Mikey smiled menacingly, "We cool? You don't call no one, you let me through, and you get to keep you face."
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The guard tried to swallow and nod at the same time, failed miserably. Mikey's eyes blazed, deceptively innocent in their blueness, and the guard seriously contemplated soiling himself, rather than ruffle Mikey further.
"Ha-absolutely, M-Mr. Mack."
Mikey lowered his fist, more than a little scared that he so quick to use it. He loosened his grip on the tie, and smoothed it down.
"Now," said Mikey, his voice positively teeming with restrained agression. "I'ma haul my ass up to that set, and have a chat with Nails. You're gonna chill, and pretend like you didn't see me. Don't forget, I gotta come back this way, don't give me another excuse to hit you."
With that Mikey turned on his heel, leaving the guard to slide, defeated, to the pavement, and strolled up the slick black asphalt towards lot 5, Fox Entertainment.
Nails. Three words came to mind when you thought of Nails: Big, butch, ballbreaker. Even Mikey, in his prime with seventeen inch biceps, was dwarfed in the same room as Tony 'Nails' Neilson. They 'd gone a round or two in the past, with Mikey barely making it out the ring alive, a well aimed desperado punch the only thing that had saved him from that particular humiliation.
'Course that was years ago. High school Boxing League. Shit, Motherfucker went corporate on me. Fucking unnatural, arms that big crammed into a suit. Still, I wouldn't want to test him out. I must be crazy.
His loafers echoed along the deserted drive way, tar spotted with patches of moonlight reflected in the puddles left behind by an early evening shower. It helped to keep him psyched. Tony didn't box any more, but even a verbal battle could be like launching head first into a six inch reinforced vault, and expecting it to dent.
Mikey rounded the corner, not giving himself time to gather himself, which would have been his downfall. You opposed Nails with all guns ready and primed, you didn't worry about polishing up the barrel. Good job that shooting wasn't due to start for another half hour or so. Then he'd be really pissed off.
Mikey didn't even knock before opening the trailer door, he flicked on the light switch, and was caught by instant regret.
"What the Fuck!"
That wasn't good. Not the sight he wanted to be faced with at all.
Tony, back glossy with perspiration, filled Mikey's vision. His head almost reached the top of trailer, as he knelt on the bed, towering above the blond, who, entrapt in grips of passion, was still oblivious to the intrusion.
"Michel motherfucking Mack." Nails turned his head slowly, fury boiling visibly through his temples.
The blond girl, half his age, let out a piercing srceam, and grabbed for whatever duvet, pillow she could reach.
"Get the FUCK Out, Asshole!"
"Oh, geez, sorry, Nails. I catch you at a bad time?"
He stepped away from whatever junior exec he'd been interviewing.
"You insensitive fuck, Mack." He threw the girl's clothes to her, without even looking at her. "Who you think you are, Motherfucking Hero?"
Mikey grinned, trying not to look like he was drawing back towards the open trailer door, as Nails advanced, butt-naked, his piece proud and unabashed. "See, Nails...that's just what I wanted to talk about." He gave a cheeky wave to the rapidly dressing blonde. "You stayin', Sweetie?"
"Hey, fuck you." She squeezed her way past the hulking form, and elbowed Mikey on her way out of the door, inadvertantly brushing his arm with her barely concealled breast.
"Nice girl," he said, nodding in her general direction, as he closed the door shutting out the tap-taping of her high heels. "Think she hates me?"
"Fuck, Mack. The day I question your lifestyle, then you got the right to question mine. 'Til then, what the fuck you want?"
He strode to the other end of the trailer, and sat, looking ridiculously huge next to the spindly dining table. Mikey followed and sat opposite.
"I want out, Nails."
Tony's gaze burrowed into the centre of Mikey's forehead, pupils dark and intense.
"I'm too old for this hackneyed gig, Tony. So," he gulped, willing the sweat not to bead on his brow, as he took in the imensity of the barabaric chest. "I'll cut you a deal to terminate my contract."
"Why," Tony 'Nails' leaned in closer, his thickset jaw almost chomping Mikey's nose as he spoke. "Would I want to do that, Mack? You one of the biggest stars on Fox's payroll. I got you for another Butler movie after we shoot this piece of crap."
"A change, Tony. For both of us. Shit, no games, Nails. You hate me, I hate you, let's part company for a while."
"Sh-yeah right." He thumped the table. "You think I'm stoopid, Mack? Don't insult my fucking intelligence. Look at you, Mr. Movie Big Shot, and what you doin'? Begging me to let go the biggest sure fire thing I got? Well, Fuck. That. Mack."
"I want a shot at something serious, Nails."
Tony withdrew a little, sitting back in his chair, and folding his arms. He gritted his teeth, arteries in his neck popping out grotesquely. He was about to explode, wasn't he?
Don't have a heart attack, you asshole. Don't you fucking dare. I need your black ass.
As if he could read Mikey's mind, Tony's stalwart jaw cracked, and his lips parted in what looked like a pained smirk. Then, he was wearing a grin. Pretty soon, he chuckled. Michel sat, unmoving, watching the array of emotion pass over the features of his childhood adversary. He willed himself not to flinch as chuckle suddenly broke into noisily animated guffaw. The trailer shook, sending the hanging light bulb into a fractured dance around the dingy interior.
Mikey blinked patiently, thankful to whatever Gods that Tony had found the will to release the tension so amicably.
