
“Tell me about your dream.”
“You old perv,” Orlando said, grinning. Michael shrugged and said that it was one of the few perks of the job. “It was very... intimate. I don't think I've ever felt that close to anyone. I can't believe it was all just a dream, it felt so real.”
“There was no violence, or a threat of violence?” Michael wrote something down.
Orlando shook his head.
“No. Just me and him. The dream was great while it lasted. And when I woke up I realised I may have lost him for good. It would've been better not to wake up at all. Tell me, why do the all good things have to come to an end?”
Michael looked at him over his glasses. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep,” he quoted.
Orlando recognised Shakespeare when he heard it, but he had always preferred a more practical, hands on approach, and frowned in irritation.
“And what does that mean?” Orlando said.
“I've always taken it to mean that the one dream that lasts forever only begins after this life,” Michael said, “but be glad when you awaken, Orlando, because only then you can begin to realise your dreams and make them reality.”
Orlando bit on his thumb, and flashed him a smile. What Michael said rang true inside him, but he couldn't help teasing.
“You should have been a poet, and not a bloody psychologist!”
“I flatter myself that I'm of much more use as a psychologist,” Michael said. “How did the dream make you feel?”
Orlando considered the question. “I felt loved. And safe. After I woke up I couldn't at first understand that it hadn't been real. I was a rather crappy houseguest to my sister, I suppose. I can't stop thinking that I may have made a horrible mistake in leaving Viggo like that.”
“Do you think leaving Los Angeles was a mistake?”
Orlando sighed. “No. I had to go. And I had no right to ask him to leave with me. Leave everything behind because I needed support. I thought I wasn't good for him.”
“Thought?” Michael asked,
“Thought,” Orlando confirmed. “I don't know if I am, really, but like you said, I can't control everything that happens. He's a grown man. Maybe I could trust that he can decide for himself whether I'm trouble or someone he could count on.”
“You surprise me, Orlando,” Michael said, “in the best possible sense of the word. Now, wake up, and go make that dream come true.”
* * *
Orlando took a long look at the face that looked back at him from the mirror. After three months of his mother's cooking and pampering, he had put on a few pounds, but they didn't really show. Not on his face anyway. He still had the same cheekbones, sharp and sculpted, still only one chin. The look in his eyes was different, though; the haunted look had left them somewhere around the two month mark, and Orlando found with some amazement that he was starting to feel it. Starting to feel normal, not afraid. Starting to feel like he could get his life off hold.
Whether that life included Viggo or not, and whether his career would suffer from the months spent away from working, he couldn't say yet.
“Are you coming, love?” his mother asked, and Orlando looked at her in the mirror where she was standing behind him. They were just getting ready to visit Aunt Robin's and to see Orlando's cousins whom he hadn't seen in years.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, and let his mother help him into his coat. He'd been relieved of the cast a month previously, but the arm was still stiff and hurt sometimes, and he tried not to overtax it. He knew he'd have to book an appointment with a physiotherapist rather sooner than later, and also with his personal trainer before resuming his work-out routine.
“Mum,” he said on the drive over to Aunt Robin's. He was sitting on the passenger seat, keeping his eye on the on-coming traffic. Sonia hadn't let him drive her Volvo since the last time when he'd put a dent in the bumper. Orlando didn't mind, because he'd got used to right-sided traffic in the States, and if he put another dent in his mother's car he'd never hear the end of it.
“Yes, love?” Sonia asked, when Orlando didn't continue immediately.
Orlando glanced at her, treading carefully because he didn't know how Sonia would take what he had to say. “I think it's past time that I went back to L.A. I can't stay here forever. Plus the trial starts in a few weeks.”
He had expected protests and arguments, but instead she gave him a serious look, and nodded.
“I know. You're not my baby boy anymore, are you. You have a life there that you've put on hold.”
His eyes pricked. It was that, exactly. “I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything...”
Sonia laughed, dispelling the notion. “Hush now. It's been a joy to have you here these past months. I'll have you over any time you want to come.” She sighed. “But as much as I'd like to keep you here and away from harm, that isn't my job anymore.”
“Whose is it, then?” he asked, a little gloomily.
“It's yours. And the man's that you have fallen for.” Sonia's voice was matter of fact.
“Mum!” Orlando said, shocked. He'd taken great pains not to mention Viggo's name, or otherwise indicate that he'd gotten involved with someone after Davide.
“Orlando,” she said with a gentle smile. “I'm not blind. I know a lovesick boy when I see one. You've been moping around the house increasingly these last few weeks. And all these love songs blasting from your room might clue a mother in.”
