[FIC] Ever After (Chapter 1/11)
Nov. 13th, 2012 05:48 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ocelotkitty.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wl_fanfictionTitle: Ever After
Main Pairing: Jeff/Greg, with background Chip/Wayne and Colin/Ryan
Rating: R for language
Total Word Count: 17,890
Chapter Word Count: 980
Summary: Jeff’s a directionally challenged actor who can’t seem to catch a break. Chip promises that Jeff’s new GPS will be the solution to all of his problems, but why does it seem to cause more problems than it solves? Will Chip turn out to be right in the end? (Spoiler alert: of course he will. This is, after all, a fairy tale.)
Special Thanks: to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sungreen70 for patiently (lol) championing this story from its humble beginnings in 2009, subtly (lol) suggesting I finish it while recovering at home from surgery, and going above and beyond as a beta reader despite all the other demands — including Hurricane Sandy and a presidential election! — on her time. You are amazing! ♥
“I’m telling you, the place doesn’t exist!” Jeff wedged his iPhone against his ear with his shoulder, frantically flipping through the dog-eared pages of his Thomas Guide.
“And I’m telling you, if you don’t do something about all this late bullshit, your career won’t exist.” There was a click, and his agent was gone.
Damn, Jeff thought. He must be the only guy in town with an agent who wasn’t a phony. Who wasn’t afraid to hang up on him, or tell him what to do. Not that I’m an A-lister worth fawning over, he thought to himself. Especially after missing three auditions in a row. Word was getting around LA that Jeff was a diva — and not one whose talent merited that kind of behaviour. It was the worst kind of reputation an actor could have.
Jeff’s iPhone sprang to life again, vibrating across the passenger seat in time to the Mexican hat dance. He swiped his thumb across the screen. “Hello?”
“Dude, where are you?”
Jeff sighed, and shifted the phone to his left ear. No one ever bothered to say hello anymore, they just demanded to know where he was. “Where I always am, Chip. Lost.”
“Well, let me help you. Where are you?”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be lost, now would I?”
“Come on, man, no need to be like that. Okay. Look out the window — what do you see?”
“A sign that says ‘Litter removal next two miles sponsored by Enron.’ And a pile of litter.”
“Okay, sounds like you’re southbound on the 5.” Chip paused. “What are you doing down there? I thought you tweeted that you were going to Burbank for an audition today.”
Suddenly Jeff was exhausted. He didn’t want to talk to Chip, to have to make up a story about why he was sitting in his Mini Cooper on the side of the freeway. He just wanted to go home — if he could ever find home — and wait for the day to be over.
“Jeff? Are you still there?”
“I’m here. I really need to get going, though,” he said, hoping Chip would pick up on the hint.
But Chip surprised him, calling his bluff. “Get going where? Jeff, you don’t even know where you are now, never mind how to get somewhere else. Look, I’m just up in Pasadena. I’ll come down Rosemead Boulevard and head north on the 5 until I see you, okay?”
Jeff knew it was pointless to argue with Chip. He ended the call without another word.
* * *
Chip and Jeff sat opposite each other over a plate of sushi at Wabi-Sabi. “Man, I can’t believe you got all the way to Downey,” Chip said, popping an ikura roll into his mouth.
“Well, I can’t believe LA has a suburb named after a fabric softener,” Jeff countered. “Downey. Huh. I guess I can add it to the long list of places I only know about because of my stellar sense of direction.”
“This is really hurting you, isn’t it?”
Jeff’s fingers tightened around his cup of sake. “Yeah. It is. Today makes three — no, four — auditions I’ve blown now. My agent is fucking pissed, man. Oh, and get this — yesterday his assistant emailed me a list of rehab places. Rehab! Unbelievable. They think I’ve got a drug problem. If the press gets hold of this....”
“Well, do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a... you know. A drug problem.”
“What the fuck, Chip.” Two hipsters at an adjacent table turned to stare, and Jeff lowered his voice. “No, dude, unlike everyone else in this fucking town, I do not have a drug problem. I don’t even smoke anymore.”
Chip held his hands up. “Okay, okay. You don’t have a drug problem. Then what kind of problem do you have?”
“Promise not to laugh.”
“I promise I will laugh if it’s funny enough.”
“Shit, man, this is serious.” Jeff pushed his empty sake cup away. “Okay. It’s my directional sense. I don’t... I don’t have one.”
Chip was looking at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “And....?”
“And it’s fucking me up, man. I’m late to auditions because I can never figure out how to get there. I look up the studio in my Thomas Guide, I write out little directions for myself... and then I’m on the freeway and whoosh, there goes my exit, and I end up somewhere else.”
“So why is this only a problem for you lately?”
“Because I’m booking more jobs lately. Well, up until recently I was. More jobs means more auditions. And more auditions means less time to get lost on my way to them all. When I had one audition in a day, I could leave four hours in advance, have time to end up in... Downey or somewhere, pull a few U-turns, and be at the studio right on time. Now I don’t have those margins anymore.”
Chip looked thoughtful. “Okay, there’s one thing I need to ask. How is it that—”
“How is it that I’ve lived in LA for thirty-nine years and still can’t find my way out of a paper bag, right?”
Chip laughed. “Right.”
“No idea. I have so many Thomas Guides in my car that the damn thing’s starting to ride low, but they don’t help. Maps are just a bunch of coloured lines to me. I can’t seem to match them up with the real world when I’m driving, so I just keep going and going, until—”
“Until you end up in Downey.”
“Yeah. If someone’s sitting there in the passenger seat telling me where to turn and which lane to get into, I’m fine, but who the hell wants to do that for me all day?”
