Shut Your Eyes - Chapter 4
Title: Shut Your Eyes
Authors: goten0040 and garnetice
Chapter: 4
Rating: M
Ship(s): Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.
Summary: Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3
---
Being home was like getting stuck in a time warp. I’d always been close with my mom, but the years of her treating me like her little boy were long past.
Or so I’d thought.
We’d spent most of the day catching up like normal people. Talking about family, friends, and I don’t know, our favorite tv shows and shit. I helped her with the gardening, even though I wasn’t really sure how to use any of the tools and trampled three of her prized bulbs.
By the time we both went inside, sweaty and exhausted, it was close to five in the afternoon. When we plopped down in front of the TV, that was apparently the signal for her to begin the interrogation.
“Are you eating enough? You look skinny.”
“I’m eating fine. Promise,” I groaned, because yeah, I’d been waiting for it, but I was going to be thirty in a couple years, for fuck’s sake.
Mothers. They never stop mothering.
“You’re certain? Okay, I was just checking,” she held up her hands at my defensive look, “…Are you sure you don’t want me to any of your laundry?”
“I just got here. I don’t have any laundry.”
“Right. Silly me,” my mom cocked her head to the side, “Honey, is that a scar on your forehead? How’d that happen?”
I’d told mom the same bull I’d given Logan and Carlos about taking a leave of absence because my head hadn’t been in the game, but I hadn’t bothered mentioning the break was medically enforced.
Because, in all honesty, it wasn’t. Stitches and a minor concussion barely gave me the excuse to sit out two games, much less a whole season. Hockey was a brutal sport; injuries were expected collateral damage.
But I wasn’t ready to admit that the taunting of some asshole nobody had gotten through to me. It would be like giving up a piece of myself. I was supposed to be confident, unshakable.
Not terrified that the NHL would identify me as one of the first openly gay American ice hockey players in the whole of history.
Chances were, the guy who’d given me the scar was just banking on the fact that I used to wear tight pants and dance around on stage singing harmonies. Players always hoped questioning the boy bander’s sexuality would get him all riled up. He probably didn’t actually know anything at all. It wasn’t like I went around airing my business all over the locker room, and my relationships over the past few years had been short, sweet, and so far, discrete.
And it certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been called a faggot either, or even the worst name that had ever been tossed my way.
Only, somehow he’d chosen the apropos moment to drive the insult home.
I didn’t know why or how it worked under my mostly impenetrable armor. I’d never been completely comfortable with my sexuality, but I was well enough adjusted to it at that point that it should’ve taken more than an idle barb to knock me down. Yet it had, and I had a scar on my hairline to serve as a constant reminder, a physical injury to spell out my sudden, massive identity crisis to the whole wide world.
So far, I’d been pretending to myself that I was just worried word would get out that I wasn’t a fan of pussy and that the homophobic jerks who littered the ice might take it out on my team’s chances for the Stanley Cup. But I knew there was more to it. Fear and shame and a hole in my heart.
Hell, maybe I was just exhausted from bearing the weight of it all alone.
“Hockey. Some jerk nearly bashed my head into the ice,” I explained, but I didn’t elaborate that he hadn’t done it in an attempt to steal the puck. Some things my mother never needed to know.
“Did you hit him in the face with your stick…thingy?” my mom asked, waving her hand vaguely in the air.
“I wanted to?”
“Good boy,” my mom patted my arm. She could be seriously vindictive and scary, sometimes, “So. Any girls in your life?”
“Nope. Not a one,” I replied. She asked me that nearly every day over the phone. My answer was always the same. I think she was aiming for grandkids, and I didn’t have a clue how to tell her that wasn’t happening.
It wasn’t that I didn’t think my mom wouldn’t accept me for who I was. We’d gone through a phase when BTR first started off where she suspected I wasn’t exactly straight as an arrow, and she’d been totally open and accepting. I guess it was more that I wasn’t ready to tell her. I wasn’t ready to tell, well, anyone, obviously.
“You’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.”
I kind of wanted to make a snarky comment that sperm doesn’t get any less potent with age, but c’mon. We might’ve been close, but she was my mom. Instead I shrugged and said, “I’ll let you know when I find the right person.”
“You do that,” she advised, her smile turning sunny, “I think I’ll make chicken tonight. What do you think?”
“I’m supposed to go out with Carlos and Logan…”
“They’re invited too,” my mom kept up the smile, but her tone was one that brooked no argument, “We’re going to have a nice family meal. It’s been years.”