Orlando's face heated. He'd thought he'd been so stealthy and so noble in his decision to suffer in silence.
“It's not that simple,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed that he'd been so transparent.
“I know it's not, love,” she said, and spared him another gentle look. “Love never is. And goodness knows that you've been hurt, even before this dreadful business. I haven't seen you like this before so it must be one hell of a man that you have in mind.”
Orlando couldn't help the smile. “He is, Mum.”
“So I guess we'll visit Aunt Robin's and after we come home, you can start looking for the next flight,” she concluded. “Not just so that you can run in the arms of this man of yours, but to reclaim your life. I've been worried about you for some time now. When you were with that French fellow, you never sounded all that sober when you called. Maybe I should have interfered, but I do know you, Orlando. You have a backbone of steel. It sometimes takes a little time for you to remember that, but I never doubted that you would.”
Orlando bit his lip to keep from crying at this vote of confidence. “Thank you. I love you, Mum.”
“And I love you. Now, your Aunt Robin is very much her old self, so she's going to have a million questions for you to answer.”
Orlando mock-shuddered, and the mother and the son shared a companionable grin.
The rest of the drive was spent in silence, but Orlando couldn't suppress the smile that stole over his face.
* * *
“Now look at you, you haven't changed a bit,” Aunt Robin said, inspecting his face, and took him in a warm hug. “Sonia's little Orlando. Still cute as a button. Come here and meet everyone.”
Orlando felt a bit apprehensive when he was led to the living room, aware that everyone had stopped talking and was looking at him. It was odd, and new, this apprehension, from someone who made a living out of being photographed and strutting the runway, but these were his people, his blood, and he wanted them to like him. Needed them to embrace him like the uncle and nephew and cousin that he was, and they didn't disappoint.
There were Aunt Robin's children, two girls and a boy, all in the awkward teenager phase, the twin boys of Sonia's other sister Helen, as well as the three teenage nieces of Robin's husband. Orlando remembered having last seen them at Aunt Robin's wedding when they were in the cute toddler phase.
He got to know them all, and answered a lot of questions about living in the L.A. No, he didn't live in Hollywood. No, he didn't really know any movie stars or TV celebrities (apart from Neil Patrick Harris who he'd run into at a mutual friend's party, and Adam Lambert who'd attended some industry after party with his then-boyfriend). Yes, NPH was a cool dude. Yes, Adam was really nice and also quite flirty. Yes, it was pretty much always sunny and warm in L.A.
Yes, you did pretty much drive everywhere because walking was likely to attract the wrong kind of attention and everything was too far anyway for walking. Yes, modelling was hard work, but it was cool too, because you got to travel a lot and meet lots of new people. And yes, he was gay just like they had read on the Internet (although to Orlando's relief his bad boy reputation and sexual exploits hadn't been that widely reported in the British media). One of the teenage nieces shyly asked if he had a boyfriend.
“I hope I do,” Orlando said, and elaborated, “It's been a bit complicated. But I'm working on it.”
The girls were a bit giggly, and the boys wanted to play some football in the backyard just to kick his arse and to pronounce that was what happened when you moved to bloody America where they didn't even play proper football. Orlando gave it his best effort and even scored a goal, which earned him the respect of his cousins; however, as the game continued he had to admit that even the girls ran circles around him. Apparently his gym routine hadn't prepared him for a match of footy.
Over tea, the adult relatives brought him up to date on all the family business; the most recent being that Sonia, Helen and Robin had together purchased a cottage in Cornwall, where they expected to spend time in the summer with all the children, and their children. Orlando smiled at the thought of Sam's children mixing with the teens, and felt a sense of wistfulness knowing that he wouldn't likely be able to come.
All the adults were polite enough not to enquire about the oncoming trial or comment on the fact that he was still recovering from his injuries, but gave him some good-natured flak about making a career out of his looks.
“Hey, blame Mum, that's the one I got the genes from,” Orlando said and laughed.
“So, when are you coming back permanently?” Aunt Robin asked. She was the most straightforward of the three sisters; Helen was always too polite to ask any direct questions, not wanting to offend, and Sonia usually got all the information she wanted without having to ask.
“You mean back to England?” Orlando stalled.
“Yes, back to England. I assume you'll be living in London.”
Orlando glanced at his mother who gave him a sympathetic smile, but he knew that she wasn't going to save him from Aunt Robin's clutches. Orlando reckoned that she was also curious to hear the answer herself.
