"Helping Hands"

[stilmoch.livejournal.com]

This started out great, then wimped out on me. I hope you enjoy, though, 'cause I owe you guys something in return for all you've given me with your stories.

Title: Helping Hands
Author: Stilmoch
Pairing: Drew/Greg friendship
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: I thought it was illegal to own people. At any rate, I don't own these guys. If this conversation ever took place, I sure wasn't there for it.
Author's notes: This didn't want to be written, but, by crikey, I fought it tooth and nail and here's something, anyway.
EDIT: I changed a couple of minor things that no one else would notice (probably). Carry on.



Blip blip blip blip blip

Greg sat at the video poker machine, mindlessly pushing buttons and watching clubs or spades occasionally match up. Smoke curled up from his cigarette as he took another drag. He was brought out of his reverie by two things: the cocktail waitress bringing him his latest vodka, and then, behind her, Drew Carey crossing his eyes. The corners of his mouth curled upward slightly, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He paid for his drink, then sighed heavily as she walked away.

"You think she's that hot, to be worth that big sigh?" Drew asked his friend. He himself didn't see much in her beyond her age, but maybe that's why he was still single.

Greg smiled a bit more, but Drew noticed that it still didn't make it all the way up his face. "No. I'm just tired, I guess. This weekend is wearing me out more than usual."

Drew nodded as he answered, "Yeah, Vegas'll do that to you. But you have to admit, this is a great place to be. The beauty of Vegas is that the slogan is right, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." Greg rolled his eyes at the corny line, but Drew, now warming up to one of his favorite subjects, continued. "I mean, look at us right now. We're standing in the middle of a casino having a conversation, Ryan's a few rows over, Chip and Jeff are having lunch, and no one's even approached us. We're about as anonymous as we're going to get and we're not disguised or hidden in some dinky town."

Greg sighed again, more deeply than before. "Drew, dear, I hate to point this out to you, but you and Ryan would really be the only two people anyone would recognize. Love them dearly though I do, Chip and Jeff really aren't all that well-known outside "Whoserland," I'm as anonymous as anyone can get, and you can't tell me Ryan isn't hunched over the Blackjack table wearing that silly ballcap and not saying a damn word to anyone. And you, my friend," at this, he poked said friend in the chest, "have ditched those frames, spiked and bleached that mop on your head to within an inch of its life, and are dressed tres' casually, instead of the ubiquitous suit and tie ensemble you normally wear both on Whose Line and on your show. You're not anonymous, you're just unrecognizable."

"Doesn't that add up to basically the same thing? We can do what we want here and no one's gonna notice! Don't you see how perfect this place is?"

Greg snorted. "Yeah, perfect for people who normally are recognized," he thought to himself. To Drew he replied, "Well, as long as you're having fun..."

Enthusiastic as he was, Drew still couldn't help but notice Greg's distinct lack of enthusiasm. "I am," he said softly. "I just wish you were."

"Look, I'm okay, really. Like I said, I'm just tired. I'll take a nap before tonight, then I'll be fine for the show, okay?"

"Okay, man, make sure you do take that nap. I'll catch you later, then." Drew clapped his friend on the back, then walked away, noting to himself that his friend never did complete that smile. He himself sighed deeply and headed back to his own room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Good work out there tonight, man." Drew sank into the chair across from Greg and set his beer on the table. "Why'd you leave so quickly, though? Didn't give me a chance to treat you to that drink." He nodded to the glass in his friend's hand.

Greg chuckled wryly. "This isn't the one you would have treated me to. That was a little while ago."

'C'mon man, what's the matter?"

The earnest look in the man's face almost touched Greg.

Almost. "Nothing, really. Just didn't feel the energy tonight, that's all."

"Don't give me that B.S., Greg." Suddenly the earnest puppydog face was gone, replaced by the former Marine. "Something was up before the show even started. I could tell at the machines earlier. So let's just cut to the chase, okay?"

Still unwilling to admit to anything, Greg responded, "Look. I told you I was tired. I couldn't fall asleep before the show. Now I'm more tired. End of story."

"Now look, Proops. Either you tell me what's crawled up your ass or I'm gonna reach up there and get it myself."

"Whoa! Hold it right there, friend. No need to get out the lube." His inner heterosexual winced at the thought. "If you're gonna talk like that, let's go somewhere a little less public, then."

Drew smiled. "That's more like it. Your place or mine?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sat in Drew's room facing each other, sipping new drinks. "So, confession time. What's up?"

"Man, nothing like letting a friend get settled in before cutting to the chase, huh?"

"You've beat around enough bush. Now spill."

