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72) Bad Boys
🕑 Added 2024-04-15 19:44:13 +0000 UTC23rd March 1998 (Monday)
Al Pacino (POV)
“The nominations for Best Supporting Actor are, Jeremy Cruise in Berlin’s Call-
A touching montage of old Jerry as Gustav played out on the massive screen, his dramatic monologue on the injustice faced by East-Berliners to his friends, behind closed doors, as a rousing emotional track played along, exemplifying the impact to an all time high.
“Noice.”
Sigh… I turn back around to look at him, a flat look on my face as I nonverbally begged him to display some sense of decorum at such a prestigious function-
“Hey Al,” He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “When your montage comes, everyone’s gonna clap- you mind if I whistle really loud, like a siren-”
“Don’t even dare-” I whisper heatedly only for him to snort and cut in.
“Oh, I’m sorry, were you saying somethin’? Can’t hear you over the sound of my 3 Oscars clinking together on the table-”
Yes you insufferable dispshit we get it… was what I wanted to say. But I suppose allowances can be made here. After all, as the one preaching about decorum, it would be awfully hypocritical of me to flout my own standards-
“Remind me again, how many have you won? Only 1?! Awww… so cute-”
To hell with decorum.
“Listen here you twat-”
“Al Pacino in Good Will Hunting-”
I immediately turned back to face the camera that no doubt caught my loss of composure, and decided to act like nothing happened, adopting a look of eager anticipation on my face… I didn’t really have to fake it I suppose.
I mean, I knew this one was in my bag… but for which performance?
“-and once again, Al Pacino in Whiplash… And the winner is…” He fumbled around with the envelope, before taking out a piece of paper.
I waited with bated breath, eager to know which performance of mine did the Academy find ‘objectively’ better…
“Al Pacino for his role of Terence Fletcher in Whiplash!”
Ricky Stirling (POV)
Criminally bored that I was, I stuck to my obnoxious persona, whistling with 2 fingers in my mouth, Al’s face twitching all over the place.
Truly, causing him undue vexation was one of the highlights of this evening for me.
He kissed his ‘girlfriend’ of the month, before shaking a hand or two, and then turning around.
I got the cue, standing up excitedly, and hugging him tightly, as he reciprocated my enthusiasm with an elated look, all the while muttering away in my ear, “I’m gonna get you back for that dipshit, just you wait!”
I did not reply. Just gave him an annoying smirk, all the while clapping away with the rest of the hall after we disengaged
He made his way up to the stage, his head full of hair, but with a receding hairline, prominent cheekbones, a defined jawline, and a rugged, somewhat weathered look that added to his intensity.
He made his way to the stage, accepted the statuette, before shaking the hand of the presenter, and previous year winner of the award, Warren Grant-Dawson, a fellow character actor and a prominent voice actor in animation.
He finally reached the podium, an Oscar in hand, and a mic in another as he stuttered a thanks, which somehow managed to get even more of an enthusiastic response from the attendees, many of them out of their seats to give him a standing ovation…
Damn. Did I underestimate his respect in the industry or something?
“Thank you- no really… Thank you everyone…” He reached into his jacket and took out a piece of paper, and began reading off it, “I would like to thank Ricky Stirling first and foremost, for penning down such a fascinating screenplay, and directing it to perfection… Missy Jackson and ‘Midas’ as a whole for giving me the opportunity of a lifetime here… I would also like to thank my agent for advising me against taking the role… it simply made me all the more eager to do so really!” He smirked charmingly as a bevy of polite laughter rang out from the room.
“Thank you to the academy, for recognizing not one, but rather two of my performances this year- I’m grateful beyond belief that you all hold me in such high esteem… far higher than my terriers even-” Her mutters in a lowered tone, “-pretend they love me when they are hungry…” Once again a smattering of polite laughter was heard as even I joined in for this, knowing how true the statement was.
The 2 west highland terriers were good dogs… twin menaces, but good nonetheless.
They enjoyed my behind-the-ear scratches and belly rubs.
… I wish they were here.
I feel this odd urge to cuddle with something, and trying it with my now recent ‘ex’, is a particularly strong recipe for disaster.
…
…
Trenton Campbell (POV)
The cab drives on, making its way towards the bar, all the while there is a suffocating silence within.