“Oh, uh…great,” I tried my best to sound as enthusiastic as possible. Seriously, scary. Seriously.
----
We did have a nice family meal.
Katie even came. It was fucking weird, man. When she showed up at the door, I had no idea who I was looking at. Her whole body was outlined by the bright California sunlight, and she could have been a wandering salesman; but the classy outfit and raised eyebrows behind her expensive, brand name shades were kind of a tip off.
“Wow,” I breathed, looking her up and down, and wondering if the super short hemline on her dress was really allowed at her agency, “Wow. Hi, not-so-little sister.”
Katie lifted her sunglasses, eyes flicking analytically over me and she said, bluntly, “You’ve let yourself go.”
"…you’ve gotten taller, but I see growing up hasn’t modified your personality. That’s good. I was worried.”
She grinned and, without warning, launched herself at me, hugging me tight. I returned it, laughing. Katie was just one more in a long list of countless things I missed more than life itself.
Soon enough, mom joined in on the action, bear hugging us both so hard I heard at least one of our spines crack.
Carlos mentioned that I used to parent all my friends. It never felt like a responsibility; being in charge all the time. But I wondered if what I’d been feeling the last few years was some kind of warped empty nest syndrome. I wondered if it was what my mom felt all the time, now that Katie and I were out of the house.
Jesus, this entire vacation was just going to be one gi-fucking-gantic guilt trip, I knew it.
It was part of the reason I’d avoided coming back to California for so long. I’d procrastinated for so long that I’d begun to feel horrible about it, which made me put it off for even longer. I’d wanted to avoid feeling like I’d kicked a litter full of puppies.
But I was a good son. I straightened up and took my medicine, even though my medicine mostly consisted of listening to how well Katie was doing at her new agency. She’d been interning at one through most of her college years at UCLA, and (predictably) had been marked as one of the town’s rising stars. I already knew most of the story; I didn’t talk to my baby sister as much as my mother, but we’d stayed in pretty steady contact.
Enough that she’d confided in me all the things she couldn’t tell our mother. For instance, I was pretty sure mom had no idea that she was dating some big shot producer, a man two years older than me.
We steered clear of that topic over dinner. I noticed the one other subject conspicuously avoided all through the meal was James.
Worst part was, I had no idea whether to feel annoyed or relieved.
Carlos called halfway through to inform me that I had to be ready for our night on the town. When I told him I was eating, his exact words were, “We missed your mom’s chicken?”
I frowned at the phone, “…It’s not dinosaur shaped.”
Logan’s voice crackled into the receiver, “Shut up, asshat. We’ll be there in five.”
I was obviously on speaker phone. Carlos added, “And you’d better have a doggie bag full of scrumptiousness.”
“Don’t you have a wife to cook for you now?” I demanded, but Carlos had already hung up.
My mother smiled serenely and said she’d heat a few plates up for “the boys”.
“You do that,” I sighed.
---
Sure enough, Logan and Carlos crowded through my door less than ten minutes later, falling all over themselves to tell my mom how pretty she was looking this evening. I want to say she was impervious to their flattery, but she folded like a house of cards.
Katie wasn’t nearly so susceptible, even when Logan whistled, “Whoa, who’s the looker?”
He maybe really hadn’t known it was my little sister, because when Katie rolled her eyes and told him to shut his face, little Logan turned really, really green. I knew that short skirt was a bad idea.
I also knew if I tried to give her some big brotherly advice, she’d punch me in the mouth.
By the time we all made it out to Carlos’s car, both of my friends’ stomachs were practically bulging from how much they’d eaten.
“Thanks, Mama Knight,” they chorused, looking absolutely delighted with themselves.
I guess it was understandable. We’d all been raised on my mom’s cooking.
My mom clucked her tongue and engulfed us each in big hugs, finally burying her head in my neck and warning, “I better see you back here before you ship off to Minnesota again.”
"Of course,” I agreed, turning to hug Katie.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Katie kissed my cheek. Then she turned to Logan, wiggling her fingers and blowing him a big, fat kiss.
He looked kind of like he wanted to throw up in the patch of wildflowers near the door.
“You’re sadistic, baby sister.”
Katie simply smirked.
I got shotgun in Carlos’s black, four door sedan, on account of having way longer legs than Logan. Once we’d all piled inside, I turned to Carlos and demanded, “Okay, what’s with the baseball hat?”
“I’m in disguise,” Carlos beamed.
“Very incognito, isn’t it?” I could just hear it when Logan rolled his eyes.
