A New Friend - Orlando Bloom ficlet
Title: A New Friend (possibly the queerest title ever, but I suck at such things)
Fandom: Orlando Bloom/JC Chasez based off a ficlet request
Rating: PG-13 due to inappropriate language and slash mentionings
Summary: Orli’s adventures in a bar one night.
Author's Note: I always turn Orli into this romantic ninny, my Britficness is horrid, and don't expect smut because I can't do it without it sounding like some biology text book.
Time crawled away with the helpless tempo of traffic on an LA freeway. The summer light seemed to last forever-a swollen haze of smog and orange-and I wondered how anyone could survive living in Los Angeles permanently. It was too…everything. Nothing was done in moderation here. The fecking sun was beginning to drive me nutters and it was weird to even think that I missed the dreary vibe that England provided.
It was probably because I hadn’t been home on break in months. I wondered if my flat was overrun with squatters or if my mother had turned it into a museum of sorts, tarps covering the 70’s deco furniture I pulled out of the trash and claimed as my own. I missed my mates and the tube that got me wherever I needed to go without hours of traffic and the anonymity I used to have.
There was something wonderful about being an actor and having amazing opportunities fall into my lap. There was a magic in the air, fairy dust falling from the sky, whenever I got to play someone else, to take on his life as my own. It filled this weird wasteland within me that used to drive my mother mad. She would say things like, “Orli, sit still” or “Orli, calm down” or “Orli, why can’t you ever be satisfied with one adventure?” I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me, maybe I lacked all patience and attentiveness like those A.D.D. kids mentioned in science magazines, and then I discovered the theater and everything became clear.
But this world in Los Angeles. It was full of things that weren’t about theater or acting. It was the mirage of it all that mattered and it worked for me because I’m “sexy” and “up-and-coming,” but that was never what I wanted. I hated the way I allowed myself to be whored out to the highest bidder at times because the goal was to keep working, to keep myself from the insanity and itchy sensation that came from remaining in the same place for too long. And I paid the price for it in the most unfathomable ways. I lost the freedom and the flying and the chance to fancy someone who didn’t immediately begin dissecting my take on Legolas.
I heard the faint sound of a Rolling Stones song echoing through my car. I leaned across the console of my rental car and picked up the cellphone my agent had purchased for me. I loathed it, this ability for people to be in constant contact with me, but accepted it as one of those necessary evils.
“’hullo.”
“Orli, where the hell are you?”
“Bloody photo shoot went late.”
I heard Dom holler to the others before he responded, “Get your fecking pretty boy ass here. ‘Lij and Billy are beating me terribly at darts and I need your lousiness to make me feel better about myself.”
“My pretty boy ass is going to wallop you good.”
“Promises, promises,” Dom commented before I heard his end of the phone click off.
I threw the phone back onto the passenger’s seat and turned the radio up, singing along to Elton John, and sped down the streets as quickly as possible until I saw the bar that my friends dubbed as “hook-up central” and squeezed into a spot in front of of the bar.
I hopped out of the car, smoothing my shirt and pulling a fag from my pocket. I leaned against the car and took a long drag before making my way to the front door only to be accosted by two men. They didn’t appear to resemble my typical fanbase, much more likely to throw a beer bottle at my head than ask for an autograph.
The one guy placed his hand on my arm. He looked familiar in that vague he could be someone way that most people in Los Angeles had. He said, “Dude, that spot. You ignored my fucking blinker.”
“I beg your pardon?” I questioned, studying the guy’s shiny apparel. He looked like he had jumped out of the pages of a S&M catalogue.
“Whatever man,” the guy replied, pushing past me and giving me a hard shove in the shoulder.
I rolled my eyes. Typical. People here were supposed to be so laid back, but when it came to cars and driving, I was surprised that I hadn’t been killed in some drive by already. I waited a few minutes to distance myself from the stupid blighters before making my way inside where I immediately spotted my mates laughing loudly and flirting with the waitress.
I dangled the cigarette in my mouth and hovered over the boys from a distance, listening to their horrible attempts at wooing the pretty brunette. Once she was gone, I smirked and offered, “I leave the three of you to your own machinations and see what happens. You frighten all the prospects away.”
“About fecking time,” Dom said, sliding over in the booth to make room for me to sit down. He pointed at Elijah and Billy and stated, “These two are absolutely mad once you get a few pints in them.”
