Fic: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy Entry 106-120/151 (Entourage, NC-17, Vince/E, Vince/Others)
Title: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy
Entries: 106-120 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~6,000
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle de Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59-70
Entry 71-85
Entry 86-105
Entry 106
I drop onto the couch in Ari's office with a heavy sigh. "I have a problem."
Ari presses his thumb against his eyebrow in frustration. "Do not tell me you've gone and recreation-fucked yourself into an anal fissure. I can't give you time off, so if you did, just pop a fucking Percocet before you go to work."
My face twists in disgust. "Jesus, Ari."
"Okay, what? Come on," Ari demands, snapping in my face. "I'm a very busy man. Things to see, people to do."
"I've got a stalker."
"One of ours?"
"No."
He rolls his eyes. "Tough shit. Be more careful who you let cornhole you on your off hours and maybe that shit won't happen."
"He followed me to an appointment last week. Actually, he followed me to fucking all of them Ari."
Ari sits up in his chair and looks at me. "Who?"
"Steve Parles, Scott Wick, and M."
Ari hisses. All three of them are big money clients, and all of them pay for the privacy more than anything. "Christ, Chase, you're a Goddamn professional. Ten fucking years in the business and you let yourself get a tail? You paint a fucking target on your ass and wave it in front of the guy?"
"He's fucking stalking me-what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to shut the fuck up and let me think." He's on his feet pacing in an instant. "Do you know who it is, or is it some random Internet stalker whose appointment you didn't take?"
"He's an ex. Billy Walsh."
"The director?"
"Yeah."
Ari nods and keeps pacing. Then he stops, opens his door, and shouts, "Lloyd!" It's kind of amazing watching Lloyd work. He taps every contact Ari has and in under ten minutes, Billy's information-from his distributor, to his agent, to where his parents live-is in Ari's hands. It's kind of scary what Ari could do with connections like that. World domination probably.
"Okay. I'll take care of it."
"That's it?"
"That is fucking it, baby. Get your moneymaker back to work."
"He's outside the agency, Ari."
"He won't be by the time you get down there."
I hear him call over to his wife's office and hell, he's not wrong. Billy is gone by the time I leave the building.
~*~*~
Entry 107
E's company is having a Halloween party, which is being held at the Beverly Hilton and is going to be one of those crazy, you-only-get-to-see-pictures-in-the-tabloids-if-you're-lucky type deals where A-listers and shit are supposed to come out of the woodwork. . It's still two weeks until the actual holiday, but apparently Warner's acquired some big something or other, I don't know. I don't read the trades unless Johnny's in them.
Point is, costume party. Great, I can do that easy. I can make myself unrecognizable and actually go out in public.
I dig out the body paint and E goes white.
"What the fuck is that?"
"Paint."
"Yeah, I can see that. Why did you bring it?"
"Because…" I don't know. Because usually I just wear a G-string and let Rope Girl paint me up for Gold Standard costume parties. It's my go-to costume. "I don't know. I thought it'd be hot. I make a mean fairy."
"You are a mean fairy."
"Bite me."
"Not right now."
"What are you going as?"
"Baseball player. I've got my high school uniform and I'm pretty sure it still fits."
"You gotta go as something at least moderately cool, E. You can't shame your colleagues like that."
E unscrews a container of bright blue body paint, looks at it, then up at me. "Were you going for Smurf with this?"
"I hadn't decided yet. Come on, E, it'll be fun."
E laughs. "Once a drama fag, always a drama fag."
"I've got green. You can be an elf or something."
"That's not funny." E's got height issues, which I don't really understand. But then again, I hit six feet when I was sixteen, and E's stuck under five and a half.
"Fine. Green M&M. They're supposed to make you horny, right?"
"Why? You got a hard on for green, or something?"
"Come on, you could melt in my mouth, not in my hand."
E levels me with a long stare. "You're a manipulative son of a bitch, Vince."
"Thanks. Now take your shirt off."
~*~*~
Entry 108
I leave E's side for ten minutes to get a drink and I come back to find him talking to Scott. Fucking Daddy Scott. My heart stops beating for a long moment as E's hand lands on the base of my back and he introduces us. I went as a red M&M (so that E wouldn't feel quite as ridiculous. I don't think it helped, but the act of him painting me was so hot that we barely made it out the door), so it's not like Scott couldn't recognize me.
"He's the producer on a few projects that we're working on. Scott, this is Vincent Chase."
"Lovely to meet you, Mr. Chase." He says my name slow and slimy, and Christ. This is ten years of my worst fucking nightmares made real. "I must say, the two of you look good enough to eat."
"Thanks, Scott." E laughs.
"You look good, too, considering you're old enough to be my dad," I say and E glares at me, but Scott just smiles. It's something of a truce. Silence for silence.
"Thank you, Mr. Chase. Have a good time with your boy, Murphy. I'll see you around."
I don't start breathing again until after Scott walks away. And then I'm so fucking relieved that I can barely hear E bitching at me.
~*~*~
Entry 109
"What're your thoughts on trick-or-treating?" E asks. He's actually carving a pumpkin. It's a mess-orange pumpkin guts are all the way up to his elbows-but he seems happy. I don't remember him being this into the holiday when we were younger. Probably because he didn't like the costume element back then. I like to think that I've worked on that.
"I don't think people actually do that in this neighborhood, do they?"
"I'm pretty sure that Bruckheimer's got kids. I don't know. I've seen some kids on bikes."
"Candy of choice?"
He waves me towards a plastic bag of candy. "Snickers? Milky Ways? I don't know. I just had my assistant get something."
"Fun-sized?"
He rolls his eyes at me and flicks pumpkin goo at me. "Fuck fun-sized. There's nothing fun about a third of a candy bar. A full sized candy bar is fun-sized."
I laugh. "I love you."
It falls flat and suddenly we're staring across the apartment at each other. E's fucking shoulder-deep in a pumpkin, and this isn't what I meant to do. Fuck.
"E, I'm-"
"Don't, okay? Just let me say, 'Me too,' and finish carving this fucking thing."
"Okay."
"Okay. I love you, too. Go put the candy in a bowl for me, will ya? I'm disgusting."
"Okay."
Fuck.
~*~*~
Entry 110
I recognize Billy's building when Ari gives me the assignment. I leave three-dozen messages on Billy's cell that I'm not taking the assignment, but apparently none of them get through.
I call Adam less than 12 hours before the appointment and call in that favor. He bitches at me for a solid twenty minutes before caving because its not like I haven't done this for him, and I know for a fact that Billy actually is a good fuck (unlike his client), so I don't feel too bad.
~*~*~
Entry 111
E picks me up from my place looking messy and tired. His assistant got the crap scared out of her by a near-violent crazy man and security had to drag the guy off the premises. Then E spent the rest of the afternoon talking her down and making sure she was okay.
I don't ask if it's Billy. I can't. The probability that the answer is yes freaks me out so much that I can't get my leg to stop bouncing in the car. Not even when E reaches across the gear stick and puts his hand on my knee.