Suddenly Chip reached across the table and put his hand on Jeff’s arm. “I think I know what you need.”
Main Pairing: Jeff/Greg, with background Chip/Wayne and Colin/Ryan
Rating: R for language
Total Word Count: 17,890
Chapter Word Count: 980
Summary: Jeff’s a directionally challenged actor who can’t seem to catch a break. Chip promises that Jeff’s new GPS will be the solution to all of his problems, but why does it seem to cause more problems than it solves? Will Chip turn out to be right in the end? (Spoiler alert: of course he will. This is, after all, a fairy tale.)
Special Thanks: to
sungreen70 for patiently (lol) championing this story from its humble beginnings in 2009, subtly (lol) suggesting I finish it while recovering at home from surgery, and going above and beyond as a beta reader despite all the other demands — including Hurricane Sandy and a presidential election! — on her time. You are amazing! ♥“I’m telling you, the place doesn’t exist!” Jeff wedged his iPhone against his ear with his shoulder, frantically flipping through the dog-eared pages of his Thomas Guide.
“And I’m telling you, if you don’t do something about all this late bullshit, your career won’t exist.” There was a click, and his agent was gone.
Damn, Jeff thought. He must be the only guy in town with an agent who wasn’t a phony. Who wasn’t afraid to hang up on him, or tell him what to do. Not that I’m an A-lister worth fawning over, he thought to himself. Especially after missing three auditions in a row. Word was getting around LA that Jeff was a diva — and not one whose talent merited that kind of behaviour. It was the worst kind of reputation an actor could have.
Jeff’s iPhone sprang to life again, vibrating across the passenger seat in time to the Mexican hat dance. He swiped his thumb across the screen. “Hello?”
“Dude, where are you?”
Jeff sighed, and shifted the phone to his left ear. No one ever bothered to say hello anymore, they just demanded to know where he was. “Where I always am, Chip. Lost.”
“Well, let me help you. Where are you?”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be lost, now would I?”
“Come on, man, no need to be like that. Okay. Look out the window — what do you see?”
“A sign that says ‘Litter removal next two miles sponsored by Enron.’ And a pile of litter.”
“Okay, sounds like you’re southbound on the 5.” Chip paused. “What are you doing down there? I thought you tweeted that you were going to Burbank for an audition today.”
Suddenly Jeff was exhausted. He didn’t want to talk to Chip, to have to make up a story about why he was sitting in his Mini Cooper on the side of the freeway. He just wanted to go home — if he could ever find home — and wait for the day to be over.
“Jeff? Are you still there?”
“I’m here. I really need to get going, though,” he said, hoping Chip would pick up on the hint.
But Chip surprised him, calling his bluff. “Get going where? Jeff, you don’t even know where you are now, never mind how to get somewhere else. Look, I’m just up in Pasadena. I’ll come down Rosemead Boulevard and head north on the 5 until I see you, okay?”
Jeff knew it was pointless to argue with Chip. He ended the call without another word.
Chip and Jeff sat opposite each other over a plate of sushi at Wabi-Sabi. “Man, I can’t believe you got all the way to Downey,” Chip said, popping an ikura roll into his mouth.
“Well, I can’t believe LA has a suburb named after a fabric softener,” Jeff countered. “Downey. Huh. I guess I can add it to the long list of places I only know about because of my stellar sense of direction.”
“This is really hurting you, isn’t it?”
Jeff’s fingers tightened around his cup of sake. “Yeah. It is. Today makes three — no, four — auditions I’ve blown now. My agent is fucking pissed, man. Oh, and get this — yesterday his assistant emailed me a list of rehab places. Rehab! Unbelievable. They think I’ve got a drug problem. If the press gets hold of this....”
“Well, do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a... you know. A drug problem.”
“What the fuck, Chip.” Two hipsters at an adjacent table turned to stare, and Jeff lowered his voice. “No, dude, unlike everyone else in this fucking town, I do not have a drug problem. I don’t even smoke anymore.”
Chip held his hands up. “Okay, okay. You don’t have a drug problem. Then what kind of problem do you have?”
“Promise not to laugh.”
“I promise I will laugh if it’s funny enough.”
“Shit, man, this is serious.” Jeff pushed his empty sake cup away. “Okay. It’s my directional sense. I don’t... I don’t have one.”
Chip was looking at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “And....?”
“And it’s fucking me up, man. I’m late to auditions because I can never figure out how to get there. I look up the studio in my Thomas Guide, I write out little directions for myself... and then I’m on the freeway and whoosh, there goes my exit, and I end up somewhere else.”
“So why is this only a problem for you lately?”
“Because I’m booking more jobs lately. Well, up until recently I was. More jobs means more auditions. And more auditions means less time to get lost on my way to them all. When I had one audition in a day, I could leave four hours in advance, have time to end up in... Downey or somewhere, pull a few U-turns, and be at the studio right on time. Now I don’t have those margins anymore.”
Chip looked thoughtful. “Okay, there’s one thing I need to ask. How is it that—”
“How is it that I’ve lived in LA for thirty-nine years and still can’t find my way out of a paper bag, right?”
Chip laughed. “Right.”
“No idea. I have so many Thomas Guides in my car that the damn thing’s starting to ride low, but they don’t help. Maps are just a bunch of coloured lines to me. I can’t seem to match them up with the real world when I’m driving, so I just keep going and going, until—”
“Until you end up in Downey.”
“Yeah. If someone’s sitting there in the passenger seat telling me where to turn and which lane to get into, I’m fine, but who the hell wants to do that for me all day?”
Suddenly Chip reached across the table and put his hand on Jeff’s arm. “I think I know what you need.”
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