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M Pierson
Dude, Part Deux
Thu Jun 1, 2006 10:22
168.103.102.175

"Michael, you've a phone call."

"Michael?"

It took three tries before Hugh managed to rouse an unrepentedly hung over Brit, during which time Michael found himself annoyingly awake. Phone call. From who? Well, there was only one way to find out - he'd have to get up. Covers found themselves thrown back, bare feet gingerly pressing against the floor. Another suspicion comfirmed, his father's flat was far too cold in the mornings. Though, really, what could he expect from winter in New York? At least it wasn't London during the cold months. Brrr.

Right then, out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and over to Dad, who was dangling the cordless like it was an angry tarantula. "Nnnrgh… ‘llo?" Well, that was all they were going to get at this unholy hour.

Hey, it’s Devon. I need to ask you something. There was a very pregnant pause. Where’s my car?

"I… huh?"

There really wasn't much he could contribute at this point, if one remember he wasn't fully awake yet and Devon wasn't making any sense. Did the man lose track of his automobile every time he went out drinking? An alarming thought. Michael reached up, trying to smooth sleep-tussled hair while he listened.

I can’t remember half of last night! Where’d we ditch the car?

Bastard had the nerve to laugh, sound cutting right through the actor's left temple. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he found himself being studiously eyed by not only his father, but the bleedin' roomie as well. Uncharitable thoughts about the love of Hugh's life surface, especially when the former agent grinned charmingly over the rim of his coffee.

"Uh… It was in a garage. Fukk if I remember which one it was." And that was the current extent of his memory. Besides, things got a little murky thereafter. Something about lunch and drinks. Damn Caleb for appealing to his baser instincts. Eventually he remembered to ring off and turn around to stare at his audience.

"We're going drinking in an attempt to locate his vehicle."

Haha. That vanquished the identical smirks. Michael tossed the cordless at his father then stumbled into the bathroom, shucking his boxers in favor of standing under hot water until he could say 'Supercalifragalisticexpealadocious' without slurring. Teeth found themselves brushed and a ransack of the guestroom located clean jeans, his boots and ... a tee shirt. Black, naturally, with a Pink Flloyd logo splashed across the front. Mum must have snuck it in.

Well, for whatever reason, he found himself perched on the stairs outside the apartment, rifling through a collection of matchbooks garnered over the course of the previous evening. One of them had to belong to the place where they'd started - his recollections still very hazy. Hopefully that would improve with another drinking binge.

A taxi pulled up, one scowling agent inside, prompting Michael to stuff the collecction back into his jacket before climbing into the backseat alongside Caleb.

"You look like hell."

From the deepening scowl across the other man's face, Michael felt free to assume that his remark had hit home. Good. Holmes needed to be taken down a notch. Besides, what sort of chap showed up after a pub crawl in an ironed work shirt? Smirk, smirk.

Things went from bad to ... badder. After showing Caleb the handful of books and explaining his theory, the two were dropped off in front of a randomly selected bar, loitered around in front for a few minutes, Michael racking his brains for any landmarks that looked familiar. It took maybe ten minutes to agree that this wasn't the place, and off they went.

Bar, bar, lunch break at a bistro, bar, bar, bar ... Somewhere around two o'clock, they found Caleb's car. The damn thing was loitering in a perfectly respectable parking garage just down the sreet from a bar belonging to the last book of matches remaining.

"I don't think either of us are in any condition to drive that thing home," Michael commented, ignoring the irritated snort coming from Caleb. It was true - they'd drunk their way through Manhattan on this quest. But! He had a clever plan. Reaching into the agent's coat pocket, he extracted a cell phone. Continuing to ignore a slurred protest, Michael punched in a series of numbers that eventually resulted in his father's voice filtering over the tiny reciever.

"Cheers. It's me. We found the car, but neither of us should ... drive it. Fancy meeting us at..." the actor paused to rattle off the appropriate address before ringing off over his father's, and Caleb's, protests. "There, it's settled." Without waiting, the lanky man quit the street in favor of the indoor establishment. Beer always triumphed over ... well, everything.