“But not you,” Orli said.
“Never.”
“Nope.”
“I know how to control my alcohol consumption,” Dom clarified.
“And how’s that exactly? As I recall, you passed out with your thumb in your mouth the other night,” Elijah countered.
Dom threw his napkin at him and scowled, “That was one night, mind you, and I can drink you under the table any night of the week, little boy.”
“Under the table is right. I believe that’s where you nodded off last time,” Billy said, causing both him and Elijah to laugh as though it was the funniest thing they ever heard. I sat there and watched them go at it for another few minutes-back and forth, back and forth. It was always this way with them, but god help me, I loved it. These guys were one of the few real things I had found in Los Angeles to hold on. It probably sounded slightly sissy or feminine, but these guys were all mine. We knew everything about one another-how to infuriate, how to make each other laugh, and how to pretend not to notice the crap going on-and I thrived on that sort of friendship.
I motioned to the bar and said, “Since you managed to scare our server away, I’m going to make my way to the bar.”
“Good fucking luck. There’s some popstar here tonight. Between the girls and security guards swarming the area, you might as well go down to the local 7/11 and pick up a six-pack,” Elijah replied.
Dom flicked a balled up piece of napkin at Elijah, which ricocheted off his forehead, and said, “you’re forgetting who Orli is.” Dom reached over and pinched my cheeks before taking on a faux Southern accent, “He’s just so precious I could eat him with a spoon.”
“But what size spoon?” Billy inquired.
“A teeny-tiny teaspoon,” Dom replied, garnering nods from my other two so-called mates.
I pushed Dom back down into the seat and rolled my eyes at the lot of them. I dropped the remainder of my cigarette into the ashtray and replied, “I need to get a pint in me before I can deal with you three. Anyone need anything?”
“That waitress’ phone number would be nice,” Elijah replied.
I rolled my eyes again and walked over to the bar. I watched a group of twenty-something girls regress to the age of thirteen, squealing and giggling about touching some guy’s hand, and press themselves against a corner wall. I shook my head, laughing under my breath, and tried to flag a bartender down. It was an apparently impossible feat and I lit up another cigarette, no longer caring who it might bother.
A few girls screamed again and I immediately tensed up. It wasn’t ego so much as history that made me worry that some rabid fan was hovering behind me ready to rip my shirt off. I had moved past the flattered phase months ago and found most of it to be insane.
“This shit’s insane,” a guy next to me said, reading my thoughts.
“Quite possibly the scariest thing I’ve ever witnessed and I have some strange mates,” I replied, tilting my head upward and letting out a puff of smoke. I glanced over and noticed it was the same guy from outside. I wondered if I was about to get my ass beaten and this was some sort of American pretext before the fight. “You.”
The guy ducked his head down. He was obviously not expecting that statement from me. He motioned to my lack of alcohol and asked, “Did you want something? I know the bartender here.”
“A beer please,” I responded. I watched in amazement in the same fashion I did when I was in New York City and saw some little kid flag down a taxi without an problems.
Before I even knew what had happened a beer was placed before me and the other guy had said, “Put it on my tab.” The guy turned to face me and said, “Sorry about earlier.”
“Ah, yes, the scene outside.”
“I’m pretty even tempered usually, but my publicist was giving me a hard time on the phone and then…it doesn’t matter.”
“Publicist? So you’re in the business,” I replied. I realized the minute it came out how ridiculous and somewhat mobster-movie it sounded. I didn’t want to appear like some sort of crazy person, so I explained, “Only because I am and…I’m going to stop talking now.”
The guy smiled and extended his hand. He said, “JC.”
“Orlando.”
“You’re in those movies.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
“Well, my friends are waiting for me,” I said. I looked down and realized my hand was still in his and forced myself to pry it away. I smiled and said, “You’re free to join us if you like.”
“Actually that wild pack of rabid girls is surrounding my friends.”
“You’re the popstar.”
“I guess. Well, one of them anyway. At the moment, it’s J they’re drooling over. I’m in hiding.”
“You could remain in hiding. I promise you that no girls will approach our table-my friends will see to that.”
“I heard that, you poncey bastard,” Dom’s voice called out from behind me. He placed his arm on my shoulder and glanced at JC. He said, “My friend here is incredibly envious of my abilities to woo women with my quick wit.”
