FIC: Lambliff Big Bang Part 1
If Tommy had a dollar for every idiot he’d talked to in the last three months, he could quit this asswipe job and buy a new guitar.
Seriously, who can’t understand satellite TV? Half the population of the San Fernando Valley, if his experience answering panicked calls from Bruins fans ten seconds before the big game starts is anything to go by. He’s heard from a guy who thought that the dish on his house was beaming instructions from Captain Kirk into his brain; from a woman who was positive she should get a discount because she had satellite TV and a cell phone, never mind that they were from different companies; from another guy who was bitching because his crack addict son had jacked both of his televisions; and from hordes of idiots who thought they were calling the pizza place on Magnolia. It’s one digit away from the call center’s local number. When he’s bored, Tommy will take their orders (“Veggie Supreme, thin crust, okay, we’ll be there in twenty minutes”) and hang up. It’s kind of mean, but entertainment has to be found where it can in this prison-like space packed with dozens of call-center “associates.” Can’t even surf the net because all the fun stuff is blocked.
So when his computer starts acting up, it’s entertaining instead of frustrating. His boss does not see eye-to-eye on this matter and promises that the on-call computer tech company will send someone shortly.
The nice thing about a dumb job like this is that there’s nothing else they can make you do if your equipment isn’t functioning and there isn’t another workstation free. Tommy twiddles a pencil and makes up riffs in his head, popping M&Ms into his mouth now and then. He visits Steve on the other side of the big room and tries to distract him into dropping an F-bomb while on the phone with a customer.
That fun lasts maybe forty-five minutes before The Boss shimmies around a corner and beckons him back to his station. The Boss side-eyes his hair for a moment. The guy just can’t get to the point where he can look beyond Tommy’s black and white dye job and lilac eye shadow. “Tell the geek what’s wrong with your computer,” The Boss says before stalking off.
The geek is crawling around under the workstation on hands and knees, ass out. It’s not a bad ass, given that it’s attached to a guy. There’s a hint of butt crack and Tommy’s about to make a rude comment when the geek backs out and sits back on his heels, brushing his hands off on his jeans.
“Hi, I’m Adam. Is this your computer?” the guy asks.
Tommy blinks. Adam is pretty good-looking and stylish for a computer guy. His fingernails are painted black and his black hair has blue streaks. Actually, he’s really gorgeous. Tommy likes to think he is one of those evolved straight men who are not afraid to admit that other men can be attractive. Even hot. Most of Tommy’s friends would disagree with him. They don’t think that Tommy plus sixpack of PBR plus slasher movie plus inability to keep his pants over his undies equals advanced culture and civilization. They are wrong, of course: Tommy is highly evolved in his own mind. Still, Adam. This guy is really doing it for him, somehow. It’s like the guy is a succubus in disguise, practically poisoning the air with sex pheromones.
“Yeah,” Tommy says, feigning nonchalance. “M&M?” he adds, remembering his manners and holding out the half-empty bag.
Adam rises smoothly. “No thanks,” he answers, although he looks wistful. He sets a used guitar pick and three dusty M&Ms on the desktop. He’s tall and has wide shoulders. Tommy’s immediately envious.
“Why were you under there?” he asks stupidly, a bit embarrassed about the stray M&Ms. He palms the guitar pick as subtly as he can and slips it into his pocket.
“We like to check out the obvious stuff first.” Adam sits in Tommy’s chair and starts tapping away on the computer keyboard. “What kind of trouble is it giving you?”
Tommy knows fuck-all about computers. “Um, I don’t know, I would click that little submit thingy and it would think and think and then nothing would happen.”
“Did you try turning it off and turning it back on again?”
Tommy rolls his eyes. “Duh.” He knows that much, at least. He hoists his ass on the workstation’s desktop and watches Adam as the guy blithely pecks away at the keyboard, blue eyes focused on the screen. Adam is even smiling slightly.
What the fuck is there to smile about when it comes to computers?
Tommy picks at his nail polish. “You don’t look like the usual computer geek,” he says.
“You don’t look like the usual call center associate,” Adam answers brightly, giving him a quick glance and grin.