~*~*~
Entry 112
We're in E's house maybe fifteen minutes before the buzzer goes off and there's a voice echoing through the intercom. It's Billy, and he's screaming so loudly that it's incoherent nonsense.
"I'm sorry. I-I had no idea he'd do this." Not true. I had an idea. I just didn't realize that he was this far out of his fucking mind. Not back when he was fucking me.
"It's fine," E says, turning off the intercom. But the calls start not long after that. His neighbor down the street. Across the way. Next door. All complaining, and the actor next door threatened to call the cops.
I'm not sure why we let Billy in instead of letting the cops take him away. Press issues for E's company, maybe? Because it was always going to come to this, more likely. The gate sliding open feels weirdly like a countdown on a time bomb, and I kind of wish E and I had had time to fuck before this all fell on us.
Billy is panting when they open the door. Sweating and glaring at us with wild eyes.
"What the fuck, Vince?"
"Billy, what do you think you're doing, man? You can't do this."
"And you can do this? With him? He's a fucking suit, and not a very good one," Billy spits the word "suit" out like it's the dirtiest curse word in the book. "You're better than that, Vince. He wouldn't know art if it snapped up and bit his dick off, and it lives in you. You should be where it can speak."
E moves just a little so that he's standing between me and Billy. "He's speaking just fine, so why don't you calm the fuck down and then go home." He jerks his head in the direction of the still open door and I cling to the small hope that Billy actually will.
"This don't concern you, suit. So why don't you take a step back so me and Vince can talk?"
"It concerns my partner, then it concerns me," E shoots back, and my heart doesn't stop beating in my chest when he calls me that. It doesn't turn me on to watch him stand up to Billy, either. Really. "And you're in my house, which also makes it my business. So say whatever you want to say, then take your psychotic obsession and get out of our sight."
Billy shakes his head and finds my eyes over E's shoulder. "This? You'd choose this over me? Seriously, Vince, I know I ain't perfect, but what the fuck makes him better than me? What makes his money better than mine? I need you, Vince."
I wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like. I can feel my pulse in my skull and my throat's closing up so that I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe. "Billy, it's not like that."
"Is it ‘cause he's got more of it? Cause he booked you earlier? Cause you ain't meant to be a kept man, Vince. You're better than being his personal fuck-toy."
E's fist lands solidly with Billy's jaw. Billy stumbles back, spitting blood onto the slick wood floor, then grins with red-stained teeth. He looks like a satisfied hyena from one of those Discovery Channel documentaries Johnny watches all the time.
‘Yeah, ya feel like a big man, dontcha suit? You've got your pet whore, and your tiny Jackie Chan-wanna be moves, and you feel like a big man instead of a shrimpy, pencil-dicked faggot."
"You don't speak to him that way. You hear me?"
"E." It comes out a whisper because my throat isn't working. And I can't get enough air for any real volume. My lips form the word please, but it's not going to stop the head-on collision we're racing towards.
"You can pretty it up however you want, but a whore's a fucking whore."
"You shut your Goddamn mouth, or I'll knock the rest of your fucking teeth in."
"How much does he charge you a fuck? I paid fifteen hundred and he didn't even turn up. You gotta be paying more than that for the dating shit. What is it, two K? Three? Big studio head, you can afford to pay to keep your dick wet."
E's hands are clenched so tight at his sides that I'm afraid he's going to strain something, or hit Billy again. There's a muscle twitching in his jaw that I haven't seen move like that since he was twelve and we ended up in that fight on the basketball court behind the elementary school.
Billy licks blood off his lips and wheels to face me. "So why not me, Vince? You know I'm good for it. Queens Boulevard got picked up for distribution, I've got a three picture deal, and I can fuck you so good your eyes roll back in their sockets and your tongue hangs out of your mouth like a dog in heat. So why not me? What the fuck's wrong with my money that you'll take this fuck's and not mine?"
"It's not like that."
"I talked your pimp. He told me it was copacetic. Why won't you just-"
E pulls his cell phone out of his pocket with extra careful movements, trying not to break the plastic with his clenched hands. "I'm calling the fucking cops."
"I could give you what you need, Vince. I wouldn't make you keep tricking like this fuck. You could stop."
"Billy, I'm-"
"Don't say you're not. You are. I fucking found you." He reaches into his back pocket. There's a crumpled up ball of computer paper in his hand and he chucks it at me. His aim is awful and it hits E in the chest.
I get a rush of vertigo as E catches it and unfolds it, his cell still in his hand. I hear him take a sharp, deep breath before shoving the paper into his pocket.
He moves across the room, grabs Billy by the shirtfront and pushes, hard. He shoves Billy again until he stumbles outside.
"You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand, you understand me? If you're not off my property in thirty seconds, I'm going to call the cops. And if you ever speak to me or him again, you'll be lucky if you can make SciFi channel MOWs for the rest of your career."
He doesn't wait for Billy to answer. He slams the door shut, throws the lock, and leans on it heavily.
"E, I don't-"
He holds up a hand. "Don't. Just don't fucking say anything. Just don't fucking talk, all right? Just don't. I can't take another fucking lie right now."
"I'm not lying, E. Jesus, will you just hear me out? I don't know what he showed you but-"
E yanks the paper out of his pocket and thrusts it at me. It's my Gold Standard website profile. The picture is five years old, but it's me, mostly naked, bent under my work name. To the side of my picture is the stylized list of what I will and won't do, and a link to client reviews.
"E…" I reach out to him and he actually flinches away from me.
"Don't, okay? Just fucking don't."
~*~*~
Entry 113
I sit on the floor of the living room, my back against the sliding glass door that leads to the porch and back yard and my knees tucked up to my chest. E is half way through a bottle of scotch that's older than we are, and he hasn't spoken to me yet. E's a beer guy-even in the nicest of restaurants, he goes for beer. Watching him drink hard stuff like this, it's almost as scary as the fact that he won't look at me.
I want to touch him. I want to kiss him. I want to fuck him. Because I have a very real sense that this is going to be the last time I'm going to be with him and I can't-
I can't have it end without some fucking closure, something to remember. I can't live through that. Not again. But E's a fucking world away.
It takes nearly an hour before he gets deep enough into the bottle but then-finally, mercifully-the questions start.
"How many?"
"How many what?"
He laughs and it's a sharp, ugly sound. "How many people have paid you for your," he waves his half-empty glass in the air, "services."
"I don't know. You'd have to talk to my manager."
"You mean your pimp. You have a pimp." E gives another of those broken, hateful laughs. "Because you're a whore."
"E, please-"
"No, no, it’s fine. It's great. We're talking. I'm not done talking. We're going to talk."
"Okay, E."
"Can I have a ball park?"
"High hundreds."
"Jesus, fuck."
"Nope, never." I did have a gig where the client wanted me to dress as priest, but I don't say that. I'm just hoping to break the tension but it fails, badly.