“Shush,” Carlos said fondly, “Seriously, hush your lips. I’m getting a call.”
“Well that’s impossible. We’re his only friends,” Logan muttered from the back seat.
“Actually, Logan-“ I watched Carlos’s lips twist, and he said, “Nah. Never mind. I’ll let it be a surprise.”
And a surprise it was when we pulled into a parking garage downtown and found a familiar, pretty girl wearing a very sparkly dress waiting with crossed arms near the entrance.
“Camille! You’re, you’re-“ I searched for words, trying to figure out what to say to a girl I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years, and had never been all that close with in the first place. Logan was watching her in barely disguised awe, and unlike when he was eyeing up my little sister, he was able to give her a good long onceover without turning a radioactive shade of sickly green.
He must not have been too dedicated to his pretty little redhead back home.
She cocked an eyebrow and replied, “Still a struggling actress and nearly 30? I know.”
“You are not struggling,” Logan jumped in, giving her an embrace that lasted for a little longer than was usually considered socially acceptable, “You’re on a nationally syndicated drama that’s been running for four seasons. It’s a far cry from the Palmwoods, Cam.”
“Teen drama,” she corrected, smiling, “Good to know you watch.”
Logan’s cheeks reddened a little as she continued, “They’re thinking about cancelling the show, actually.”
Logan, Carlos, and I murmured apologies, but she laughed.
“ Ugh, I hope they do. I’m sick of playing an eternal high-schooler. I want some movie parts, something meaty. Carlos, get on that for me, would you?” she asked in a honeyed voice, snapping her fingers in his direction over Logan’s shoulder. That hug was still going on, man. I was positive Logan wasn’t ever planning on letting go.
“Sure,” Carlos replied good-naturedly, “I’ve got more connections than I know what to do with.”
“Aren’t we modest? I was joking, you know,” Camille grinned.
“I wasn’t,” he beamed, “What are friends for if not to launch each other from obscurity?”
“Wait, hey- I’m not exactly obscure-“ Logan cut Camille off by finally letting go, only to pull her underneath his arm.
“So, I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight,” he began, casting me a meaningful look, “Is Jo coming?”
I winced. Everyone knew that things with me and Jo had gone horribly awry all those years ago, but not even my best friends knew the real reason. Which, at this point, shouldn’t have been that shocking. I’d obviously become a master of deception.
It wasn’t exactly something I was proud of.
Jo and I still talked, to this day, occasionally, but the two of us had this strange relationship. See, I’d never been able to pin down when exactly I decided that boys were a more fascinating prospect than girls, but the one thing I absolutely knew was that I’d still been together with Jo when I did it.
And I didn’t tell her.
Instead, I betrayed her, in the worst possible way. I openly admit it; I shouldn’t get a free pass just because I’d decided to cheat on my girlfriend with somebody who was the same sex.
The night it happened was literally months after I’d first started screwing around. With Jo, I’d barely managed to scrape by second base. I can still clearly remember the accusation in her eyes when she discovered me sliding all the way home with a complete stranger.
Ever since, our relationship had become this weird amalgam. She was my confidante, but at the same time we both sort of skirted around the fact that I’d fucked her over, big time. I was never sure if what we were could actually be classified as friends.
“I think she’s at a movie premiere tonight,” Camille grinned at me, “She’s dating some super hot actor now. I think she’s got a thing for guys who show up in the pages of Tiger Beat.”
I shifted and tried my best not to look too uncomfortable.
I failed. Terribly.
“Too bad,” Logan replied in this voice that was too knowing, too wise. I’d forgotten how easy he found it to read people, like every facial tick and flicker of an eyelash was some kind of tell. Lucky me, he wasn’t an expert, or I’d have no secrets left at all.
“Guys, guys, c’mon!” Carlos beckoned us out into the night, leading the way to some unknown location. He turned to me, hands stuffed in his jeans, “I was going to plan you this, like, epic party for tonight, but Logan’s a total buzz kill. I had to bargain. So when you guys leave, be prepared for a fucking ridiculous sendoff.”
“What have you got against parties, Logie?” I knocked my shoulder against his.
Logan scowled, “ Nothing. I just figured we might want to get acclimated to the LA scene again before breaking out the funnel.”
“No better way to get re-acclimated than drinking like a fratboy, I say,” Camille laughed, nudging him in the stomach so that he was squished between the two of us.
Annoyed, Logan began, “Do you know what kind of damaging effects that much liquor can have on your- no, who am I kidding? I’m not that kind of doctor. I plan on getting smashed. Just, y’know. With close friends only.”