“I’m going places,” says Tommy. “Places other than here.”
The girl in the next cubicle rolls her chair back and pokes her head into Tommy’s cubicle. “We’re all going places, Ratliff,” she says. “You’re not the only one wasting their talent in this shithole.”
“Mind your own business, Chelsea Handler,” Tommy responds, casually flipping her off.
“Fuck you, bitch,” she says, ratcheting her chair back out of sight behind the cubicle wall.
Adam taps Tommy’s knee and points at the screen. Tommy peers at it. Looks like Adam typed something: not a nice place to work? Tommy grins. “She’s my friend,” he says, flipping an M&M over the cubicle wall. It gets slam-dunked back onto Tommy’s head within seconds, bouncing to the floor and rolling underneath the desk.
Adam raises one eyebrow.
“Don’t judge,” Tommy says.
A tiny smile lifts one corner of Adam’s mouth. It’s cute. Adam types and mouses like a madman for a long while. “There,” he says. “It was the wrejkewl and it got all spifid fang so then I solka edopulde reak gex os oidfader wagtilk and ext narfidegaosffowed haksi oon jogheax fubar.”
At any rate that’s what it sounds like to Tommy. “So you fixed it?” he asks.
“Yep. All good now.” Adam swings around in the chair. “You didn’t tell me what your talent is.”
Tommy considers Adam from the advantage of height thanks to his perch on the desktop. This guy is getting too personal, or is he?
The voice from over the wall sing-songs, “He plays ukulele in a band of misfit circus clowns.”
Tommy snickers.
“Is Chelsea Handler her actual name?” Adam asks.
“No, it’s Kelsey Hamner but she hates it even more when I call her M.C.”
Kelsey’s voice floats over the wall: “I heard that, asshole.”
Tommy smirks. “She’s jealous because I won’t go out with her.”
Kelsey’s head appears around the edge of the cubicle again. “Dude, no self-respecting girl would go out with you.”
Adam’s eyes sparkle with humor. “Is she right?”
Tommy shakes his head. “Plenty of girls go out with me.”
Kelsey snorts. “Sure, until they find out your idea of a movie date is Saw VII followed by Taco Hell.”
Tommy’s about to snap out another bon mot when The Boss rounds the corner of the line of cubicles and slithers up to them way faster than a mere human being should be able to move.
“Done?” he barks at Adam.
“Yes, sir,” Adam says, standing.
“It works now?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Can Tommy get back to work?”
“Of course.”
“Great. Sign here.” He thrusts a clipboard at Adam and Adam signs at the X. “We’ll call if we need Computer Qwik Fixx again.”
It’s a dismissal. Adam nods and reaches down for his backpack. Marginally satisfied, The Boss slinks off.
“All yours,” Adam says to Tommy, indicating the computer. “Tommy,” he adds.
Tommy hops off the desk. With a final cute smile, Adam is gone. Tommy plops into his chair. It’s still warm from Adam’s butt. Weird how that thought doesn’t bother him right now. He wheels back and over to peek into Kelsey’s area. “Hey, babe, dinner and a movie tonight?”
Kelsey smacks his head lightly. “He was hitting on you, you realize that, right?”
“So?”
“He’s gorgeous. You should consider switching teams, considering the shit luck you have with the female of the species.”
Tommy sticks his tongue out at her and wheels back to his own computer. Tommy knows that Adam was flirting with him. He isn’t so sure how he feels about it. It’s kind of flattering when anyone finds you appealing. Adam’s definitely hot - for a guy. Tommy can admit that to himself. But he’s never been interested in guys… that way.
And by the way? Girls do so love Tommy, they probably fight over him out of his sight. He’s pretty sure. Or kind of sure. That is, he hopes so.
He blows out a breath he’s been holding without realizing it, dons the headset and signals the switchboard that he’s ready to be put back in the rotation.
