Shine on | J2 RPS | 1/2 | 16,069 words
My j2au fic!!!
This could not have existed without elmo-loves-me. Two days before the deadline for the completed draft I still had ZERO WORDS and only a couple of nebulous ideas and we started e-mailing back and forth and lo, the words came.
This would suck without rivers-bend and ninhursag. They were absolutely invaluable in the beta process and kicked my butt when I wanted to be lazy. If it still sucks, well, it's no fault of theirs.
My prompt for this fic was Shine on you crazy diamond by Pink Floyd.
Summary: After a painful separation in university Jared and Jensen meet again under very different circumstances. Jensen is an up and coming film director and Jared is a successful public relations executive with a secret. (Dun dun DUH!)
Shine On
note: flashbacks in italics
Jensen looks at the screen and nods enthusiastically when he sees how Mike has framed the shot. He took a lot of heat from the suits when he floated the idea of Mike Rosenbaum as his director of photography, but once he got Jeff on his side it became a non-issue. Of course, convincing Jeff had involved ten hours in the studio, more tequila than Jensen ever wanted to see again, and a lifetime ban from the Waffle House.
The point is, Jensen needs Mike. The director and D.O.P. on any set are virtually inseparable, and if Jensen is going to be tied at the hip to a guy with a utility belt loaded with emergency light meters, well it’s got to be someone who can do the job and someone he likes.
“The lighting and the angles are really going to make this scene,” Mike says, tapping an index finger against the screen. “Shit, we could have cardboard cutouts for actors and it would still be killer.”
Jensen winces and automatically does a check for the actors in question before remembering that the actors and most of the crew have already left for the evening. Mike’s sense of humour isn’t everyone’s cup of tea and the actors, the lead in particular, have taken repeated offence to his passion for his craft.
“Better be, this is my movie,” Jensen says, only half joking. It's not that he isn't proud of the other films he's directed and the name he's made for himself, but this is his script, the one he’s been carrying around since college, coffee stains and yellowed edges and four different types of handwriting in the margins. Every movie he’s done has been leading up to this, and Jensen wants-needs-it to be perfect. So he’s totally not freaking out about the last minute meeting with Jeff that’s scheduled for tonight. Not. One. Bit.
“Got ants in your pants or something?” Mike says suddenly, leaning back from the screen and almost braining Jensen with his shiny, hairless dome.
“No,” Jensen scowls and straightens his shoulders. “Just, uh, a meeting with Jeff tonight.”
“Uh huh,” Mike smirks, “And did the man say what he wants?” he asks as he bounces on his heels. Jensen clears his throat, shrugs in what he hopes is a casual manner. He’s pretty sure he fails, but he’s also sure that Mike was lost in some kind of fantasy haze after Jeff’s name was first mentioned. Jensen knows this after enduring a painful conversation that he wishes he could forget in which Mike expressed a desire to be spanked by a certain executive producer.
“Nope, just that he wanted to meet tonight,” Jensen says. Mike is smirking, so obviously the haze wasn’t as distracting as he’d hoped. He leaves Mike to commune with the camera and heads across the lot to his office, ruminating over what Jeff could possibly want with four weeks left of filming.
The man can be hardnosed and a pain in the ass, but Jensen knows he'd never be making this movie if it weren't for Jeff Morgan. He was an executive producer on Jensen's directorial debut, a Japanese horror remake that was spared from a direct to video release at the last minute by Jeff’s own particular brand of gruff sass, and Jeff is still going to bat for Jensen eight years later. Jensen has enough hubris to admit that without Jeff he’d still be directing B movies with TeenBeat appeal. Jeff hooked him up with Catapult Productions and Jensen found his niche in the independent production company, directing films that appeal to his own style of storytelling.
More than that, Jeff gets Jensen’s script, the themes of conflict and alienation and redemption, he sees past the macabre structure, and understands the ending. When Jensen started the script for his master’s thesis he had no idea how it would evolve, take on a life of its own. There were long nights, pages strewn across the battered coffee table in his loft apartment, and Chris, Steve and Jared huddled around. The four of them would talk out the plot points, argue over locations and actors and dialogue, and jot down ideas, each armed with a pen of a different colour.
The title, Death and the Faith Healer, is circled five times in purple pen, Jared's color, with a scribbled Shut up, you love it under Steve's BOOOO-RING scrawled next to it in red.
Jensen is still sometimes struck by his own ego when he thinks back to the way he argued every change, how he insisted, loudly, that “this is the only way”, only to realize later that his way didn’t work at all. He’d been proud of the strangeness of the script, the almost inaccessibility of it: Death driving around in an old Chevy truck, picking up souls and releasing them into the sprawling cornfield on the edge of town, trapped in loneliness and duty until one day a little girl in a football helmet and blue rubber boots starts raising the newly dead. For weeks Death tries to beat the little girl to each scene, to take the soul before she can restore it, watches the little girl experience near misses after each miracle she performs.
In the script Jensen took to his thesis advisor, the movie ended with the girl dying, killed after saving her grandmother. After a brutal meeting, the memory of which still makes him want to hit things, Jensen was convinced to alter it, so the girl lived and grandma died.
Jared had been furious; Jensen can still see the blush of colour high on his cheeks, as he stormed through the loft, tripping over old scripts and older props, shouting, ”That’s not the ending, Jen. If you can’t write the ending the movie needs-no deserves-then you should just throw it out.” Jared bent down and swiped a hand across the coffee table, scattering pens and pages. Jensen watched the sheets flutter to the floor, watched Jared watching him.
“You’re right,” Jensen said. “You’re right,” Louder, this time, and the couch creaked as Jared flung himself next to Jensen, so close, breath hot on Jensen’s cheek.
“This is your script,” Jared murmured, deft fingers working the buckle of Jensen’s belt. Jensen moaned, opened his knees wide. “Own it,” Jared says, and Jensen surged forward, caught that teasing mouth with his own.
Own it. As much as Jensen has tried to forget Jared, tried to erase him from the two year space he occupied in Jensen’s life, that moment has carried him, propelled him and pushed him, two words that Jensen keeps in his head always.
He fills his head and chest with those words as he waits for Jeff. As much as he likes Jeff, as much as he trusts Jeff, he is an executive producer, and that means things. Executive producers make movies happen; they get the bank, they get the team and at any time they can walk on set and kill your movie just as quick. Jensen is terrified of executive producers.
Probably recognizing the anxiety his call would have sparked, Jeff is early. Jensen watches him shift in the plain wooden guest chair and smiles.
“If I say no now will it make a difference?” He asks. Jeff rolls his eyes and leans his elbow against the edge of the desk.
“No,” he says, amusement threaded through his voice. “There’s been talk about your movie and Cannes.”
“Wait, wait,” Jensen holds up his hands, as if he can physically stop Jeff’s words. “What? Wait, what? Like, being canned or the festival? Because…what?”
“The festival,” Jeff grins, clearly enjoying Jensen’s reaction.
“It’s not even finished! I didn’t send in the script or any test footage.” Jensen just stops himself from gnawing on his bottom lip; it’s his worst tell on the poker table. “This is, how?”
“You’ll send in an application at the appropriate time. Come on, kid, this industry? Nothing’s a secret. Everyone and their dog knows about your movie. That’s not the point.”
“Not the point? Cannes is not the point?” Jensen says.
“We’ve had this discussion before, and I know all your answers, so just keep your mouth shut while I run through this, okay?” Jeff says, and Jensen knows what’s coming. “You have to sell yourself. You have to get out there and get that ugly mug some exposure. This isn’t negotiable this time, Jensen. We really need to push the publicity on this, and you need to be on board with that.”
Jensen reclines in his office chair, luxuriating in the creak of the wood and springs. Be seen, Christ. Jensen hates that, the parties and the alcohol and the alliances and the backstabbing and the airbrushing. He’s no Paris Hilton, he doesn’t want to be seen; he wants to make movies.
“I can tell by the look on your face you aren’t happy, and I’ve got two words for you: Too bad. You want to go back to video release? Because if you don’t start playing the game, that’s where you’re headed. I know you’re about the art, and that’s great, that’s why I push for you and for this movie, but the reality is what it is. I know a guy, and the studio has hired his firm to make Cannes happen.” Jeff says firmly. Jensen knows better than to ask whether or not he gets a say in any of this. “We have a meeting over at Townsend and Hill tomorrow evening; they deal exclusively with entertainment clients. These guys know what they’re doing, okay?”
“Jeff, I don’t have time for this bullshit. I am living and breathing this film, okay, my personal life is in tatters-“
“Jensen, come on. Your personal life is always in tatters. You’re a neurotic bastard with intimacy issues.” Jeff scoffs.
“I do not have intimacy issues,” Jensen says, gearing up to be really damned insulted.
“In five years you’ve had a total of three relationships and none of them lasted longer than two months.” Jeff says.
“I’m committed to my career.” Jensen says, hoping the tone of his voice is enough to close the topic. Sure enough, Jeff raises his hands in a defensive gesture.
“Then you’ll want to do everything you can to boost that career, which means meeting my guy.” Jeff says.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to hand me over to the devil?” Jensen sighs. Jeff just smiles, bright and wide.
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“This is Townsend and Hill?” Jensen cranes his neck, looking up the length of the glass tower. “Thank God we came at night, the glare off that window would probably blind us.”
“Be civil,” Jeff says under his breath as he pulls open the immaculately clean glass door.
“What? I just have to wonder…” Jensen’s voice trailed off as he took in the marble lobby and the giant blue glass fountain in the centre of it. Off to the side, discreet but visible, a bank of sleek black elevators wait to take them to their destination. “This is ridiculous.” Jensen tries hard, or not, but isn’t able to keep the sneer out of his voice. “People must eat this up.”
“Not everyone furnishes their office with props from a 1940s private eye movie, kid,” Jeff grumbles, the heels of his dress shoes clacking across the lobby.
“My office has character,” Jensen says, hurrying to keep up with Jeff’s quick strides.
“Character? That visitor’s chair is about as comfortable as a pile of rocks and every time you put your feet up on the desk I’m convinced your chair is about to collapse under your ass.” Jeff jabs the call button with more force than is strictly necessary, and Jensen wisely keeps his retort under wraps.
“Who are we going to see?” Jensen asks once they are in the (mirrored, of course) elevator on their way to the 16th floor. “I mean, your guy? He’s good?”
“He’s young, but I’ve worked with him before and he knows the film business better than you do so I want you to listen when he talks, okay?” Jeff is looking at his reflection, ruffling his hair and smoothing his eyebrows, but he still catches the expression on Jensen’s face. “Be nice,” he says.
“Okay, I think we should address the fact that you seem to think that I’m a kid and you’re taking me to a birthday party. If he knows as much about the film business as you think, he’ll be totally thrown off if I’m polite.” Jensen rolls his eyes. He’s isn’t going to play nice with someone who is probably going to want to change his wardrobe, style, and choice of drinks.