To be honest, it was something he had thought about a lot lately. Sam lived in London with her family, and he wanted to be a part of their lives more so than before. The London fashion scene was nothing to be scoffed at either, so it wasn't as if he'd be committing a professional suicide by re-locating. Besides, he felt he had already seen and experienced all that the L.A. scene had to offer, for better or for worse.
However, most of the work was still there. And there was also Viggo. He knew he shouldn't base his decisions on anyone but himself, but it was a big deciding factor.
“Oh, I don't know. I like the weather there,” he dodged the question, and stuffed his mouth with cake, following it with a mouthful of tea.
“And there's also a man,” Sonia said, her eyes sparkling, and Orlando cut her an annoyed look; he thought they had talked in confidence.
“A man,” Robin and Helen said in unison, and shared a look.
Robin's husband merely drank his tea, clearly not fully comfortable with discussing Orlando's love matters. Orlando fully shared his discomfort. He only hoped his cousins weren't privy to the discussion; the boys might like him, but would probably gag at the mention of Orlando being involved with someone romantically.
“Thanks, Mum,” Orlando said dryly. Sonia rolled her eyes.
“It's not a secret, is it,” she said. “Besides, who are we going to tell? We're not ringing the tabloids, Orlando.”
Well, no. And he had talked to Andrea and Elijah about Viggo until they were both almost gagging, but it was one thing to open up to your friends about a bloke you fancied, and another thing to tell your aunts about him. Everyone in the immediate family knew that he was gay, of course, but Orlando hadn't seen them in years and immediately breaching the topic of his personal life felt a little too fast for his liking.
“I know, Mum,” he said, and then had to smile suddenly, because he realised right then that he did want to talk about Viggo, even if he couldn't talk to the man himself right now. He then turned to his aunts who were looking at him expectantly, tea and cake forgotten.
“So, yeah, there's somebody. A man. Viggo Mortensen. He's American and a bit older than me. And he has a kid. And he's bloody amazing and I can't wait to see him again.”
The aunts ooh'ed and aah'ed at Orlando's words; he was so clearly smitten it was obvious to even those who didn't know him that well. Orlando was faintly aware that he was gushing, but he couldn't help it, and didn't want to.
“And we've worked together before because he's a photographer and he's bloody brilliant. You should just see his photos. Actually, just put his name into Google and you'll find them, because he's pretty well known. And that's an understatement.”
This was the most that Sonia had heard of Orlando's man, and she listened intently. The look in Orlando's eyes told her all she needed to know about how her boy felt. If this American fellow cared for Orlando half as much as Orlando seemed to care for him, well, then Sonia wouldn't feel too badly about seeing him leave, and taking command of his life again.
* * *
to be concluded in Chapter eight and epilogue
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB; mentions of OB/other and VM/other
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult themes all around. AU, angst, mentions of substance abuse, violence, mentions of promiscuity.
Summary: Orlando Bloom is living the perfect, enviable life of a celebrated male supermodel, but looks aren't everything.
Disclaimer: This is just a dream and a lie. No profit made.
A/N: This story has finally progressed from a WIP to Finished. Beta read by a dear friend. *hugs* Feedback is very much appreciated. :)
Previous chapters
After taking his time to get settled in at his mother's house, Orlando went to London to visit his sister, and Sam took him to a show that he’d absolutely loved - once upon a time, before embarking on a career in the modelling business, he had had some thoughts about maybe wanting to become an actor, but his dyslexia was too bad and Orlando wasn't one for school anyway - but the generic musical that was more on the 'meh' side and had Orlando yawning in his seat.
Sam teased him for being a bad gay man for not liking the musical better, and Orlando flipped her the bird most casually, telling her that there was more to being gay than liking some show tunes, mainly getting hot and heavy with another bloke.
“Orli!” Sam shrieked, shocked. “That's not something I want to know about my little brother.”
“Blowing some dude, you mean?” Orlando asked with a grin.
“Shut up, that's awful! I don't want to think about it,” Sam said, laughing, and tried to shush him.
“Come on, Sam, you must have engaged in oral sex in your time,” Orlando said, and then oomphed as Sam swatted his arm to get him to shut up.
“I don't want to talk about sex with you,” she said, feigning being put off, and took off down the street. Orlando jogged after her, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “But yeah, I have. Bloody jaw gets sore,” she said, and shot him a mischievous look.
“Now that's my big sister talking,” Orlando said approvingly. “And it does, at first. You need to practice more. Give my best to Barry.”
“God, you're terrible,” Sam said, and laughed. “But I will. I guess. I suppose you know more about blokes than I do.”