Hot or not, Adam’s out of his life. Tommy forgets about him. Mike snagged them a gig at the Hideaway Bar & Grille on a Sunday evening a couple of weeks later, so that’s awesome even if they’re on the schedule at 7:30 p.m. Which sucks, getting followed onstage by a band of junior high kids calling themselves The Justin Bieber Experience. At the age of twenty-five, Tommy figures he’s put in a lot of dues already; how much more dues-paying does he have to go through? He doesn’t ask a lot of the universe, just the ability to make enough money at music so he can afford the shitty apartment he shares with two other guys, and maybe not to have to precede a band of junior high children at a gig.
Mike tunes up his bass, leans over to Tommy and whispers to warn him that a well-known executive from 69Entertainment is in the crowd. Crowd might be generous. There’s fewer than two dozen people but that’s not too awful for the early time slot.
Tommy casually turns, still tuning, and scans the darkened room as surreptitiously as possible. Sure enough there’s Simon Cowell, the exec with the horrible taste in haircuts and music. Tommy turns his back to the room again. “What’s he doing here, for fuck’s sake?” he asks quietly.
“Probably heard about the tweensters.”
Oh fuck. Well, Simon “Hairdo” Cowell isn’t going to harsh Tommy’s mellow so the show goes fine even if they’re only allotted twenty-five minutes. Playing live always gets him high. Mike and Isaac and Tommy play great together and the new singer, Ravi, is more or less insane but in a good way, so long as he keeps that swinging mic and his grabby hands to himself.
Which he doesn’t. Tommy has to shove him off several times in their short set. Where did Isaac find this guy? He seems 100% dead set on locking lips with Tommy, and while Tommy generally finds it funny to see a couple of straight boys kissing onstage, he barely knows this guy or what diseases he might have. Tommy prefers to trade spit with people he knows a bit better. Not to mention female.
During a lull while Mike and Ravi are arguing over the next song, Tommy leans over the drum kit and hisses at Isaac, “Where’d you find this guy?”
Isaac grins. “He’s cool, huh?”
“Fucking octopus, he needs a tambourine or something to keep his hands busy.”
“You love it,” Isaac snickers, waving a drumstick like a blackboard pointer.
“I really don’t,” Tommy disagrees, and then Ravi is breathing down his neck and saying, “Killer’s next.”
“Dude,” Tommy says, shoving one shoulder up, but Ravi’s already spun away and Isaac pounds the opening drum salvo with a giant-ass grin on his mug. Tommy scowls at him but he doesn’t miss his cue on lead. He really likes this song and loves getting a chance to play it live.
When they’re done there are a few more people in the audience and they get polite applause, which is better than the heckling they sometimes get. There’s no room for anything but packing up their gear right there; while Tommy’s zipping up his gig bag, Ravi gets in his face. “Let’s go for drinks.”
Yikes. “No thanks,” Tommy says. “Early night in, I’m exhausted.”
“You don’t look that tired.”
“Look, I’m flattered but I’m just not gay.”
Ravi gives him a look that says no way Jose.
What is it with gay men being interested in him?
“Didya give it a try?” Ravi asks.
“Excuse me?” Tommy’s eyes go very wide. “You think you can convert me or something?”
Ravi wriggles both eyebrows. He must think it’s sexy. “How can you know for sure if you never try?”
Tommy’s sure as fuck not planning to try gay sex with Ravi. He’s not planning on getting dick up his ass ever. This is the most fucking uncomfortable conversation and he’s still coiling the guitar cable. He coils faster.
“Hey, Ravi,” Isaac yells, offering rescue from an unexpected direction, “help me with the drums, ya bastard! I can’t carry them all just by my lonesome.”
For a moment, Tommy’s afraid that Ravi might try to kiss him goodbye, but the moment passes and Ravi goes off to help Isaac. Close one, that.
“Later,” Tommy says to them, gig bag over his shoulder. On the way out through the seating area, the last thing Tommy expects is to find Adam the computer geek at a back table. How even the fuck? Adam definitely sees him, smiles in invitation.
Tommy shoves his way through tables and chairs to Adam. “What are you doing here?”
Adam puts up both hands. “Whoa, I wanted to hear you play.”
Tommy processes things in his mind. How would Adam know anything about him? Did he hack into the fancy insides of the computer and find out all about Tommy in those few minutes at the call center? And what the fuck - stalking? After getting chased around the tiny stage by Ravi for nearly half an hour, Tommy’s in a mood.