"I…Jesus. Were you-" he breaks off midsentence and takes another drink before he can finish. "Were you there for me, the night we met again? Were you supposed to fuck me?"
"I didn't know it was you."
"You were the guy Sloan got for me, weren't you?"
"E, it wasn't like that."
"Chase. His name was Chase. And you're-Fucking hell, Vince Chase. And you just happened to be there looking like-God. God, how fucking stupid am I?"
"You're not. Christ, E, I swear to God, it wasn't like that, E. I slept with you because I wanted to. Because I missed you and there you were, right in front of me after fifteen fucking years. Because I've wanted you since I was twelve years old. It wasn't business. You couldn't be that for me, not ever."
He presses the glass to his forehead. "You worked odd hours. Night job. You were always on call. "
I say nothing to that. What the hell can I say?
"How many times did you lie right to my fucking face, Vince? How many times did you kiss me before you went off to let some strange guy fuck you inside out?"
"E, it's not the same."
"How is sucking my dick any different than anyone else's? Is there any fucking difference besides the money?"
"I'm with you because I want to be. It's not even the same thing. You're my exception, E. You're-"
"I'm a goddamn chump, is what I am. Do I need to get tested for anything, Vince? Do you have any fucking idea what you could've tracked back to me? Christ, I haven't had to get an HIV test since the nineties."
"I got tested a couple weeks ago. I'm negative across the board."
"That's so fucking comforting, Vince," E drawls. "I can't even tell you."
"E, if you would just hear me out."
"About what? About how we've been together for six fucking months and you've been fucking other people for money the whole Goddamn time? It says you're up for fucking group shit on that page, Vince. That you're good with fucking bondage and being-who the fuck-how-" He takes a deep breath through his nose and presses his palms into his eyes. "I can see you with them in my head, and it's disgusting."
"It's really not like that, E. It's what I do. It's not who I am."
"What you do is a huge part of who you are, Vince, no matter what you do. And you-you-"
"I hook."
He exhales and pulls his hands off his face. His eyes look red and I'm not sure if that's from the drinking or the pressure or what, but it makes my stomach twist and turn over.
"Vince, I don't understand. I don't fucking understand. Why you would do this?"
I shrug. "It's easy. And I've been doing it for years, so it's not really…" I swallow hard, knowing what I'm about to say will probably fuck things up even more, but I can't lie to him. Not anymore. "It's not really a big deal. It's something I'm good at. I can be whatever they want me to be."
"You wanted to act."
"I wanted a lot of things. I want you."
"You came out here to act."
"Yeah. But I had a trade and the acting wasn't happening."
I watch it hit him. Three, two, one, and the fucking A-bomb drops in his brain. His mouth opens, to ask, but I cannot fucking hear it. I can't hear him ask.
"I moved out, all right?" I push myself farther away from him and press my back against the cool glass, staring at the base of the coffee table between us. "I moved out and I had no high school diploma, no fucking skills, and I took care of myself. So you get as angry as you fucking want, but don't you fucking pity me, E. I took care of myself. I got the fuck out of there and I built a life for myself, a good life. I don't want your fucking pity."
"Vince-"
"Don't. 'Cause the why is that I liked it. Some days, I loved it. I could bend them, E. I could break people and put them back together. They got what they needed, and I got mine, and it worked. It all worked like fucking clockwork until I found you again, so don't you pity me. Fucking hate me, but I don't need that shit from you."
"Was it because of your dad?"
"Why the fuck else would I leave?"
"How old were you?"
"Old enough to say yes."
"Vince-"
"Stop it. Whatever sob story you've got in your head, just stop it. Okay? Cause the shit I did in New York? That's not what we're talking about. That was ten years ago, three thousand miles away, and about a thousand dollars a pop cheaper. So don't. I don't need it."
"Vince-"
"It's a job, E. It's a job just like you have a job. My job is just messier than yours."
E points at me accusingly. "It's not the same and you know it."
"No, I don't. I leave it when I walk out of the assignment. And then I pick it right back up when I go back. You bring your work home, E. Not me."
"Bringing home some paperwork is not the same as letting some stranger fuck you, Vince."
"Why not? You're good at paper work, I'm good at sex. We've got different skill sets."
"I can't believe you count that as a skill set."
"It is. I can make it real and I can end it like a fucking scene in a movie. I spent a long time getting good at what I do and I gave up a lot for you. Half my client-base, more than half my income, and a lot of my flexibility. I did it because I care about you. Because you come first for me, E."
"Then why didn't you stop? Why don't you stop? If you love me, how can you not have stopped?"
"And do what? I've been doing this since I was a teenager. What the hell else can I do?"
"I don't know. But I could've helped you out until you figured it out."
"So then I'd go from being everyone's whore to your whore. Yeah, that's so much better."
"Jesus, Vince, you know I don't mean it that way."
"I know that. And you need to know that the clients don't mean a fucking thing to me and that you've been the thing that makes my world keep spinning since we were kids."
E sits there, looking at me for a long time. He finishes off the scotch he has left in his glass, then turns it upside down and sets it down on the coffee table.
"You're not going to stop, are you?"
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. Because I think maybe E was right earlier. Maybe this is who I am. It's not all of me, but it's enough that I can't let it go just yet. "No."
"Yeah. I didn't think you would."
"I-E, you gotta know that it’s fucking always been you."
"I know," E says. His fingers are tracing the ridges in his overturned glass. "I know you do."
"And you love me, too. But we're done, aren't we?"
"I-" His voice cracks and he licks his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."
"I kind of thought so."
"Hey, Vince?"
"Yeah?"
He gets up, crosses the room, kneels down, and takes my face in both his hands. His eyes are the same blue as the sky on a clear afternoon, but they're so fucking sad that I can almost taste that sadness on his lips. They're soft and warm and there's a little scotch left that burns my tongue. But I memorize this. I burn it into me the way I didn't get to last time. I let him hold me until he finally lets go and walks away.
I hear the door to his bedroom close. It clicks shut softly but it hits me like a slam, and it's a long time before I can pick myself up off the floor.
~*~*~
Entry 114
Outside, I cry like I haven't since I was a kid. It's nauseating, hiccupping sobs muffled against the sleeve of my shirt. But it's outside the gate, in the dark, and it's private, so I don't fight it.
It takes Johnny forty-five minutes to get from his apartment to E's place, and I'm done by the time he gets there. My cuff is soaked, my eyes and nose are both red, and I feel hollow inside my chest where my lungs are supposed to be, but I'm done. I can speak and I can think, and I can fake it like the pro I am.
Problem is that my brother isn't stupid. He's not blind either, and he doesn't take me home. He takes me over to Turtle's instead, and the two of them ply me with weed until it's not that it doesn't hurt like I've lost a limb, it's more like it doesn't matter so much that it feels like I'm dying. It's kind of separate from the me that is sitting and laughing and eating pizza with Johnny and Turtle.
~*~*~
Entry 115
I wake up on Turtle's sofa two days later with Kelly sitting on the ground next to me, stroking my hair.