“I should hope so, since Barry was your first boyfriend!” Orlando said emphatically, and the siblings shared a grin. Sam then insisted that they make a quick visit to Hamleys because she wanted to get a few things for the children, and Orlando groaned when she hailed a taxi, only now remembering that Sam was just as bad as Elijah when it came to shopping, if not actually worse, and 'quick visit' was Sam-speak for a leisurely couple of hours' stroll around the store.
~
Her husband Barry was a nice bloke, Sam's senior by a few years, and he insisted on taking Orlando to his favourite pub 'just around the corner' for a drink or two one night when Orlando was visiting. Orlando wasn't sure that he wanted to go, knowing what kind of places Barry preferred, but his pleading look in Sam's direction went completely unnoticed.
“Just as well, I doubt I'd get a word in edgewise all evening,” Sam said, grinning. “With you two sci-fi freaks.”
The two men had discussed the Star Trek reboot films the previous night a bit too much for her liking, and knowing her husband, she guessed that he'd still be keen to continue the debate. Both were of the opinion that although they could re-boot the franchise as many times as they bloody well pleased, but they had better not touch Captain Picard. Sam had heard enough of the Enterprise and its many captains to last her two lifetimes.
“Actually I'm not that much into sci-fi,” Orlando said, just as Barry protested at being called a freak.
“Of course I'm acquainted with Babylon 5, Stargate, Farscape and the like,” Orlando said off-handedly. “But it's not like I get off on the stuff.”
Barry started to laugh at Orlando's quip, and assured Sam that they would be home well before ten pm and not in too bad a shape. Orlando gave a wan little smile, thinking that he had better not touch anything with alcohol in it, just to be sure.
Once in the pub, Barry ordered two pints and pushed one of them in front of Orlando. Orlando shrugged to himself and took a cautious sip. The pub was designed for sports enthusiasts, and there was a football match showing on the flat screen television, the focus point of most of the clientèle. Barry watched the game for a moment with his beer in hand, and moved away with a derisive snort when one of the teams scored a goal.
“I didn't know you supported Leeds,” Orlando remarked, who recalled having seen an Arsenal jersey on his brother-in-law at some point in the past.
“I don't, but I hate the bloody Chelsea,” Barry said.
He took a seat beside Orlando by the counter, and the two men sat in silence for a while. Orlando was trying to remember when he'd last been in a proper pub, when Barry suddenly spoke.
“You know,” Barry said, “it's not really my place to say anything, but since Sam is my wife and you're my brother-in-law, I think it's okay if I meddle a bit.”
“Yeah?” Orlando asked.
He hadn't the faintest clue what Barry intended to say, but he hoped it wouldn't be anything related to marriage trouble. Then, Barry had said something about him being the one meddling, so it didn't seem likely. The idea of him meddling in anything at all was a bit ludicrous. The two men had always got along, but it was more due to Sam than anything that they had in common. Orlando had always assumed Barry didn't think too highly of his modelling career, and he had always found it a bit hard to relate to his brother-in-law's profession as an engineer; it was a family in-joke that Orlando and technical appliances didn't mix at all. The only reason he had bought an iPhone was because Jennifer had made him do it.
“Yeah. You know Sam adores you. You're her baby brother and everything. So don't think it's because she doesn't love you or anything rubbish like that.” Barry took a swig of his lager and left Orlando processing this.
“Yeah?” Orlando prompted again after a few moments, none the wiser. Did Sam think he had overstayed his welcome? He'd been there for three days, and they had talked about a full week, but since they had children, they might find his visit a bit taxing.
“It's been hard on her that you live so far away. She says you never call, and you never answer her calls or her e-mails, and mate, I know you have the best intentions at heart but she would appreciate a postcard, or a phone call, more than she appreciates another designer bag. She's been a bit resentful about the fact that you seem to think that a gift sent on birthdays and Christmas makes up for the lack of any other sort of communication. You know, just because you can buy her or your mum something expensive doesn't mean that you shouldn't put in any more effort. I know you're busy, mate, and Sam knows you have your career and everything, but it hurts her that you don't seem to remember you have a family too.”
Orlando had never heard Barry give such a long speech before, and he gawked at his brother-in-law in stunned surprise. It stung to be told off so abruptly, but before he could word a defensive reply he replayed Barry's words in his mind, and bit his lip to keep from saying something he didn't mean. 'Bugger off' probably wasn't the best reply he could come up with, he thought. Barry deserved better than an offended brush-off, even if what he said could perhaps have been worded a bit more diplomatically.