“You don’t want strangers seeing what a lightweight you’ve gotten to be,” Camille teased, and I could tell she hit that nail right on the head. Logan ducked his head and muttered something nasty.
“Don’t worry,” Camille cheered, “We’ll build your tolerance right back up. By the time you go back to Florida, you’ll be able to drink Paris Hilton under the table. Or at least me. Pssh, wait. That won’t happen.”
“Or,” Carlos interjected slyly, “You could just not go back.”
I exchanged a glance with Logan. Yeah, neither of us were touching that one with a ten foot pole.
Even though the last wisps of sunlight had faded a few hours ago, Hollywood remained bright and well-lit. The day I’d caught my flight from Minnesota, I’d driven along slick wet pavement, rain pounding hard on my windshield. Through the water blurring down my windows, I could just barely make out the stoops lined with Jack-O-Lanterns, piles of fiery fallen leaves building up in drainage ditches and gutters. In California, the sidewalks were still sun bleached and- well, not pristine. Hollywood isn’t the cleanest of cities. But the only indication I even had that Halloween was in the air were a small group of girls dressed like the sluttiest possible versions of Disney Princesses, already three sheets to the wind and on their way to a costume party.
If there was one thing you could always count on in Southern California, it was that there would never be a shortage of parties.
The first bar we hit, we immediately ordered up a round of drinks.
“To friendship,” Logan announced gravely, holding up a double shot of tequila.
“Yeah, fuck that,” Carlos interrupted, lips quirking, “To drinking like we’re nineteen again!”
“Amen,” Camille agreed, “I plan on getting wasted.”
“Think you made that pretty obvious,” I commented, but I was in a good mood. It had been a long time since I’d really loosened up. Hockey players are big fans of a good soiree; one might even call them career drinkers. But getting smashed was a lot less fun when you had no friends and couldn’t be caught out hitting on the cute guy on the dance floor.
We followed that round with another…uh, five? I kind of lost count. Anyway, at first Carlos did his civic duty, escorting us around to all the hotspots you could only get into if you made reservations six months in advance or knew a famous actor. You know, the kind where bottles in every shade of neon lined frosted glass shelves, where the ratio of girls to guys was always at least three to one. Usually there was some kind of theme, like, I don’t fucking know, Anchors Away or George of the Jungle or Aladdin’s cave. But the general modus operandi was always the same; the sickest DJs, lots of exposed flesh, and waiters standing by to keep the bottles of Cristal and Dom flowing.
Carlos really enjoyed being the famous actor that got us in the door, for a while.
‘Course, thing is, the three of us were weaned on Natty Ice and PBR, keggers and beer pong. Living the high life is good, great, even, but we were trying to relieve the good old days, back before we’d gotten famous. We wanted dark, seedy bars and a noticeable absence of stilettos.
Okay, maybe I was the only one who gave a damn about the last bit.
Slowly our merry troop of friends relocated from the hipster lounges to the darker underbelly of downtown, tequila burning slow and warm in our bellies. Spilling out onto the streets, we were loud, we were rowdy, and fuck if we weren’t all good and drunk.
As we made our way to the next place, Camille and I got talking.
“You know,” I proselytized, feeling friendly towards the whole wide world, “We should- stop and smell the roses. Get to know someone.”
“Um, the kind of people you meet in bars aren’t usually the kind of people you want to…uh, get to know. Unless it’s in the biblical sense,” Camille grinned, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
“Really? I would’ve guessed it was the opposite. You wouldn’t rather wait to do the nasty until after you find out if they have scabies?”
“Aw,” Camille choked out, “Aw, aw. C’mon, Kendall. I was really hoping to get laid by a cute stranger with a great butt, and now it’s ruined. Why would you do that? I don’t destroy your sex fantasies, now do I?”
I laughed, ignoring the look Logan was throwing me. He obviously disapproved hard of my discussing sex with his ex-girlfriend. Whatever. I wound my hand around her waist and started up a rousing chorus of some Top Forties shitty song that she jumped right in on, just to see him glare some more. We sounded horrible.
“You know, Kendall,” Camille leaned in close, “If you’re not into random hookups, I have some cute friends, and you’re totally their type.”
“I doubt they’re mine,” I answered, “But thanks.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not,” I smirked.
And I was telling the truth. I decided I was over worrying about who might find out what tonight. Just for this evening, I was going to party like a rockstar, like it was ten years ago and I didn’t have a care in the world.