JC smiled at me and stood up. He said, “Thanks for the offer, but if I don’t make an appearance soon, my cellphone will start ringing nonstop, and trust me when I say there is nothing more frightening than a bitchy popstar.” JC moved in as if he was going to shake my hand again, but stopped himself. Instead he said, “It was nice to meet you, Orlando.”
“You too, JC.”
“All’s forgiven then?”
“And forgotten,” I finished. I sounded like I was running lines for an episode of East Enders with the dramatic tone my voice had taken on. What the hell was wrong with me?
I watched JC disappear and turned to meet Dom’s amused expression. I glared at him, “What?” Dom snickered and I repeated, “What?”
“It bloody figures you fall for the one guy who looks like the ken doll version of you.”
“We don’t look alike,” I said. I caught Dom’s eye and added, “And I haven’t fallen for anyone. He bought me a pint.”
“You always like the pretty boys.”
“That would explain why I was never attracted to you then, I suppose.”
Dom clutched his chest and said, “You must really fancy the bloke if you’re getting this defensive.”
“I don’t fancy anyone.”
“Whatever you say, mate. Are you going to join us or stand hare all night in a puddle of your non-fancying drool while you stare wantonly across the crowded bar?”
I picked up my drink and made my way back to the table. I tried to ignore the fact that I kept glancing over my shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of JC again. I tried even harder to ignore the chuckling coming from Dominic as he followed behind me.
Elijah glanced at me and asked, “What’s his name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got that googly-eyed face that only appears when true love has run amuck.”
“Or true lust,” Billy interjected.
“Same difference really by Orli’s standards,” Dom added.
“Do we have anything else to talk about aside from my perceived love life?”
“Nah,” they all replied in unison. I had set myself up for that one really.
“His name is JC and he’s the bloody spitting image of our boy except with blue eyes. They both share a fondness for horrifying ensembles and a dislike of overzealous fans. The only difference may be his penchant for singing crappy love songs.”
“Says the man that owns the entire Air Supply collection,” I commented.
Dom pointed at me and replied, “And he defends JC’s honor already. Must be love.”
“Did you get his number?” Elijah asked.
I gulped down the remainder of my beer and asked, “And why would I do that?”
“Because you fancy him,” Dom said.
I pointed my cigarette at my friends and replied, “Let’s say that I did...fancy...the fellow. Even if I did, it’s not like anything would come of it.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a bloody popstar and I’m…whatever. It would be impossible and if it ever got out? Talk about a nightmare waiting to happen. It’s best not to wander down that road of improbability.”
“But if you-“
“I don’t know anything about him really. I know that he bought me a drink and sings lyrics I wouldn’t listen too unless forced at gunpoint. That’s it. Hardly the basis for a relationship,” I asserted. I was notorious for my inability to sound firm or tough when it came to anything, so I offered my best impression of royally pissed off. I gulped down the remnants of my beer and circled my finger around the moisture cling on the bottle as I slammed it down for effect.
It didn't work.
“Chickenshit,” Elijah stated.
“I don’t even know if he’s gay,” I responded in exasperation.
“You don’t know?” Dom scoffed. He said, “You’re gaydar is for shit, my friend. If that lime green leisure suit doesn’t scream queer, I don’t know what does.”
“He could simply have terrible taste in clothes.”
“And the fact that he was checking you out the entire time I was standing there was, of course, a misunderstanding. He secretly thought you were a woman in men’s clothing with a five o’clock shadow.”
“I’ve seen scarier things on Venice Beach,” Elijah commented. He kicked me under the table and said, even louder this time, “Chickenshit.”
“What of it?”
“I simply wanted it on the record, is all,” Elijah replied.
“What do you suppose I do? Beat through the crowd of women and have him rush off with…” my voice trailed off when I noticed the grins on my friends’ faces and noticed the outline of a shadow on the table. I shut my eyes and said, “He’s standing there, isn’t he? Oh bloody hell.”
Dom nudged me, forcing me to open my eyes despite my best attempts not to, hopped up and said, “What’s that, Billy? Another round of darts, you say? Great.” He pulled Billy out of the booth and forced him to follow him to the other end of the place.
Elijah glanced uncomfortably from me to JC and said, “I better go keep an eye on those two or all hell is likely to break loose.” Elijah winked at me (the word “subtle” would never be uttered in association with ‘Lij) and nodded pleasantly at JC before scattering off in Dom’s direction.