He was never the one to meddle or to gossip, so for him to talk to Orlando about Sam's feelings meant that it really was important.
Besides, Orlando couldn't deny any of it.
While he had been working in the States, Sam and Barry had started a family, and they had a new baby boy, born in early November, and a toddler. He had two nephews who barely knew Uncle Orlando, and he knew it was his fault. He hadn't even asked Sam to visit.
Not that they had money to spare, being a young family with one income, but Orlando could easily shoulder the cost of plane tickets for the whole family, and made a mental note to do so after he got back to L.A. Come to think of it, he had distanced himself from his whole family after his move to the States, often only returning calls after a few weeks, and the worst part was that he hadn't even noticed that.
Orlando watched Chelsea score again on the TV, and sympathised with Barry who swore into his pint.
“I hear what you say, and I appreciate you saying it,” he told Barry, who looked a little embarrassed after his outburst, and not a little surprised at Orlando's non-heated reply. “I know it was on Sam's behalf. And I know I haven't always been the most thoughtful of people. I hope you know, both of you, that I'm working on that. I mean, really working.”
He'd booked his next appointment with Michael for the day after he returned to Canterbury. He didn't want to become dependent on his psychologist, but so far everything he had suggested had worked in Orlando's favour, and he was glad to have someone like that in his corner. He still didn't feel too comfortable advertising the fact that he was seeing a psychologist, but Barry and Sam were family. It was unlikely they would alert the media to his personal trouble.
“I didn't mean to lecture you, mate,” Barry said. “I got a bit carried away there. And Sam didn't put me up this, if that's what you're thinking. I just happen to know that it weighs on her mind. And you've always been the type of bloke to call a spade a spade. So, still friends?”
“Always,” Orlando confirmed, and they shook hands to seal the deal, and moved on to other things. Barry ended up buying another pint, but Orlando declined and asked for a coffee instead. They watched the game on and off, and when it ended and another game started they made a joint decision to call it an early night.
Once back in Sam and Barry's home, Orlando went to his big sister who was just coming out of the children's bedroom after putting them to bed, and took her in a long hug. Sam was perplexed but pleased at this unexpected display of affection, and since she couldn't blame it on the liquor she shot her husband a curious look. Barry just grinned and shrugged.
~
He went out once with Sam and her girlfriends, and they thought it was both scandalous and awesome to go to a gay bar with him, especially when they realised just how much attention Orlando garnered. The boys were beautiful, and they were plenty, and it seemed all were intent on being his dance partner for the night. He went with the flow happily, wondering what the fuck he was doing in L.A. when the London blokes were this gorgeous, and friendly. He was tempted to accept a few of the many free drink offers, but then he thought of all the mornings where he'd woken up with a sour taste in his mouth, not knowing whether it was from booze or from semen, and it was a ridiculously easy thing to decline.
Sam was red in the face to see him dancing with some of the boys, though - apparently it was downright indecent - but since Orlando hadn't had anyone's hand down his pants, nor the dance floor dirt on the knees of his jeans by the time they went home, he counted the night a raving success, and pretty mild, as such nights went.
He remembered the last time he'd been out with Andrea, and how he had rung Viggo afterwards, eagerly anticipating their dinner together, and the enormity of how badly things had gone wrong since that night hit home again full force. He balled into himself on his bed, hugging the pillow to his chest, and wished that the night was already over.
* * *
He knew it was a dream, but the knowledge didn't make the emotions that the dream wakened any less powerful.
Being wrapped in a pair of strong arms, Viggo's voice whispering his name into the nape of his neck; their bodies stretched on a bed that was neither his own nor any other bed he'd ever slept on. A light morning breeze was making the white curtains billow, and Orlando relaxed in the gentle hold, knowing that he was home, in every sense of the word.
He was home, and he was loved.
Viggo kept saying his name, rocking against him, and the feelings of sensual pleasure washed over him like the waves of an ocean wash across the shore, slow, never ending.
When he woke up, his cheeks were wet, and his regret was a physical ache behind his breastbone.
* * *
“How do I deserve someone's love?” Orlando asked, and paced across Michael's Afghan rug. “What if I can never become the person that I want to be, and the kind of person that I think the other person deserves?”
He knew he was close to ranting, but he needed Michael to make sense of things. The dream had shaken him badly enough to colour his mood for the remaining visit at Sam's, but although his sister had noticed that he was quiet and withdrawn, she hadn't commented on it directly, but had otherwise been supportive and kind. Orlando realised he hadn't given the women of the family nearly enough credit for their understanding and empathy.
Michael looked thoughtful. “Why are you so concerned with deserving?”