But first, God, I had to piss.
Chapter Five
Authors: goten0040 and garnetice
Chapter: 4
Rating: M
Ship(s): Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.
Summary: Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3
---
Being home was like getting stuck in a time warp. I’d always been close with my mom, but the years of her treating me like her little boy were long past.
Or so I’d thought.
We’d spent most of the day catching up like normal people. Talking about family, friends, and I don’t know, our favorite tv shows and shit. I helped her with the gardening, even though I wasn’t really sure how to use any of the tools and trampled three of her prized bulbs.
By the time we both went inside, sweaty and exhausted, it was close to five in the afternoon. When we plopped down in front of the TV, that was apparently the signal for her to begin the interrogation.
“Are you eating enough? You look skinny.”
“I’m eating fine. Promise,” I groaned, because yeah, I’d been waiting for it, but I was going to be thirty in a couple years, for fuck’s sake.
Mothers. They never stop mothering.
“You’re certain? Okay, I was just checking,” she held up her hands at my defensive look, “…Are you sure you don’t want me to any of your laundry?”
“I just got here. I don’t have any laundry.”
“Right. Silly me,” my mom cocked her head to the side, “Honey, is that a scar on your forehead? How’d that happen?”
I’d told mom the same bull I’d given Logan and Carlos about taking a leave of absence because my head hadn’t been in the game, but I hadn’t bothered mentioning the break was medically enforced.
Because, in all honesty, it wasn’t. Stitches and a minor concussion barely gave me the excuse to sit out two games, much less a whole season. Hockey was a brutal sport; injuries were expected collateral damage.
But I wasn’t ready to admit that the taunting of some asshole nobody had gotten through to me. It would be like giving up a piece of myself. I was supposed to be confident, unshakable.
Not terrified that the NHL would identify me as one of the first openly gay American ice hockey players in the whole of history.
Chances were, the guy who’d given me the scar was just banking on the fact that I used to wear tight pants and dance around on stage singing harmonies. Players always hoped questioning the boy bander’s sexuality would get him all riled up. He probably didn’t actually know anything at all. It wasn’t like I went around airing my business all over the locker room, and my relationships over the past few years had been short, sweet, and so far, discrete.
And it certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been called a faggot either, or even the worst name that had ever been tossed my way.
Only, somehow he’d chosen the apropos moment to drive the insult home.
I didn’t know why or how it worked under my mostly impenetrable armor. I’d never been completely comfortable with my sexuality, but I was well enough adjusted to it at that point that it should’ve taken more than an idle barb to knock me down. Yet it had, and I had a scar on my hairline to serve as a constant reminder, a physical injury to spell out my sudden, massive identity crisis to the whole wide world.
So far, I’d been pretending to myself that I was just worried word would get out that I wasn’t a fan of pussy and that the homophobic jerks who littered the ice might take it out on my team’s chances for the Stanley Cup. But I knew there was more to it. Fear and shame and a hole in my heart.
Hell, maybe I was just exhausted from bearing the weight of it all alone.
“Hockey. Some jerk nearly bashed my head into the ice,” I explained, but I didn’t elaborate that he hadn’t done it in an attempt to steal the puck. Some things my mother never needed to know.
“Did you hit him in the face with your stick…thingy?” my mom asked, waving her hand vaguely in the air.
“I wanted to?”
“Good boy,” my mom patted my arm. She could be seriously vindictive and scary, sometimes, “So. Any girls in your life?”
“Nope. Not a one,” I replied. She asked me that nearly every day over the phone. My answer was always the same. I think she was aiming for grandkids, and I didn’t have a clue how to tell her that wasn’t happening.
It wasn’t that I didn’t think my mom wouldn’t accept me for who I was. We’d gone through a phase when BTR first started off where she suspected I wasn’t exactly straight as an arrow, and she’d been totally open and accepting. I guess it was more that I wasn’t ready to tell her. I wasn’t ready to tell, well, anyone, obviously.
“You’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.”
I kind of wanted to make a snarky comment that sperm doesn’t get any less potent with age, but c’mon. We might’ve been close, but she was my mom. Instead I shrugged and said, “I’ll let you know when I find the right person.”
“You do that,” she advised, her smile turning sunny, “I think I’ll make chicken tonight. What do you think?”
“I’m supposed to go out with Carlos and Logan…”
“They’re invited too,” my mom kept up the smile, but her tone was one that brooked no argument, “We’re going to have a nice family meal. It’s been years.”