"Hey, handsome. How you holding up?"
"I have a headache."
"I bet." She kisses my forehead and goes to get me some Advil, and I miss E. I breathe in, I miss E, I breathe out, I miss E, but I remember him taking care of me when I had that flu bug and it's like a physical spasm of missing him.
She comes back, medicates me, then lifts me so that my head is in her lap. She says nothing-just sits there and pets me like I'm Arnold after a trip to the vet. I fall asleep like that and I don't dream.
~*~*~
Entry 116
"You want me to have him killed for you? Because Lloyd knows kung fu and he can kick that fucker's ass through his throat and out his mouth."
"It's fine, Ari."
"Yeah. 'Cause you look fine. And you know everyone wants to fuck Pagliacci the sad clown. Come on, baby, don't fuck with me. I need to know if you're ready to go back to work."
"Yeah. I am. I need to go back, Ari."
"Open bookings?"
"Everything. Anything. If the missus okays it, I'd really like to take some S&M jobs."
"You know she'd cut off both our balls first."
"Ask her."
"You ask her. I like my dick attached, thanks."
"Please, Ari, just tell her-ask her-I need this, okay? Just ask her."
"We'll discuss it. Until then, you're back on normal rotation."
"Fine."
"And fucking dandy." Ari sighs and dials his wife's extension. It makes me smile, and fuck if that doesn't hurt.
~*~*~
Entry 117
Scott asks me about E. I tell him that it was just an escort job. He doesn't push it. He's good about pushing, knows when to and when not to. It makes him a powerhouse in the entertainment industry. It also makes him a good client and a good friend.
He makes me beg and call him Daddy and for once, it is actually a good thing. It's a weird release. He fucks me hard enough that I can feel it in my molars and he pulls on my hair, hard. It's a blissful, non-thought experience. I can just check out and turn on the autopilot.
He asks me if I'm all right when we're done. I brush a kiss on his mouth, and I lie. He takes it without question and tips me in hundred dollar bills.
~*~*~
Entry 118
"Absolutely not."
"I need the money."
Mrs. Ari doesn't bat a lash or lift a perfectly sculpted brow. "No, you don't."
"Mrs. Gold, please. I just-I need it, all right? I need it and I know you have clients who would be happy to have me. I'm the best and you know it."
"No, Chase. Not like this."
"Ari said the Marxes are back in town."
She folds her arms over her chest. ‘"No. I saw you after that engagement. You were practically bleeding."
"Then you can send Rope Girl with me. She can monitor the situation."
Another negative. Fuck.
"She has better things to do with her time than babysit you, Chase. Her skills are more valuable elsewhere. And please don't call her Rope Girl to her face. Her name is Emily. Try and remember that."
"Okay, not Emily. Adam or Lloyd or someone. Anyone, okay? I need you to do this for me, ma'am. Because I can go to Faultline or Eagle L.A. and get it myself. But that doesn't make you and Ari the money it could. "
She sighs heavily and flips through a large black appointment book on her desk. She pages through this week and into the next, and stops.
"There's a private party next week. We didn't put you in it because you had limited your client list."
"Back at Passive Acts?"
"Mhm. It's a little bigger than the last one, but the holidays are coming up and people tend to need stress relief between Thanksgiving and Christmas." She mumbles something about the goyim under her breath, but I don't catch it. "Anyway, security's always tight, as I'm sure you remember." She sighs again. "I'm not going to let you get yourself hurt, Chase."
"I'm not trying to."
She doesn't look up. She just writes something into her book.
"Next Friday night. Be there by eleven so you can get ready."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet," she mutters. "This is a test run, Chase. If I hear good things, I may let you on scene jobs. Maybe."
~*~*~
Entry 119
Turtle comes over and brings his dog with him. Arnold whines in the back of his throat, licks my hands, and sets his head in my lap.
"You need him more than I do."
"Turtle, I can't have pets here."
"Yeah, well I've got work all day and he's been depressed lately. So just keep him company until I get done, all right? As a favor to me."
"Fine, Turtle. Just so long as my landlord didn't see you come in with him."
"Nah, Vin, fat fucker's passed out on his couch. I saw him through the window. Thanks, Vince. I owe you one."
I don't have work, so I crawl back into bed and Arnold hops up on the mattress with me. I sleep better with the dog there than I have since the last time I slept next to E. And Turtle doesn't swing back by my apartment until the next morning.
~*~*~
Entry 120
I have this black shirt, this tricky, twinky, slutty thing with cut off sleeves, see-through fabric, and a tear across the stomach that makes my abs look better than they actually are. Lloyd got it for me for Christmas one year. It's the sort of thing that's just fucking perfect for something like the Passive Acts party tomorrow.
Problem is, I can't find it. I've gone through every drawer-visible and hidden-all my shelves, all my dirty laundry, under the bed, and hell, I even check the oven because I never cook, so sometimes I store shit in there. Like the really good toys I don't want my brother or Turtle to know are even in existence.
There's always a possibility I threw it in there when grabbing something to use for work or to de-stress. But it's not there. And it really is the last place I could look.
It's not that expensive. It's from like…an annual warehouse sale at Barney's or something with Lloyd's Home Ec tweaks, but I tend to average like…fifteen percent higher tips from whoever takes it off me, and I could use the money. I flop down on the couch, frustrated and tired, and there it is.
It's shimmering and draped over something white and plastic that's wedged between the couch and an end table. I have no idea how it got here. I must have taken it off after a job and just chucked it over here or something, and the cleaning lady (who is a sixty year old woman who knows to stay out of my oven on after that first time when I walked in and found her studying that green vibrating butt plug) must have missed it or something.
Snatch it up and give it a quick smell check-no B.O., no cigarette, cigar or pot smoke-and freeze when it hits me what it's lying on. It's a fax machine. It's E's fax machine because what the fuck do I need with a fax when I've got a cell and a computer? He moved it in here when I had that stomach flu and I guess…I guess he just left it here.
I run my fingers over the plastic and then jerk my hand away like I've been burned. He's left lots of shit there. He never came back for the clothes he left-I had mail them to him. He left his toothbrush and the bottle of shampoo he used is still in my shower, and I've been fine. I was fine with those.
But some stupid clunky Office Space reject sitting in my living room makes feel like all the air's been sucked out of my lungs. I haven't spoken to E in almost a month. It feels like it's only been a few hours. It feels like it's been years.
I don't even consciously realize what I'm doing when I go back to my kitchen and grab one of my best water proof plugs out of my oven. I drop the shirt on my nightstand for tomorrow and I duck into the shower to use a hand full of the last of his shampoo in my hair and to slick my cock.
The fullness of the plug is comforting and a good warm up for the abuse I'm going to take tomorrow. The smell that fills the shower steam makes the orgasm better, as close to how it was with E as anything has been since the last time he fucked me.
I throw the bottle out after I come and finish showering. I'm getting rid of it and that stupid fucking fax machine before I go to work tomorrow. I have to.
