Caleb Holmes
Flashing Stalkers
Fri Jun 3, 2005 06:27

He was going to go nuts! It had been nearly a week without seeing Lucy, and there was only so much he could do to occupy his time. The theater was running as smoothly as it could at current, the office no longer a mess. Rob was back in the swing of things, and he was just a fixture for a little while longer until the wedding.

Ring-ring! Yes, a distraction!

“County morgue, you stab ‘em we slab ‘em! Today’s special: copper whoppers, three-fifty a pound. What’ll it be?”

“Very funny, smartass. Hey, meet me at the bistro down the street from the Playhouse. Y’know, the one with the salad tongs on the sign. I want to go over some of the wedding plans with you.”

“You give lovely directions, Moira. Really, you do! But why the hell would you be going over the plans with me? Last I heard, it was some Nazi doing everything.” What had changed in a matter of days?

“Well… yeah. Bistro, twenty minutes!” Click. Damn it! Figures that it took him nearly a half hour to get there, with traffic. And some red Blazer tailing him the entire way, which was way creepy. Moira was acting weird, seriously! What was with the quick talking and the demanding his presence? Sighing, he settled into one of the small outdoor seating areas, ironically waiting on her! If she wasn’t here in the next thirty seconds, he was going to—

“C’mon!” Yank. Caleb had never been so unceremoniously snatched up and hauled off to another location. Absolutely indignant, he tried straightening his suit jacket and tie, waving off the menu and just ordering what he usually got from here. Hell, it was right down the street from the theater, after all! “Okay, here’s what I got.” Moira was prepared, and it was absolutely frightening. A plethora of tux designs, valances, table runners, flowers, everything and anything, all with their own little notations.

“Uhm, wasn’t all this taken care of before?” He was confused.

“But it doesn’t hurt to have more input!” Moira protested, shoving the booklet at him with a rather savage smile. “So give me input!”

“You won’t listen anyhow, I’m just a man!” A woman one table over snickered quietly into her drink at his comment, but he received no sympathy whatsoever. Damn! “How did you get yourself mixed up in this, anyhow?” Caleb felt rather detached from the whole thing, marking out a few changes. Like why did they have to go with a modern tux? Classic looked better, damn it! Even the one that was a bit older in style, but still fashionable. Wow, those were definitely turn-of-the-century looking. Marked it off as interesting, just for kicks.

“Lucy fired the Nazi, and she called me up to step in. Everything was a fukking mess! Right down to the tablecloths that were going to be used.” Moira shuddered extravagantly, which quickly turned into a coo of delight when their orders arrived. “Besides, it’s not so bad at the suite Matteo has at the Plaza. He’s sorta sexy.”

“Moira!” Caleb squeaked, aghast at her comment.

“What?! He is! In that… older man, Sean Connery sort of way. And the accent!” She affected a swoon, likely just to annoy her brother. And it was working marvelously, because Caleb was about to begin twitching very shortly. “Oh come on, he doesn’t seem like that bad of a guy!”

“If only you knew!” the man lamented, shaking his head. “First Matteo comes in, decides the wedding must be now, takes over the planning, takes my fiancée, and fukking refurnishes everything I demolished in the house!”

“Wait, why’d you wreck the house?” If Moira was anything, she was a gossip-monger.

“I—Never mind. Long story.” Frowning, Caleb flipped through the planner, eyeing a few of the things here and there. “I want to do something for Lucy, though. How do you go about apologizing for being a complete ass to a mafia boss?” Moira stared at him like he had gone insane. He loved her, but she could be dense sometimes. “Okay, listen. The Medici are old school. Old School Italians.” All Capital Letters! Then it clicked in her little head.

“Oh. Oh! Oh my God!” Rolling his eyes, Caleb motioned for her to get over the shock quickly, he didn’t have all day. “Uhm, well… Shit! I don’t know. Go over there and apologize to his face?” Right, like that was going to work! “Hey, it’d be the manly thing to do! It’s not like you can send him a bouquet of flowers or anything, you numbskull.” Bah. “Oh, I know! Speak his language. It’ll at least show you respect him enough to learn his native tongue.” Right. And pigs could fly.

“Why is my life so damned difficult? All I want is Lucy, the house, the cars, and kids eventually. Is that too much to ask for—”

“Mister Holmes! Over here!” Suddenly Caleb was blinded, reminding him of a mish-mash family get-together, or some birthday party, where a person pops in front of your face and snaps a quick photo, before ducking off again. It was just—like—that! “What do you have to say about marrying a Medici?” Shit! It was only one idiot, but he could see another cameraman coming down the street.