“Oh, uh…great,” I tried my best to sound as enthusiastic as possible. Seriously, scary. Seriously.
----
We did have a nice family meal.
Katie even came. It was fucking weird, man. When she showed up at the door, I had no idea who I was looking at. Her whole body was outlined by the bright California sunlight, and she could have been a wandering salesman; but the classy outfit and raised eyebrows behind her expensive, brand name shades were kind of a tip off.
“Wow,” I breathed, looking her up and down, and wondering if the super short hemline on her dress was really allowed at her agency, “Wow. Hi, not-so-little sister.”
Katie lifted her sunglasses, eyes flicking analytically over me and she said, bluntly, “You’ve let yourself go.”
"…you’ve gotten taller, but I see growing up hasn’t modified your personality. That’s good. I was worried.”
She grinned and, without warning, launched herself at me, hugging me tight. I returned it, laughing. Katie was just one more in a long list of countless things I missed more than life itself.
Soon enough, mom joined in on the action, bear hugging us both so hard I heard at least one of our spines crack.
Carlos mentioned that I used to parent all my friends. It never felt like a responsibility; being in charge all the time. But I wondered if what I’d been feeling the last few years was some kind of warped empty nest syndrome. I wondered if it was what my mom felt all the time, now that Katie and I were out of the house.
Jesus, this entire vacation was just going to be one gi-fucking-gantic guilt trip, I knew it.
It was part of the reason I’d avoided coming back to California for so long. I’d procrastinated for so long that I’d begun to feel horrible about it, which made me put it off for even longer. I’d wanted to avoid feeling like I’d kicked a litter full of puppies.
But I was a good son. I straightened up and took my medicine, even though my medicine mostly consisted of listening to how well Katie was doing at her new agency. She’d been interning at one through most of her college years at UCLA, and (predictably) had been marked as one of the town’s rising stars. I already knew most of the story; I didn’t talk to my baby sister as much as my mother, but we’d stayed in pretty steady contact.
Enough that she’d confided in me all the things she couldn’t tell our mother. For instance, I was pretty sure mom had no idea that she was dating some big shot producer, a man two years older than me.
We steered clear of that topic over dinner. I noticed the one other subject conspicuously avoided all through the meal was James.
Worst part was, I had no idea whether to feel annoyed or relieved.
Carlos called halfway through to inform me that I had to be ready for our night on the town. When I told him I was eating, his exact words were, “We missed your mom’s chicken?”
I frowned at the phone, “…It’s not dinosaur shaped.”
Logan’s voice crackled into the receiver, “Shut up, asshat. We’ll be there in five.”
I was obviously on speaker phone. Carlos added, “And you’d better have a doggie bag full of scrumptiousness.”
“Don’t you have a wife to cook for you now?” I demanded, but Carlos had already hung up.
My mother smiled serenely and said she’d heat a few plates up for “the boys”.
“You do that,” I sighed.
---
Sure enough, Logan and Carlos crowded through my door less than ten minutes later, falling all over themselves to tell my mom how pretty she was looking this evening. I want to say she was impervious to their flattery, but she folded like a house of cards.
Katie wasn’t nearly so susceptible, even when Logan whistled, “Whoa, who’s the looker?”
He maybe really hadn’t known it was my little sister, because when Katie rolled her eyes and told him to shut his face, little Logan turned really, really green. I knew that short skirt was a bad idea.
I also knew if I tried to give her some big brotherly advice, she’d punch me in the mouth.
By the time we all made it out to Carlos’s car, both of my friends’ stomachs were practically bulging from how much they’d eaten.
“Thanks, Mama Knight,” they chorused, looking absolutely delighted with themselves.
I guess it was understandable. We’d all been raised on my mom’s cooking.
My mom clucked her tongue and engulfed us each in big hugs, finally burying her head in my neck and warning, “I better see you back here before you ship off to Minnesota again.”
"Of course,” I agreed, turning to hug Katie.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Katie kissed my cheek. Then she turned to Logan, wiggling her fingers and blowing him a big, fat kiss.
He looked kind of like he wanted to throw up in the patch of wildflowers near the door.
“You’re sadistic, baby sister.”
Katie simply smirked.
I got shotgun in Carlos’s black, four door sedan, on account of having way longer legs than Logan. Once we’d all piled inside, I turned to Carlos and demanded, “Okay, what’s with the baseball hat?”
“I’m in disguise,” Carlos beamed.
“Very incognito, isn’t it?” I could just hear it when Logan rolled his eyes.
“Shush,” Carlos said fondly, “Seriously, hush your lips. I’m getting a call.”