~*~*~
Continue to Entry 121-126
Entries: 106-120 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~6,000
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle de Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59-70
Entry 71-85
Entry 86-105
Entry 106
I drop onto the couch in Ari's office with a heavy sigh. "I have a problem."
Ari presses his thumb against his eyebrow in frustration. "Do not tell me you've gone and recreation-fucked yourself into an anal fissure. I can't give you time off, so if you did, just pop a fucking Percocet before you go to work."
My face twists in disgust. "Jesus, Ari."
"Okay, what? Come on," Ari demands, snapping in my face. "I'm a very busy man. Things to see, people to do."
"I've got a stalker."
"One of ours?"
"No."
He rolls his eyes. "Tough shit. Be more careful who you let cornhole you on your off hours and maybe that shit won't happen."
"He followed me to an appointment last week. Actually, he followed me to fucking all of them Ari."
Ari sits up in his chair and looks at me. "Who?"
"Steve Parles, Scott Wick, and M."
Ari hisses. All three of them are big money clients, and all of them pay for the privacy more than anything. "Christ, Chase, you're a Goddamn professional. Ten fucking years in the business and you let yourself get a tail? You paint a fucking target on your ass and wave it in front of the guy?"
"He's fucking stalking me-what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to shut the fuck up and let me think." He's on his feet pacing in an instant. "Do you know who it is, or is it some random Internet stalker whose appointment you didn't take?"
"He's an ex. Billy Walsh."
"The director?"
"Yeah."
Ari nods and keeps pacing. Then he stops, opens his door, and shouts, "Lloyd!" It's kind of amazing watching Lloyd work. He taps every contact Ari has and in under ten minutes, Billy's information-from his distributor, to his agent, to where his parents live-is in Ari's hands. It's kind of scary what Ari could do with connections like that. World domination probably.
"Okay. I'll take care of it."
"That's it?"
"That is fucking it, baby. Get your moneymaker back to work."
"He's outside the agency, Ari."
"He won't be by the time you get down there."
I hear him call over to his wife's office and hell, he's not wrong. Billy is gone by the time I leave the building.
~*~*~
Entry 107
E's company is having a Halloween party, which is being held at the Beverly Hilton and is going to be one of those crazy, you-only-get-to-see-pictures-in-the-tabloids-if-you're-lucky type deals where A-listers and shit are supposed to come out of the woodwork. . It's still two weeks until the actual holiday, but apparently Warner's acquired some big something or other, I don't know. I don't read the trades unless Johnny's in them.
Point is, costume party. Great, I can do that easy. I can make myself unrecognizable and actually go out in public.
I dig out the body paint and E goes white.
"What the fuck is that?"
"Paint."
"Yeah, I can see that. Why did you bring it?"
"Because…" I don't know. Because usually I just wear a G-string and let Rope Girl paint me up for Gold Standard costume parties. It's my go-to costume. "I don't know. I thought it'd be hot. I make a mean fairy."
"You are a mean fairy."
"Bite me."
"Not right now."
"What are you going as?"
"Baseball player. I've got my high school uniform and I'm pretty sure it still fits."
"You gotta go as something at least moderately cool, E. You can't shame your colleagues like that."
E unscrews a container of bright blue body paint, looks at it, then up at me. "Were you going for Smurf with this?"
"I hadn't decided yet. Come on, E, it'll be fun."
E laughs. "Once a drama fag, always a drama fag."
"I've got green. You can be an elf or something."
"That's not funny." E's got height issues, which I don't really understand. But then again, I hit six feet when I was sixteen, and E's stuck under five and a half.
"Fine. Green M&M. They're supposed to make you horny, right?"
"Why? You got a hard on for green, or something?"
"Come on, you could melt in my mouth, not in my hand."
E levels me with a long stare. "You're a manipulative son of a bitch, Vince."
"Thanks. Now take your shirt off."
~*~*~
Entry 108
I leave E's side for ten minutes to get a drink and I come back to find him talking to Scott. Fucking Daddy Scott. My heart stops beating for a long moment as E's hand lands on the base of my back and he introduces us. I went as a red M&M (so that E wouldn't feel quite as ridiculous. I don't think it helped, but the act of him painting me was so hot that we barely made it out the door), so it's not like Scott couldn't recognize me.
"He's the producer on a few projects that we're working on. Scott, this is Vincent Chase."
"Lovely to meet you, Mr. Chase." He says my name slow and slimy, and Christ. This is ten years of my worst fucking nightmares made real. "I must say, the two of you look good enough to eat."
"Thanks, Scott." E laughs.
"You look good, too, considering you're old enough to be my dad," I say and E glares at me, but Scott just smiles. It's something of a truce. Silence for silence.
"Thank you, Mr. Chase. Have a good time with your boy, Murphy. I'll see you around."
I don't start breathing again until after Scott walks away. And then I'm so fucking relieved that I can barely hear E bitching at me.
~*~*~
Entry 109
"What're your thoughts on trick-or-treating?" E asks. He's actually carving a pumpkin. It's a mess-orange pumpkin guts are all the way up to his elbows-but he seems happy. I don't remember him being this into the holiday when we were younger. Probably because he didn't like the costume element back then. I like to think that I've worked on that.
"I don't think people actually do that in this neighborhood, do they?"
"I'm pretty sure that Bruckheimer's got kids. I don't know. I've seen some kids on bikes."
"Candy of choice?"
He waves me towards a plastic bag of candy. "Snickers? Milky Ways? I don't know. I just had my assistant get something."
"Fun-sized?"
He rolls his eyes at me and flicks pumpkin goo at me. "Fuck fun-sized. There's nothing fun about a third of a candy bar. A full sized candy bar is fun-sized."
I laugh. "I love you."
It falls flat and suddenly we're staring across the apartment at each other. E's fucking shoulder-deep in a pumpkin, and this isn't what I meant to do. Fuck.
"E, I'm-"
"Don't, okay? Just let me say, 'Me too,' and finish carving this fucking thing."
"Okay."
"Okay. I love you, too. Go put the candy in a bowl for me, will ya? I'm disgusting."
"Okay."
Fuck.
~*~*~
Entry 110
I recognize Billy's building when Ari gives me the assignment. I leave three-dozen messages on Billy's cell that I'm not taking the assignment, but apparently none of them get through.
I call Adam less than 12 hours before the appointment and call in that favor. He bitches at me for a solid twenty minutes before caving because its not like I haven't done this for him, and I know for a fact that Billy actually is a good fuck (unlike his client), so I don't feel too bad.
~*~*~
Entry 111
E picks me up from my place looking messy and tired. His assistant got the crap scared out of her by a near-violent crazy man and security had to drag the guy off the premises. Then E spent the rest of the afternoon talking her down and making sure she was okay.
I don't ask if it's Billy. I can't. The probability that the answer is yes freaks me out so much that I can't get my leg to stop bouncing in the car. Not even when E reaches across the gear stick and puts his hand on my knee.
