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wouldbedorothyTitle: The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wouldbedorothy (AHS)
Pairing: Gale Harold/Randy Harrison
Rating: PGish
Summary: Just before his premiere, Randy gets a phone call. Randy's pov. 2485 words. Title is the name of an awesome Garbage song (not used here).
Disclaimer: I made this up.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This ends well, I think, but you will probably consider it completely unsatisfying, lol. Oh well! No sequel. Already got my next thing planned...
The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
by AHS
I’ll never be able to taste spearmint again without wanting to throw up.
I’d been running around like a crazy person since I woke up that morning. Somehow I was more nervous about the premiere than I ever was when I had a play starting. My phone kept ringing… most of the time, Marci checking some detail with me she already had a hundred times, or dishing about some new person she’d found out was coming. And even though I’m not much of a fashion plate, and we’d said “casual,” I still spent about two hours changing my mind and my clothes, again and again.
I hadn’t stopped to eat once, just because it hadn’t occurred to me. My thoughts were too occupied. The closest I got to nourishment was this fucking spearmint gum I kept popping into my mouth. Well, that and coffee (mostly not at the same time). The gum seemed to absorb some of the nervousness through my chewing, though all the saccharin and caffeine in my system just gave me extra jittery energy.
It was almost time, and I’d just gotten into my car when my cell rang. I answered without looking. I answered laughing.
“Marci, if you stop calling me for two seconds, I’ll be there in-”
“Randy?”
It wasn’t her. It sounded like… “Peter? Hey! I thought you were Marci! Sorry, I don’t really have time to talk. I’m on my way to… our…” My excited speech slowly sputtered and stopped as Peter’s tone, just from saying my name, sunk into my head. I didn’t know what he sounded like, except that he really didn’t want to be making this phone call. “What’s going on?”
“…Nobody’s told you yet, have they?” His voice was as serious as it had ever been, and I thought I heard him sniffle.
“Told me what? You’re kind of scaring me here. Just tell me.”
“Sweetie, Gale was in an accident last night. He’s in the hospital… in intensive care.”
Gale… He said Gale.
And then everything sort of became white noise. I don’t remember if I managed any verbal response. Peter kept talking but my mind was fighting hard not to hear. Didn’t want to know.
Pieces of words made it through. Something about “surgery.” Something “motorcycle”… Fucking motorcycles of his… The mint flavor on my tongue turned sour and acidic. The butterflies in my stomach turned angry, with razors for wings. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t sure I was still breathing.
“Randy? Are you o-… Shit, I know you’re not okay. And I’m so sorry for the timing. I didn’t realize what tonight was until you answered…”
…Sorry for the timing? Yes, please tell Gale to almost get killed on a more convenient day for me. Thank you very much, hahahaha… Hysterical laughter filled my head and I sat still and tried to run away until I finally caught up to the first detail.
“Last night?” I couldn’t fathom it. Gale was hurt and had been fighting for his life for almost a day, and I was just finding out? It seemed impossible… wrong.
Then again, why did I think I automatically had the right to know all about Gale’s life? The last time I talked to him…
I stepped over whatever Peter was answering back to me and just started saying, “But he’s okay? Right? He’s going to be okay.”
Because he had to be.
“They’re not saying much right now. I don’t think they know…”
“Peter.” He had to be.
“You’re right. Gale’s made of special stuff, isn’t he? Strong stuff. He’ll be fine. He just needs some time… When do you think you’ll get here? I can pick you up at the airport.”
“What? I-” I felt like my body was locked in its position, unmoving in the driver’s seat, and my brain wasn’t functioning enough to kick-start me into thought or action. Everything had… crashed. Kept crashing. Squealing tires and crunching metal imagined in my ears. Gale yelling. Me yelling. Two weeks of fucking loud silence… not imagined. “He wouldn’t want me there.”
“I didn’t mean you should miss your premiere, Randy. You know Gale would hate that. And I hate that I’ve put this on you now, but I thought you needed to know.”
I’m pretty sure I made my mouth form the words “thank you.”
“Go and celebrate the work you’ve done. Enjoy yourself for him. I‘ll call you with news, okay?”