“Well that’s impossible. We’re his only friends,” Logan muttered from the back seat.
“Actually, Logan-“ I watched Carlos’s lips twist, and he said, “Nah. Never mind. I’ll let it be a surprise.”
And a surprise it was when we pulled into a parking garage downtown and found a familiar, pretty girl wearing a very sparkly dress waiting with crossed arms near the entrance.
“Camille! You’re, you’re-“ I searched for words, trying to figure out what to say to a girl I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years, and had never been all that close with in the first place. Logan was watching her in barely disguised awe, and unlike when he was eyeing up my little sister, he was able to give her a good long onceover without turning a radioactive shade of sickly green.
He must not have been too dedicated to his pretty little redhead back home.
She cocked an eyebrow and replied, “Still a struggling actress and nearly 30? I know.”
“You are not struggling,” Logan jumped in, giving her an embrace that lasted for a little longer than was usually considered socially acceptable, “You’re on a nationally syndicated drama that’s been running for four seasons. It’s a far cry from the Palmwoods, Cam.”
“Teen drama,” she corrected, smiling, “Good to know you watch.”
Logan’s cheeks reddened a little as she continued, “They’re thinking about cancelling the show, actually.”
Logan, Carlos, and I murmured apologies, but she laughed.
“ Ugh, I hope they do. I’m sick of playing an eternal high-schooler. I want some movie parts, something meaty. Carlos, get on that for me, would you?” she asked in a honeyed voice, snapping her fingers in his direction over Logan’s shoulder. That hug was still going on, man. I was positive Logan wasn’t ever planning on letting go.
“Sure,” Carlos replied good-naturedly, “I’ve got more connections than I know what to do with.”
“Aren’t we modest? I was joking, you know,” Camille grinned.
“I wasn’t,” he beamed, “What are friends for if not to launch each other from obscurity?”
“Wait, hey- I’m not exactly obscure-“ Logan cut Camille off by finally letting go, only to pull her underneath his arm.
“So, I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight,” he began, casting me a meaningful look, “Is Jo coming?”
I winced. Everyone knew that things with me and Jo had gone horribly awry all those years ago, but not even my best friends knew the real reason. Which, at this point, shouldn’t have been that shocking. I’d obviously become a master of deception.
It wasn’t exactly something I was proud of.
Jo and I still talked, to this day, occasionally, but the two of us had this strange relationship. See, I’d never been able to pin down when exactly I decided that boys were a more fascinating prospect than girls, but the one thing I absolutely knew was that I’d still been together with Jo when I did it.
And I didn’t tell her.
Instead, I betrayed her, in the worst possible way. I openly admit it; I shouldn’t get a free pass just because I’d decided to cheat on my girlfriend with somebody who was the same sex.
The night it happened was literally months after I’d first started screwing around. With Jo, I’d barely managed to scrape by second base. I can still clearly remember the accusation in her eyes when she discovered me sliding all the way home with a complete stranger.
Ever since, our relationship had become this weird amalgam. She was my confidante, but at the same time we both sort of skirted around the fact that I’d fucked her over, big time. I was never sure if what we were could actually be classified as friends.
“I think she’s at a movie premiere tonight,” Camille grinned at me, “She’s dating some super hot actor now. I think she’s got a thing for guys who show up in the pages of Tiger Beat.”
I shifted and tried my best not to look too uncomfortable.
I failed. Terribly.
“Too bad,” Logan replied in this voice that was too knowing, too wise. I’d forgotten how easy he found it to read people, like every facial tick and flicker of an eyelash was some kind of tell. Lucky me, he wasn’t an expert, or I’d have no secrets left at all.
“Guys, guys, c’mon!” Carlos beckoned us out into the night, leading the way to some unknown location. He turned to me, hands stuffed in his jeans, “I was going to plan you this, like, epic party for tonight, but Logan’s a total buzz kill. I had to bargain. So when you guys leave, be prepared for a fucking ridiculous sendoff.”
“What have you got against parties, Logie?” I knocked my shoulder against his.
Logan scowled, “ Nothing. I just figured we might want to get acclimated to the LA scene again before breaking out the funnel.”
“No better way to get re-acclimated than drinking like a fratboy, I say,” Camille laughed, nudging him in the stomach so that he was squished between the two of us.
Annoyed, Logan began, “Do you know what kind of damaging effects that much liquor can have on your- no, who am I kidding? I’m not that kind of doctor. I plan on getting smashed. Just, y’know. With close friends only.”