I motioned to the abandoned booth and managed to meet JC’s gaze before responding, “That wasn’t too obvious or anything.”
“They’re about as discreet as my friends.”
“Changed your mind, did you?”
“Well, there is only so much, ‘JC, I need you. JC, I love you. JC, you’re my soul’ that a guy can take in one night.”
“Most definitely.”
“Especially since the last one came in the form of a sixty year old fat man,” JC replied with an exaggerated shudder.
I laughed and replied, “Terribly frightening indeed.”
“I don’t normally do this-“ he began.
At the same time, I began, “I don’t know what you heard, but-“
“I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
I held up my hand to stop him before he could go any further and replied, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant...this is embarrassing.”
“For both of us,” JC replied.
“I tend to avoid starting up things in general, but it’s a rule of mine not to get involved with celebrities.”
“Me too.”
“Because it could get terribly messy.”
He grinned, “Right.”
“I find it’s much better to stick to friendship at this point in my life. I mean, I’m never around for long periods of time-“
It was JC’s turn to hold his hand up. He smiled at me in this reassuring manner that reminded me of my mother or sister when they knew they had to reel me back in. He shrugged and said, “Orlando, I just came over here to talk…maybe hang out…I’m not planning a commitment ceremony or anything.”
“Good to know.”
“At least not until we’ve had an official date,” he replied. He reached over and petted my hand, obviously noticing my face drop, and added, “That was a joke.”
“Funny.”
“So, what do you say, Orlando? Want to talk? Or should I go rejoin my friends?”
I nodded. I don’t know what I was nodding at exactly. My mind was a blanket of confusion and no words, not even the simplest yes or no answers, wanted to come out. I reached into my pocket for another cigarette and extended the hand to offer one to JC.
“Singing and smoking don’t go well together.”
“Fair point.”
“Does this mean I should stay?”
There was a part of me that wanted to bolt for the door, sure that this could only end badly, but there was something about his eyes that sucked me in. Maybe it was the sheer blueness or the small scar above his left eye, but either way, I couldn’t pass on the opportunity presented to me. If there was anything I had learned in my life, it was that the greatest things required the most work. I shrugged noncommittally, though I doubted I was fooling anyone and said, “Sure. I can always use a few more friends to count on here in Los Angeles.”
{/fin}
Fandom: Orlando Bloom/JC Chasez based off a ficlet request
Rating: PG-13 due to inappropriate language and slash mentionings
Summary: Orli’s adventures in a bar one night.
Author's Note: I always turn Orli into this romantic ninny, my Britficness is horrid, and don't expect smut because I can't do it without it sounding like some biology text book.
Time crawled away with the helpless tempo of traffic on an LA freeway. The summer light seemed to last forever-a swollen haze of smog and orange-and I wondered how anyone could survive living in Los Angeles permanently. It was too…everything. Nothing was done in moderation here. The fecking sun was beginning to drive me nutters and it was weird to even think that I missed the dreary vibe that England provided.
It was probably because I hadn’t been home on break in months. I wondered if my flat was overrun with squatters or if my mother had turned it into a museum of sorts, tarps covering the 70’s deco furniture I pulled out of the trash and claimed as my own. I missed my mates and the tube that got me wherever I needed to go without hours of traffic and the anonymity I used to have.
There was something wonderful about being an actor and having amazing opportunities fall into my lap. There was a magic in the air, fairy dust falling from the sky, whenever I got to play someone else, to take on his life as my own. It filled this weird wasteland within me that used to drive my mother mad. She would say things like, “Orli, sit still” or “Orli, calm down” or “Orli, why can’t you ever be satisfied with one adventure?” I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me, maybe I lacked all patience and attentiveness like those A.D.D. kids mentioned in science magazines, and then I discovered the theater and everything became clear.
But this world in Los Angeles. It was full of things that weren’t about theater or acting. It was the mirage of it all that mattered and it worked for me because I’m “sexy” and “up-and-coming,” but that was never what I wanted. I hated the way I allowed myself to be whored out to the highest bidder at times because the goal was to keep working, to keep myself from the insanity and itchy sensation that came from remaining in the same place for too long. And I paid the price for it in the most unfathomable ways. I lost the freedom and the flying and the chance to fancy someone who didn’t immediately begin dissecting my take on Legolas.