Sixteenth floor an automated voice announces as the doors open and reveal a set of frosted glass doors with Townsend and Hill etched in cursive writing. Beyond the doors is a reception area, a round mahogany half-wall separating the perfectly groomed blonde behind it from the equally groomed reception room with an LCD TV on the wall, a red leather couch and two red leather chairs. Rather than being cluttered with magazines as you might expect in a waiting area, the mahogany coffee table is clear and glossed to a high shine.
“Mr. Morgan,” the blonde smiles as she comes around the front of the desk.
“Good evening Katie, I hope you’re not still here on our account.” Jeff grins as he moves into the room. Jensen trails a little behind, still taking in the sights.
“Not at all, can I get you something to drink? Espresso? Perrier?” Katie lifts a slender eyebrow as she glances from Jeff to Jensen. Jeff looks at Jensen, who shakes his head. He’s not drinking this Kool-Aid.
“No thanks, Katie, we’re fine.” Jeff answers.
“Very well, if you’ll follow me,” Katie hasn’t stopped smiling since they walked through the door; Jensen wonders if she exercises her facial muscles. “Jared is expecting you,” she says as the pass a line of closed doorways. Jensen feels a jerk in his chest, still a reflex after all these years, but dismisses the concern immediately. It’s not his- not that Jared. All the same, Jensen adds the name to the list of things he already doesn’t like about this guy.
So he’s pretty much completely thrown when an all too familiar voice calls out.
“Jeff, awesome to see you again, man,” A tall figure comes out an open doorway and pumps Jeff’s hand vigorously. Jeff is smiling, genuinely smiling, and Jensen can tell that he’s happy to see Jared, and not just as a business call.
“Hey kid, thanks for seeing us. I know you weren’t sure if you could take this project on, but I’m glad you were able to clear your schedule.” Jeff says. Jensen swallows hard, his eyes everywhere but on the young man in the suit before him. Jensen knows that the conflict Jared had was nothing to do with his schedule, and places his sweaty palms against his thighs, hoping to clear away some of the wetness before the inevitable handshake. “This is Jensen Ackles,” Jeff says.
“Yeah,” Jared says, voice soft and undecipherable, “We’ve met.”
Jensen looks then, he has to or risk looking like some creepy misfit who wasn’t socialized properly. His gaze lands on Jared’s chest first, green silk shirt under a charcoal suit jacket, fitted and hugging the curves of his chest and shoulders perfectly. No tie, collar loose and open framing the length of his neck, which is tanned and smooth and totally lickable. Jensen wonders if that spot below his ear still tastes the same. Jared is smiling, softly, reserved, and Jensen can see an unfamiliar wariness in those hazel eyes. His hair is the same but different too, still long and shiny and soft but without the wayward curls Jensen remembers.
“Jared,” he says, shaking Jared’s hands briskly, holding just long enough to be polite and feeling Jeff’s scrutiny. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you,”
“Oh?” Jared frowns a little then, glancing in Jeff’s direction. Jensen follows his gaze, watches as Jeff shrugs.
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” He says simply.
“Well, we don’t,” Jensen says, perhaps a bit too sharply if the expression on Jeff’s face is any indication. “I mean, not anymore. We haven’t seen each other in years.”
“It’s been a while,” Jared allows, crossing his arms over his chest and then uncrossing them quickly.
“Right,” Jeff says, “Why don’t we get down to brass tacks? Jared, have you had a chance to look over the notes my assistant faxed over?”
Jeff’s words seem to mobilize Jared, and he smiles, quick and bright, before crossing to the sleek wood desk in front of a bank of windows.
“Please, sit,” Jared gestures to the two cushioned leather seats in front of the desk before taking his place in the black executive chair behind it. Looking over Jared’s shoulder, Jensen takes in the view, the lights of the L.A. skyline blinking back at him. Jared has a black folder in his hand and he flips it open; there are about thirty pages in the file and Jensen’s biography and photo are right on top. Jensen wonders if Jared read any of it, if he looked at the picture, wonders what the hell Jared is doing here, what he’s doing here.
“I did have a chance to review your notes, Jeff, please thank Angela for me,” Jared says and Jeff beams, as if the fact that Jared knows his assistant’s name is something amazing. “That said, I’d like to hear about what Jensen thinks.”
Jensen startles then, he’s been looking around the office surreptitiously, trying to regain his footing by focusing on something other than the man before him, trying to figure out if he can do this, just talk to Jared like nothing happened.
“What I think?” Jensen says, forcing himself to meet Jared head on. Jared doesn’t blink, but he must sense Jensen’s annoyance, his anxiety. “If it mattered what I thought I wouldn’t be here. I’m not interested in marketing myself.”
“Uh, Jensen is a purist,” Jeff said quickly, throwing a sharp glance in Jensen’s direction.
“Right, I understand that. Ideally, Jensen, you won’t have to compromise your ideals or yourself-we’re not trying to project something false or untrue, which would only hurt you in the long run. The goal is exposure, to give you a platform and an audience so that you can continue with your art.” Jared explained, expression open and completely genuine, and it makes Jensen’s blood boil. It’s everything they argued about in those last months when everything was a fight and Jared just wouldn’t see reason.
“Are you buying your own line?” Jensen asks.
“Jesus Christ, Jensen,” Jeff hisses, but Jensen is past listening. This is ridiculous. Not only has Jeff brought him to some kind of freaking spin doctor, but it’s Jared, and Jensen is not going to swallow this shit from Jared.
Ignoring Jeff, Jensen continues, “I’m serious. Do you? A platform? Compromise? You’re hitting all the buzz words but they all mean the same thing. I’m supposed to change, to go out to parties and chat up the stars and get my picture taken and end up in UsWeekly, right?”
“Some people go that route,” Jared says coolly, totally unflustered by Jensen’s outburst although he must recognize some of the arguments from their last big fight. “But they often find that the kind of awareness that comes from those stunts are fleeting, and hurt their credibility. At Townsend and Hill we focus on the legitimate, on longevity. That said, if you’re not interested in our services you can walk right on out the door, no problem. But the reality is that if you don’t play the game you can kiss Cannes goodbye.”
Jensen sits back in the chair, stunned. Jared didn’t raise his voice, didn’t have to, Jensen got the message. Jeff is still and quiet next to him, and Jensen winces when he thinks about the conversation they’re bound to have when they leave and the elevator doors close.
“You heard about Cannes?” he asks finally.
“Of course,” Jared says, almost dismissively.
“He’s the one who gave me the heads up,” Jeff rumbles, looking at Jensen pointedly. Jensen swallows, takes that in. Jared knew first. Jared contacted his studio.
“Professional courtesy,” Jared smiles, winking at Jeff. “Plus, I was hoping you’d bring your money to me.”
Jeff laughs, loud and clear and Jensen feels some of the tension bleed out.
“You’re the best. Think you can do something with this guy or what?” Jeff hooks a thumb in Jensen’s direction. Jensen would be annoyed, but he’s too busy being relieved that he doesn’t have to back down or apologize for his outburst.
“If he wants to employ our services,” Jared turns and looks directly at Jensen.
“Why the hell not?” Jensen says, shrugging one shoulder and tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk.
“You haven’t changed at all,” Jared says, and his tone is friendly but there’s no doubt he wasn’t giving Jensen a compliment.
“Great,” Jeff says, loud and quick. “Jared, what are your thoughts about appearances around town?”
By the time Jensen and Jeff finally make their way out of Jared’s office, Jensen’s head is swimming. He let Jeff and Jared do most of the talking, organizing parties designed to look spontaneous but with guest lists handpicked by Jared and his people, scheduling meals at certain restaurants on certain days, a meeting with a tailor Jared swears won’t decimate Jensen’s own style, it goes on and on and by the end Jensen feels like a Barbie doll being dressed up and paraded around.
Despite the late hour, Katie is still at her desk and she smiles and walks them to the door, holding it open and wishing them a good evening. Jensen wonders about any office that employs such perky people to work until after eleven o’clock at night. He’s so busy being overwhelmed that he forgets all about the rant he’d been expecting from Jeff.
Going down the creepy elevator voice announces and Jensen feels the urge to loosen an imaginary tie, but he’s wearing a t-shirt and has to settle for pulling at the collar.
“What the fuck, Jensen?” Jeff’s voice echoes in the small space and Jensen jumps at the sound. “What the hell was that?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jensen hisses, too frazzled to be diplomatic. “I asked you who “your guy” was, you should have told me and we could have avoided that whole goddamn scene.”
“Jared?” Jeff frowns. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like Jared,”
“Well now you do,” Jensen snaps.
Everyone had always liked Jared, that wasn’t surprising. Steve hadn’t spoken to Jensen for two months after the break up and even Chris had been pissed. Things had been different after, the tight group broken open and it had been Jensen’s…
“Is this going to be a problem?” Jeff asks, tone suddenly kind.
“What? No,” Jensen shakes himself a little. Reminds himself that his film is being considered for Cannes, his script. “You say he’s the best? Let’s see what he can do.”
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“Who is that gorgeous hunk of man flesh and please god tell me he comes with a delivery service,” Mike mutters as he sidles up alongside Jensen. It’s turning into a long day on set; working with children is a nightmare. Had Jensen known the reality of child actors when he’d written the script, the faith healer would have been a german shepherd.
“What?” Jensen says, keeping an eye on Lucy’s progress as she practices the stunt roll she’ll be doing tomorrow on location. “That’s great, Lucy,” he calls out, hoping to keep the girl encouraged. Yesterday there was some kind of cheese-doodle-related meltdown and he doesn’t want any more waterworks. “Mike, I think we need to review the shot list before tomorrow, I’m not convinced we can’t fit in the scene with the lawn mower guy number one,” he mutters as he flips through the pages in his black binder.
“First of all, you told me that this morning and the list has been revised accordingly. Second, Jensen, focus, beautiful man, nine o’clock.” Mike jerks his head in the appropriate direction and Jensen turns and sees Jared, chatting with one of the PA’s while sipping from an extra large Starbucks cup. Jared seems to sense the attention, looking over and waving. “I’ll fight you for him,” Mike says.
“That’s the PR suit,” Jensen says quickly, looking back at Mike. “Jared. Is the PR suit. Off limits, okay?”
Mike’s eyes are getting rounder and his mouth is opening wider. Jensen figures Jared must be tired of flirting with the assistant and has started making his way over.
“Jensen, hi,” Jared smiles, looking ridiculously polished in an outfit that is probably supposed to be casual.
“I’m Mike Rosenbaum,” Mike interrupts, sticking his hand out. Jared grins and nods.
“Mike, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen some of your work, wonderful stuff.”
Mike blushes and preens and Jensen is sure that Jared has never seen any of Mike’s films, glad hander that he is.
“Jared. What are you doing here?” Jensen asks when a lull in the conversation presents itself.
“We had discussed me dropping by the set and having a look around. I know I didn’t give you any notice but I was in the area,” Jared says. Jensen doesn’t remember any such discussion, but then he hadn’t really been paying attention during their first meeting.
“Why exactly do you need to see the set?” Jensen says.
