03. the horizon scene 1/?
Oh look who finally typed something up and is updating?? Sorry to anyone that was waiting FOREVER for this, but LIFE has been making me crazy all these months. But I want to start writing again and so I've worked on this. I had so many ideas for this that I just can't let it go, now can I? And much thanks to
karneol_vision for reminding me about this and therefore kicking my butt into gear to post more.
Xabi Alonso was angry. No, strike that-he was furious. Decidedly furious. His hands shook as he paced back and forth across the well-worn blue carpet of his office. He felt like screaming, maybe even punching something. No, make that someone. An image came into his mind of his fist connecting with the jaw of Ryan Giggs (that horrible founder of that piece of shit gossip and fashion magazine) and he smiled in spite of his anger.
His co-editor watched on as he wore a path into the carpet. He leaned back in his chair, a small amused grin on his face. Pepe Reina wasn’t really too worried about how angry Xabi looked at the moment. He frequently had these small outbursts, usually over something their rival magazine had pulled, and he knew that once Xabi got over his initial anger everything would be okay. Six years working together (not to mention over fourteen years as friends) had made him basically in tune with every little move his co-editor could make.
"He....I can’t believe they-did you see that shit they printed?" Xabi was exclaiming at the moment, his arms flailing, "Did you?"
"No, I don’t usually read the competition," Pepe answered mildly.
Xabi gestured toward his desk, eyes narrowed. Pepe leaned forward to grab the brightly logo-ed magazine off the surface and flipped idly through the pages.
"Page twenty-two!"
Pepe found the correct page and quickly skimmed the article. His forehead creased and he looked up at his partner, eyes concerned.
"Oh. Well, it was well written at least."
"They went to the presidential rally and all they wrote about were the fashion choices of the Democratic candidate! They didn’t even cover the issues he brought up about gay rights," Xabi argued, "They didn’t once talk about anything important! This could be the biggest election for homosexuals ever and that idiot who wrote that article didn’t even talk about one issue!"
"They’re not a serious magazine, Xabi. They’re supposed to focus on fashion and gossip. That’s the point of their magazine," Pepe tried to say as gently as possible. He tossed the magazine back on Xabi’s immaculate desk and sighed. "We cover the big issues and they cover the frivolous things. No big deal, really. Gay men know where to go if they want to know the truth."
Xabi stared at him, eyes wide.
"How can you be so calm when this is a big deal? Pepe! They’re out there portraying the stereotypical gay man and people are buying it! It’s ridiculous! They’ve got that bimbo slut model, Cristiano Ronaldo, and all he talks about is fashion and sex! I don’t think he’s got one real brain cell in his head to tell you the truth! I always thought that Giggs and Neville were better than that stupid magazine they run, but I’m beginning to think that maybe I was wrong. It’s unbelievable the shit they print!"
Pepe stood up and firmly grasped his friend’s shoulders. He guided him to his desk chair and pushed him down. Xabi opened his mouth to complain, but thought better as Pepe turned a firm gaze his way.
"You need to relax. I’ll have Bojan bring you in a cup of tea."
"I-"
"And I think you should join me and Alvaro for dinner tonight. You’ve been working too hard, Xab, and you need a night out. We’re going to that new steakhouse downtown. I won’t take no for an answer."
Xabi sighed at the determined look on Pepe’s face. Slumping down in his chair, he adjusted the tie around his neck. Maybe his friend was right. He’d been working a lot and he hadn’t seen Alvaro in quite a bit.
"Fine. Dinner it is."
Pepe grinned.
"Good. I’ll call home and tell him to make the reservation then." He turned toward the door and added over his shoulder, "It will all be alright, Xabi, you’ll see!"
Xabi rolled his eyes, glad that Pepe couldn’t see him. His friend’s optimism could be a bit trying at times, for sure. He waited for the older man to leave the room before taking the latest edition of The Scene off his desk and throwing it against the far wall. It made a nice loud thump, and he grinned. Silly or not, the sound made him feel better.
He leaned back into his chair. Maybe Pepe was right. Maybe things would be alright.
*****
"...we need to talk..."
Owen Hargreaves adjusted the lens of his camera and nodded absentmindedly at the words spoken to him. He squinted at the model standing in front of him and waved his hand to the right, urging the man to move.
"Owen..."
"Sure sure," Owen mumbled. He raised his voice and added, "Cristiano, move to my right a bit! The light’s better over there. No no, not that far, just...Wait! That’s perfect!"
He clicked the shutter a couple of times, a wide grin on his face. His model was perfect, the light was perfect, and his camera was set in the perfect position. He zoomed in to capture the hint of a pout on Cristiano’s face.
"Owen, we need-"
"Stop interrupting me, Eagles! I’m trying to work here!" Owen reached back with his left hand, eyes never leaving Cristiano, and pushed at the man standing behind him. "Go sit over there with your makeup bags and shut the hell up!"
Christopher Eagles frowned and rubbed at his shoulder. Owen had barely touched him of course, but he was a bit on the skinny side and any kind of rough touch tended to make him bruise. There was no way he was going to let Owen touch him again. He backed up til he reached the table containing his makeup bag and hair products.
"What’s wrong with him?"
Christopher glanced up at the new assistant photographer and shrugged.
"He’s always like that when he works."
"Oh." Michael Carrick scratched at his head and looked around nervously. "Do you think he might let me take a couple of shots? Mr. Giggs said that I’m-"
"Ryan."