~*~*~
Entry 112
We're in E's house maybe fifteen minutes before the buzzer goes off and there's a voice echoing through the intercom. It's Billy, and he's screaming so loudly that it's incoherent nonsense.
"I'm sorry. I-I had no idea he'd do this." Not true. I had an idea. I just didn't realize that he was this far out of his fucking mind. Not back when he was fucking me.
"It's fine," E says, turning off the intercom. But the calls start not long after that. His neighbor down the street. Across the way. Next door. All complaining, and the actor next door threatened to call the cops.
I'm not sure why we let Billy in instead of letting the cops take him away. Press issues for E's company, maybe? Because it was always going to come to this, more likely. The gate sliding open feels weirdly like a countdown on a time bomb, and I kind of wish E and I had had time to fuck before this all fell on us.
Billy is panting when they open the door. Sweating and glaring at us with wild eyes.
"What the fuck, Vince?"
"Billy, what do you think you're doing, man? You can't do this."
"And you can do this? With him? He's a fucking suit, and not a very good one," Billy spits the word "suit" out like it's the dirtiest curse word in the book. "You're better than that, Vince. He wouldn't know art if it snapped up and bit his dick off, and it lives in you. You should be where it can speak."
E moves just a little so that he's standing between me and Billy. "He's speaking just fine, so why don't you calm the fuck down and then go home." He jerks his head in the direction of the still open door and I cling to the small hope that Billy actually will.
"This don't concern you, suit. So why don't you take a step back so me and Vince can talk?"
"It concerns my partner, then it concerns me," E shoots back, and my heart doesn't stop beating in my chest when he calls me that. It doesn't turn me on to watch him stand up to Billy, either. Really. "And you're in my house, which also makes it my business. So say whatever you want to say, then take your psychotic obsession and get out of our sight."
Billy shakes his head and finds my eyes over E's shoulder. "This? You'd choose this over me? Seriously, Vince, I know I ain't perfect, but what the fuck makes him better than me? What makes his money better than mine? I need you, Vince."
I wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like. I can feel my pulse in my skull and my throat's closing up so that I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe. "Billy, it's not like that."
"Is it ‘cause he's got more of it? Cause he booked you earlier? Cause you ain't meant to be a kept man, Vince. You're better than being his personal fuck-toy."
E's fist lands solidly with Billy's jaw. Billy stumbles back, spitting blood onto the slick wood floor, then grins with red-stained teeth. He looks like a satisfied hyena from one of those Discovery Channel documentaries Johnny watches all the time.
‘Yeah, ya feel like a big man, dontcha suit? You've got your pet whore, and your tiny Jackie Chan-wanna be moves, and you feel like a big man instead of a shrimpy, pencil-dicked faggot."
"You don't speak to him that way. You hear me?"
"E." It comes out a whisper because my throat isn't working. And I can't get enough air for any real volume. My lips form the word please, but it's not going to stop the head-on collision we're racing towards.
"You can pretty it up however you want, but a whore's a fucking whore."
"You shut your Goddamn mouth, or I'll knock the rest of your fucking teeth in."
"How much does he charge you a fuck? I paid fifteen hundred and he didn't even turn up. You gotta be paying more than that for the dating shit. What is it, two K? Three? Big studio head, you can afford to pay to keep your dick wet."
E's hands are clenched so tight at his sides that I'm afraid he's going to strain something, or hit Billy again. There's a muscle twitching in his jaw that I haven't seen move like that since he was twelve and we ended up in that fight on the basketball court behind the elementary school.
Billy licks blood off his lips and wheels to face me. "So why not me, Vince? You know I'm good for it. Queens Boulevard got picked up for distribution, I've got a three picture deal, and I can fuck you so good your eyes roll back in their sockets and your tongue hangs out of your mouth like a dog in heat. So why not me? What the fuck's wrong with my money that you'll take this fuck's and not mine?"
"It's not like that."
"I talked your pimp. He told me it was copacetic. Why won't you just-"
E pulls his cell phone out of his pocket with extra careful movements, trying not to break the plastic with his clenched hands. "I'm calling the fucking cops."
"I could give you what you need, Vince. I wouldn't make you keep tricking like this fuck. You could stop."
"Billy, I'm-"
"Don't say you're not. You are. I fucking found you." He reaches into his back pocket. There's a crumpled up ball of computer paper in his hand and he chucks it at me. His aim is awful and it hits E in the chest.
I get a rush of vertigo as E catches it and unfolds it, his cell still in his hand. I hear him take a sharp, deep breath before shoving the paper into his pocket.
He moves across the room, grabs Billy by the shirtfront and pushes, hard. He shoves Billy again until he stumbles outside.
"You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand, you understand me? If you're not off my property in thirty seconds, I'm going to call the cops. And if you ever speak to me or him again, you'll be lucky if you can make SciFi channel MOWs for the rest of your career."
He doesn't wait for Billy to answer. He slams the door shut, throws the lock, and leans on it heavily.
"E, I don't-"
He holds up a hand. "Don't. Just don't fucking say anything. Just don't fucking talk, all right? Just don't. I can't take another fucking lie right now."
"I'm not lying, E. Jesus, will you just hear me out? I don't know what he showed you but-"
E yanks the paper out of his pocket and thrusts it at me. It's my Gold Standard website profile. The picture is five years old, but it's me, mostly naked, bent under my work name. To the side of my picture is the stylized list of what I will and won't do, and a link to client reviews.
"E…" I reach out to him and he actually flinches away from me.
"Don't, okay? Just fucking don't."
~*~*~
Entry 113
I sit on the floor of the living room, my back against the sliding glass door that leads to the porch and back yard and my knees tucked up to my chest. E is half way through a bottle of scotch that's older than we are, and he hasn't spoken to me yet. E's a beer guy-even in the nicest of restaurants, he goes for beer. Watching him drink hard stuff like this, it's almost as scary as the fact that he won't look at me.
I want to touch him. I want to kiss him. I want to fuck him. Because I have a very real sense that this is going to be the last time I'm going to be with him and I can't-
I can't have it end without some fucking closure, something to remember. I can't live through that. Not again. But E's a fucking world away.
It takes nearly an hour before he gets deep enough into the bottle but then-finally, mercifully-the questions start.
"How many?"
"How many what?"
He laughs and it's a sharp, ugly sound. "How many people have paid you for your," he waves his half-empty glass in the air, "services."
"I don't know. You'd have to talk to my manager."
"You mean your pimp. You have a pimp." E gives another of those broken, hateful laughs. "Because you're a whore."
"E, please-"
"No, no, it’s fine. It's great. We're talking. I'm not done talking. We're going to talk."
"Okay, E."
"Can I have a ball park?"
"High hundreds."
"Jesus, fuck."
"Nope, never." I did have a gig where the client wanted me to dress as priest, but I don't say that. I'm just hoping to break the tension but it fails, badly.
"I…Jesus. Were you-" he breaks off midsentence and takes another drink before he can finish. "Were you there for me, the night we met again? Were you supposed to fuck me?"