“Promoting you is only one part of the deal, Jensen, the other is promoting the movie. To do that, I need to know what I’m promoting,” Jared explains.
“I’m sure you’re plenty familiar with the script,” Jensen says.
“Right, uh, nice to meet you Jared, I have things to do, over there,” Mike smiles brightly before hurrying away. Jensen finds himself alone with Jared for the first time in six years.
“Do you get some pleasure out of making this harder than it needs to be?” Jared asks after a moment. Jensen feels a sudden stab of guilt at the weariness in Jared’s tone; he’s being a difficult client, but more than that, he knows that this is hard on Jared, too.
“No, I don’t,” Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair and looks around. The set probably won’t collapse if he steps away for a moment, and he needs to have this conversation in private. He glances across the set and sees Mike directing a gaffer through optioning silks and opaques in front of the lights.
“The shadows need to be softer,” Mike screams, gesturing madly with his light meter. “Try a bounce!”
Mike’s lighting setups are notorious. Jensen figures he can sneak off set for at least twenty minutes before the lighting is ready for filming.
“Can you, uh, let’s talk in my office, okay?”
“So,” Jared says as he deftly avoids tripping on the miles of wires and cables littering the floor. “Are you being stalked?” the last is said sotto voice. Jensen glances back and catches a glimpse of a mousy girl in a headset, shadowing their every move.
“Dude, that’s Kristen, she’s the first A.D.” Jensen says. “Kristen, I’m going to my office for ten minutes, call me if Mike’s ready before I get back,”
“Right,” the girl nods tightly, adjusts her headset and starts yelling into her walkie, “Eddie, keep the extras away from craft, yesterday they ate all of the damned cheese doodles,” and disappears back into the melee of crew.
“Where did you find her? The KGB?” Jared says. Jensen laughs, but sometimes he does wonder about the assistant directors, who are intense in a slightly frightening way.
“I’ve never even seen her take a bathroom break,” Jensen admits.
Jared follows Jensen down the long hallway and up the old staircase. Jensen briefly wonders what Jared thinks of the building, so unlike the one where he works, but stops that train of thought before he can freak out over the fact that Jared is about to set foot in his office. Which, as Jeff recently pointed out, is furnished with items from a prop house that closed three years ago.
Jared looks around the space, takes in the old-fashioned coat rack, and the iMac sitting next to the retro orange typewriter, and laughs. There’s a human dummy- a leftover from Jensen’s first movie-lodged in the corner next to a five drawer metal filing cabinet. Most of the furniture is wood, stained dark and covered in dust smudges. All of Jensen’s efforts to polish the prop pieces have failed and he’s resigned himself to a dusty existence.
“This is exactly how I pictured your office; it’s like a yard sale and an antique store got married,” Jared says, and Jensen doesn’t take offence. Anyone who knows him says the exact same thing when they see it. Jared sits in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair and doesn’t wince or complain. He looks at home even, long legs splayed in front of him, dark jeans and brown leather jacket giving him a certain James Dean air. “You, uh, still see Chris and Steve?” Jared asks, deliberately keeping up his examination of the office.
“Not often, but yeah. They’re in town now and again, doing shows.” Jensen says.
“No shit, they still playin’ together?” Jared is smiling bright and wide and Jensen’s chest feels tight.
“Yep, still,” Jensen nods, “So, uh, you seem like you’re doing well,”
“Yep,” Jared smiles brightly and completely fails to take the conversational bait. Jensen waits, hoping that Jared is just marshalling a long explanation of what he’s been doing for the past six years but Jared just keeps smiling.
“Right,” Jensen says, “Sorry. So, I’ve been acting like a dick,”
“Hey, I get it, okay? I know how you feel about this stuff and this movie, well, it’s your movie, the script, I get that you want to protect it. Just, don’t assume that I want anything less, you know?” Jared shrugs.
“Is that why you agreed to take this on?” Jensen asks.
“This might shock you, but I don’t get a lot of projects that are very meaningful,” Jared says, raising his eyebrows in a comical fashion. Jensen laughs, he can’t help it, laughs and leans back in his chair, more at ease now.
“I am shocked, just shocked.” He smiles then, and he hates Jared a little, that he’s still this genuine, that he’s still Jared, and hates himself even more, because he misses this so much.
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Jensen wakes up and knows immediately that he’s alone in bed. Jared is like an octopus, and he’s always got an arm or leg looped in with Jensen’s limbs somehow. The bed feels cold without him, and Jensen rolls on his side, can see Jared through the crack in the paper screen that partitions the bed from the rest of the loft. He’s ironing, something Jensen still finds absurd. Jared has lived in hoodies and jeans and graphic tees with ridiculous sayings for almost the entire two years Jensen has known him, but since he started his internship his style has definitely changed. It makes Jensen uncomfortable, the change in clothes almost like the change in seasons, when something is left behind.
His relationship with Jared has always been a source of amusement and confusion to their friends. They met when Jared was a second year marketing student and Jensen was just starting his masters in film and screenwriting, but their ages and academic pursuits had only been the surface differences. Jared was outgoing and exuberant , filled with energy, whereas Jensen was more cynical, shy. None of that mattered to Jensen, because it was supposed to just be a one-night hookup after a chance encounter at a party. All that mattered was that Jared was beautiful and the attraction was immediate.
Except the next morning Jared asked him out for pancakes and they talked about everything, pissing off the waitress when they ordered cup after cup of coffee and refused to leave. No one was more surprised than Jensen when three weeks went by and he still wanted to see Jared every day, wanted to kiss his dimples and listen to his voice and wake up in his bed. "Jared is different, " he told his friends, "He’s not just a business drone."
Jared is different, but his internship and Jensen’s imminent graduation are colliding in ways Jensen doesn’t know how to define. Jared works eight 'til six at a corporate giant, an entity that produces nothing, but which owns “interests” in the oil industry, whatever the hell that means.
“There’s smoke coming out of your ears,” Jared murmurs, startling Jensen as he climbs onto the mattress and lowers himself down to kiss Jensen’s mouth. Jensen slides his palms up Jared’s side, careful not to clutch or pull on the freshly ironed shirt.
“Don’t you have to be at work?” he asks breathlessly when Jared pulls away. Jared looks down, smile tugging at the corners of his lips and bangs hanging in front of his eyes. His hips are slotted against Jensen’s and Jensen can feel the press of his thigh on his leg and he wants nothing more than to roll Jared onto his back and strip him bare. “Don’t suppose you have time for a quickie?” he says.
“Sorry, babe,” Jared leans down for one last kiss before sitting up. “I gotta run, but keep that in mind for later, okay?”
Jensen relaxes back into the pillows, watches as Jared stands and pulls on his suit jacket. Jared smiles at him, makes a goofy face before he runs out the door. He might be changing, Jensen thinks, but Jared is still his.
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Now that they're working together, Jensen and Jared have come to an agreement, a shaky truce of personal non-disclosure, but Jensen still hates the stuff he has to do. Mike wolf-whistles when he sees the tailored jeans and clingy button-downs, and Jensen spends more hours than he can count smiling blankly while he’s accosted at the bar by some vapid starlet who wants to star in the next sequel of The Ring. He wanders around quote-unquote Hollywood parties, sometimes chaperoned by Jared and sometimes not. Jensen doesn’t know which is worse, standing next to Jared while men and women fawn over him, some hoping that Jared might mention them to one of his clients, and some just hoping to get in his pants, or going alone and having to deal with the scene by himself.
Jared is perfectly at home in any crowd, can strike up a conversation with anyone and seem completely relaxed. Jensen is amazed despite himself, not just by how at ease Jared is with the attention, but how Jared never seems to lose his energy. At least five nights a week Jared is out in the evenings, hitting the right restaurants, clubs and parties, and Jensen knows that he goes into the office by nine every morning.
“It’s just, when does he sleep, you know?” Jensen says, cradling the receiver between his shoulder and his jaw.
“Can I just say again what a bastard you are for not telling us you were seeing Jay?” Steve replies. Jensen freezes, he’s been pacing across his apartment since he got on the phone, first Chris took a turn, going up one side and down the other, and now Steve is trying to lay down some serious guilt.
“I’m not seeing him, Steve. I mean, it’s just professional. We won’t, when this is over.” Jensen shrugs and then has to fumble for the phone when it falls off his shoulder. He doesn’t want to think about how much that bothers him, not seeing Jared anymore, in any capacity.
“Don’t you think this would be a good opportunity to mend some fences?” Steve says.
“It can’t be like that, and you know it,” Jensen says. Steve snorts, loud and gross in Jensen’s ear.
“What I know is that you got scared and you got stupid and you threw away the best thing-”
“Shut up,” Jensen says, heat and warning in his tone.
“I’m sorry Jen, but,”
“No, no buts, no nothing, okay? This is how it is,” Jensen says.
“Who are you trying to convince?” Steve asks, and Jensen doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about hanging up the phone.
|
“This is ridiculous,” Jensen hisses, trying not to be alarmed when a tiny brunette with a slicked back ponytail starts rearranging the waist of his jeans. “Whoa, okay, thank you!” Small hands are getting way too close to his crotch, and Jensen darts away, closer to Jared, which is a joke because Jared is the one who said he had to do this in the first place.
“Jensen,” Jared says, and Jensen can’t help but grind his teeth at the “I’m talking slow so you can understand” tone. “We’ve gone over this. You are getting a spread, small as it may be, in Vanity Fair, okay? That means photos. I apologize for this oaf, Cassandra.” Jared tips his head toward the brunette, who actually smiles for the first time since this ordeal began an hour ago.
“You said no compromises,” Jensen says, scowling as he looks across what is probably the most beautiful garden in LA. One side is perfectly laid out with manicured shrubs and bright, heavy blooms everywhere, while on the other side of the gravel path the grass is uneven, carefully unkempt, looking like the front of an old churchyard.
“The only thing being compromised is my patience,” Jared says with a smile. “Do you know how hard it was to get you in the next issue this late?”
“No. Also, do I care? No.” Jensen sniffs, and closes his eyes just in time to prevent his eyeballs from burning up from the liberal spray of aerosol hair glue Cassandra assaults him with. The distraction saves him from being subject to Jared’s scrutiny; Jensen suspects that Jared knows that he doesn’t hate all the publicity as much as he claims. After being introduced to Ang fucking Lee at a party Jared dragged him to last week, Jensen has begun to see the whole project a little differently. He still hates the spin doctoring, but as far as Jensen can tell, Jared doesn’t actually do that. He wasn’t lying when he said he likes to take on clients who just need exposure, not someone to write up sound bytes on cue cards in case the paparazzi are lurking outside the club.
“Look, don’t worry, this guy is a professional, okay?” Jared claps Jensen on the shoulder as Cassandra moves back to the long tables littered with clothes, makeup and medieval torture instruments. “He’s going to take some awesome pictures which will appear alongside your awesome interview.”
“About the interview,” Jensen tugs gently at the t-shirt he’d been given to wear, it looks like something out of his own closet but he’d been warned to be very careful with it. “What, uh, kind of questions do you think she’ll ask?”
