Fiction: Best Laid Plans

[solafiamma]

Best Laid Plans
Part 4
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JC is already mentally mapping out his next moves before he even hangs up the phone. He's so excited, he can hardly stand it. Joey is a prince.

Ten minutes later, he's ordering chocolates from a woman at Neiman Marcus who assures him that a tastefully wrapped and beribboned box of 75 deluxe truffles will be delivered the next day to Chris in Orlando. Next, he calls his favourite florist and spends forty-five minutes discussing various gift possibilities with an enthusiastic salesman named Greg who is terribly keen about something called a Schefflera Arboricola, which he says is some sort of bonsai tree, but totally easy to care for, even an idiot could manage not to kill one, and they go with any decor. JC doesn't really like the idea because bonsai kind of creeps him out in a Fantastic-Island-of-Doctor-Moreau-ish way, but Greg is very persuasive, describing the tree as "practical, yet sensuous," so he finally orders one to be delivered in two days. Just to be on the safe side he orders a cactus, too. You can never go wrong with a nice cactus. He asks Greg to make sure Chris gets it the day after the bonsai tree arrives.

Next, he goes online and within half an hour he's ordered a Vectron Blackhawk remote control UFO, a complete set of Pittsburgh Penguin bobbleheads, a colour-changing Mood Light Ambience Bowl, a Harley-Davidson keychain, a manicure set (because Chris' nails truly are a disgrace), the New Zealand Lord of the Rings postage stamps (because he knows Chris loved the movies too, even if he can't remember which of the characters he found hot), a poster of Arwen (because her picture isn't in any of the New Zealand stamps and, who knows, maybe Chris thought she was hot), a South Park t-shirt and a monogrammed fountain pen. He times it so that Chris should receive a present a day for the next week and a half.

Now he just needs to think of something to confide to Chris. This is more of a problem because JC isn't all that secretive, not when it comes to the guys. And the secrets he does have, well, they're secrets for a reason. He'll just have to wing it, he decides.

Chris sounds happy to hear from him, and they talk for a few minutes about this and that. It isn't until JC senses that Chris is getting distracted and is about to say goodbye that he says, "There's something I've been meaning to say to you. It just, you know, never felt like the right time."

"Okayyy. Is it about that ham and peanut butter sandwich I left in your glove compartment a few weeks ago? Because, dude, I totally meant to tell you it was there. Just slipped my mind."

"Um. No. No, that wasn't it."

"Oh, okay. So what is it, then?"

"It-. Uh. Which car, dawg?"

"Oh, you'll figure it out. Go on."

"Well, you know the CD? My CD? It's just, when Jive pushed back the drop date, I was, like, really pissed. You know? I mean, I tried to be all cool and accommodating because, whatever, you know, they've got their reasons and I'm totally sympathetic. But. Well, anyway, I was pretty upset."

"Uh huh. Sure, I mean of course you were, dude. After all that work? We were all pretty pissed on your behalf. So. Go on."

"Go on?"

"Yeah, so you were all fucked up about the delay with the CD. And?"

"And?"

"So it's still bugging you? Is that it?"

"What? Oh, no. Nothing like that. I got over it in a couple of days, or a week, or whatever. These things happen, Chris. You can't let them get you down."

"Okay. Let's see if I've got this." Chris is speaking slowly, enunciating every word like JC is a certifiable moron. "You were mad and then you weren't. And apparently you're still not. And you thought you needed to tell me this because . . .?"

"Well. I just thought. I don't know. It was important to me, Chris. I thought maybe you'd want to know. That's all."

"Oh. Alright then. Thanks for sharing, dude. Are you, um, getting enough sleep?"

JC is feeling quite annoyed with Chris by the time they say goodbye. The whole incident with the CD had been a pivotal moment in his development as an artist and he really thought Chris would have got that. When Jive first told him they were going to have to push back the release date, JC had been shocked at the wave of insecurity and loneliness that had washed over him. It was like being thrown back to those ugly days when they'd first started to suspect that Lou was shafting them, only this time he was by himself and, if it turned into a legal battle, well, he just didn't know if he could go through something like that alone. He'd spent several sleepless nights worrying about whether the delay reflected a judgement on his talent and, if so, if there was any point trying to find another label. In the end, he decided he just couldn't let it matter. The album was what it was, he was proud of it, and if it tanked, he still had a whole brainful of songs waiting to be written. And that had been the turning point in his career as a solo artist, the realization that he could do this, and he could do it alone if that's what he had to do.