“How did you even know I’m here?” Tommy huffs. “Are you fucking stalking me?”
“Of course not.”
Tommy frowns, then turns and walks out briskly. Fuck this. So weird.
Adam catches up with him half a block from his car. Tommy doesn’t stop walking so Adam walks backwards in front of him. “They said your name, Tommy Ratliff, right?”
“Yeah and who told you I’m in a band? Playing tonight? Here?” Tommy stops at his car. No point in trying to keep his car a secret from this geek who probably can run Tommy’s plates online and figure out he’s got four speeding tickets. He unlocks the trunk. He feels stupid using the actual key to open it but he can’t afford a car that’s new enough to have one of those locks that chirp and open automatically.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to seem like a creep,” Adam is saying. “One look at you and anyone would know you play in a rock band, come on. I didn’t buy that ukulele thing for a second! Then your name came up on MySpace for the band and everything was right there in the open.”
Tommy’s shoulders sag. The gig bag almost slides off. He hitches it back up. “So you wanted to - what? - check out our band?”
“I just wanted to see you again.” Adam looks like a puppy, eager to please, hoping for the best. “It’s a good thing to have people in the audience, right?”
Tommy slides the bag off his shoulder and lays it carefully in the trunk. He slams the trunk lid and folds his arms. “It’s a little freaky, is all.”
“I’m sorry,” Adam says, sounding sincerely contrite. “Just, it was fun talking with you the other day and everything.”
Tommy chews on his lower lip. Why does this guy not understand? Kelsey definitely didn’t need to explain to Tommy that Adam was flirting with him. Tommy gets a lot of that from men. It’s not that he’s trying to look like a twink. He thinks of himself more as rock-and-roll, if not actually badass. Throwback punk attitude, grunge-garage-band fan, a hint of O.C. surf punk if he’s being honest. Lilac eye shadow notwithstanding, of course.
“Adam, I’m not gay,” he settles for saying as nicely as he can.
Adam looks offended. “Not all my friends are gay. I’m allowed to have straight friends.”
“That’s not how I meant it.”
“How, then?”
Tommy thinks. He hates having to express himself in full sentences or to analyze his own thoughts and behavior in front of strangers.
“Okay, I can take a hint,” Adam says. He turns abruptly.
Tommy watches as Adam walks away down the sidewalk, backlit by streetlamps. He feels like a shit and he’s not quite certain why. He didn’t ask for the attention, he was innocently at work and everything. If a girl geek had fixed his computer and then followed him around, would he have reacted the same way or would he be flattered? Would he have flirted with her? Maybe tried asking her out?
He decides he’s not being fair to Adam, who seems to want only to be friends. He decides his mood is so shitty thanks entirely to having to fend off Ravi. It’s not like Tommy has so many friends that another would hurt, and if Adam wants to be friends, Tommy can at least give him a chance. The guy is funny and cool, after all, even if he is a computer geek.
He grimaces to himself, then gets in the car and cranks it into action and leaves the parking space in a squeal of under-inflated tires. The clutch has been giving him trouble, too, so the car lurches up to the stop sign at the next intersection as Tommy reaches over to roll down the passenger window.
“Hey, Adam!” he says. Adam, still walking, looks to his left, surprised.
“I’m a jackass,” Tommy says. “You wanna go for a drink or something? Make it up to you?”
Hesitantly, Adam comes over to the car and leans down to look in the passenger window. “No, I get it, it was creepy behavior.”
“No way, it’s my bad, I was being a total jerk."
The car behind honks.
“So you wanna?”
Adam shifts feet, hands digging into his jacket pockets.
The car honks again. Tommy turns and sticks his head out the driver’s side and yells, “Shut up!” He turns back to Adam. “So, yeah? Get in?”
Adam shrugs and hitches one shoulder back towards the place they just left. “We could go back to the restaurant, it’s still early and I think they serve food.”
“Don’t rub it in,” Tommy warns.
The car behind honks again and the driver is flipping Tommy off with both hands. Adam makes a quick decision and gets in Tommy’s car. Tommy hits the gas almost before the door is shut, laying rubber down Kagel Canyon.