“Nothing you aren’t ready for,” Jared promises. “You’re squeaky clean. No dead hookers, no rehab stints, and you’ve been out since your first movie so that’s not news, either.” He shrugs, adjusts his designer sunglasses and looks totally at ease. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
And Jensen can’t help it, he laughs.
|
Catapult has a small in-house design team that handles most of the promo materials and press kits for each movie, and Jensen, in a fit of naïveté, just assumed that Byron and his crew would be doing his stuff.
“I don’t know what to tell you, man.” Byron shrugs, the footrest of the hideous orange Lazy-Boy chair fully extended. A can of diet coke is cradled in one palm and a roast beef sandwich in the other. Jensen is transfixed by the continuous drip of watery mustard splashing on the armrest of the chair. Mental note, never sit in the chairs in the creative department again, he thinks.
“What do you mean, exactly?” Jensen forces his gaze up to Byron’s face.
“Our shop isn’t handling your movie. Which, by the way, is a major fucking buzz kill. Andy and I had some crazy ideas for your posters man.” Byron snaps his fingers. “Crazy.”
“Who said that? Did Jeff say that?” Jensen taps his index finger against his lip. Jared says he looks like a character from a Charlie Chaplin skit when he does that, but Jensen thinks it makes him look thoughtful.
“No shit, he’s got Townsend on the job. I don’t even know why you bothered comin’ down here, obviously the guys over there are gonna be handling everything.” Byron shrugs again, almost dislodging his sandwich in the process.
“Well.” Jensen is at a loss. Obviously Jared, and the firm, does more than just escort him to parties and set up interviews, but he hadn’t really thought about it beyond that. He never asked to see their creative department or see examples of their work, and it worries him that he might be too hands off.
“My wife clipped out that Vanity Fair article, by the way. Not bad, but I gotta ask, what was with the flower in your mouth?” Byron takes a large bite out of his sandwich and Jensen uses the distraction as a means of escape.
Filming is about to wrap and Jensen needs to know that his vision isn’t going to get sanitized in the last inning. He doesn’t have an appointment with Jared, doesn’t even know if Jared will be in the office, but he needs to get to that mirrored glass tower and make sure that the movie hasn’t gotten lost in the publicity.
Katie is at the front desk, impeccable and cheerful as always and not for the first time Jensen wonders if Townsend and Hill employees are actually robots, or speed freaks. It is beyond him how they can be so chipper and happy all the damned time.
“Jensen, Jared is just in a meeting with another client right now but I’ll call him and see what his schedule looks like.” Katie smiles, and Jensen nods and moves toward the seating area, then hesitates. In all the time he’s spent in this office he’s never once seen anyone actually sit on the red leather couch, but after an encouraging gesture from Katie he slowly lowers one ass cheek and then the other onto the pristine couch.
“Jensen.”
He barely has time to figure out of the couch is comfortable or not before Jared’s coming around the corner and waving enthusiastically. He’s wearing a pink shirt and grey slacks and it should look ridiculous, it does look a little ridiculous, but it’s also hot and Jensen doesn’t know whether to be turned on or horrified.
“Hey man, what’s going on?” Jared slaps Jensen on the back as Jensen stands to meet him.
“Uh, sorry to drop on you without an appointment or anything but I was talking to the, uh-” Jensen stumbles momentarily as he wonders how to classify his conversation with Byron. “The creative guys at Catapult, and I suddenly realized that I have no idea what’s happening with promo materials or the press kits.”
“And you freaked and immediately drove down here?” Jared supplies.
“Pretty much, yes.” Jensen nods, relieved that after all this time Jared still knows how to translate his nervous ramblings.
“No problem, listen, come on into my office. Chad is just leaving.” Jared takes Jensen by the elbow, which is totally unnecessary because Jensen knows where Jared’s office is, but he doesn’t shake off the grip. “Chad,” Jared calls as they pass through the doorway, an awkward moment as they realize they won’t fit walking shoulder to shoulder. Jared’s hand falls away and Jensen tries not to be disappointed at the loss of the warm touch.
A blond man is leaning against the edge of Jared’s desk, one knee drawn up, looking as bored as one could possibly be while still conscious. He’s dressed more casually than Jared, a black sports coat over a t-shirt and jeans that were probably designed to look rumpled.
“Chad Michael Murray, this is Jensen Ackles.” Jared waves in Jensen’s direction as he moves behind his desk. Jensen extends his hand and is relieved when Murray takes it. He’s familiar with Murray’s work, his recent transition from network television to film has been well publicized, mostly due to the caliber of work he moved in to.
“S’up?” Murray nods, giving Jensen the habitual industry once-over, probably wondering if he can score a role out of this chance meeting. Or not, Jensen thinks, Catapult probably couldn’t afford him after his last picture, the one with Brad Pitt.
“Chad is a longtime client, and friend,” Jared says as he leans back in his chair.
“Jay-man and I go way back." Chad nods. Jensen fights the urge to say something asinine like, not as far back as me, but manfully resists the urge.
“Right, great,” he says with the smile he’s been working on the past few weeks, friendly yet accessible. Chad sucks on his front teeth, the noise suggesting Jensen needs more practice, and then levers himself up off the desk.
“Nice to meet you,” he says to Jensen. “Jay-man, call me." he points to Jared, index finger and thumb pantomiming a pistol as he walks backwards out of the office. Jensen collapses into one of the chair in front of Jared’s desk.
“So,” he says, hoping Jared will say that he’s not really friends with Murray, but Jared gets right to business.
“Right, the promos." Jared nods. “Let me call Alison, she’s the head of our creative department and I think she has some really great concepts to go over with you." Jared picks up the receiver of his phone, punches an extension number into the keypad and twirls a pen between his fingers as he waits.
Jensen only half pays attention to the conversation, Alison is on her way up, he doesn’t need to listen in to Jared’s playful banter, and he’s transfixed by how some part of Jared always has to be in motion, the frenzied energy that seems to hum just underneath his skin. Jared was always vibrant, but Jensen doesn’t remember him being this frenetic, like he can’t quite settle into his own skin.
“Great, you’re lucky Ali loves me as much as she does, she was able to clear her schedule to come up and see us with some proofs.”
“Awesome,” Jensen says, dismissing all non-movie thoughts. He taps his knees impatiently as he waits for Ali to arrive, he hates that he was so hands off during the process, wishes he’d thought to ask about the artwork earlier.
“Jensen, it’s fine, Ali does great stuff.” Jared says, fixing Jensen with an earnest look before his gaze moves up, the only indication that someone else has entered the room thus sparing Jensen the indignity of screaming like Fay Wray when a small hand lands on his shoulder.
“He’s right Jensen, I am pretty amazing.” Ali says, black foam core rectangles clutched under one arm. “Take a look,” she lays the proofs out on Jared’s wide desk and Jensen’s breath hitches as he takes in the washed out colours and sepia tones. There’s a landscape shot with a winding dirt road and fields and Jensen wishes he could have shot his movie wherever that photograph was taken. The font is a sturdy black style, almost Gothic, and the title is aligned on the top right. There are layouts with cast photos and without and Jensen traces the edges of a shot of Lucy.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Ali, these are really fantastic.”
“Jared gave me some script edits and two words: stark and gritty.” Ali says with a pleased grin. Jensen finally lifts his eyes from the spread on the desk and looks over at Jared, who is blushing faintly.
“Pretty good insight,” Jensen says.
“Well, take these home and really give them a once over and come back to me with your thoughts, okay?” Ali pats Jensen on the back before excusing herself from the room.
“So?” Jared raises his eyebrows.
“Amazing,” Jensen says immediately. “In terms of design this is what I would have asked my guys to do, but those photos man, where did you get them?”
“The cast photos are from filming, when Barry spent two days following everyone around and driving you nuts,” Jared smiles, and Jensen feels a little chagrined. Had he known that Barry would produce this kind of word he wouldn’t have been so annoyed by the guy. “The landscapes, well, the shots Barry had just weren’t right, you know? They didn’t feel right, so I know this guy in South Dakota, this photographer, and he sent me some stuff. It’s close enough to the location you used, right? I mean, I don’t think a person would look at this and think they were different areas.”
“No, no, you’re absolutely right. I mean, this feels the same,” Jensen picks up one of the landscape shots. “Man, I was so scared you guys were going to do something flashy and bright.”
“Who you talking to?” Jared smiles.
By the time Jensen is on his way back out the building he’s already making notes to send to Jeff, who has been calling every day for updates. Jensen had hoped that his compliance on the PR issue would earn him a small reprieve, but Jeff hadn’t given any ground.
“Jensen,” he says later that afternoon, “I’m pleased as punch that you’ve pulled your head out of your ass and allowed Jared to work his magic, but I still want to see the rushes by nine o’clock tonight."
“And you’ll get them Jeff, obviously, but I have this other problem.”
“Other problem? This had better not be a money problem, damnit, do you know how maxed you are after those light replacements?”
“They fell over, completely spontaneously and Mike even cried a little,” Jensen says. In fact, Mike had cried a lot, but there was no point going into the whole sordid tale.
“So it is a money problem,” Jeff sighs.
“It’s Lucy." Jensen winces. “The extras got into the food again."
“I don’t want to hear about the cheese doodles, not a goddamn word,” Jeff says. “What did I tell you about child actors, I begged you to change the script. Anything would have been better, an alien, a parrot, anything.”
“She was too upset, we got footage but it blows. I need one more day.” Jensen says quickly. He knows that Jeff isn’t serious, would never have wanted such a big change to the script, but there’s no point in arguing the fact.
“One more day, and you keep that kid stuffed with Twinkies or cheese what’s-its, you hear me?” Jeff hangs up before Jensen can do something embarrassing, like thank him, and Jensen counts it as another win.
Jensen feels overwhelmed, seeing the artwork has made everything so real, there’s an end product on the horizon and it’s going to be amazing. There’s no filming tomorrow and Jensen tosses around the idea of calling Mike for celebratory drinks, but then he remembers the tequila and the Waffle House and dismisses the thought just as quickly. Sitting in his kitchen, brimming with the need to share his excitement with someone, Jensen has to admit that being a neurotic bastard with intimacy issues has its definite drawbacks. He’s just about to resort to calling his mom when the phone rings, and he would be embarrassed by his relief were anywhere there to witness it. Still, he makes himself wait for the third ring before picking up; he doesn’t want to look desperate after all.
“Jensen, I’m glad I caught you.”
Jared’s voice isn’t unwelcome, but it does strange things to Jensen’s stomach.
“Yeah, I just got in the door,” Jensen lies.
“Oh, good timing then,” Jared says, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “Listen, I was going to ask you when you were here and I know you’re probably busy but I was wondering if you want to want to maybe grab a drink.”
It takes Jensen a moment to make out the rush of words and when he does he hesitates. Getting together is a bad idea on so many levels, but with Jared’s hopeful voice echoing in his ears Jensen doesn’t think it’s a pity invite and he can’t deny the appeal of a couple hours spent with the guy.
“Sounds great,” Jensen says, and hopes like hell he doesn’t regret it.