"I didn't know it was you."
"You were the guy Sloan got for me, weren't you?"
"E, it wasn't like that."
"Chase. His name was Chase. And you're-Fucking hell, Vince Chase. And you just happened to be there looking like-God. God, how fucking stupid am I?"
"You're not. Christ, E, I swear to God, it wasn't like that, E. I slept with you because I wanted to. Because I missed you and there you were, right in front of me after fifteen fucking years. Because I've wanted you since I was twelve years old. It wasn't business. You couldn't be that for me, not ever."
He presses the glass to his forehead. "You worked odd hours. Night job. You were always on call. "
I say nothing to that. What the hell can I say?
"How many times did you lie right to my fucking face, Vince? How many times did you kiss me before you went off to let some strange guy fuck you inside out?"
"E, it's not the same."
"How is sucking my dick any different than anyone else's? Is there any fucking difference besides the money?"
"I'm with you because I want to be. It's not even the same thing. You're my exception, E. You're-"
"I'm a goddamn chump, is what I am. Do I need to get tested for anything, Vince? Do you have any fucking idea what you could've tracked back to me? Christ, I haven't had to get an HIV test since the nineties."
"I got tested a couple weeks ago. I'm negative across the board."
"That's so fucking comforting, Vince," E drawls. "I can't even tell you."
"E, if you would just hear me out."
"About what? About how we've been together for six fucking months and you've been fucking other people for money the whole Goddamn time? It says you're up for fucking group shit on that page, Vince. That you're good with fucking bondage and being-who the fuck-how-" He takes a deep breath through his nose and presses his palms into his eyes. "I can see you with them in my head, and it's disgusting."
"It's really not like that, E. It's what I do. It's not who I am."
"What you do is a huge part of who you are, Vince, no matter what you do. And you-you-"
"I hook."
He exhales and pulls his hands off his face. His eyes look red and I'm not sure if that's from the drinking or the pressure or what, but it makes my stomach twist and turn over.
"Vince, I don't understand. I don't fucking understand. Why you would do this?"
I shrug. "It's easy. And I've been doing it for years, so it's not really…" I swallow hard, knowing what I'm about to say will probably fuck things up even more, but I can't lie to him. Not anymore. "It's not really a big deal. It's something I'm good at. I can be whatever they want me to be."
"You wanted to act."
"I wanted a lot of things. I want you."
"You came out here to act."
"Yeah. But I had a trade and the acting wasn't happening."
I watch it hit him. Three, two, one, and the fucking A-bomb drops in his brain. His mouth opens, to ask, but I cannot fucking hear it. I can't hear him ask.
"I moved out, all right?" I push myself farther away from him and press my back against the cool glass, staring at the base of the coffee table between us. "I moved out and I had no high school diploma, no fucking skills, and I took care of myself. So you get as angry as you fucking want, but don't you fucking pity me, E. I took care of myself. I got the fuck out of there and I built a life for myself, a good life. I don't want your fucking pity."
"Vince-"
"Don't. 'Cause the why is that I liked it. Some days, I loved it. I could bend them, E. I could break people and put them back together. They got what they needed, and I got mine, and it worked. It all worked like fucking clockwork until I found you again, so don't you pity me. Fucking hate me, but I don't need that shit from you."
"Was it because of your dad?"
"Why the fuck else would I leave?"
"How old were you?"
"Old enough to say yes."
"Vince-"
"Stop it. Whatever sob story you've got in your head, just stop it. Okay? Cause the shit I did in New York? That's not what we're talking about. That was ten years ago, three thousand miles away, and about a thousand dollars a pop cheaper. So don't. I don't need it."
"Vince-"
"It's a job, E. It's a job just like you have a job. My job is just messier than yours."
E points at me accusingly. "It's not the same and you know it."
"No, I don't. I leave it when I walk out of the assignment. And then I pick it right back up when I go back. You bring your work home, E. Not me."
"Bringing home some paperwork is not the same as letting some stranger fuck you, Vince."
"Why not? You're good at paper work, I'm good at sex. We've got different skill sets."
"I can't believe you count that as a skill set."
"It is. I can make it real and I can end it like a fucking scene in a movie. I spent a long time getting good at what I do and I gave up a lot for you. Half my client-base, more than half my income, and a lot of my flexibility. I did it because I care about you. Because you come first for me, E."
"Then why didn't you stop? Why don't you stop? If you love me, how can you not have stopped?"
"And do what? I've been doing this since I was a teenager. What the hell else can I do?"
"I don't know. But I could've helped you out until you figured it out."
"So then I'd go from being everyone's whore to your whore. Yeah, that's so much better."
"Jesus, Vince, you know I don't mean it that way."
"I know that. And you need to know that the clients don't mean a fucking thing to me and that you've been the thing that makes my world keep spinning since we were kids."
E sits there, looking at me for a long time. He finishes off the scotch he has left in his glass, then turns it upside down and sets it down on the coffee table.
"You're not going to stop, are you?"
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. Because I think maybe E was right earlier. Maybe this is who I am. It's not all of me, but it's enough that I can't let it go just yet. "No."
"Yeah. I didn't think you would."
"I-E, you gotta know that it’s fucking always been you."
"I know," E says. His fingers are tracing the ridges in his overturned glass. "I know you do."
"And you love me, too. But we're done, aren't we?"
"I-" His voice cracks and he licks his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."
"I kind of thought so."
"Hey, Vince?"
"Yeah?"
He gets up, crosses the room, kneels down, and takes my face in both his hands. His eyes are the same blue as the sky on a clear afternoon, but they're so fucking sad that I can almost taste that sadness on his lips. They're soft and warm and there's a little scotch left that burns my tongue. But I memorize this. I burn it into me the way I didn't get to last time. I let him hold me until he finally lets go and walks away.
I hear the door to his bedroom close. It clicks shut softly but it hits me like a slam, and it's a long time before I can pick myself up off the floor.
~*~*~
Entry 114
Outside, I cry like I haven't since I was a kid. It's nauseating, hiccupping sobs muffled against the sleeve of my shirt. But it's outside the gate, in the dark, and it's private, so I don't fight it.
It takes Johnny forty-five minutes to get from his apartment to E's place, and I'm done by the time he gets there. My cuff is soaked, my eyes and nose are both red, and I feel hollow inside my chest where my lungs are supposed to be, but I'm done. I can speak and I can think, and I can fake it like the pro I am.
Problem is that my brother isn't stupid. He's not blind either, and he doesn't take me home. He takes me over to Turtle's instead, and the two of them ply me with weed until it's not that it doesn't hurt like I've lost a limb, it's more like it doesn't matter so much that it feels like I'm dying. It's kind of separate from the me that is sitting and laughing and eating pizza with Johnny and Turtle.
~*~*~
Entry 115
I wake up on Turtle's sofa two days later with Kelly sitting on the ground next to me, stroking my hair.
"Hey, handsome. How you holding up?"