“Sure… bye,” I mumbled flatly, hanging up before Peter could even say goodbye. Then I turned my phone off and it fell from my shaking fingers, landing somewhere between the seats.
Don’t know what happened to my gum. I probably swallowed it.
Even though Peter told me to go to the premiere, I’m sure he was shocked when he found out I actually did. Because I was. Part of me still can’t believe it… but then again, I still can’t quite believe any of this happened.
For my part, I think it’s like… A friend of mine once told me the story of how she was robbed at an ATM. She’d been on her way to the gym, and she stopped first to get some cash. A guy came up behind her, stuck a gun in her back, and demanded her money. Got away with $120 and her sense of safety. Once he was gone, she got back in her car, drove to her gym, and did about an hour on the treadmill, silent tears streaming down her face the whole time. She finally called the police sometime later that night.
It seems crazy, something like that happening and just going on with your workout. But she said she was in shock. She couldn’t process what happened, so all her body knew to do was to follow the schedule her mind had already set. To go on autopilot. Fake normalcy.
That’s what I did. I don’t remember the drive, and I could barely see where I was going, but I got there. Wiped my face, checked my reflection. Took a deep breath, thought a quick prayer, and then resolved to stop thinking… Yes, how fucking ironic.
I’m an actor, sometimes above all else. I knew I could do it. And I did. I was better that night than I was on the screen. I was proud papa of our little creation. I let Marci’s happiness spill over onto me. I smiled until it hurt. I shook hands, accepted congratulations. I went for drinks after. I even posed for pictures with fans, which… almost convinced me Gale wasn’t really hurt, because they always know everything, and yet they were smiling… and they didn’t say anything about it. I wanted to think that phone call had been some auditory hallucination brought on by stress. But I wasn’t that far gone yet.
I was jumpy, but I always am, so no one found it strange. Or, at least, nothing that couldn’t be blamed on Starbucks, Wrigley’s, and hours of unwavering attention. All in all, the night was a big success, and I only had to remind myself a few times to keep breathing.
There had never been a chance of me driving straight to the airport and jumping on a plane to LA the second I heard the news. I was either going to go to the premiere, or I was going to go back in my apartment and have a fucking breakdown. Break my phone, barricade my door, and cry and scream until I passed out.
Which is more or less what happened later that night when I did finally get back home and my pre-programming wore off.
I remember being curled up into a ball on the couch for a while. Then the wet pillow under my cheek pissed me off, and I sat up and smacked myself in the face a couple of times and made myself stop crying. I was acting like he was gone, and he wasn’t. He wasn’t.
The apartment was dark, except for the TV on mute, which I’d never wanted to watch less but I put on to keep from thinking. And that made the answering machine and its blinking light really bright… and that light had never been so ominous, never seemed to mean “danger” before.
I went over, hit play. Couple of messages about the premiere, I quickly skipped. Then there was one I thought fell into that category, but I listened because it was Simon. An unnecessary apology for not being able to attend segued awkwardly into concern for me because he’d heard the news about Gale. I worried that when his work was done, he would come over to check on me, but then I heard…
“I tried your cell phone and didn’t get you, so I called at home. But I’m sure your cell is turned off because you’re most likely on a plane right now. Take care of yourself, Randy, and I’ll be keeping Gale in my thoughts.”
I was too afraid to listen to the rest of the messages… afraid of what they might contain, what the latest news might be… so I just stopped them. And… I didn’t know what to do.
Everyone else knew what I should do, where I should be. Even Simon had no doubt that my place was at that hospital in Los Angeles. But I couldn’t make myself take any action… except to turn off the TV, go into my bedroom, and force sleep.
*****
Gale is singing in my ear. Don’t know why, don’t recognize the song, but he keeps singing and making me laugh. He always thinks I work too hard, so he likes to make me laugh.
Over him, I hear the call waiting beep, and I look at the ID.
“I’ve got another call.”
“Somebody more important than me?” His voice gets quieter from this point on. I know what he’s saying, but I have to strain to hear him.
“At the moment. It’s Marci.” My voice gets inexplicably louder and louder.
“I guess she wins. You guys have your big movie shindig going down in a couple of weeks, don’t you?”
“The premiere, yes.” Who but Gale says “shindig”? I love that.
