This is so far outside my comfort zone, I may have crossed the international dateline.
Rating: I think this qualifies for PG13, but if anyone disagrees, I'll be happy to change it.
Pairing: Drake/Shepherd
First published: 1/10/2009
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. I don't even want them. I'm willing to forget the whole thing. :shock:
Negotiable
“Stevie, baby – I’m telling you the guy’s washed up. His last three pics flat-lined right out of the gate—the studio won’t touch him.”
It’s funny – when you’re on fire it doesn’t matter if you mix your metaphors. It’s all golden. And that’s when everybody suddenly wants piece of you. I switch the phone to my other hand and catch my reflection echoed in the framed Variety cover shot hanging above the bar. Lookin’ good, Jerry. Lose the tie, though. I smooth the lapel of my robe.
“That’s not the line I got on it….” Yeah, yeah, yeah – knock yourself out. “It’s all negotiable.”
A piece of yours truly – Jerry Drake, producer, miracle worker. I drop a couple of ice cubes in my glass and smile to myself. God, I love that sound. Ka-ching. Ka-ching. Like a cash register.
“It’s not gonna happen. Trust me.” Asshole. “The Terminator sequel? Not a chance. The first one was seven years ago – and it was only the eighteenth biggest grosser of the year back then. They’ll be lucky to cover costs.”
I splash some bourbon in the glass and swirl it in my hand, coating the crystal within the crystal. It’s all good.
“Absolutely. Just have Dee Dee call and set something up. Anytime. My best to Tina.” And Jade and Jillian and your seventeen-year-old daughter’s best friend…
I raise my glass in a silent toast and then toss back a long swig and refill before heading out to the pool.
Multi-tasking. If you can’t do more than one thing at a time, you’re screwed in this town. You may be screwed anyway. You’ve gotta know the angles and the shortcuts. And you’ve gotta take risks to get ahead. I run my fingertips down the wall as I double-time down the stairs. That’s when I catch sight of the luxurious blond hair spilling over the top of one of the lounge chairs facing the pool. How the hell long was I on the phone? My three o’clock couldn’t be here already.
Jeans pooled on the ground, a tank top tossed on another chair – I mean, yeah, I’m supposed to be auditioning another graduate of Hooters U who wants break into the biz, and I know all about eager – and desperate – but she’s way too early.
“Hey, Doll…” I start.
“Hell-ooo, Sweetheart.”
I stop. That voice. Like a Lamborghini on gravel.
“Donny, baby!”
His face turns with an affected pout. “Jerry – long time, no see.” He waits a beat before he draws back the corners of his mouth and greets me with a slow California drawl, “So, tell me – are you ready to finally take the plunge?”
Jeezus. He’s naked. On my favorite chair. There’s something stuck in my throat that I force out as a half-chuckle, even though I know he’s sure as hell not talking about a dip in the pool.
“Gee, uh – good to see you, Donny.” I squint my eyes hoping to make it look like they’re getting too much sun. “What brings you here?”
“You know me, Jerr…” He cocks his head to one side. “Always looking to spread – the love.”
He stretches and -- geez, I knew he kept himself in pretty good shape – lean, sinewy – but those abs could give Kevin Bacon a run for my money. If he weren’t so freaking unpredictable, I’d cast him in something. Anything. Brooding loner, tortured musician, psychotic killer… But he’s above all that now. Shepherd and his little flock – or family – or whatever the hell he calls them.
“So, Donny, you been workin’ out?” He notices me taking inventory and grins. I continue without waiting for a response, “Nice. Good. How’s the ‘family’?” Messiah for the new millennium. Nine years out and they’re already calling him that. The twisted little punks. I wonder to myself how long the Kool-aid’s gonna hold out.
He gets up, slowly, almost catlike, but there’s this twitch – the way he rolls his shoulders—that kinda throws me.
“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry…” he reaches out, steps closer – too close. “Why don’t you let me enlighten you?”
I take a step back and turn, as smoothly as I can, ducking his outstretched hand. We’re not so different. We pick at people’s weakest thread, spin it to our advantage – and smile while we hang ‘em with it. I see right through him. It’s all an act.
“Sooo, you ready to talk about that bio-pic?” I’m all business as I poke at the ice in my glass, but I’m wishing I had the whole bottle with me. “You’re big, Donny, really big.” Shit. That’s not what I meant. “You’ve got a huge following. You know I’m the only guy in this town who can do your story justice.” The only one who could make a blockbuster out of a goddamned freak show. “Shepherd of a Generation – what d’ya say?”
He’s close again. And I‘m wondering if Kiefer, or that new Pitt kid, could work the long hair like that.
His fingers curl under my chin. I’m taller than him. I shouldn’t be feeling small right now. I look down, focusing on the prominent veins in his forearm. With pressure from his thumb, he turns my face to the side. I let him. I don’t want to piss this guy off. I can use him. He’s like a goldmine. Or a landmine.
It’s just a game with him. Hell, we’ve all got a game. So why do I think he’s playing by a very different set of rules?
His sandy stubble grazes my neck as I swallow my protest. I stand my ground. I can call his bluff. Somebody needs to wash those windows. His hair is tickling my chest. It smells so clean… Shit! What am I saying?? I swallow again and feel his thick tongue slinking up the side of my neck. Christ – he’s licking me. And as he moves around me, dragging his body across mine, he makes this low rumble in his throat and my stomach tightens. I need another drink. Maybe two.
His breath on the back of my neck is growling, “I can show you the way, Jerry – I can open up a whole new world to you.”
God, what I’d give for that voice. I mean, I work with what I’ve got –thin with a hint of nasal is non-threatening and that can be deceiving – and I learned a few tricks over the years. Slow and low. It’s a psychological thing. If you speak slowly, people give your words more weight, and if you never raise your voice, it gives the illusion of always being in control. It’s a trick I perfected after years of practice. For Donny, it’s just raw instinct.
But, I’m not buying his peace, love and brotherhood crap. I’m feeling the kind of “brotherhood” he’s offering – right through the back of my robe.
“It’d be just like old times – without the ladies – or the nose candy.” He’s in front of me again, eyebrows raised high – blue-green puppy dog eyes on a crack-house pit bull. “C’mon, Jerr – for kicks?” He grabs the drink out of my hand, downs the rest of it and heads for the stairs.
What would I do for kicks? Not him. But, for money, or power in this town – or one more week on fire? What wouldn’t I do? Everyone wants a piece of me – and every piece is negotiable.
Your comments are always appreciated. 
What a fabulous comment, alle. Of course when this popped up on active topics, I just had to have another re-read...