“Because I don't want to let him down,” Orlando said and stopped pacing. “And because I want to be better. I don't think the old me was fit to be anybody's partner. And no, I'm not blaming myself for Davide smacking me about. That was all just him. But I let him do that. I thought I was protecting the other important people in my life by acting as a barrier between them. Sounds crazy, but it made a lot of sense.”
He knew he was reasoning again, and he snapped his mouth shut with an effort.
“What about acceptance?” Michael suggested. “Approaching love from a rational standpoint rarely gives any satisfying answers. The concept of deserving is an interesting one, but I doubt that anyone who loves you could pinpoint the exact reason why they love you, and why they find you worthy of that love. A new approach could perhaps be acceptance. Acceptance of that love and what it means to both of you.”
“I think that's where responsibility comes into play,” Orlando said slowly. “If I accept that Viggo loves me, shouldn't I also accept the responsibility of striving to be a worthy partner? Because if I can't be that, and if I can't give that, then it would be unfair to accept him loving me in the first place.”
“You have very strong protective tendencies,” Michael remarked. “Which is a good thing. I would be glad to see you extend those tendencies to yourself.”
Orlando offered his psychologist a small smile. “You and me both, mate.”
“As long as you realise you're not invincible. You can't stop all bad things from happening.”
Orlando looked like he wanted to argue, but then he went back to his armchair and plopped down into it. “No, I can't. But tell me, am I being ridiculous because I want to be better for someone I love? Is it wrong to think that way?”
Michael finally put his ever present legal pad away and looked at him seriously. “It's not wrong, or ridiculous. It's a very healthy goal. And when the day comes that you count yourself among those that you love you won't be needing me anymore. Sooner rather than later, I believe.”
“That's a bit scary,” Orlando admitted. “But I hope so too. I haven't had those nightmares for a while, you know. I actually had a very nice dream about Viggo. The only bad thing was that it ended.”
“Tell me about your dream.”
“You old perv,” Orlando said, grinning. Michael shrugged and said that it was one of the few perks of the job. “It was very... intimate. I don't think I've ever felt that close to anyone. I can't believe it was all just a dream, it felt so real.”
“There was no violence, or a threat of violence?” Michael wrote something down.
Orlando shook his head.
“No. Just me and him. The dream was great while it lasted. And when I woke up I realised I may have lost him for good. It would've been better not to wake up at all. Tell me, why do the all good things have to come to an end?”
Michael looked at him over his glasses. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep,” he quoted.
Orlando recognised Shakespeare when he heard it, but he had always preferred a more practical, hands on approach, and frowned in irritation.
“And what does that mean?” Orlando said.
“I've always taken it to mean that the one dream that lasts forever only begins after this life,” Michael said, “but be glad when you awaken, Orlando, because only then you can begin to realise your dreams and make them reality.”
Orlando bit on his thumb, and flashed him a smile. What Michael said rang true inside him, but he couldn't help teasing.
“You should have been a poet, and not a bloody psychologist!”
“I flatter myself that I'm of much more use as a psychologist,” Michael said. “How did the dream make you feel?”
Orlando considered the question. “I felt loved. And safe. After I woke up I couldn't at first understand that it hadn't been real. I was a rather crappy houseguest to my sister, I suppose. I can't stop thinking that I may have made a horrible mistake in leaving Viggo like that.”
“Do you think leaving Los Angeles was a mistake?”
Orlando sighed. “No. I had to go. And I had no right to ask him to leave with me. Leave everything behind because I needed support. I thought I wasn't good for him.”
“Thought?” Michael asked,
“Thought,” Orlando confirmed. “I don't know if I am, really, but like you said, I can't control everything that happens. He's a grown man. Maybe I could trust that he can decide for himself whether I'm trouble or someone he could count on.”
“You surprise me, Orlando,” Michael said, “in the best possible sense of the word. Now, wake up, and go make that dream come true.”
* * *
Orlando took a long look at the face that looked back at him from the mirror. After three months of his mother's cooking and pampering, he had put on a few pounds, but they didn't really show. Not on his face anyway. He still had the same cheekbones, sharp and sculpted, still only one chin. The look in his eyes was different, though; the haunted look had left them somewhere around the two month mark, and Orlando found with some amazement that he was starting to feel it. Starting to feel normal, not afraid. Starting to feel like he could get his life off hold.
Whether that life included Viggo or not, and whether his career would suffer from the months spent away from working, he couldn't say yet.