I heard the faint sound of a Rolling Stones song echoing through my car. I leaned across the console of my rental car and picked up the cellphone my agent had purchased for me. I loathed it, this ability for people to be in constant contact with me, but accepted it as one of those necessary evils.
“’hullo.”
“Orli, where the hell are you?”
“Bloody photo shoot went late.”
I heard Dom holler to the others before he responded, “Get your fecking pretty boy ass here. ‘Lij and Billy are beating me terribly at darts and I need your lousiness to make me feel better about myself.”
“My pretty boy ass is going to wallop you good.”
“Promises, promises,” Dom commented before I heard his end of the phone click off.
I threw the phone back onto the passenger’s seat and turned the radio up, singing along to Elton John, and sped down the streets as quickly as possible until I saw the bar that my friends dubbed as “hook-up central” and squeezed into a spot in front of of the bar.
I hopped out of the car, smoothing my shirt and pulling a fag from my pocket. I leaned against the car and took a long drag before making my way to the front door only to be accosted by two men. They didn’t appear to resemble my typical fanbase, much more likely to throw a beer bottle at my head than ask for an autograph.
The one guy placed his hand on my arm. He looked familiar in that vague he could be someone way that most people in Los Angeles had. He said, “Dude, that spot. You ignored my fucking blinker.”
“I beg your pardon?” I questioned, studying the guy’s shiny apparel. He looked like he had jumped out of the pages of a S&M catalogue.
“Whatever man,” the guy replied, pushing past me and giving me a hard shove in the shoulder.
I rolled my eyes. Typical. People here were supposed to be so laid back, but when it came to cars and driving, I was surprised that I hadn’t been killed in some drive by already. I waited a few minutes to distance myself from the stupid blighters before making my way inside where I immediately spotted my mates laughing loudly and flirting with the waitress.
I dangled the cigarette in my mouth and hovered over the boys from a distance, listening to their horrible attempts at wooing the pretty brunette. Once she was gone, I smirked and offered, “I leave the three of you to your own machinations and see what happens. You frighten all the prospects away.”
“About fecking time,” Dom said, sliding over in the booth to make room for me to sit down. He pointed at Elijah and Billy and stated, “These two are absolutely mad once you get a few pints in them.”
“But not you,” Orli said.
“Never.”
“Nope.”
“I know how to control my alcohol consumption,” Dom clarified.
“And how’s that exactly? As I recall, you passed out with your thumb in your mouth the other night,” Elijah countered.
Dom threw his napkin at him and scowled, “That was one night, mind you, and I can drink you under the table any night of the week, little boy.”
“Under the table is right. I believe that’s where you nodded off last time,” Billy said, causing both him and Elijah to laugh as though it was the funniest thing they ever heard. I sat there and watched them go at it for another few minutes-back and forth, back and forth. It was always this way with them, but god help me, I loved it. These guys were one of the few real things I had found in Los Angeles to hold on. It probably sounded slightly sissy or feminine, but these guys were all mine. We knew everything about one another-how to infuriate, how to make each other laugh, and how to pretend not to notice the crap going on-and I thrived on that sort of friendship.
I motioned to the bar and said, “Since you managed to scare our server away, I’m going to make my way to the bar.”
“Good fucking luck. There’s some popstar here tonight. Between the girls and security guards swarming the area, you might as well go down to the local 7/11 and pick up a six-pack,” Elijah replied.
Dom flicked a balled up piece of napkin at Elijah, which ricocheted off his forehead, and said, “you’re forgetting who Orli is.” Dom reached over and pinched my cheeks before taking on a faux Southern accent, “He’s just so precious I could eat him with a spoon.”
“But what size spoon?” Billy inquired.
“A teeny-tiny teaspoon,” Dom replied, garnering nods from my other two so-called mates.
I pushed Dom back down into the seat and rolled my eyes at the lot of them. I dropped the remainder of my cigarette into the ashtray and replied, “I need to get a pint in me before I can deal with you three. Anyone need anything?”
“That waitress’ phone number would be nice,” Elijah replied.
I rolled my eyes again and walked over to the bar. I watched a group of twenty-something girls regress to the age of thirteen, squealing and giggling about touching some guy’s hand, and press themselves against a corner wall. I shook my head, laughing under my breath, and tried to flag a bartender down. It was an apparently impossible feat and I lit up another cigarette, no longer caring who it might bother.