“You don’t want strangers seeing what a lightweight you’ve gotten to be,” Camille teased, and I could tell she hit that nail right on the head. Logan ducked his head and muttered something nasty.
“Don’t worry,” Camille cheered, “We’ll build your tolerance right back up. By the time you go back to Florida, you’ll be able to drink Paris Hilton under the table. Or at least me. Pssh, wait. That won’t happen.”
“Or,” Carlos interjected slyly, “You could just not go back.”
I exchanged a glance with Logan. Yeah, neither of us were touching that one with a ten foot pole.
Even though the last wisps of sunlight had faded a few hours ago, Hollywood remained bright and well-lit. The day I’d caught my flight from Minnesota, I’d driven along slick wet pavement, rain pounding hard on my windshield. Through the water blurring down my windows, I could just barely make out the stoops lined with Jack-O-Lanterns, piles of fiery fallen leaves building up in drainage ditches and gutters. In California, the sidewalks were still sun bleached and- well, not pristine. Hollywood isn’t the cleanest of cities. But the only indication I even had that Halloween was in the air were a small group of girls dressed like the sluttiest possible versions of Disney Princesses, already three sheets to the wind and on their way to a costume party.
If there was one thing you could always count on in Southern California, it was that there would never be a shortage of parties.
The first bar we hit, we immediately ordered up a round of drinks.
“To friendship,” Logan announced gravely, holding up a double shot of tequila.
“Yeah, fuck that,” Carlos interrupted, lips quirking, “To drinking like we’re nineteen again!”
“Amen,” Camille agreed, “I plan on getting wasted.”
“Think you made that pretty obvious,” I commented, but I was in a good mood. It had been a long time since I’d really loosened up. Hockey players are big fans of a good soiree; one might even call them career drinkers. But getting smashed was a lot less fun when you had no friends and couldn’t be caught out hitting on the cute guy on the dance floor.
We followed that round with another…uh, five? I kind of lost count. Anyway, at first Carlos did his civic duty, escorting us around to all the hotspots you could only get into if you made reservations six months in advance or knew a famous actor. You know, the kind where bottles in every shade of neon lined frosted glass shelves, where the ratio of girls to guys was always at least three to one. Usually there was some kind of theme, like, I don’t fucking know, Anchors Away or George of the Jungle or Aladdin’s cave. But the general modus operandi was always the same; the sickest DJs, lots of exposed flesh, and waiters standing by to keep the bottles of Cristal and Dom flowing.
Carlos really enjoyed being the famous actor that got us in the door, for a while.
‘Course, thing is, the three of us were weaned on Natty Ice and PBR, keggers and beer pong. Living the high life is good, great, even, but we were trying to relieve the good old days, back before we’d gotten famous. We wanted dark, seedy bars and a noticeable absence of stilettos.
Okay, maybe I was the only one who gave a damn about the last bit.
Slowly our merry troop of friends relocated from the hipster lounges to the darker underbelly of downtown, tequila burning slow and warm in our bellies. Spilling out onto the streets, we were loud, we were rowdy, and fuck if we weren’t all good and drunk.
As we made our way to the next place, Camille and I got talking.
“You know,” I proselytized, feeling friendly towards the whole wide world, “We should- stop and smell the roses. Get to know someone.”
“Um, the kind of people you meet in bars aren’t usually the kind of people you want to…uh, get to know. Unless it’s in the biblical sense,” Camille grinned, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
“Really? I would’ve guessed it was the opposite. You wouldn’t rather wait to do the nasty until after you find out if they have scabies?”
“Aw,” Camille choked out, “Aw, aw. C’mon, Kendall. I was really hoping to get laid by a cute stranger with a great butt, and now it’s ruined. Why would you do that? I don’t destroy your sex fantasies, now do I?”
I laughed, ignoring the look Logan was throwing me. He obviously disapproved hard of my discussing sex with his ex-girlfriend. Whatever. I wound my hand around her waist and started up a rousing chorus of some Top Forties shitty song that she jumped right in on, just to see him glare some more. We sounded horrible.
“You know, Kendall,” Camille leaned in close, “If you’re not into random hookups, I have some cute friends, and you’re totally their type.”
“I doubt they’re mine,” I answered, “But thanks.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not,” I smirked.
And I was telling the truth. I decided I was over worrying about who might find out what tonight. Just for this evening, I was going to party like a rockstar, like it was ten years ago and I didn’t have a care in the world.
But first, God, I had to piss.
Chapter Five