“Are you coming, love?” his mother asked, and Orlando looked at her in the mirror where she was standing behind him. They were just getting ready to visit Aunt Robin's and to see Orlando's cousins whom he hadn't seen in years.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, and let his mother help him into his coat. He'd been relieved of the cast a month previously, but the arm was still stiff and hurt sometimes, and he tried not to overtax it. He knew he'd have to book an appointment with a physiotherapist rather sooner than later, and also with his personal trainer before resuming his work-out routine.
“Mum,” he said on the drive over to Aunt Robin's. He was sitting on the passenger seat, keeping his eye on the on-coming traffic. Sonia hadn't let him drive her Volvo since the last time when he'd put a dent in the bumper. Orlando didn't mind, because he'd got used to right-sided traffic in the States, and if he put another dent in his mother's car he'd never hear the end of it.
“Yes, love?” Sonia asked, when Orlando didn't continue immediately.
Orlando glanced at her, treading carefully because he didn't know how Sonia would take what he had to say. “I think it's past time that I went back to L.A. I can't stay here forever. Plus the trial starts in a few weeks.”
He had expected protests and arguments, but instead she gave him a serious look, and nodded.
“I know. You're not my baby boy anymore, are you. You have a life there that you've put on hold.”
His eyes pricked. It was that, exactly. “I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything...”
Sonia laughed, dispelling the notion. “Hush now. It's been a joy to have you here these past months. I'll have you over any time you want to come.” She sighed. “But as much as I'd like to keep you here and away from harm, that isn't my job anymore.”
“Whose is it, then?” he asked, a little gloomily.
“It's yours. And the man's that you have fallen for.” Sonia's voice was matter of fact.
“Mum!” Orlando said, shocked. He'd taken great pains not to mention Viggo's name, or otherwise indicate that he'd gotten involved with someone after Davide.
“Orlando,” she said with a gentle smile. “I'm not blind. I know a lovesick boy when I see one. You've been moping around the house increasingly these last few weeks. And all these love songs blasting from your room might clue a mother in.”
Orlando's face heated. He'd thought he'd been so stealthy and so noble in his decision to suffer in silence.
“It's not that simple,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed that he'd been so transparent.
“I know it's not, love,” she said, and spared him another gentle look. “Love never is. And goodness knows that you've been hurt, even before this dreadful business. I haven't seen you like this before so it must be one hell of a man that you have in mind.”
Orlando couldn't help the smile. “He is, Mum.”
“So I guess we'll visit Aunt Robin's and after we come home, you can start looking for the next flight,” she concluded. “Not just so that you can run in the arms of this man of yours, but to reclaim your life. I've been worried about you for some time now. When you were with that French fellow, you never sounded all that sober when you called. Maybe I should have interfered, but I do know you, Orlando. You have a backbone of steel. It sometimes takes a little time for you to remember that, but I never doubted that you would.”
Orlando bit his lip to keep from crying at this vote of confidence. “Thank you. I love you, Mum.”
“And I love you. Now, your Aunt Robin is very much her old self, so she's going to have a million questions for you to answer.”
Orlando mock-shuddered, and the mother and the son shared a companionable grin.
The rest of the drive was spent in silence, but Orlando couldn't suppress the smile that stole over his face.
* * *
“Now look at you, you haven't changed a bit,” Aunt Robin said, inspecting his face, and took him in a warm hug. “Sonia's little Orlando. Still cute as a button. Come here and meet everyone.”
Orlando felt a bit apprehensive when he was led to the living room, aware that everyone had stopped talking and was looking at him. It was odd, and new, this apprehension, from someone who made a living out of being photographed and strutting the runway, but these were his people, his blood, and he wanted them to like him. Needed them to embrace him like the uncle and nephew and cousin that he was, and they didn't disappoint.
There were Aunt Robin's children, two girls and a boy, all in the awkward teenager phase, the twin boys of Sonia's other sister Helen, as well as the three teenage nieces of Robin's husband. Orlando remembered having last seen them at Aunt Robin's wedding when they were in the cute toddler phase.
He got to know them all, and answered a lot of questions about living in the L.A. No, he didn't live in Hollywood. No, he didn't really know any movie stars or TV celebrities (apart from Neil Patrick Harris who he'd run into at a mutual friend's party, and Adam Lambert who'd attended some industry after party with his then-boyfriend). Yes, NPH was a cool dude. Yes, Adam was really nice and also quite flirty. Yes, it was pretty much always sunny and warm in L.A.