Part Two
This could not have existed without elmo-loves-me. Two days before the deadline for the completed draft I still had ZERO WORDS and only a couple of nebulous ideas and we started e-mailing back and forth and lo, the words came.
This would suck without rivers-bend and ninhursag. They were absolutely invaluable in the beta process and kicked my butt when I wanted to be lazy. If it still sucks, well, it's no fault of theirs.
My prompt for this fic was Shine on you crazy diamond by Pink Floyd.
Summary: After a painful separation in university Jared and Jensen meet again under very different circumstances. Jensen is an up and coming film director and Jared is a successful public relations executive with a secret. (Dun dun DUH!)
Shine On
note: flashbacks in italics
Jensen looks at the screen and nods enthusiastically when he sees how Mike has framed the shot. He took a lot of heat from the suits when he floated the idea of Mike Rosenbaum as his director of photography, but once he got Jeff on his side it became a non-issue. Of course, convincing Jeff had involved ten hours in the studio, more tequila than Jensen ever wanted to see again, and a lifetime ban from the Waffle House.
The point is, Jensen needs Mike. The director and D.O.P. on any set are virtually inseparable, and if Jensen is going to be tied at the hip to a guy with a utility belt loaded with emergency light meters, well it’s got to be someone who can do the job and someone he likes.
“The lighting and the angles are really going to make this scene,” Mike says, tapping an index finger against the screen. “Shit, we could have cardboard cutouts for actors and it would still be killer.”
Jensen winces and automatically does a check for the actors in question before remembering that the actors and most of the crew have already left for the evening. Mike’s sense of humour isn’t everyone’s cup of tea and the actors, the lead in particular, have taken repeated offence to his passion for his craft.
“Better be, this is my movie,” Jensen says, only half joking. It's not that he isn't proud of the other films he's directed and the name he's made for himself, but this is his script, the one he’s been carrying around since college, coffee stains and yellowed edges and four different types of handwriting in the margins. Every movie he’s done has been leading up to this, and Jensen wants-needs-it to be perfect. So he’s totally not freaking out about the last minute meeting with Jeff that’s scheduled for tonight. Not. One. Bit.
“Got ants in your pants or something?” Mike says suddenly, leaning back from the screen and almost braining Jensen with his shiny, hairless dome.
“No,” Jensen scowls and straightens his shoulders. “Just, uh, a meeting with Jeff tonight.”
“Uh huh,” Mike smirks, “And did the man say what he wants?” he asks as he bounces on his heels. Jensen clears his throat, shrugs in what he hopes is a casual manner. He’s pretty sure he fails, but he’s also sure that Mike was lost in some kind of fantasy haze after Jeff’s name was first mentioned. Jensen knows this after enduring a painful conversation that he wishes he could forget in which Mike expressed a desire to be spanked by a certain executive producer.
“Nope, just that he wanted to meet tonight,” Jensen says. Mike is smirking, so obviously the haze wasn’t as distracting as he’d hoped. He leaves Mike to commune with the camera and heads across the lot to his office, ruminating over what Jeff could possibly want with four weeks left of filming.
The man can be hardnosed and a pain in the ass, but Jensen knows he'd never be making this movie if it weren't for Jeff Morgan. He was an executive producer on Jensen's directorial debut, a Japanese horror remake that was spared from a direct to video release at the last minute by Jeff’s own particular brand of gruff sass, and Jeff is still going to bat for Jensen eight years later. Jensen has enough hubris to admit that without Jeff he’d still be directing B movies with TeenBeat appeal. Jeff hooked him up with Catapult Productions and Jensen found his niche in the independent production company, directing films that appeal to his own style of storytelling.
More than that, Jeff gets Jensen’s script, the themes of conflict and alienation and redemption, he sees past the macabre structure, and understands the ending. When Jensen started the script for his master’s thesis he had no idea how it would evolve, take on a life of its own. There were long nights, pages strewn across the battered coffee table in his loft apartment, and Chris, Steve and Jared huddled around. The four of them would talk out the plot points, argue over locations and actors and dialogue, and jot down ideas, each armed with a pen of a different colour.
The title, Death and the Faith Healer, is circled five times in purple pen, Jared's color, with a scribbled Shut up, you love it under Steve's BOOOO-RING scrawled next to it in red.
Jensen is still sometimes struck by his own ego when he thinks back to the way he argued every change, how he insisted, loudly, that “this is the only way”, only to realize later that his way didn’t work at all. He’d been proud of the strangeness of the script, the almost inaccessibility of it: Death driving around in an old Chevy truck, picking up souls and releasing them into the sprawling cornfield on the edge of town, trapped in loneliness and duty until one day a little girl in a football helmet and blue rubber boots starts raising the newly dead. For weeks Death tries to beat the little girl to each scene, to take the soul before she can restore it, watches the little girl experience near misses after each miracle she performs.
In the script Jensen took to his thesis advisor, the movie ended with the girl dying, killed after saving her grandmother. After a brutal meeting, the memory of which still makes him want to hit things, Jensen was convinced to alter it, so the girl lived and grandma died.
Jared had been furious; Jensen can still see the blush of colour high on his cheeks, as he stormed through the loft, tripping over old scripts and older props, shouting, ”That’s not the ending, Jen. If you can’t write the ending the movie needs-no deserves-then you should just throw it out.” Jared bent down and swiped a hand across the coffee table, scattering pens and pages. Jensen watched the sheets flutter to the floor, watched Jared watching him.
“You’re right,” Jensen said. “You’re right,” Louder, this time, and the couch creaked as Jared flung himself next to Jensen, so close, breath hot on Jensen’s cheek.
“This is your script,” Jared murmured, deft fingers working the buckle of Jensen’s belt. Jensen moaned, opened his knees wide. “Own it,” Jared says, and Jensen surged forward, caught that teasing mouth with his own.
Own it. As much as Jensen has tried to forget Jared, tried to erase him from the two year space he occupied in Jensen’s life, that moment has carried him, propelled him and pushed him, two words that Jensen keeps in his head always.
He fills his head and chest with those words as he waits for Jeff. As much as he likes Jeff, as much as he trusts Jeff, he is an executive producer, and that means things. Executive producers make movies happen; they get the bank, they get the team and at any time they can walk on set and kill your movie just as quick. Jensen is terrified of executive producers.
Probably recognizing the anxiety his call would have sparked, Jeff is early. Jensen watches him shift in the plain wooden guest chair and smiles.
“If I say no now will it make a difference?” He asks. Jeff rolls his eyes and leans his elbow against the edge of the desk.
“No,” he says, amusement threaded through his voice. “There’s been talk about your movie and Cannes.”
“Wait, wait,” Jensen holds up his hands, as if he can physically stop Jeff’s words. “What? Wait, what? Like, being canned or the festival? Because…what?”
“The festival,” Jeff grins, clearly enjoying Jensen’s reaction.
“It’s not even finished! I didn’t send in the script or any test footage.” Jensen just stops himself from gnawing on his bottom lip; it’s his worst tell on the poker table. “This is, how?”
“You’ll send in an application at the appropriate time. Come on, kid, this industry? Nothing’s a secret. Everyone and their dog knows about your movie. That’s not the point.”
“Not the point? Cannes is not the point?” Jensen says.
“We’ve had this discussion before, and I know all your answers, so just keep your mouth shut while I run through this, okay?” Jeff says, and Jensen knows what’s coming. “You have to sell yourself. You have to get out there and get that ugly mug some exposure. This isn’t negotiable this time, Jensen. We really need to push the publicity on this, and you need to be on board with that.”
Jensen reclines in his office chair, luxuriating in the creak of the wood and springs. Be seen, Christ. Jensen hates that, the parties and the alcohol and the alliances and the backstabbing and the airbrushing. He’s no Paris Hilton, he doesn’t want to be seen; he wants to make movies.
“I can tell by the look on your face you aren’t happy, and I’ve got two words for you: Too bad. You want to go back to video release? Because if you don’t start playing the game, that’s where you’re headed. I know you’re about the art, and that’s great, that’s why I push for you and for this movie, but the reality is what it is. I know a guy, and the studio has hired his firm to make Cannes happen.” Jeff says firmly. Jensen knows better than to ask whether or not he gets a say in any of this. “We have a meeting over at Townsend and Hill tomorrow evening; they deal exclusively with entertainment clients. These guys know what they’re doing, okay?”
“Jeff, I don’t have time for this bullshit. I am living and breathing this film, okay, my personal life is in tatters-“
“Jensen, come on. Your personal life is always in tatters. You’re a neurotic bastard with intimacy issues.” Jeff scoffs.
“I do not have intimacy issues,” Jensen says, gearing up to be really damned insulted.
“In five years you’ve had a total of three relationships and none of them lasted longer than two months.” Jeff says.
“I’m committed to my career.” Jensen says, hoping the tone of his voice is enough to close the topic. Sure enough, Jeff raises his hands in a defensive gesture.
“Then you’ll want to do everything you can to boost that career, which means meeting my guy.” Jeff says.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to hand me over to the devil?” Jensen sighs. Jeff just smiles, bright and wide.
|
“This is Townsend and Hill?” Jensen cranes his neck, looking up the length of the glass tower. “Thank God we came at night, the glare off that window would probably blind us.”
“Be civil,” Jeff says under his breath as he pulls open the immaculately clean glass door.
“What? I just have to wonder…” Jensen’s voice trailed off as he took in the marble lobby and the giant blue glass fountain in the centre of it. Off to the side, discreet but visible, a bank of sleek black elevators wait to take them to their destination. “This is ridiculous.” Jensen tries hard, or not, but isn’t able to keep the sneer out of his voice. “People must eat this up.”
“Not everyone furnishes their office with props from a 1940s private eye movie, kid,” Jeff grumbles, the heels of his dress shoes clacking across the lobby.
“My office has character,” Jensen says, hurrying to keep up with Jeff’s quick strides.
“Character? That visitor’s chair is about as comfortable as a pile of rocks and every time you put your feet up on the desk I’m convinced your chair is about to collapse under your ass.” Jeff jabs the call button with more force than is strictly necessary, and Jensen wisely keeps his retort under wraps.
“Who are we going to see?” Jensen asks once they are in the (mirrored, of course) elevator on their way to the 16th floor. “I mean, your guy? He’s good?”
“He’s young, but I’ve worked with him before and he knows the film business better than you do so I want you to listen when he talks, okay?” Jeff is looking at his reflection, ruffling his hair and smoothing his eyebrows, but he still catches the expression on Jensen’s face. “Be nice,” he says.
“Okay, I think we should address the fact that you seem to think that I’m a kid and you’re taking me to a birthday party. If he knows as much about the film business as you think, he’ll be totally thrown off if I’m polite.” Jensen rolls his eyes. He’s isn’t going to play nice with someone who is probably going to want to change his wardrobe, style, and choice of drinks.