Maybe he should have been a bit more specific, though. Sometimes Chris can be surprisingly obtuse for such a smart guy. Whatever. No point in brooding, he decides. It's early days.

That night JC sleeps better than he has in weeks. He dreams about driving down steep canyon roads, flying through the night like a ball off a bat, sliding smooth as gravy around hair pin curves, alive all over, every nerve in his body in tune with the forward momentum of the car as it plunges toward the valley below. An omen, he thinks as he stretches in the morning sun, a good omen.

He dials Chris' number even before he gets out of bed, because it's kind of sexy to be lying here naked with Chris' voice in his ear. This time he doesn't pussyfoot around with small talk, he just launches right into what he wants to say.

"Hey, man. It's me. Got a minute? There's something else I wanted to tell you."

"Well, I-"

"It'll just take a couple of minutes. And, dude, I know I probably didn't make myself really clear yesterday with the Jive thing, but I'll get better with practice."

"Well, I-"

"So, okay, I just wanted to say, you remember that time in Germany? When you and Joe ate all the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups my mom sent me for my birthday? And remember I was so pissed off with you, and you felt really bad so you gave me a bag of springerle cookies and a bottle of rum?"

"Um. Yeah?"

"Well, I wasn't really pissed off. I mean, I was, because hey, that was pretty rude, but you know, whatever. But really, I wasn't even in the mood for peanut butter cups. I was, like, pretty much trying not to do things that would make me feel homesick at that point, so I wasn't planning on eating them anyway."

"Okay. You were mad, but you weren't, but you were. Right?"

"Uh huh."

"And you weren't going to eat them anyway?"

"Uh uh."

"Once again, so cool that you shared, dude."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Are you calling up to tell me you owe me a bag of springerle and a bottle of hooch?"

"You stole my chocolate, man! I don't owe you anything!"

"Then I'm totally not getting the point of this phone call."

JC holds the phone up in front of his face and stares at it in disbelief. Finally, he shakes his head, sighs and decides that a change of topic might be in order. He says, "I had a really good dream last night."

"Are you still having it?"

"You know what, sometimes there's just no talking to you, Chris. Whatever. I'll call you tomorrow. Bye."

JC disconnects and doesn't answer when Chris calls right back.

This is so not working the way Joey said it would.

By the time he's showered and shaved, he feels optimistic again. The important thing is to stay on track, not get discouraged. That's been the way he's lived his life since forever and it's always worked before.

Chris has left two messages, one telling him not to be such a sensitive sissy dork fuckhead and the second thanking him for the chocolates. He doesn't answer either of them, but the second gives him a little jolt of success that makes the rest of the day much easier to get through.

The next day is crazy, back to back meetings all over L.A. as he tries to finally nail down a release date for the CD, discuss promotion strategies and work out some of the details for a club tour in December. JC doesn't have a chance to call Chris all morning, and the afternoon isn't looking very promising either. He's just pulling into traffic after a particularly irritating lunch at Spago's with a dude from Jive who didn't like any of JC's ideas for cover art and chewed with his mouth open, when Chris phones him.

"Dude, the chocolates! Thank you! You fuckin' rock! I was, like, totally out of everything, man." Chris is talking so quickly, JC thinks he may have already finished the entire box . "My sisters had just left, and like, whoa, those girls can fuckin' eatthey were here four hours and I swear to God, they devoured every single edible thing in the house, like, hree whole boxes of Cocoa Puffs, dude, and maybe even some of the non-edible things because I'm pretty sure a couple of my potted plants and my alarm clock are missing. Your timing couldn't have been better, I was going into sugar withdrawal. Man, no wonder my mom was always broke, that's just not natural. So, you know, thanks."

"No problem. I'm glad you like them. Hey, I was going to call you later. There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh, yeah? Please tell me this has nothing to do with things that make you mad but don't really but actually kind of do."

"No. No, it's nothing like that. It's more, well, it's a philosophical kind of thing, I guess. Sort of. It's just, a few days ago when I was at my doctor's office I read this article in Nature about the shape of the universe-"

"The shape of Miss Universe? There was an article in Nature about the shape of Miss Universe?"

"Not Miss. The. The shape of the universe."

"Oh. Okay. I was thinking maybe I should be hitting the library more often."

"Well, it couldn't hurt. Anyway, the point is, I read this article about the shape of the universe and it totally freaked me out, man. Don't laugh. It's not funny, Chris, I'm being serious here."

"No, no, go on. I'm just. Uh. Too much chocolate."