"I have a headache."
"I bet." She kisses my forehead and goes to get me some Advil, and I miss E. I breathe in, I miss E, I breathe out, I miss E, but I remember him taking care of me when I had that flu bug and it's like a physical spasm of missing him.
She comes back, medicates me, then lifts me so that my head is in her lap. She says nothing-just sits there and pets me like I'm Arnold after a trip to the vet. I fall asleep like that and I don't dream.
~*~*~
Entry 116
"You want me to have him killed for you? Because Lloyd knows kung fu and he can kick that fucker's ass through his throat and out his mouth."
"It's fine, Ari."
"Yeah. 'Cause you look fine. And you know everyone wants to fuck Pagliacci the sad clown. Come on, baby, don't fuck with me. I need to know if you're ready to go back to work."
"Yeah. I am. I need to go back, Ari."
"Open bookings?"
"Everything. Anything. If the missus okays it, I'd really like to take some S&M jobs."
"You know she'd cut off both our balls first."
"Ask her."
"You ask her. I like my dick attached, thanks."
"Please, Ari, just tell her-ask her-I need this, okay? Just ask her."
"We'll discuss it. Until then, you're back on normal rotation."
"Fine."
"And fucking dandy." Ari sighs and dials his wife's extension. It makes me smile, and fuck if that doesn't hurt.
~*~*~
Entry 117
Scott asks me about E. I tell him that it was just an escort job. He doesn't push it. He's good about pushing, knows when to and when not to. It makes him a powerhouse in the entertainment industry. It also makes him a good client and a good friend.
He makes me beg and call him Daddy and for once, it is actually a good thing. It's a weird release. He fucks me hard enough that I can feel it in my molars and he pulls on my hair, hard. It's a blissful, non-thought experience. I can just check out and turn on the autopilot.
He asks me if I'm all right when we're done. I brush a kiss on his mouth, and I lie. He takes it without question and tips me in hundred dollar bills.
~*~*~
Entry 118
"Absolutely not."
"I need the money."
Mrs. Ari doesn't bat a lash or lift a perfectly sculpted brow. "No, you don't."
"Mrs. Gold, please. I just-I need it, all right? I need it and I know you have clients who would be happy to have me. I'm the best and you know it."
"No, Chase. Not like this."
"Ari said the Marxes are back in town."
She folds her arms over her chest. ‘"No. I saw you after that engagement. You were practically bleeding."
"Then you can send Rope Girl with me. She can monitor the situation."
Another negative. Fuck.
"She has better things to do with her time than babysit you, Chase. Her skills are more valuable elsewhere. And please don't call her Rope Girl to her face. Her name is Emily. Try and remember that."
"Okay, not Emily. Adam or Lloyd or someone. Anyone, okay? I need you to do this for me, ma'am. Because I can go to Faultline or Eagle L.A. and get it myself. But that doesn't make you and Ari the money it could. "
She sighs heavily and flips through a large black appointment book on her desk. She pages through this week and into the next, and stops.
"There's a private party next week. We didn't put you in it because you had limited your client list."
"Back at Passive Acts?"
"Mhm. It's a little bigger than the last one, but the holidays are coming up and people tend to need stress relief between Thanksgiving and Christmas." She mumbles something about the goyim under her breath, but I don't catch it. "Anyway, security's always tight, as I'm sure you remember." She sighs again. "I'm not going to let you get yourself hurt, Chase."
"I'm not trying to."
She doesn't look up. She just writes something into her book.
"Next Friday night. Be there by eleven so you can get ready."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet," she mutters. "This is a test run, Chase. If I hear good things, I may let you on scene jobs. Maybe."
~*~*~
Entry 119
Turtle comes over and brings his dog with him. Arnold whines in the back of his throat, licks my hands, and sets his head in my lap.
"You need him more than I do."
"Turtle, I can't have pets here."
"Yeah, well I've got work all day and he's been depressed lately. So just keep him company until I get done, all right? As a favor to me."
"Fine, Turtle. Just so long as my landlord didn't see you come in with him."
"Nah, Vin, fat fucker's passed out on his couch. I saw him through the window. Thanks, Vince. I owe you one."
I don't have work, so I crawl back into bed and Arnold hops up on the mattress with me. I sleep better with the dog there than I have since the last time I slept next to E. And Turtle doesn't swing back by my apartment until the next morning.
~*~*~
Entry 120
I have this black shirt, this tricky, twinky, slutty thing with cut off sleeves, see-through fabric, and a tear across the stomach that makes my abs look better than they actually are. Lloyd got it for me for Christmas one year. It's the sort of thing that's just fucking perfect for something like the Passive Acts party tomorrow.
Problem is, I can't find it. I've gone through every drawer-visible and hidden-all my shelves, all my dirty laundry, under the bed, and hell, I even check the oven because I never cook, so sometimes I store shit in there. Like the really good toys I don't want my brother or Turtle to know are even in existence.
There's always a possibility I threw it in there when grabbing something to use for work or to de-stress. But it's not there. And it really is the last place I could look.
It's not that expensive. It's from like…an annual warehouse sale at Barney's or something with Lloyd's Home Ec tweaks, but I tend to average like…fifteen percent higher tips from whoever takes it off me, and I could use the money. I flop down on the couch, frustrated and tired, and there it is.
It's shimmering and draped over something white and plastic that's wedged between the couch and an end table. I have no idea how it got here. I must have taken it off after a job and just chucked it over here or something, and the cleaning lady (who is a sixty year old woman who knows to stay out of my oven on after that first time when I walked in and found her studying that green vibrating butt plug) must have missed it or something.
Snatch it up and give it a quick smell check-no B.O., no cigarette, cigar or pot smoke-and freeze when it hits me what it's lying on. It's a fax machine. It's E's fax machine because what the fuck do I need with a fax when I've got a cell and a computer? He moved it in here when I had that stomach flu and I guess…I guess he just left it here.
I run my fingers over the plastic and then jerk my hand away like I've been burned. He's left lots of shit there. He never came back for the clothes he left-I had mail them to him. He left his toothbrush and the bottle of shampoo he used is still in my shower, and I've been fine. I was fine with those.
But some stupid clunky Office Space reject sitting in my living room makes feel like all the air's been sucked out of my lungs. I haven't spoken to E in almost a month. It feels like it's only been a few hours. It feels like it's been years.
I don't even consciously realize what I'm doing when I go back to my kitchen and grab one of my best water proof plugs out of my oven. I drop the shirt on my nightstand for tomorrow and I duck into the shower to use a hand full of the last of his shampoo in my hair and to slick my cock.
The fullness of the plug is comforting and a good warm up for the abuse I'm going to take tomorrow. The smell that fills the shower steam makes the orgasm better, as close to how it was with E as anything has been since the last time he fucked me.
I throw the bottle out after I come and finish showering. I'm getting rid of it and that stupid fucking fax machine before I go to work tomorrow. I have to.
~*~*~
Continue to Entry 121-126