Sixteenth floor an automated voice announces as the doors open and reveal a set of frosted glass doors with Townsend and Hill etched in cursive writing. Beyond the doors is a reception area, a round mahogany half-wall separating the perfectly groomed blonde behind it from the equally groomed reception room with an LCD TV on the wall, a red leather couch and two red leather chairs. Rather than being cluttered with magazines as you might expect in a waiting area, the mahogany coffee table is clear and glossed to a high shine.
“Mr. Morgan,” the blonde smiles as she comes around the front of the desk.
“Good evening Katie, I hope you’re not still here on our account.” Jeff grins as he moves into the room. Jensen trails a little behind, still taking in the sights.
“Not at all, can I get you something to drink? Espresso? Perrier?” Katie lifts a slender eyebrow as she glances from Jeff to Jensen. Jeff looks at Jensen, who shakes his head. He’s not drinking this Kool-Aid.
“No thanks, Katie, we’re fine.” Jeff answers.
“Very well, if you’ll follow me,” Katie hasn’t stopped smiling since they walked through the door; Jensen wonders if she exercises her facial muscles. “Jared is expecting you,” she says as the pass a line of closed doorways. Jensen feels a jerk in his chest, still a reflex after all these years, but dismisses the concern immediately. It’s not his- not that Jared. All the same, Jensen adds the name to the list of things he already doesn’t like about this guy.
So he’s pretty much completely thrown when an all too familiar voice calls out.
“Jeff, awesome to see you again, man,” A tall figure comes out an open doorway and pumps Jeff’s hand vigorously. Jeff is smiling, genuinely smiling, and Jensen can tell that he’s happy to see Jared, and not just as a business call.
“Hey kid, thanks for seeing us. I know you weren’t sure if you could take this project on, but I’m glad you were able to clear your schedule.” Jeff says. Jensen swallows hard, his eyes everywhere but on the young man in the suit before him. Jensen knows that the conflict Jared had was nothing to do with his schedule, and places his sweaty palms against his thighs, hoping to clear away some of the wetness before the inevitable handshake. “This is Jensen Ackles,” Jeff says.
“Yeah,” Jared says, voice soft and undecipherable, “We’ve met.”
Jensen looks then, he has to or risk looking like some creepy misfit who wasn’t socialized properly. His gaze lands on Jared’s chest first, green silk shirt under a charcoal suit jacket, fitted and hugging the curves of his chest and shoulders perfectly. No tie, collar loose and open framing the length of his neck, which is tanned and smooth and totally lickable. Jensen wonders if that spot below his ear still tastes the same. Jared is smiling, softly, reserved, and Jensen can see an unfamiliar wariness in those hazel eyes. His hair is the same but different too, still long and shiny and soft but without the wayward curls Jensen remembers.
“Jared,” he says, shaking Jared’s hands briskly, holding just long enough to be polite and feeling Jeff’s scrutiny. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you,”
“Oh?” Jared frowns a little then, glancing in Jeff’s direction. Jensen follows his gaze, watches as Jeff shrugs.
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” He says simply.
“Well, we don’t,” Jensen says, perhaps a bit too sharply if the expression on Jeff’s face is any indication. “I mean, not anymore. We haven’t seen each other in years.”
“It’s been a while,” Jared allows, crossing his arms over his chest and then uncrossing them quickly.
“Right,” Jeff says, “Why don’t we get down to brass tacks? Jared, have you had a chance to look over the notes my assistant faxed over?”
Jeff’s words seem to mobilize Jared, and he smiles, quick and bright, before crossing to the sleek wood desk in front of a bank of windows.
“Please, sit,” Jared gestures to the two cushioned leather seats in front of the desk before taking his place in the black executive chair behind it. Looking over Jared’s shoulder, Jensen takes in the view, the lights of the L.A. skyline blinking back at him. Jared has a black folder in his hand and he flips it open; there are about thirty pages in the file and Jensen’s biography and photo are right on top. Jensen wonders if Jared read any of it, if he looked at the picture, wonders what the hell Jared is doing here, what he’s doing here.
“I did have a chance to review your notes, Jeff, please thank Angela for me,” Jared says and Jeff beams, as if the fact that Jared knows his assistant’s name is something amazing. “That said, I’d like to hear about what Jensen thinks.”
Jensen startles then, he’s been looking around the office surreptitiously, trying to regain his footing by focusing on something other than the man before him, trying to figure out if he can do this, just talk to Jared like nothing happened.
“What I think?” Jensen says, forcing himself to meet Jared head on. Jared doesn’t blink, but he must sense Jensen’s annoyance, his anxiety. “If it mattered what I thought I wouldn’t be here. I’m not interested in marketing myself.”
“Uh, Jensen is a purist,” Jeff said quickly, throwing a sharp glance in Jensen’s direction.
“Right, I understand that. Ideally, Jensen, you won’t have to compromise your ideals or yourself-we’re not trying to project something false or untrue, which would only hurt you in the long run. The goal is exposure, to give you a platform and an audience so that you can continue with your art.” Jared explained, expression open and completely genuine, and it makes Jensen’s blood boil. It’s everything they argued about in those last months when everything was a fight and Jared just wouldn’t see reason.
“Are you buying your own line?” Jensen asks.
“Jesus Christ, Jensen,” Jeff hisses, but Jensen is past listening. This is ridiculous. Not only has Jeff brought him to some kind of freaking spin doctor, but it’s Jared, and Jensen is not going to swallow this shit from Jared.
Ignoring Jeff, Jensen continues, “I’m serious. Do you? A platform? Compromise? You’re hitting all the buzz words but they all mean the same thing. I’m supposed to change, to go out to parties and chat up the stars and get my picture taken and end up in UsWeekly, right?”
“Some people go that route,” Jared says coolly, totally unflustered by Jensen’s outburst although he must recognize some of the arguments from their last big fight. “But they often find that the kind of awareness that comes from those stunts are fleeting, and hurt their credibility. At Townsend and Hill we focus on the legitimate, on longevity. That said, if you’re not interested in our services you can walk right on out the door, no problem. But the reality is that if you don’t play the game you can kiss Cannes goodbye.”
Jensen sits back in the chair, stunned. Jared didn’t raise his voice, didn’t have to, Jensen got the message. Jeff is still and quiet next to him, and Jensen winces when he thinks about the conversation they’re bound to have when they leave and the elevator doors close.
“You heard about Cannes?” he asks finally.
“Of course,” Jared says, almost dismissively.
“He’s the one who gave me the heads up,” Jeff rumbles, looking at Jensen pointedly. Jensen swallows, takes that in. Jared knew first. Jared contacted his studio.
“Professional courtesy,” Jared smiles, winking at Jeff. “Plus, I was hoping you’d bring your money to me.”
Jeff laughs, loud and clear and Jensen feels some of the tension bleed out.
“You’re the best. Think you can do something with this guy or what?” Jeff hooks a thumb in Jensen’s direction. Jensen would be annoyed, but he’s too busy being relieved that he doesn’t have to back down or apologize for his outburst.
“If he wants to employ our services,” Jared turns and looks directly at Jensen.
“Why the hell not?” Jensen says, shrugging one shoulder and tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk.
“You haven’t changed at all,” Jared says, and his tone is friendly but there’s no doubt he wasn’t giving Jensen a compliment.
“Great,” Jeff says, loud and quick. “Jared, what are your thoughts about appearances around town?”
By the time Jensen and Jeff finally make their way out of Jared’s office, Jensen’s head is swimming. He let Jeff and Jared do most of the talking, organizing parties designed to look spontaneous but with guest lists handpicked by Jared and his people, scheduling meals at certain restaurants on certain days, a meeting with a tailor Jared swears won’t decimate Jensen’s own style, it goes on and on and by the end Jensen feels like a Barbie doll being dressed up and paraded around.
Despite the late hour, Katie is still at her desk and she smiles and walks them to the door, holding it open and wishing them a good evening. Jensen wonders about any office that employs such perky people to work until after eleven o’clock at night. He’s so busy being overwhelmed that he forgets all about the rant he’d been expecting from Jeff.
Going down the creepy elevator voice announces and Jensen feels the urge to loosen an imaginary tie, but he’s wearing a t-shirt and has to settle for pulling at the collar.
“What the fuck, Jensen?” Jeff’s voice echoes in the small space and Jensen jumps at the sound. “What the hell was that?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jensen hisses, too frazzled to be diplomatic. “I asked you who “your guy” was, you should have told me and we could have avoided that whole goddamn scene.”
“Jared?” Jeff frowns. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like Jared,”
“Well now you do,” Jensen snaps.
Everyone had always liked Jared, that wasn’t surprising. Steve hadn’t spoken to Jensen for two months after the break up and even Chris had been pissed. Things had been different after, the tight group broken open and it had been Jensen’s…
“Is this going to be a problem?” Jeff asks, tone suddenly kind.
“What? No,” Jensen shakes himself a little. Reminds himself that his film is being considered for Cannes, his script. “You say he’s the best? Let’s see what he can do.”
|
“Who is that gorgeous hunk of man flesh and please god tell me he comes with a delivery service,” Mike mutters as he sidles up alongside Jensen. It’s turning into a long day on set; working with children is a nightmare. Had Jensen known the reality of child actors when he’d written the script, the faith healer would have been a german shepherd.
“What?” Jensen says, keeping an eye on Lucy’s progress as she practices the stunt roll she’ll be doing tomorrow on location. “That’s great, Lucy,” he calls out, hoping to keep the girl encouraged. Yesterday there was some kind of cheese-doodle-related meltdown and he doesn’t want any more waterworks. “Mike, I think we need to review the shot list before tomorrow, I’m not convinced we can’t fit in the scene with the lawn mower guy number one,” he mutters as he flips through the pages in his black binder.
“First of all, you told me that this morning and the list has been revised accordingly. Second, Jensen, focus, beautiful man, nine o’clock.” Mike jerks his head in the appropriate direction and Jensen turns and sees Jared, chatting with one of the PA’s while sipping from an extra large Starbucks cup. Jared seems to sense the attention, looking over and waving. “I’ll fight you for him,” Mike says.
“That’s the PR suit,” Jensen says quickly, looking back at Mike. “Jared. Is the PR suit. Off limits, okay?”
Mike’s eyes are getting rounder and his mouth is opening wider. Jensen figures Jared must be tired of flirting with the assistant and has started making his way over.
“Jensen, hi,” Jared smiles, looking ridiculously polished in an outfit that is probably supposed to be casual.
“I’m Mike Rosenbaum,” Mike interrupts, sticking his hand out. Jared grins and nods.
“Mike, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen some of your work, wonderful stuff.”
Mike blushes and preens and Jensen is sure that Jared has never seen any of Mike’s films, glad hander that he is.
“Jared. What are you doing here?” Jensen asks when a lull in the conversation presents itself.
“We had discussed me dropping by the set and having a look around. I know I didn’t give you any notice but I was in the area,” Jared says. Jensen doesn’t remember any such discussion, but then he hadn’t really been paying attention during their first meeting.
“Why exactly do you need to see the set?” Jensen says.
“Promoting you is only one part of the deal, Jensen, the other is promoting the movie. To do that, I need to know what I’m promoting,” Jared explains.