A few girls screamed again and I immediately tensed up. It wasn’t ego so much as history that made me worry that some rabid fan was hovering behind me ready to rip my shirt off. I had moved past the flattered phase months ago and found most of it to be insane.
“This shit’s insane,” a guy next to me said, reading my thoughts.
“Quite possibly the scariest thing I’ve ever witnessed and I have some strange mates,” I replied, tilting my head upward and letting out a puff of smoke. I glanced over and noticed it was the same guy from outside. I wondered if I was about to get my ass beaten and this was some sort of American pretext before the fight. “You.”
The guy ducked his head down. He was obviously not expecting that statement from me. He motioned to my lack of alcohol and asked, “Did you want something? I know the bartender here.”
“A beer please,” I responded. I watched in amazement in the same fashion I did when I was in New York City and saw some little kid flag down a taxi without an problems.
Before I even knew what had happened a beer was placed before me and the other guy had said, “Put it on my tab.” The guy turned to face me and said, “Sorry about earlier.”
“Ah, yes, the scene outside.”
“I’m pretty even tempered usually, but my publicist was giving me a hard time on the phone and then…it doesn’t matter.”
“Publicist? So you’re in the business,” I replied. I realized the minute it came out how ridiculous and somewhat mobster-movie it sounded. I didn’t want to appear like some sort of crazy person, so I explained, “Only because I am and…I’m going to stop talking now.”
The guy smiled and extended his hand. He said, “JC.”
“Orlando.”
“You’re in those movies.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
“Well, my friends are waiting for me,” I said. I looked down and realized my hand was still in his and forced myself to pry it away. I smiled and said, “You’re free to join us if you like.”
“Actually that wild pack of rabid girls is surrounding my friends.”
“You’re the popstar.”
“I guess. Well, one of them anyway. At the moment, it’s J they’re drooling over. I’m in hiding.”
“You could remain in hiding. I promise you that no girls will approach our table-my friends will see to that.”
“I heard that, you poncey bastard,” Dom’s voice called out from behind me. He placed his arm on my shoulder and glanced at JC. He said, “My friend here is incredibly envious of my abilities to woo women with my quick wit.”
JC smiled at me and stood up. He said, “Thanks for the offer, but if I don’t make an appearance soon, my cellphone will start ringing nonstop, and trust me when I say there is nothing more frightening than a bitchy popstar.” JC moved in as if he was going to shake my hand again, but stopped himself. Instead he said, “It was nice to meet you, Orlando.”
“You too, JC.”
“All’s forgiven then?”
“And forgotten,” I finished. I sounded like I was running lines for an episode of East Enders with the dramatic tone my voice had taken on. What the hell was wrong with me?
I watched JC disappear and turned to meet Dom’s amused expression. I glared at him, “What?” Dom snickered and I repeated, “What?”
“It bloody figures you fall for the one guy who looks like the ken doll version of you.”
“We don’t look alike,” I said. I caught Dom’s eye and added, “And I haven’t fallen for anyone. He bought me a pint.”
“You always like the pretty boys.”
“That would explain why I was never attracted to you then, I suppose.”
Dom clutched his chest and said, “You must really fancy the bloke if you’re getting this defensive.”
“I don’t fancy anyone.”
“Whatever you say, mate. Are you going to join us or stand hare all night in a puddle of your non-fancying drool while you stare wantonly across the crowded bar?”
I picked up my drink and made my way back to the table. I tried to ignore the fact that I kept glancing over my shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of JC again. I tried even harder to ignore the chuckling coming from Dominic as he followed behind me.
Elijah glanced at me and asked, “What’s his name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got that googly-eyed face that only appears when true love has run amuck.”
“Or true lust,” Billy interjected.
“Same difference really by Orli’s standards,” Dom added.
“Do we have anything else to talk about aside from my perceived love life?”
“Nah,” they all replied in unison. I had set myself up for that one really.
“His name is JC and he’s the bloody spitting image of our boy except with blue eyes. They both share a fondness for horrifying ensembles and a dislike of overzealous fans. The only difference may be his penchant for singing crappy love songs.”
“Says the man that owns the entire Air Supply collection,” I commented.
Dom pointed at me and replied, “And he defends JC’s honor already. Must be love.”
“Did you get his number?” Elijah asked.
I gulped down the remainder of my beer and asked, “And why would I do that?”
“Because you fancy him,” Dom said.