"Huh?"
"Don’t call him Mr. Giggs," Christopher clarified, "We all just call him Ryan. We’re not that formal around The Scene." He gestured toward his studded cuffs and black jeans. "Obviously."
"Oh. Right, right." Michael held up his camera. "Anyway, Ryan said that I’m supposed to get some experience on this shoot today. He wanted me to take a couple of shots, but Owen’s been taking all of them." He paused and looked over to where Owen had moved in close and was shooting Cristiano from the waist up. "He’s taken a lot of them actually for just a simple cover."
"Owen has a thing for Cris."
"What?"
Christopher laughed and grabbed a black eyeliner from his bag. He twisted the cap and looked critically at the point before beginning to apply the makeup to his eyes.
"It’s no big deal, Mikey...can I call you Mikey?" He waited for Michael to nod before continuing his train of thought. "He’s been absolutely gobsmacked over Cris since he got here two years ago and replaced Becks as our only full-time model. Don’t blame him for it, do you? Cris is gorgeous after all."
"He’s very...pretty," Michael agreed.
"Well, Owen’s basically obsessed with Cris. He refuses to shoot anyone else when he’s in charge of the project and he really gives Pat a hard time about not using Cris for every cover," Christopher continued. "We’ve all gotten used to it. Hey!" He grinned and eyed Michael appraisingly. "Can I put this on you?"
Michael’s eyes grew wide as Christopher turned to him, eyeliner in hand. He shook his head wildly and backed up.
"No, no that’s okay. I, um...no thanks!"
Christopher sighed.
"Damn. You’d look amazing with a bit of makeup on."
"Maybe, uh...maybe another time." Michael turned back toward the photo shoot in progress. "Do you think I should ask if I can take a couple? I mean, I didn’t come here just to watch him do all the work..."
"Weren’t you listening to me, Mikey? Owen is obsessed with Cris! He won’t let anyone else take pictures of him. You’ve better luck trying to start up a conversation with that rock over there."
Michael’s face fell.
"But don’t worry! You can keep me company til he’s finished!"
It was hard, but Michael was able to stifle a groan before sinking into the seat next to the makeup table. He hadn’t come to the States from England to just sit around watching some model-obsessed jerk hog all the shoot time for himself. But, if Christopher was right-and Michael was sure he was since he’d been with the magazine a lot longer than his own two weeks-then he’d be sitting right here for the remainder of the day.
He absently played with his camera strap as he watched Owen click away. The older man was now grinning appreciatively as Cristiano seductively raised his left eyebrow at the camera and undid the top two buttons of his white oxford. It was obvious by the gleam in his eye that the model knew exactly how Owen felt about him. Michael turned back to Christopher.
"So what’s happened between them?"
The makeup artist looked up from rearranging his foundations by color and frowned.
"What?"
"Those two," Michael elaborated, waving a hand in the direction of Cristiano and Owen, "Has anything happened between them?"
"Oh. No chance, mate. Cris may be a bit flighty and he may flirt a lot, but he doesn’t go after anyone on the staff. Not after his first month here."
"What happened his first month?"
"We don’t talk about it." Christopher pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the man sitting next to him. "Are you sure about that eyeliner? I can make you look brilliant." He stopped and glanced at the plain black t-shirt and khakis the photographer was wearing. "And maybe if you borrow one of my cuffs and I gel your hair..."
"No. Really," Michael answered firmly.
"It’s a shame. You have such great potential for the punk look..." Christopher’s face fell momentarily but then he picked up a brush and a pot of concealer as Cristiano came sauntering over. The corners of his mouth turned up as the model sighed before leaning in for the all important touch-up. "You look marvelous, mate!"
"I did not get enough sleep last night. Make the dark circles under my eyes go away," Cristiano pleaded. He pouted as Christopher applied a light application. "No, no! More please!"
"Cris, you look fine. Really!"
"...you are sure?"
"I’d never lie to you, baby!" Christopher put down his tools and reached out to run a hand through the model’s slightly gelled curls. "You’re perfect!"
Cristiano grinned at him and Michael was struck by how gorgeous such a simple act could make one man look. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks as the model turned to him and winked before sticking out his hand.
"I do not believe we have met. I’m Cristiano."
"Michael Carrick." Michael shook the offered hand and smiled back. "Nice to meet you."
"Mikey’s our new assistant photographer," Christopher explained.
"Oh?"
"But he’ll never get to shoot you, Cris," Christopher continued, sighing dramatically, "You know Owen won’t ever let anyone else come near you with a camera."
"Shut up." Cristiano grinned once more at Michael before turning back to the set. "I hope we get to work together, Michael..."
Michael watched the gentle yet confident swagger of the model’s hips as he walked back. He knew that he was still flushed and he rubbed at the back of his neck, willing his body temperature to return to normal. Cristiano was quite quite attractive.
"Hmmm, maybe this one would look better."
Michael blinked, his attention focusing back to the young man next to him. He shook his head as Chris once again held up a stick of black eyeliner.
"Really, Eagles, I’m fine."
"Shit. You’re no fun, Mikey!" Chris pouted.
Michael shrugged and leaned against the table. He could handle that. Settling back, he watched Owen give Cristiano a thumbs-up and turn off his camera. It wasn’t as if sitting around, waiting for his turn to take a couple shots of the Portuguese model was fun. If he had to suffer, then so would Chris Eagles.