Yes, you did pretty much drive everywhere because walking was likely to attract the wrong kind of attention and everything was too far anyway for walking. Yes, modelling was hard work, but it was cool too, because you got to travel a lot and meet lots of new people. And yes, he was gay just like they had read on the Internet (although to Orlando's relief his bad boy reputation and sexual exploits hadn't been that widely reported in the British media). One of the teenage nieces shyly asked if he had a boyfriend.
“I hope I do,” Orlando said, and elaborated, “It's been a bit complicated. But I'm working on it.”
The girls were a bit giggly, and the boys wanted to play some football in the backyard just to kick his arse and to pronounce that was what happened when you moved to bloody America where they didn't even play proper football. Orlando gave it his best effort and even scored a goal, which earned him the respect of his cousins; however, as the game continued he had to admit that even the girls ran circles around him. Apparently his gym routine hadn't prepared him for a match of footy.
Over tea, the adult relatives brought him up to date on all the family business; the most recent being that Sonia, Helen and Robin had together purchased a cottage in Cornwall, where they expected to spend time in the summer with all the children, and their children. Orlando smiled at the thought of Sam's children mixing with the teens, and felt a sense of wistfulness knowing that he wouldn't likely be able to come.
All the adults were polite enough not to enquire about the oncoming trial or comment on the fact that he was still recovering from his injuries, but gave him some good-natured flak about making a career out of his looks.
“Hey, blame Mum, that's the one I got the genes from,” Orlando said and laughed.
“So, when are you coming back permanently?” Aunt Robin asked. She was the most straightforward of the three sisters; Helen was always too polite to ask any direct questions, not wanting to offend, and Sonia usually got all the information she wanted without having to ask.
“You mean back to England?” Orlando stalled.
“Yes, back to England. I assume you'll be living in London.”
Orlando glanced at his mother who gave him a sympathetic smile, but he knew that she wasn't going to save him from Aunt Robin's clutches. Orlando reckoned that she was also curious to hear the answer herself.
To be honest, it was something he had thought about a lot lately. Sam lived in London with her family, and he wanted to be a part of their lives more so than before. The London fashion scene was nothing to be scoffed at either, so it wasn't as if he'd be committing a professional suicide by re-locating. Besides, he felt he had already seen and experienced all that the L.A. scene had to offer, for better or for worse.
However, most of the work was still there. And there was also Viggo. He knew he shouldn't base his decisions on anyone but himself, but it was a big deciding factor.
“Oh, I don't know. I like the weather there,” he dodged the question, and stuffed his mouth with cake, following it with a mouthful of tea.
“And there's also a man,” Sonia said, her eyes sparkling, and Orlando cut her an annoyed look; he thought they had talked in confidence.
“A man,” Robin and Helen said in unison, and shared a look.
Robin's husband merely drank his tea, clearly not fully comfortable with discussing Orlando's love matters. Orlando fully shared his discomfort. He only hoped his cousins weren't privy to the discussion; the boys might like him, but would probably gag at the mention of Orlando being involved with someone romantically.
“Thanks, Mum,” Orlando said dryly. Sonia rolled her eyes.
“It's not a secret, is it,” she said. “Besides, who are we going to tell? We're not ringing the tabloids, Orlando.”
Well, no. And he had talked to Andrea and Elijah about Viggo until they were both almost gagging, but it was one thing to open up to your friends about a bloke you fancied, and another thing to tell your aunts about him. Everyone in the immediate family knew that he was gay, of course, but Orlando hadn't seen them in years and immediately breaching the topic of his personal life felt a little too fast for his liking.
“I know, Mum,” he said, and then had to smile suddenly, because he realised right then that he did want to talk about Viggo, even if he couldn't talk to the man himself right now. He then turned to his aunts who were looking at him expectantly, tea and cake forgotten.
“So, yeah, there's somebody. A man. Viggo Mortensen. He's American and a bit older than me. And he has a kid. And he's bloody amazing and I can't wait to see him again.”
The aunts ooh'ed and aah'ed at Orlando's words; he was so clearly smitten it was obvious to even those who didn't know him that well. Orlando was faintly aware that he was gushing, but he couldn't help it, and didn't want to.
“And we've worked together before because he's a photographer and he's bloody brilliant. You should just see his photos. Actually, just put his name into Google and you'll find them, because he's pretty well known. And that's an understatement.”
This was the most that Sonia had heard of Orlando's man, and she listened intently. The look in Orlando's eyes told her all she needed to know about how her boy felt. If this American fellow cared for Orlando half as much as Orlando seemed to care for him, well, then Sonia wouldn't feel too badly about seeing him leave, and taking command of his life again.
* * *
to be concluded in Chapter eight and epilogue