“Why me?!” Quickly rifling through his pockets, Caleb came up with the billfold, and slapped cash down for the meal that hadn’t been eaten. “Moira, leave. Now. Bloody vultures, every last one of them!” He had dodged idiots like these in the past during public meetings, but now it was completely different, and on an entirely personal level. Ignoring the few fools that had cornered him, Caleb shouldered his way past and to the Jeep. He could just do a few errands on private property, get their asses tossed for trespassing, and be done with it. Right?

God, he hoped so.

It went on like this for days afterward, and it was beginning to drive him absolutely insane. Did they bother John? No, not since the man picked up one paparazzi, and set him outside the property line, then went back inside to finish dinner. Back and forth, at home and at work, though they were run off government property rather quickly. A little blurb in the paper about the Medici scion being wed to a government agent, and a few opinion columns reflecting their disbelief, stating it was all a sham.

After this was all done and over with, he was going to pay a visit to every one of these bastards, and do the same to them. See how you like it when photos of your family are being taken without your permission! Bastards.

“That’s it!” Caleb breathed heavily, leaning against one of the doors, and dropping the boxes in hand, before locking it behind him. David eyed him askance from the stage, obviously wondering what the hell he was doing. “Those fukking paparazzi are everywhere, I swear it! I can’t get away from the bastards, even when I take a shit!” Okay, so that was some crude and coarse language coming from the typically well-spoken man, which was just an indication of how frustrated he truly was. Sighing, Caleb loosened his tie and shucked the suit jacket, stowing the firearm in his briefcase for safety. There, much better! “Any ideas for the sets or backdrops yet?”

“Just a few.” Just a few he says! David pointed toward the scattered prints of designs spread across the stage, and Caleb could only stare. When this man got a hair up his ass, things really did get done! Well, all the better for them; at least he wasn’t like Ray. Shudder. “Really, it won’t be too intense. We’ve got Emile’s home, outside and inside, which could be one set that flips about, the base, and a few other bland locations. It’s a low key production, that’s certain. But the story still snags ‘em.”

“Uh huh,” Caleb mumbled, eyeing a few sketches before embellishing upon them. Erase a little here, add a little there. He wouldn’t have been able to come up with these ideas from scratch, not in such detail – picture a stick house and figures, and that’s what he’d have – but to change things slightly had never been a difficulty for him. Emile’s home became more domesticated because of the children, with an errant toy near the doorstep, simple things along the way that made it more realistic. “Oh! That reminds me. Boxes at the doors are the libretti, new stage makeup for the wardrobe, and some other odds and ends.” And there went David, rushing to get the items.

“Fantastic! I only had a few copies of the libretto, and the scores will definitely come in handy too. We’re going to have to get a new costume mistress though.” Caleb blinked, quirking a brow at David’s innocuous confession. “Betty moved to Florida last week, so we’re out of luck there.”

“Well… shit. Okay. Just put out a few ads in the playbill and local papers for a costume mistress and seamstress. We’ll need examples though, and hopefully they won’t go running off into the audience like Betty always did!” Mumble, grumble. “At least the sound system will come into good use with Emile and Cable’s run-in with the Japanese.”

“Yeah, but this time you’re supposed to be a loving and doting father. No idiots and no misunderstood maniacs.” Snorting, Caleb shook his head and plunked a piece of charcoal at David. “What?! You loom on stage, Caleb.”

“Screw you too, McAllister.” Snicker. “Just be happy I’m not John’s size, huh? What the hell are you going to use him for, a singing tree in the background?”

“No, we’re just going to have to find a shitload of really tall guys to pair him up with on stage. Maybe the soldiers, they’re all supposed to be big, strapping hulks or some such nonsense. Give him a speaking role, see how he does.” Shrug, whatever!

“Okay, I’ve got to make a quick call. Need anything from the office?” David was already lost in the drawings and plans though, so Caleb left him to it. Meanderings backstage, into the office, using his cellphone instead of the land line. God knows what those bastards tried to do to the line after seeing him go in here day after day. Beep-beep! Memory, it was a grand thing. Ring-ring. Ring-ring! “C’mon doll, I know you’re there. Pick uuuuupp—!” Ooh.

“Lucifer! What the hell is up with all these sadistic fukks with the cameras? Did you go running around topless down Broadway again?” Tried for the chastising voice, failed miserably due to extreme amounts of annoyance. “If I’m beginning to amass a horde, I hate to think how many try to lurk outside your window on the scaffolding.” Shudder. “Did I mention that I miss you?” Pause. Probably. “’Cause I do.” Most definitely. “How long until the wedding?” He didn’t want to whine, but he was about to! “I love you Luce…

“So, what’re you wearing?” Cackle!

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