In retrospect, Michael should have walked right back out the moment he recognized David MacAllister, currently chatting up the lovely waitress from the previous evening. But Guiness beckoned and the actor couldn't resist its siren call, finding himself a stool just a few over from the director. And apparently David recognized him too, for the man launched into what sounded like a ploy for an audition.

Please. He didn't plan on being in America past the next week.

. . . . . .

"Why did I let you talk me into this?"

Michael didn't dare look at his father, sitting in the front row of seats next to Ben, instead focusing his ire on the blaggard who'd managed, with the aid of many beers, to get him onto this stage. It wasn't the material that reeked, no the production they intended to launch was rather good - he'd seen it last summer in London - it was the deviousness that stung.

"Because you can't turn down a good part, Pierson." David was ever so full of himself. "Now, from the beginning with Caleb and Bennett..."

"Maureen is protesting losing her performance space, not my attitude." Well, that was easy. But then Bennett launched into the song, and everything was forgotten in the rivalry of performance.

Next door, the home of Cyberarts, you see
And now that the block is re-zoned
Our dream can become a reality
You'll see boys
You'll see boys


Michael had to admit that the three voices blended smashingly, though most of his attention was focused on singing his own part cold. Hearing it on stage was one thing. Actually seeing the notes were another. It was a very, very closely guarded secret, but the Brit had never officially learned how to read music. Sure, once he heard a song he could replicate it in his own style, and learning the lyrics was nothing ... but notes?

The last one died away, prompting Michael to glance towards David. He was smiling. "The part is yours. Hugh, blackmail your son into staying this time."

Shit.

  • Dude!Devon Holmes, Tue May 9 14:41
    Devon couldn’t believe he just did that. Strolling out to his rented SUV, the feeb settled himself behind the wheel. He’d wait five minutes to see if Michael really was going to come, before going... more
    • Dude, Part Deux — M Pierson, Thu Jun 1 10:22
      • Homeward Bound!Bennett Holmes, Sat Jun 3 23:38
        “Psst… wakey wakey…” Nnnrgh! Bennett groaned, batting at the hand which was currently poking him in the side. He hated flying. Cramped seats, bad meals – sometimes – and people stared like they were... more
        • Surprises on StageCastelluccio | Holmes, Sun Jun 4 00:40
          “That was weird.” “No shit.” John stared out the back door where Bennett Holmes and Laramie Sorensen went. It was likely a good thing Jaybird had been out at the doctor for the baby’s checkup,... more
          • Home - Where My Thoughts EscapeSorensen, Thu Jun 8 10:11
            Eight months on the road was hell, but Lara wasn't trying to complain. Not when pouring her soul into her voice and fingers became such a heady rush that Bennet had been forced to ease her off stage... more
            • The Fire's Out AnywayCafferty | Pierson, Mon Jun 26 14:52
              Who do you think you are? Barging in on me and my guitar Little girl -- hey The door is that way You better go you know The fire's out anyway Sean watched Caleb snark his way across the stage, words... more
              • Dates and DatesDevon Holmes, Tue Jul 4 18:40
                The last week had been an utter haze for Devon. Between the days that he had gone out pub hopping with Michael, and the various other occasions where he told himself he was going to go out for only... more
                • Road to MorroccoMichael Pierson, Fri Jul 21 11:44
                  "You are definately loosing it, old man. Not that you ever had a firm grip on the mundane." Wasn't it a sign of dementia when you started talking to yourself? Or did you have to bring someone else to ... more
                  • Home Again, Home Again...Devon Holmes, Mon Aug 14 19:28
                    [Monday. 11:56 am. The map says where we are.] “Are we there yet?” Oh God, he swore he was going to kill a Brit-cum-Yank within the next thirty seconds. “Is that all you can ever say?” Devon... more
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