“Well, you know I always want to support your stuff. I wish I could go, but this show’s got me pretty fucking booked.”
“Oh… no, I know! Don’t worry about it!” Fuck. I hear how that sounded. Like… panicked at even the thought of Gale showing up. I think I was practically screeching.
“…No, I guess I shouldn’t worry about it. Now that I think about it, nobody invited me.”
“Gale, you said yourself, you’re busy.”
“Yeah. I just didn’t realize you were so relieved about that.”
“I’m not. That came out wrong.” But he’s kind of right… isn’t he?
“You don’t want some for shit TV actor hanging around, reminding people that you used to be one, too. I don’t blame you.” Except that he does. Under his mostly joking tone, he is… not quite angry. Hurt. I can hear it… even as he slowly disappears.
“Why are you putting words in my mouth?”
“I’m just telling you I understand. No room for some guy you used to fuck-… sorry, pretend to fuck… at your big moment.”
“…Okay, I don’t know where this weird passive aggressive thing came from, but I don’t like it.” God, I thought I liked my voice. Everything I say is like a sword across my teeth.
“It’s just calling each other on our shit, Rand. We’ve always done it.”
“No, this is something else. I think this is you being a jealous asshole.”
“What the fuck am I jealous of?”
“Maybe that I’m creating new works, making my own opportunities, while you’ve sold your soul to another TV show?” Shut up. Somebody shut my pretentious mouth.
“Sold my-?…Wow. I guess you really meant that ‘congratulations’ when I got the part, huh.”
“Gale…” Come back… You sound so far away…
“What?”
“I have to go.” No. Not like this.
“Yeah, you better call your, uh… true creative partner back. I’ve got a hot housewife to fuck… Sorry. Pretend to fuck.”
“Fuck you,” I breathe, frustrated and sick. And then I hear the click, and hiss, as he hangs up.
Was… that a fight? He and I haven’t fought in forever. Years. Compared to some of those, it was hardly anything, but the distance makes it feel so much worse.
The phone rings again and I grab it, eager to make things better with him.
“Gale, I’m sor-”
Squealing tires. Crunching metal. Gale’s voice suddenly so loud. Pained. Echoing. Then another click and hiss.
“NO!!!”
My screams wake me up. But only from the dream. The nightmare is real.
*****
It took two cups of coffee and a very slowly choked down half a bagel before I got up the nerve to listen to the rest of my messages.
Giddy Marci… my mother… tired Marci… my agent, fuck, Paris coming up… much too sober Marci, having heard about Gale… Peter again. My whole body tensed, waiting on his word.
No change. I told myself that was a good thing. Because, what else could I do? I couldn’t even…
The dream was a bit warped from my guilt and stress, but it was made up of mostly truth. I hadn’t wanted him there. Maybe I was afraid he would laugh when he saw me and Marci making out. Maybe I didn’t want anyone’s minds to be on QAF and not the film just by seeing us together. Maybe I figured the premiere itself would be more than enough stimulation for me to handle and I didn’t need the extra he would provide.
Probably a mixture of those. I don’t know. It was a really stupid fight.
But when you feel that stupid, you tend to feel too stupid to get over yourself and apologize. It’s not like Gale and I hadn’t gone stretches of time without talking before, but the silence was usually courtesy of busy schedules. I’d been busy enough the last couple of weeks to pretend that was the reason again.
Until I heard he was hurt. I couldn’t pretend that “fuck you” wasn’t the last thing I’d said to him. Or pretend that it couldn’t be… couldn’t have been the last words I ever said to him. Shit.
So much more to say.
I opened my laptop, suddenly feeling less like a zombie, and went online. Within minutes, I was booked on a flight to LA leaving at 4:14 pm. And though I knew my breathing was probably destined to give me trouble again once I got there, for the moment, it was better.
I started packing and reminded myself to buy cinnamon gum at the airport. I can’t stomach spearmint anymore.
Author:
wouldbedorothy (AHS)Pairing: Gale Harold/Randy Harrison
Rating: PGish
Summary: Just before his premiere, Randy gets a phone call. Randy's pov. 2485 words. Title is the name of an awesome Garbage song (not used here).