"Oh, right. Well, anyway, these scientist dudes are doing all this research and they've come up with all these different theories about what the universe probably looks like, and they've narrowed it down to a few shapes that they think are the most likely. And, dude, I don't like any of them! Sure, from an aesthetic point of view a couple of them are kinda cool, but to live in? On? Man, I don't know. It just doesn't work for me, you know? There's this one, they call it a dodoc-, dedroc-"

"Dodecahedron?"

"That's it! Did you read the article, too?"

"No. Lance was reading it to me over the phone a couple days ago."

"Did it freak you out, too?"

"No, not really. After the first couple of paragraphs, I just set the phone down and went and made myself a sandwich. By the time I got back, he'd finished, so I just said 'uh huh' and then we talked about hockey."

"Oh. Well, you should have kept listening. It was a pretty fascinating article, Chris."

"Which freaked you out."

"Right, right. Because, you know, that dodeca-thingy universe would be shaped like a soccer ball, man. A soccer ball! I mean, how silly would that be? A whole universe shaped like a soccer ball? And then there's this other theory that it's shaped like a saddle. Can you even imagine it? I mean, I like horses and riding and all that western stuff, but living on a saddle? Saddles are slippery, dude. I just hate the idea that every day we're sliding a little bit further to falling right off the horse. And, Chris, it was bad enough when they thought maybe the universe was infinite, because who can wrap their mind around that, but if the universe is finite and it's shaped like a saddle and you fall off, like where would you fall? And I know that doesn't make any sense at all, because, yeah, it's finite, so you really couldn't even fall off, but I don't know. Doesn't it just make you all shivery and nervous?"

"Are you talking shivery in a sexy, let's get naked kind of way, or shivery in a, whoa, how scary is it that my friend is such a nut job sort of way?"

"Fuck you."

"Oh, don't get all pissy. Look, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about the shape of the universe because I learned when I was a kid that that's just not a good thing to do if you want to be able to sleep at night. But when I do think about it? I stop again really quickly. There are too many other things to think about that don't hurt my brain. I mean, seriously, dude, I'm sorry you're all fucked up about this, but just do what I do. Think about the shape of Jennifer Aniston's boobs instead. You'll be much happier for it."

"She has nice boobs."

"Totally. See? It's working already. I'm gonna go eat more chocolate now. I saved the strawberry creams for last. See ya."

JC isn't sure whether this conversation has really accomplished what it was supposed to, but at least it's an improvement over the last two. He doesn't want to tip a plate of spaghetti into Chris' lap, at any rate, so that has to be good.

Chris beats him to the punch the next day, too, calling before JC is even out of bed. "Hey, C? You know I'm not sick, right?"

"I think so. You're not sick, are you?"

"No."

"Well, then. Yes."

"It's just. I got the tree thing. And the pansies."

"Pansies? I didn't send you pansies."

"Well, there's a little card with them that says "Thinking of you" and it's signed 'JC'. That sounds kinda like you, man."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't send you pansies."

"Except that apparently you did. What's wrong with pansies, anyway? You sent me chocolates and a bonsai, so why not pansies? Pansies are cool."

"Yeah, I guess. Pansy means 'thought' in French, you know."

"Merde means shit."

"Uh huh. I meant to send you a cactus. The guy must have made a mistake. Or maybe the pansies are, like, a bonus gift or something."

"So. Chocolates. Tree. Cactus. Maybe or maybe not pansies. What's up, dude? Are you trying to apologize for something?"

"No! What would I be apologizing for? I just figured you might, you know," JC can't really think how to explain the gifts without giving away the plan. He really should have put just a bit more thought into this. "Um. You know what makes me really happy?"

"Buying presents for people?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Getting a back massage?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Having your ears rubbed?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Getting screwed on your kitchen table?"

"Oh. Um. Uh huh. But-"

"Then the answer to your question is yes. I know what makes you really happy. Gotta go, man. Someone's on the other line."

"But-" It's too late. Chris has already hung up.

On the plus side, this is probably the closest they've ever come to a frank discussion about having sex. Orlando suddenly feels very far away. After a conversation like that, JC can't help thinking that if Orlando weren't in Florida, if it were in Pasadena, say, or San Francisco, or maybe even in Nevada, Chris might be on his way over right now. It sucks being this far away. And it's stupid, because he can't possibly assess the success of the plan from the other side of the country. Well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mohammed will just have to hop on a flight to Orlando.

Part 5 can be found here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/sola_fiamma/21971.html#cutid1