Greg took a long drag on his cigarette, sighing out the cloud of smoke. "It's the Audible gig. I lost it last week. They cancelled me. Decided they had enough political bullshit sprayers under contract and they didn't need anyone who'd actually done any thinking about the matters of the world." He ground his cigarette into the ashtray, disgusted. "Jackasses."

Drew's eyebrows furrowed. "The internet gig, right? But that's just one thing. You still have the stand-up, and the improv and the---"

Greg cut him off. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. It's just one thing."

"Greg, I'm sorry. I'm just saying it's not like it's the only thing you do. You've got all sorts of things going on, and it won't help to focus on losing just one thing."

"Yeah, I know. It's just...It's made me think a bit, and, well, I just feel like I've wasted the last 25 years of my life, that's all." He smiled and shrugged. "Nothing, really."

Confused, hating to ask, but not wanting to feel lost, Drew asked carefully, "Twenty-five years? You weren't doing that that long. What do you mean, 25 years?"

"My career." Greg snorted. "Or, rather, my so-called career."

"What do you mean, 'so-called'? You're doing pretty well to me."

"Yeah. 'Pretty well.' What everyone aspires to be. "What I want to be when I grow up" "I want to be doing "pretty well." Tell me this, Drew. How're you doing? 'Pretty well'? Is 'Pretty well' jetting you all over Europe to pro soccer games? Did "pretty well" get you onto the players' benches to watch the games? Did it get you dates with strippers? Did it pay for that behemoth mansion you stash your stuff in?"

Warming to his subject, Greg continued. "Do you suppose 'pretty well' got Ryan all those cars? And that house on the lake? Does 'pretty well' leave you "stuck" with doing only the commercial work you want to do, according to your schedule?"

Ignoring the shocked look on Drew's face, Greg ranted on. "On the plus side, I guess 'pretty well' is better than "I got a call-back for that role I was up for on Spike TV." At least I made it as far as MTV and Comedy Central. At least I had a show to get cancelled after 6 episodes. A radio gig to get fired from after more than two years. Poor Chip and Jeff are having an even tougher time. But they're young. They'll get something better soon. 'Course, that's what I used to think, too," he finished wryly.

Drew could only gape at his friend. Greg, for his part, could only muster up the tiniest bit of sympathy for what he'd just thrown at the man. But as long as he was here, and had wanted to know what was wrong, by God, he was going to hear it all.

"Let me ask you something. Why don't you go outside after the shows to meet the fans? Because you're too tired to be swamped by a bunch of squealing fan girls wanting pictures or autographs or whatever. And I know damn well that's why Ryan doesn't go out afterwards either.
Well, you want to know why I don't go out? So I don't see how many fans aren't waiting for me. How many don't recognize me. Shit, Drew, I've been in this business for 25 fucking years and all I've got is the smoker's cough and an 8x10 glossy to prove it."

He faltered a bit. "No fame. No fortune. No recognition. And I'm not talking about some golden dildo award for being "Funniest Snorter of the Year." I'm talking about," his voice cracked, "I'm talking about respect."

Another sigh, another drag on a Marlboro he hadn't even realized he'd lit. "People wanting me for what I can offer. And not just for the sound of my voice, which is just what I sound like. For my talent."

Suddenly tired: "For my name."

And, in a whisper: "For me." His head lowered, he rubbed his forehead, then his eyes, which for some reason had grown moist. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Surprised, he looked up into Drew's wide eyes. Hell, he'd almost forgotten he was there. He reached up and squeezed his hand briefly.

"Shit, Drew. I didn't mean to take all that out on you. Sorry, pal." He raised his eyes sheepishly, ready to take whatever Drew had to give back.

"Well, I gotta tell you, it was a surprise at first. Hadn't realized how you felt about my and Ryan's success." He held up a hand as Greg's mouth opened. "But, I guess I can understand where you're coming from. Believe me when I tell you, I wondered at times if it was worth it. Worth all the aggravation, the frustration, the letdowns, the lack of call-backs. You know as well as I do that all it takes is one break, one phone call, and you could be off like a rocket. My new life has been one big lucky break, man. If the wrong person had read my script, instead of the right one? I'd still be paying the strippers to date me." He chuckled.

"And you, at least you have a voice. All I had was crewcut and Cleveland," he prodded.

Greg smiled slightly and touched the front "poof" of his hair. "Yeah, at least I have this going for me. And you, with Cleveland? I guess I can't knock you for overcoming that deficit in your background." His smile widened as he saw the look on the Ohio native's face.

"Hey! I'll have you know Cleveland has produced many fine individuals."

"Yeah? Name one."

"Me!" Drew puffed out his chest proudly, thumbs stuck under his armpits. "Who else do you need?"

At that, Greg giggled. A full-on giggle that, Drew noted with satifaction, matched the grin that lit up Greg's face perfectly.



end