Disclaimer: I made this up.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This ends well, I think, but you will probably consider it completely unsatisfying, lol. Oh well! No sequel. Already got my next thing planned...
The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
by AHS
I’ll never be able to taste spearmint again without wanting to throw up.
I’d been running around like a crazy person since I woke up that morning. Somehow I was more nervous about the premiere than I ever was when I had a play starting. My phone kept ringing… most of the time, Marci checking some detail with me she already had a hundred times, or dishing about some new person she’d found out was coming. And even though I’m not much of a fashion plate, and we’d said “casual,” I still spent about two hours changing my mind and my clothes, again and again.
I hadn’t stopped to eat once, just because it hadn’t occurred to me. My thoughts were too occupied. The closest I got to nourishment was this fucking spearmint gum I kept popping into my mouth. Well, that and coffee (mostly not at the same time). The gum seemed to absorb some of the nervousness through my chewing, though all the saccharin and caffeine in my system just gave me extra jittery energy.
It was almost time, and I’d just gotten into my car when my cell rang. I answered without looking. I answered laughing.
“Marci, if you stop calling me for two seconds, I’ll be there in-”
“Randy?”
It wasn’t her. It sounded like… “Peter? Hey! I thought you were Marci! Sorry, I don’t really have time to talk. I’m on my way to… our…” My excited speech slowly sputtered and stopped as Peter’s tone, just from saying my name, sunk into my head. I didn’t know what he sounded like, except that he really didn’t want to be making this phone call. “What’s going on?”
“…Nobody’s told you yet, have they?” His voice was as serious as it had ever been, and I thought I heard him sniffle.
“Told me what? You’re kind of scaring me here. Just tell me.”
“Sweetie, Gale was in an accident last night. He’s in the hospital… in intensive care.”
Gale… He said Gale.
And then everything sort of became white noise. I don’t remember if I managed any verbal response. Peter kept talking but my mind was fighting hard not to hear. Didn’t want to know.
Pieces of words made it through. Something about “surgery.” Something “motorcycle”… Fucking motorcycles of his… The mint flavor on my tongue turned sour and acidic. The butterflies in my stomach turned angry, with razors for wings. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t sure I was still breathing.
“Randy? Are you o-… Shit, I know you’re not okay. And I’m so sorry for the timing. I didn’t realize what tonight was until you answered…”
…Sorry for the timing? Yes, please tell Gale to almost get killed on a more convenient day for me. Thank you very much, hahahaha… Hysterical laughter filled my head and I sat still and tried to run away until I finally caught up to the first detail.
“Last night?” I couldn’t fathom it. Gale was hurt and had been fighting for his life for almost a day, and I was just finding out? It seemed impossible… wrong.
Then again, why did I think I automatically had the right to know all about Gale’s life? The last time I talked to him…
I stepped over whatever Peter was answering back to me and just started saying, “But he’s okay? Right? He’s going to be okay.”
Because he had to be.
“They’re not saying much right now. I don’t think they know…”
“Peter.” He had to be.
“You’re right. Gale’s made of special stuff, isn’t he? Strong stuff. He’ll be fine. He just needs some time… When do you think you’ll get here? I can pick you up at the airport.”
“What? I-” I felt like my body was locked in its position, unmoving in the driver’s seat, and my brain wasn’t functioning enough to kick-start me into thought or action. Everything had… crashed. Kept crashing. Squealing tires and crunching metal imagined in my ears. Gale yelling. Me yelling. Two weeks of fucking loud silence… not imagined. “He wouldn’t want me there.”
“I didn’t mean you should miss your premiere, Randy. You know Gale would hate that. And I hate that I’ve put this on you now, but I thought you needed to know.”
I’m pretty sure I made my mouth form the words “thank you.”
“Go and celebrate the work you’ve done. Enjoy yourself for him. I‘ll call you with news, okay?”
“Sure… bye,” I mumbled flatly, hanging up before Peter could even say goodbye. Then I turned my phone off and it fell from my shaking fingers, landing somewhere between the seats.
Don’t know what happened to my gum. I probably swallowed it.