“I’m sure you’re plenty familiar with the script,” Jensen says.
“Right, uh, nice to meet you Jared, I have things to do, over there,” Mike smiles brightly before hurrying away. Jensen finds himself alone with Jared for the first time in six years.
“Do you get some pleasure out of making this harder than it needs to be?” Jared asks after a moment. Jensen feels a sudden stab of guilt at the weariness in Jared’s tone; he’s being a difficult client, but more than that, he knows that this is hard on Jared, too.
“No, I don’t,” Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair and looks around. The set probably won’t collapse if he steps away for a moment, and he needs to have this conversation in private. He glances across the set and sees Mike directing a gaffer through optioning silks and opaques in front of the lights.
“The shadows need to be softer,” Mike screams, gesturing madly with his light meter. “Try a bounce!”
Mike’s lighting setups are notorious. Jensen figures he can sneak off set for at least twenty minutes before the lighting is ready for filming.
“Can you, uh, let’s talk in my office, okay?”
“So,” Jared says as he deftly avoids tripping on the miles of wires and cables littering the floor. “Are you being stalked?” the last is said sotto voice. Jensen glances back and catches a glimpse of a mousy girl in a headset, shadowing their every move.
“Dude, that’s Kristen, she’s the first A.D.” Jensen says. “Kristen, I’m going to my office for ten minutes, call me if Mike’s ready before I get back,”
“Right,” the girl nods tightly, adjusts her headset and starts yelling into her walkie, “Eddie, keep the extras away from craft, yesterday they ate all of the damned cheese doodles,” and disappears back into the melee of crew.
“Where did you find her? The KGB?” Jared says. Jensen laughs, but sometimes he does wonder about the assistant directors, who are intense in a slightly frightening way.
“I’ve never even seen her take a bathroom break,” Jensen admits.
Jared follows Jensen down the long hallway and up the old staircase. Jensen briefly wonders what Jared thinks of the building, so unlike the one where he works, but stops that train of thought before he can freak out over the fact that Jared is about to set foot in his office. Which, as Jeff recently pointed out, is furnished with items from a prop house that closed three years ago.
Jared looks around the space, takes in the old-fashioned coat rack, and the iMac sitting next to the retro orange typewriter, and laughs. There’s a human dummy- a leftover from Jensen’s first movie-lodged in the corner next to a five drawer metal filing cabinet. Most of the furniture is wood, stained dark and covered in dust smudges. All of Jensen’s efforts to polish the prop pieces have failed and he’s resigned himself to a dusty existence.
“This is exactly how I pictured your office; it’s like a yard sale and an antique store got married,” Jared says, and Jensen doesn’t take offence. Anyone who knows him says the exact same thing when they see it. Jared sits in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair and doesn’t wince or complain. He looks at home even, long legs splayed in front of him, dark jeans and brown leather jacket giving him a certain James Dean air. “You, uh, still see Chris and Steve?” Jared asks, deliberately keeping up his examination of the office.
“Not often, but yeah. They’re in town now and again, doing shows.” Jensen says.
“No shit, they still playin’ together?” Jared is smiling bright and wide and Jensen’s chest feels tight.
“Yep, still,” Jensen nods, “So, uh, you seem like you’re doing well,”
“Yep,” Jared smiles brightly and completely fails to take the conversational bait. Jensen waits, hoping that Jared is just marshalling a long explanation of what he’s been doing for the past six years but Jared just keeps smiling.
“Right,” Jensen says, “Sorry. So, I’ve been acting like a dick,”
“Hey, I get it, okay? I know how you feel about this stuff and this movie, well, it’s your movie, the script, I get that you want to protect it. Just, don’t assume that I want anything less, you know?” Jared shrugs.
“Is that why you agreed to take this on?” Jensen asks.
“This might shock you, but I don’t get a lot of projects that are very meaningful,” Jared says, raising his eyebrows in a comical fashion. Jensen laughs, he can’t help it, laughs and leans back in his chair, more at ease now.
“I am shocked, just shocked.” He smiles then, and he hates Jared a little, that he’s still this genuine, that he’s still Jared, and hates himself even more, because he misses this so much.
|
Jensen wakes up and knows immediately that he’s alone in bed. Jared is like an octopus, and he’s always got an arm or leg looped in with Jensen’s limbs somehow. The bed feels cold without him, and Jensen rolls on his side, can see Jared through the crack in the paper screen that partitions the bed from the rest of the loft. He’s ironing, something Jensen still finds absurd. Jared has lived in hoodies and jeans and graphic tees with ridiculous sayings for almost the entire two years Jensen has known him, but since he started his internship his style has definitely changed. It makes Jensen uncomfortable, the change in clothes almost like the change in seasons, when something is left behind.
His relationship with Jared has always been a source of amusement and confusion to their friends. They met when Jared was a second year marketing student and Jensen was just starting his masters in film and screenwriting, but their ages and academic pursuits had only been the surface differences. Jared was outgoing and exuberant , filled with energy, whereas Jensen was more cynical, shy. None of that mattered to Jensen, because it was supposed to just be a one-night hookup after a chance encounter at a party. All that mattered was that Jared was beautiful and the attraction was immediate.
Except the next morning Jared asked him out for pancakes and they talked about everything, pissing off the waitress when they ordered cup after cup of coffee and refused to leave. No one was more surprised than Jensen when three weeks went by and he still wanted to see Jared every day, wanted to kiss his dimples and listen to his voice and wake up in his bed. "Jared is different, " he told his friends, "He’s not just a business drone."
Jared is different, but his internship and Jensen’s imminent graduation are colliding in ways Jensen doesn’t know how to define. Jared works eight 'til six at a corporate giant, an entity that produces nothing, but which owns “interests” in the oil industry, whatever the hell that means.
“There’s smoke coming out of your ears,” Jared murmurs, startling Jensen as he climbs onto the mattress and lowers himself down to kiss Jensen’s mouth. Jensen slides his palms up Jared’s side, careful not to clutch or pull on the freshly ironed shirt.
“Don’t you have to be at work?” he asks breathlessly when Jared pulls away. Jared looks down, smile tugging at the corners of his lips and bangs hanging in front of his eyes. His hips are slotted against Jensen’s and Jensen can feel the press of his thigh on his leg and he wants nothing more than to roll Jared onto his back and strip him bare. “Don’t suppose you have time for a quickie?” he says.
“Sorry, babe,” Jared leans down for one last kiss before sitting up. “I gotta run, but keep that in mind for later, okay?”
Jensen relaxes back into the pillows, watches as Jared stands and pulls on his suit jacket. Jared smiles at him, makes a goofy face before he runs out the door. He might be changing, Jensen thinks, but Jared is still his.
|
Now that they're working together, Jensen and Jared have come to an agreement, a shaky truce of personal non-disclosure, but Jensen still hates the stuff he has to do. Mike wolf-whistles when he sees the tailored jeans and clingy button-downs, and Jensen spends more hours than he can count smiling blankly while he’s accosted at the bar by some vapid starlet who wants to star in the next sequel of The Ring. He wanders around quote-unquote Hollywood parties, sometimes chaperoned by Jared and sometimes not. Jensen doesn’t know which is worse, standing next to Jared while men and women fawn over him, some hoping that Jared might mention them to one of his clients, and some just hoping to get in his pants, or going alone and having to deal with the scene by himself.
Jared is perfectly at home in any crowd, can strike up a conversation with anyone and seem completely relaxed. Jensen is amazed despite himself, not just by how at ease Jared is with the attention, but how Jared never seems to lose his energy. At least five nights a week Jared is out in the evenings, hitting the right restaurants, clubs and parties, and Jensen knows that he goes into the office by nine every morning.
“It’s just, when does he sleep, you know?” Jensen says, cradling the receiver between his shoulder and his jaw.
“Can I just say again what a bastard you are for not telling us you were seeing Jay?” Steve replies. Jensen freezes, he’s been pacing across his apartment since he got on the phone, first Chris took a turn, going up one side and down the other, and now Steve is trying to lay down some serious guilt.
“I’m not seeing him, Steve. I mean, it’s just professional. We won’t, when this is over.” Jensen shrugs and then has to fumble for the phone when it falls off his shoulder. He doesn’t want to think about how much that bothers him, not seeing Jared anymore, in any capacity.
“Don’t you think this would be a good opportunity to mend some fences?” Steve says.
“It can’t be like that, and you know it,” Jensen says. Steve snorts, loud and gross in Jensen’s ear.
“What I know is that you got scared and you got stupid and you threw away the best thing-”
“Shut up,” Jensen says, heat and warning in his tone.
“I’m sorry Jen, but,”
“No, no buts, no nothing, okay? This is how it is,” Jensen says.
“Who are you trying to convince?” Steve asks, and Jensen doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about hanging up the phone.
|
“This is ridiculous,” Jensen hisses, trying not to be alarmed when a tiny brunette with a slicked back ponytail starts rearranging the waist of his jeans. “Whoa, okay, thank you!” Small hands are getting way too close to his crotch, and Jensen darts away, closer to Jared, which is a joke because Jared is the one who said he had to do this in the first place.
“Jensen,” Jared says, and Jensen can’t help but grind his teeth at the “I’m talking slow so you can understand” tone. “We’ve gone over this. You are getting a spread, small as it may be, in Vanity Fair, okay? That means photos. I apologize for this oaf, Cassandra.” Jared tips his head toward the brunette, who actually smiles for the first time since this ordeal began an hour ago.
“You said no compromises,” Jensen says, scowling as he looks across what is probably the most beautiful garden in LA. One side is perfectly laid out with manicured shrubs and bright, heavy blooms everywhere, while on the other side of the gravel path the grass is uneven, carefully unkempt, looking like the front of an old churchyard.
“The only thing being compromised is my patience,” Jared says with a smile. “Do you know how hard it was to get you in the next issue this late?”
“No. Also, do I care? No.” Jensen sniffs, and closes his eyes just in time to prevent his eyeballs from burning up from the liberal spray of aerosol hair glue Cassandra assaults him with. The distraction saves him from being subject to Jared’s scrutiny; Jensen suspects that Jared knows that he doesn’t hate all the publicity as much as he claims. After being introduced to Ang fucking Lee at a party Jared dragged him to last week, Jensen has begun to see the whole project a little differently. He still hates the spin doctoring, but as far as Jensen can tell, Jared doesn’t actually do that. He wasn’t lying when he said he likes to take on clients who just need exposure, not someone to write up sound bytes on cue cards in case the paparazzi are lurking outside the club.
“Look, don’t worry, this guy is a professional, okay?” Jared claps Jensen on the shoulder as Cassandra moves back to the long tables littered with clothes, makeup and medieval torture instruments. “He’s going to take some awesome pictures which will appear alongside your awesome interview.”
“About the interview,” Jensen tugs gently at the t-shirt he’d been given to wear, it looks like something out of his own closet but he’d been warned to be very careful with it. “What, uh, kind of questions do you think she’ll ask?”