At length, his hysteria faded out, and wiping tears from his eyes, said, "Fuck, Mike, you know how to make a nigger laugh."
"That a yes?" He tried not to sound hopeful.
"Hell no, Bitch. You a one trick horse, Mikey. Not only do you not have hope in hell, of getting anyone in the industry to back you, but fuck, Mike, your obliging public'll hate it. They wanna see you get out of being blown up, not cryin' like a pussy in some cancer ward."
"Maybe not," Mikey lit a cigarette, and inhaled. "But, it ain't about them no more. It's about pride."
"Shit, Mike, you drank your pride away a long time ago. You sold yourself for money." He was dying to crack up again.
"Get screwed, Nails. I'm claiming it back."
Mikey plodded back up to the lot entrance booth, trying to close his ears to deep chuckles which followed him in the dark from the flimsy trailer.
He had to come around, this move depended on having Nails in his corner. No one else was going to take him seriously without the sort of back up that Nails could provide. Muscular incentive aside, Tony Neilson was one of the most successful Senior executives in the business. His word was law, he could make or break whoever he wanted just by holding a pen.
Fuck, Mikey. Quit whining, remember?
Just better hope he's tickled enough to indulge you little MLC, huh?
Oh, that Mid Life Crisis, to anyone who hasn't had one.
Funny thing is, you can bet your ass on what I'm going to do next, huh?
Nails' hobby horse was still talking to the security guard. She stepped out of the perspex box on seeing him strolling towards it.
"Hey, Cocksucker, you owe me, what you gonna do about it?"
Shit. Trust Nails to be playing that game.
"Lady, I'll give you some advice for free. Get a husband, get a job."
She looked suitably affronted, and openly chewing her gum, poked Mikey's shoulder with one of her sharp acryllic nails. "You just cost me close to a grand, Mr. What is my baby going to eat, huh?"
The guard crossed his arms smugly, settling into a comfortable position with which to watch from the saftey of his booth.
Mikey reached into his pocket. "Far be it from me to begrude a kid a decent meal, huh? A couple hundred bucks ought to buy a McBrekkie or two. Or buy a dress that covers more than your waist" He fished it out, and thrust it into her open hand, fixing to walk on.
"Hey!" she called to his retreating back. He half turned. "I said a grand, Jackass."
"Yeah? He," he pointed back towards the tin trailer."Was paying you for a service. I'm paying you for my conscience. That's what it's worth. Take or leave."
"Fuck you, you owe me!"
"Lady, I don't owe you a Godamn thing."
-Mikey...I got your email
Yeah. Any thoughts, Kid?
You don't have to change for me, y'know. I'm just...not that important.
Sure y'are. You're my best friend, right? Besides, I gotta make up for lying to you somehow.
I guess, but, I'm just a fan...
Just a fan...You're only my biggest Fan, Kid! seriously, Ethan, it's for me too
You think it's going to work? This new you?
Honestly, that's up to the people I went to see...But, I'll do my best, Kid. That's a promise.-
You owe him, Mike. And you know it.
If it wasn't for him...Fuck, you owe him your sobriety.
Mikey had typed it into the search engine before he'd realised his curiosity.
Uk> Hampshire> Bridgemary
The result? Pages and pages of links to libraries, aquatics groups, restaurants, youth centres, and what he was after. Schools. He wasn't trying to pry. just get an idea of the sort of world inhabited by such a bright youngster, who was so lonely.
He knew which school to look for from their conversations together, and Ethan's general location was viewable in his chat profile.
Mikey shook his head, stumbling upon a recent offstead report. It reminded him of his own childhood torture house, substandard teaching, behavioural disruption.In other words, no place for the sensitive soul, that he'd taken Ethan to be.
The list, Mikey noted with mild interest, also included information about various accommodation available in the area. A site advertising 'The Manor Hotel and Pub' particularly caught his eye, and he clicked through, discovering information on room prices, and facilities, as well as car rental in the Uk.
"Handy little page," he mumbled, half to himself, the other half to the world at large. He bookmarked it, and went on with his browsing,
"Ma, I'm really busy right now."
"Nonsense, Michel. You're always too busy for your Mother these days, eh?"
"No, really, Ma. I'm having a clean up."
"What? My Mikey? Cleaning house?"
"Yes, Mother. I'm giving the maid a surprise."
He reached down, wedging the cordless handset between his shoulder and jaw, and picked up a stray item of clothing, and tossed it on the pile already formed in the middle of the lounge floor, before continuing.
"You never cleaned for your wife, Michel. What's so special about the maid? Is She-"
"Ma! No, she's not." This was typical of Mikey's Italian Mother, always assuming sex to be at the root of any unusualy behavior. "I had one of those epiphanies, a few days ago, and still haven't worked out what to do about it. So, I'm cleaning."
He heard his Mother nod. "I see, Michel. You'd rather clean for the maid than talk to me , eh?"
"Ma, listen. I'm sorry I've not been around much, but I'll make it up to you when I get back. I promise."
"When you get-" But he'd already cut off the call.
It's not easy having a good time. Even smiling makes my face ache.- Frank N. Furter.
So, How Cool Is This? Part 28. So, How Cool Is This? Part 27. So, How Cool Is This? Part 25. So, How Cool Is This? Part 24. So, How Cool Is This? Part 23. So, How Cool Is This? Part 22. So, How Cool Is This? Part 21. So, How Cool Is This? Part 20. So, How Cool Is This? Part 18. So, How Cool Is This? Part 17.