Even though Peter told me to go to the premiere, I’m sure he was shocked when he found out I actually did. Because I was. Part of me still can’t believe it… but then again, I still can’t quite believe any of this happened.
For my part, I think it’s like… A friend of mine once told me the story of how she was robbed at an ATM. She’d been on her way to the gym, and she stopped first to get some cash. A guy came up behind her, stuck a gun in her back, and demanded her money. Got away with $120 and her sense of safety. Once he was gone, she got back in her car, drove to her gym, and did about an hour on the treadmill, silent tears streaming down her face the whole time. She finally called the police sometime later that night.
It seems crazy, something like that happening and just going on with your workout. But she said she was in shock. She couldn’t process what happened, so all her body knew to do was to follow the schedule her mind had already set. To go on autopilot. Fake normalcy.
That’s what I did. I don’t remember the drive, and I could barely see where I was going, but I got there. Wiped my face, checked my reflection. Took a deep breath, thought a quick prayer, and then resolved to stop thinking… Yes, how fucking ironic.
I’m an actor, sometimes above all else. I knew I could do it. And I did. I was better that night than I was on the screen. I was proud papa of our little creation. I let Marci’s happiness spill over onto me. I smiled until it hurt. I shook hands, accepted congratulations. I went for drinks after. I even posed for pictures with fans, which… almost convinced me Gale wasn’t really hurt, because they always know everything, and yet they were smiling… and they didn’t say anything about it. I wanted to think that phone call had been some auditory hallucination brought on by stress. But I wasn’t that far gone yet.
I was jumpy, but I always am, so no one found it strange. Or, at least, nothing that couldn’t be blamed on Starbucks, Wrigley’s, and hours of unwavering attention. All in all, the night was a big success, and I only had to remind myself a few times to keep breathing.
There had never been a chance of me driving straight to the airport and jumping on a plane to LA the second I heard the news. I was either going to go to the premiere, or I was going to go back in my apartment and have a fucking breakdown. Break my phone, barricade my door, and cry and scream until I passed out.
Which is more or less what happened later that night when I did finally get back home and my pre-programming wore off.
I remember being curled up into a ball on the couch for a while. Then the wet pillow under my cheek pissed me off, and I sat up and smacked myself in the face a couple of times and made myself stop crying. I was acting like he was gone, and he wasn’t. He wasn’t.
The apartment was dark, except for the TV on mute, which I’d never wanted to watch less but I put on to keep from thinking. And that made the answering machine and its blinking light really bright… and that light had never been so ominous, never seemed to mean “danger” before.
I went over, hit play. Couple of messages about the premiere, I quickly skipped. Then there was one I thought fell into that category, but I listened because it was Simon. An unnecessary apology for not being able to attend segued awkwardly into concern for me because he’d heard the news about Gale. I worried that when his work was done, he would come over to check on me, but then I heard…
“I tried your cell phone and didn’t get you, so I called at home. But I’m sure your cell is turned off because you’re most likely on a plane right now. Take care of yourself, Randy, and I’ll be keeping Gale in my thoughts.”
I was too afraid to listen to the rest of the messages… afraid of what they might contain, what the latest news might be… so I just stopped them. And… I didn’t know what to do.
Everyone else knew what I should do, where I should be. Even Simon had no doubt that my place was at that hospital in Los Angeles. But I couldn’t make myself take any action… except to turn off the TV, go into my bedroom, and force sleep.
*****
Gale is singing in my ear. Don’t know why, don’t recognize the song, but he keeps singing and making me laugh. He always thinks I work too hard, so he likes to make me laugh.
Over him, I hear the call waiting beep, and I look at the ID.
“I’ve got another call.”
“Somebody more important than me?” His voice gets quieter from this point on. I know what he’s saying, but I have to strain to hear him.
“At the moment. It’s Marci.” My voice gets inexplicably louder and louder.
“I guess she wins. You guys have your big movie shindig going down in a couple of weeks, don’t you?”
“The premiere, yes.” Who but Gale says “shindig”? I love that.
“Well, you know I always want to support your stuff. I wish I could go, but this show’s got me pretty fucking booked.”
“Oh… no, I know! Don’t worry about it!” Fuck. I hear how that sounded. Like… panicked at even the thought of Gale showing up. I think I was practically screeching.