Me in the front seat, Missy and Daryl in the back… a night of celebration and vindication it was supposed to be, for all of us… and yet here we are. Driving around from bar to bar like chickens, searching for our ‘dear’ friend, who went AWOL on us right before the after party.
And no-one, I repeat, NO-ONE… had seen him leaving. Not even the reporters outside.
Seriously how in the living fuck is that even possible? A room of observant, opportunistic, nosy celebs, and not a single soul, not even the servers had spotted him leave. Arguably one of the most recognizable faces of the evening, and he disappeared like the wind.
And we had absolutely no idea why, until we encountered Charlize, drinking her sorrows away, a glass of gin in her hand.
The news hit us like a whiplash.
In the literal sense, considering the movie itself was a burgeoning reason for their break-up, according to the mean bit- no… she’s been through enough today.
“Stop the car over there.” I said, pointing towards a sign in green neon lights.
The cab halted with a screech, as we hastily paid the fare and disembarked the vehicle, making our way towards our favorite watering hole near USC, ‘Osbourne's’.
And there we find him, sitting at the bar, hunched over the desk as he grips a beer in his hands, viewing a late night broadcast of the Oscars aftermath.
Ricky Stirling (POV)
“Hey- 3 more beers please.” I whisper, passing a few bills to him discreetly. He pockets them without hesitation, before turning around to reach for a cabinet.
“You’re gonna finish them by yourself?”
I shake my head, “Not for me buddy. Those 3 over there, the ones who entered.” I correct his notions, tipping my top hat further down to obscure my face, not wanting to be recognized by the bartender in question.
To ensure my anonymity, I even had zero power eyeglasses custom made for these occasions, considering how dire the consequences would be if I was recognized.
Mainly due to the fact that I was legally, not yet allowed to purchase or consume alcohol beverages in the States.
7 more months to be 21, and then maybe I’ll finally stop carrying disguises in the inside pocket of my suit, just in case.
I take a heavy swig of my Bud Light, as 3 more are placed before me… right in time for my pals to take seats adjacent to me.
They settled down wordlessly, maintaining the quiet for a minute, before Trent breaks it.
“ Uhm, uh… you gonna drink those beers or…?”
I wave dismissively, “Have at it. Same goes for you 2… Thanks for coming by the way, I expected you all to swing by way later.” I turn my head around both ways, to glance at Trent and Missy on my left, and Daryl on my right, raising my bottle up high, “You 3 have successfully subverted my expectations tonight… Cheers to that!”
Our bottles clink together, before we all take a large sip, downing a quarter of the content in seconds flat, before slamming them on the table.
A few seconds of awkward silence followed… and once again broken by Trent.
“Listen Ricky, what happened, happened ok? You gotta jus- let go, ok?! Let go of the past! Forget the frigid bitch-”
“Trent!” Hissed Missy from his left, glaring at him, trying to make him flustered.
His skin proved to be thicker.
“Oh come on Missy! I’m not gonna sugarcoat it anymore! She is a saber-toothed tiger from the fuckin’ ice age! Ferocious, and one cold ass bitch! I bet she didn’t make the break clean-”
“I did it.” I finally spoke up, silencing their bickering… all eyes on me now.
So I continued. “I put it forward. Sealed the deal. I… broke up with her. And you would be better off, not calling her a bitch by the way. We parted on… amicable terms. She’s not a friend per se… but not far off.” I chuckled, before continuing, “She’s a talented actress. One of a kind… We’ll be working with her in the future so… Anyway, I’m gonna address the elephant in the room… Not you Daryl-”
“Nuh-uh, nuh-uh, don’t go there pretty boy!” He retorted, shaking his head. “You don’t want to start a bar brawl the day you won the Oscars Ricky, the press will have a field day.” He remarked as menacingly as he could, while the rest of us broke down giggling, as a moment of levity presented itself, before vanishing as fast as it came.
“So… you know what the worst part of it is? Any takers? Trent? Perhaps you Missy? No? Ok then… The worst part of it… is that I don’t feel particularly devastated about it. Like I’m sad, I don’t deny that. But not as sad as I think I should be… which makes me doubt whether I ever truly loved her… It’s a never ending hole to despair from there-on. And honestly… on some level, I always knew it was never gonna work. We were too damn different, went along like oil and water sometimes… But here’s the kicker… I think I knew that we were gonna break-up one day… but I soldiered on, not for any deep, profound quest to make it work or anything… It was my first time having a ‘technically’ illicit affair with a co-star… and the thrill of it, the sensation of knowing I was spending my days and nights with a drop dead gorgeous starlet… It was my first time, and I got caught up I guess.”