I pointed my cigarette at my friends and replied, “Let’s say that I did...fancy...the fellow. Even if I did, it’s not like anything would come of it.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a bloody popstar and I’m…whatever. It would be impossible and if it ever got out? Talk about a nightmare waiting to happen. It’s best not to wander down that road of improbability.”
“But if you-“
“I don’t know anything about him really. I know that he bought me a drink and sings lyrics I wouldn’t listen too unless forced at gunpoint. That’s it. Hardly the basis for a relationship,” I asserted. I was notorious for my inability to sound firm or tough when it came to anything, so I offered my best impression of royally pissed off. I gulped down the remnants of my beer and circled my finger around the moisture cling on the bottle as I slammed it down for effect.
It didn't work.
“Chickenshit,” Elijah stated.
“I don’t even know if he’s gay,” I responded in exasperation.
“You don’t know?” Dom scoffed. He said, “You’re gaydar is for shit, my friend. If that lime green leisure suit doesn’t scream queer, I don’t know what does.”
“He could simply have terrible taste in clothes.”
“And the fact that he was checking you out the entire time I was standing there was, of course, a misunderstanding. He secretly thought you were a woman in men’s clothing with a five o’clock shadow.”
“I’ve seen scarier things on Venice Beach,” Elijah commented. He kicked me under the table and said, even louder this time, “Chickenshit.”
“What of it?”
“I simply wanted it on the record, is all,” Elijah replied.
“What do you suppose I do? Beat through the crowd of women and have him rush off with…” my voice trailed off when I noticed the grins on my friends’ faces and noticed the outline of a shadow on the table. I shut my eyes and said, “He’s standing there, isn’t he? Oh bloody hell.”
Dom nudged me, forcing me to open my eyes despite my best attempts not to, hopped up and said, “What’s that, Billy? Another round of darts, you say? Great.” He pulled Billy out of the booth and forced him to follow him to the other end of the place.
Elijah glanced uncomfortably from me to JC and said, “I better go keep an eye on those two or all hell is likely to break loose.” Elijah winked at me (the word “subtle” would never be uttered in association with ‘Lij) and nodded pleasantly at JC before scattering off in Dom’s direction.
I motioned to the abandoned booth and managed to meet JC’s gaze before responding, “That wasn’t too obvious or anything.”
“They’re about as discreet as my friends.”
“Changed your mind, did you?”
“Well, there is only so much, ‘JC, I need you. JC, I love you. JC, you’re my soul’ that a guy can take in one night.”
“Most definitely.”
“Especially since the last one came in the form of a sixty year old fat man,” JC replied with an exaggerated shudder.
I laughed and replied, “Terribly frightening indeed.”
“I don’t normally do this-“ he began.
At the same time, I began, “I don’t know what you heard, but-“
“I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
I held up my hand to stop him before he could go any further and replied, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant...this is embarrassing.”
“For both of us,” JC replied.
“I tend to avoid starting up things in general, but it’s a rule of mine not to get involved with celebrities.”
“Me too.”
“Because it could get terribly messy.”
He grinned, “Right.”
“I find it’s much better to stick to friendship at this point in my life. I mean, I’m never around for long periods of time-“
It was JC’s turn to hold his hand up. He smiled at me in this reassuring manner that reminded me of my mother or sister when they knew they had to reel me back in. He shrugged and said, “Orlando, I just came over here to talk…maybe hang out…I’m not planning a commitment ceremony or anything.”
“Good to know.”
“At least not until we’ve had an official date,” he replied. He reached over and petted my hand, obviously noticing my face drop, and added, “That was a joke.”
“Funny.”
“So, what do you say, Orlando? Want to talk? Or should I go rejoin my friends?”
I nodded. I don’t know what I was nodding at exactly. My mind was a blanket of confusion and no words, not even the simplest yes or no answers, wanted to come out. I reached into my pocket for another cigarette and extended the hand to offer one to JC.
“Singing and smoking don’t go well together.”
“Fair point.”
“Does this mean I should stay?”
There was a part of me that wanted to bolt for the door, sure that this could only end badly, but there was something about his eyes that sucked me in. Maybe it was the sheer blueness or the small scar above his left eye, but either way, I couldn’t pass on the opportunity presented to me. If there was anything I had learned in my life, it was that the greatest things required the most work. I shrugged noncommittally, though I doubted I was fooling anyone and said, “Sure. I can always use a few more friends to count on here in Los Angeles.”
{/fin}