“…No, I guess I shouldn’t worry about it. Now that I think about it, nobody invited me.”
“Gale, you said yourself, you’re busy.”
“Yeah. I just didn’t realize you were so relieved about that.”
“I’m not. That came out wrong.” But he’s kind of right… isn’t he?
“You don’t want some for shit TV actor hanging around, reminding people that you used to be one, too. I don’t blame you.” Except that he does. Under his mostly joking tone, he is… not quite angry. Hurt. I can hear it… even as he slowly disappears.
“Why are you putting words in my mouth?”
“I’m just telling you I understand. No room for some guy you used to fuck-… sorry, pretend to fuck… at your big moment.”
“…Okay, I don’t know where this weird passive aggressive thing came from, but I don’t like it.” God, I thought I liked my voice. Everything I say is like a sword across my teeth.
“It’s just calling each other on our shit, Rand. We’ve always done it.”
“No, this is something else. I think this is you being a jealous asshole.”
“What the fuck am I jealous of?”
“Maybe that I’m creating new works, making my own opportunities, while you’ve sold your soul to another TV show?” Shut up. Somebody shut my pretentious mouth.
“Sold my-?…Wow. I guess you really meant that ‘congratulations’ when I got the part, huh.”
“Gale…” Come back… You sound so far away…
“What?”
“I have to go.” No. Not like this.
“Yeah, you better call your, uh… true creative partner back. I’ve got a hot housewife to fuck… Sorry. Pretend to fuck.”
“Fuck you,” I breathe, frustrated and sick. And then I hear the click, and hiss, as he hangs up.
Was… that a fight? He and I haven’t fought in forever. Years. Compared to some of those, it was hardly anything, but the distance makes it feel so much worse.
The phone rings again and I grab it, eager to make things better with him.
“Gale, I’m sor-”
Squealing tires. Crunching metal. Gale’s voice suddenly so loud. Pained. Echoing. Then another click and hiss.
“NO!!!”
My screams wake me up. But only from the dream. The nightmare is real.
*****
It took two cups of coffee and a very slowly choked down half a bagel before I got up the nerve to listen to the rest of my messages.
Giddy Marci… my mother… tired Marci… my agent, fuck, Paris coming up… much too sober Marci, having heard about Gale… Peter again. My whole body tensed, waiting on his word.
No change. I told myself that was a good thing. Because, what else could I do? I couldn’t even…
The dream was a bit warped from my guilt and stress, but it was made up of mostly truth. I hadn’t wanted him there. Maybe I was afraid he would laugh when he saw me and Marci making out. Maybe I didn’t want anyone’s minds to be on QAF and not the film just by seeing us together. Maybe I figured the premiere itself would be more than enough stimulation for me to handle and I didn’t need the extra he would provide.
Probably a mixture of those. I don’t know. It was a really stupid fight.
But when you feel that stupid, you tend to feel too stupid to get over yourself and apologize. It’s not like Gale and I hadn’t gone stretches of time without talking before, but the silence was usually courtesy of busy schedules. I’d been busy enough the last couple of weeks to pretend that was the reason again.
Until I heard he was hurt. I couldn’t pretend that “fuck you” wasn’t the last thing I’d said to him. Or pretend that it couldn’t be… couldn’t have been the last words I ever said to him. Shit.
So much more to say.
I opened my laptop, suddenly feeling less like a zombie, and went online. Within minutes, I was booked on a flight to LA leaving at 4:14 pm. And though I knew my breathing was probably destined to give me trouble again once I got there, for the moment, it was better.
I started packing and reminded myself to buy cinnamon gum at the airport. I can’t stomach spearmint anymore.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2008-11-10 12:41 pm (UTC)SO sad. I'm gonna be late for school now because I couldn't just see this story and NOT read it. GEEEORGGEOUS!! I just realized that spelled george-ous. I don't know what that means.
...
Anywhooo
LOVE the story, and you, m'dear.
<3Jules.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-10 11:17 pm (UTC)George-ous. Hmm. It's very tan, like George Hamilton? About to crash into a tree, like George of the Jungle? lol
I don't know, but I love it! It's very you ;) And I adore you.
Thank you!!