I took another sip, before proceeding, “I didn’t try my hardest to make it work because I loved her… or had a genuine desire to stay together with Charlize, the ‘woman’... I simply wanted the thrill to last… And now, it’s all coming back to me. It’s all fuckin’ coming back to bite me in the ass, the guilt, it’s eating away at me… and I gotta find a way to deal with it this time. I can’t compartmentalize it, not again, not after everything…”
“It’s not your fault Ricky-” Missy tried to console me.
“You don’t understand Missy! I knew it! I fuckin’ knew it! Weeks before today, I could see the damn signs, she was- she was making herself miserable, all the while dwelling in her insecurity and lashing out at me, trying to work up the courage to either deal with it, or break it off… my ‘deduction’ thing as you so eloquently coined it, it’s been working overtime damn it! I knew breaking it off then and there would have been the right thing to do but did I? Did I address her concerns in a healthy manner?! NO! In my selfish quest to preserve the fucking status quo, to continue my first ever relationship with a bonafide star, I diverted her mind off of things, knowing it would be a long-term disaster in the making! I knew Missy! And then the limo I- ok, it wasn’t all my fault, she played her part in it but- and this is a big fucking but… I knew about her inner turmoil… And what did I do Missy? DIDDLY SQUAT!”
I rant away, letting my thoughts flow without a single filter, not holding anything back… I needed this. Fuck I- I fuckin’ needed it.
I would’ve gone insane if I hadn’t let it all out… Damn it. Is this a sign? For me to pursue help or something?
Hold on a goddamn second… DO I NEED THERAPY?! Oh hell no- motherfucking…
As I delved deep into my thoughts, I found an arm sling itself around, pulling towards my right. Daryl… bumped shoulders with me, “It happens Ricky. No longer though. It’s all in the past now, just- forget it man. Live in the present! Come on, don’t mope around anymore- you won 3 Oscars for God’s sake! 3 Ricky! And you’re barely twen-”
I slap my hand over his mouth, my eyes discreetly signaling towards the bartender not 5 feet away.
“Ok, anyways. You’ve got more accolades now, than most actors and directors ever win in their lifetime! 2 for Best Screenplay, both original and adapted, and one for your score, my point is… what’s happened… Has happened. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery. But today… is a gift. That is why it’s called the present.” He rattled off… what the fuck?!
Mine, Trent’s and Missy’s eyes collectively swirl to meet his, a single question plaguing our thoughts-
“My Nana, okay?! She’s full of these odd tidbits of wisdom, don’t- don’t fuckin’ look at me like that!”
The absurdity does help in diffusing the tense atmosphere though and thus I raise my bottle in the air once again, “To Golden Oldies!”
We clink our bottles again, before finishing them off at the same time, slamming them on the table in an eerily synchronized fashion.
“Hey Trent.”
“Hn?”
“You’re thinking of moving out right?”
“Yeah, I’ve been knocking that around for a while now, hopefully by the end of this month.”
“Daryl?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“Same question.”
“Oh well, yeah I’m thinking of renting a flat somewhere, my flat-mate’s gotten a little too creepy for my taste.”
“Okay. Missy-”
“Nope, I’m good where I am.” She smiles a little too widely, clearly having figured out what I was alluding to, even if the boys were a bit thick to realize without me outright stating it.
“We’re leaving for UK in a week guys. We’ll be living there for a few months give or take… depending on how the shoot goes. Now… when we’re back… What say we live together?”
“Huh?”
“Sorry what?”
Their ‘intelligible’ responses made me and Missy roll my our eyes together.
“I need a change of pace. Also, ‘bout time I move out of my dad’s house- castle if we’re splitting hairs actually. What saw we rent a house together? A nice little bungalow, I’m thinking a swimming pool and a backyard, 3 bedrooms… a bachelor pad of sorts. Trent, you’ve always wanted a wingman… how about 2?”
I made my proposition… eager to start a new chapter of my life with something to look forward to.