“Nothing you aren’t ready for,” Jared promises. “You’re squeaky clean. No dead hookers, no rehab stints, and you’ve been out since your first movie so that’s not news, either.” He shrugs, adjusts his designer sunglasses and looks totally at ease. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
And Jensen can’t help it, he laughs.
|
Catapult has a small in-house design team that handles most of the promo materials and press kits for each movie, and Jensen, in a fit of naïveté, just assumed that Byron and his crew would be doing his stuff.
“I don’t know what to tell you, man.” Byron shrugs, the footrest of the hideous orange Lazy-Boy chair fully extended. A can of diet coke is cradled in one palm and a roast beef sandwich in the other. Jensen is transfixed by the continuous drip of watery mustard splashing on the armrest of the chair. Mental note, never sit in the chairs in the creative department again, he thinks.
“What do you mean, exactly?” Jensen forces his gaze up to Byron’s face.
“Our shop isn’t handling your movie. Which, by the way, is a major fucking buzz kill. Andy and I had some crazy ideas for your posters man.” Byron snaps his fingers. “Crazy.”
“Who said that? Did Jeff say that?” Jensen taps his index finger against his lip. Jared says he looks like a character from a Charlie Chaplin skit when he does that, but Jensen thinks it makes him look thoughtful.
“No shit, he’s got Townsend on the job. I don’t even know why you bothered comin’ down here, obviously the guys over there are gonna be handling everything.” Byron shrugs again, almost dislodging his sandwich in the process.
“Well.” Jensen is at a loss. Obviously Jared, and the firm, does more than just escort him to parties and set up interviews, but he hadn’t really thought about it beyond that. He never asked to see their creative department or see examples of their work, and it worries him that he might be too hands off.
“My wife clipped out that Vanity Fair article, by the way. Not bad, but I gotta ask, what was with the flower in your mouth?” Byron takes a large bite out of his sandwich and Jensen uses the distraction as a means of escape.
Filming is about to wrap and Jensen needs to know that his vision isn’t going to get sanitized in the last inning. He doesn’t have an appointment with Jared, doesn’t even know if Jared will be in the office, but he needs to get to that mirrored glass tower and make sure that the movie hasn’t gotten lost in the publicity.
Katie is at the front desk, impeccable and cheerful as always and not for the first time Jensen wonders if Townsend and Hill employees are actually robots, or speed freaks. It is beyond him how they can be so chipper and happy all the damned time.
“Jensen, Jared is just in a meeting with another client right now but I’ll call him and see what his schedule looks like.” Katie smiles, and Jensen nods and moves toward the seating area, then hesitates. In all the time he’s spent in this office he’s never once seen anyone actually sit on the red leather couch, but after an encouraging gesture from Katie he slowly lowers one ass cheek and then the other onto the pristine couch.
“Jensen.”
He barely has time to figure out of the couch is comfortable or not before Jared’s coming around the corner and waving enthusiastically. He’s wearing a pink shirt and grey slacks and it should look ridiculous, it does look a little ridiculous, but it’s also hot and Jensen doesn’t know whether to be turned on or horrified.
“Hey man, what’s going on?” Jared slaps Jensen on the back as Jensen stands to meet him.
“Uh, sorry to drop on you without an appointment or anything but I was talking to the, uh-” Jensen stumbles momentarily as he wonders how to classify his conversation with Byron. “The creative guys at Catapult, and I suddenly realized that I have no idea what’s happening with promo materials or the press kits.”
“And you freaked and immediately drove down here?” Jared supplies.
“Pretty much, yes.” Jensen nods, relieved that after all this time Jared still knows how to translate his nervous ramblings.
“No problem, listen, come on into my office. Chad is just leaving.” Jared takes Jensen by the elbow, which is totally unnecessary because Jensen knows where Jared’s office is, but he doesn’t shake off the grip. “Chad,” Jared calls as they pass through the doorway, an awkward moment as they realize they won’t fit walking shoulder to shoulder. Jared’s hand falls away and Jensen tries not to be disappointed at the loss of the warm touch.
A blond man is leaning against the edge of Jared’s desk, one knee drawn up, looking as bored as one could possibly be while still conscious. He’s dressed more casually than Jared, a black sports coat over a t-shirt and jeans that were probably designed to look rumpled.
“Chad Michael Murray, this is Jensen Ackles.” Jared waves in Jensen’s direction as he moves behind his desk. Jensen extends his hand and is relieved when Murray takes it. He’s familiar with Murray’s work, his recent transition from network television to film has been well publicized, mostly due to the caliber of work he moved in to.
“S’up?” Murray nods, giving Jensen the habitual industry once-over, probably wondering if he can score a role out of this chance meeting. Or not, Jensen thinks, Catapult probably couldn’t afford him after his last picture, the one with Brad Pitt.
“Chad is a longtime client, and friend,” Jared says as he leans back in his chair.
“Jay-man and I go way back." Chad nods. Jensen fights the urge to say something asinine like, not as far back as me, but manfully resists the urge.
“Right, great,” he says with the smile he’s been working on the past few weeks, friendly yet accessible. Chad sucks on his front teeth, the noise suggesting Jensen needs more practice, and then levers himself up off the desk.
“Nice to meet you,” he says to Jensen. “Jay-man, call me." he points to Jared, index finger and thumb pantomiming a pistol as he walks backwards out of the office. Jensen collapses into one of the chair in front of Jared’s desk.
“So,” he says, hoping Jared will say that he’s not really friends with Murray, but Jared gets right to business.
“Right, the promos." Jared nods. “Let me call Alison, she’s the head of our creative department and I think she has some really great concepts to go over with you." Jared picks up the receiver of his phone, punches an extension number into the keypad and twirls a pen between his fingers as he waits.
Jensen only half pays attention to the conversation, Alison is on her way up, he doesn’t need to listen in to Jared’s playful banter, and he’s transfixed by how some part of Jared always has to be in motion, the frenzied energy that seems to hum just underneath his skin. Jared was always vibrant, but Jensen doesn’t remember him being this frenetic, like he can’t quite settle into his own skin.
“Great, you’re lucky Ali loves me as much as she does, she was able to clear her schedule to come up and see us with some proofs.”
“Awesome,” Jensen says, dismissing all non-movie thoughts. He taps his knees impatiently as he waits for Ali to arrive, he hates that he was so hands off during the process, wishes he’d thought to ask about the artwork earlier.
“Jensen, it’s fine, Ali does great stuff.” Jared says, fixing Jensen with an earnest look before his gaze moves up, the only indication that someone else has entered the room thus sparing Jensen the indignity of screaming like Fay Wray when a small hand lands on his shoulder.
“He’s right Jensen, I am pretty amazing.” Ali says, black foam core rectangles clutched under one arm. “Take a look,” she lays the proofs out on Jared’s wide desk and Jensen’s breath hitches as he takes in the washed out colours and sepia tones. There’s a landscape shot with a winding dirt road and fields and Jensen wishes he could have shot his movie wherever that photograph was taken. The font is a sturdy black style, almost Gothic, and the title is aligned on the top right. There are layouts with cast photos and without and Jensen traces the edges of a shot of Lucy.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Ali, these are really fantastic.”
“Jared gave me some script edits and two words: stark and gritty.” Ali says with a pleased grin. Jensen finally lifts his eyes from the spread on the desk and looks over at Jared, who is blushing faintly.
“Pretty good insight,” Jensen says.
“Well, take these home and really give them a once over and come back to me with your thoughts, okay?” Ali pats Jensen on the back before excusing herself from the room.
“So?” Jared raises his eyebrows.
“Amazing,” Jensen says immediately. “In terms of design this is what I would have asked my guys to do, but those photos man, where did you get them?”
“The cast photos are from filming, when Barry spent two days following everyone around and driving you nuts,” Jared smiles, and Jensen feels a little chagrined. Had he known that Barry would produce this kind of word he wouldn’t have been so annoyed by the guy. “The landscapes, well, the shots Barry had just weren’t right, you know? They didn’t feel right, so I know this guy in South Dakota, this photographer, and he sent me some stuff. It’s close enough to the location you used, right? I mean, I don’t think a person would look at this and think they were different areas.”
“No, no, you’re absolutely right. I mean, this feels the same,” Jensen picks up one of the landscape shots. “Man, I was so scared you guys were going to do something flashy and bright.”
“Who you talking to?” Jared smiles.
By the time Jensen is on his way back out the building he’s already making notes to send to Jeff, who has been calling every day for updates. Jensen had hoped that his compliance on the PR issue would earn him a small reprieve, but Jeff hadn’t given any ground.
“Jensen,” he says later that afternoon, “I’m pleased as punch that you’ve pulled your head out of your ass and allowed Jared to work his magic, but I still want to see the rushes by nine o’clock tonight."
“And you’ll get them Jeff, obviously, but I have this other problem.”
“Other problem? This had better not be a money problem, damnit, do you know how maxed you are after those light replacements?”
“They fell over, completely spontaneously and Mike even cried a little,” Jensen says. In fact, Mike had cried a lot, but there was no point going into the whole sordid tale.
“So it is a money problem,” Jeff sighs.
“It’s Lucy." Jensen winces. “The extras got into the food again."
“I don’t want to hear about the cheese doodles, not a goddamn word,” Jeff says. “What did I tell you about child actors, I begged you to change the script. Anything would have been better, an alien, a parrot, anything.”
“She was too upset, we got footage but it blows. I need one more day.” Jensen says quickly. He knows that Jeff isn’t serious, would never have wanted such a big change to the script, but there’s no point in arguing the fact.
“One more day, and you keep that kid stuffed with Twinkies or cheese what’s-its, you hear me?” Jeff hangs up before Jensen can do something embarrassing, like thank him, and Jensen counts it as another win.
Jensen feels overwhelmed, seeing the artwork has made everything so real, there’s an end product on the horizon and it’s going to be amazing. There’s no filming tomorrow and Jensen tosses around the idea of calling Mike for celebratory drinks, but then he remembers the tequila and the Waffle House and dismisses the thought just as quickly. Sitting in his kitchen, brimming with the need to share his excitement with someone, Jensen has to admit that being a neurotic bastard with intimacy issues has its definite drawbacks. He’s just about to resort to calling his mom when the phone rings, and he would be embarrassed by his relief were anywhere there to witness it. Still, he makes himself wait for the third ring before picking up; he doesn’t want to look desperate after all.
“Jensen, I’m glad I caught you.”
Jared’s voice isn’t unwelcome, but it does strange things to Jensen’s stomach.
“Yeah, I just got in the door,” Jensen lies.
“Oh, good timing then,” Jared says, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “Listen, I was going to ask you when you were here and I know you’re probably busy but I was wondering if you want to want to maybe grab a drink.”
It takes Jensen a moment to make out the rush of words and when he does he hesitates. Getting together is a bad idea on so many levels, but with Jared’s hopeful voice echoing in his ears Jensen doesn’t think it’s a pity invite and he can’t deny the appeal of a couple hours spent with the guy.
“Sounds great,” Jensen says, and hopes like hell he doesn’t regret it.
Part Two