He drives to the Denny’s off the 210 because Tommy doesn’t eat at fancy restaurants no matter what. It’s nice to discover that Adam is totally happy to eat at Denny’s. He doesn’t complain or anything; there’s no diva in his attitude. Over burgers and fries, Tommy learns that Adam is bored of being a tech geek and what he really wants to do is sing on Broadway in New York. He’s already in the chorus of the local run of Wicked.
“You must have no free time,” Tommy says. “Day job plus that?”
“It’s the same for you,” Adam says.
“Pretty sure your gig is steadier than mine.”
Adam shrugs. “It’s just the chorus. I could phone it in.”
“Still.”
“Want to come and watch? I can get comps.”
Ugh, musical, Tommy thinks. “Sure,” he says out loud. Free is free. He can invite Kelsey. Won’t she be surprised. Plus they can make fun of it afterwards.
Talking with Adam is easy, far easier than Tommy had expected. He likes Adam, too. The guy is nice, he’s low-key, he’s friendly. Even if he was stalking, he doesn’t emit a true stalker vibe. There’s still that flirting thing, but Adam is also an open type and actually brings it up.
“The makeup and everything,” Adam says, gesturing with a French fry. “Not that makeup means a guy is gay, but I thought there was a chance. I’m really direct and I kind of go for what I want, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Tommy grins. “I noticed. No foul, dude. You’re not the first.”
“Awfully sure of yourself?” Adam asks, smiling back.
Tommy shrugs. “Not my fault I grew up skinny and cute.”
Adam reaches over. Tommy flinches. “Sorry,” Adam says. “I was just…” He reaches more slowly, not to spook Tommy, and lifts his bangs off his face. “Your eyes are gorgeous.”
He drops his hand and Tommy shakes his hair like a dog.
“You shouldn’t hide behind your hair,” Adam says.
“Used to have it sticking straight up.” This is a little too intimate and embarrassing for Tommy. He wolfs down the last of his burger and washes it down with a swallow of Pepsi.
“I used to be a redhead,” Adam admits.
Tommy nearly spews soda. “Are you shitting me, man?”
Adam shakes his head. “Can’t you see the freckles?” He pulls up his sleeves and tugs down the neck of his tee-shirt.
Tommy stares. “That’s a lotta freckles. Wow, rad. But you look like you were born with black hair. Like Elvis or something.”
Adam laughs. “It’s more strawberry blond, actually. Then one day I figured out that Opie ain’t rock ‘n’ roll.”
Tommy swallows wrong and chokes a little, laughing this time. “I thought you’re into musicals.”
“I am but I can love rock, too. I think it would be cool to be a rock singer.”
“Danny Elfman has red hair. Or had, maybe it’s grey now.”
“Who’s that?”
Tommy stares. “You don’t know? Oh man, I gotta educate you. You can have red hair and rock hard.”
There’s something about Adam that he really likes, so he invites Adam to his tiny apartment in nearby Burbank. They drive past the Hideaway to get Adam’s car and he follows Tommy into the Burbank flats. It’s pure kismet that his roomies are both out on dates or something worse. Tommy doesn’t want to know.
They sprawl on the threadbare carpet while Tommy plays one CD after another, starting with Oingo Boingo and moving on to X, Wall of Voodoo, Alice in Chains, the Cure, NIN, Nirvana, Korn and Manson. Adam listens politely but it’s obvious he likes other music better.
He doesn’t like beer, either, so it’s lucky that Tommy can mix a mean mai-tai, at least if there’s mai-tai mix in the freezer. They wind up giggly and intoxicated, leaning together with their backs up against the edge of the couch.
“Play something I know,” Adam says, eyeing the Stratocaster leaning against the wall.
Tommy’s comfy; he doesn’t want to move. Then he thinks maybe Adam will sing for him, so he crawls across the floor and gets the guitar and flicks the amp on low volume, just something to give the sound some bite. He leans back again, propping the guitar against his thighs, and plucks out a few chords.
“What’s that?” Adam asks.
Tommy grins. “Puff the Magic Dragon.”
“Oh, you’re shitting me.” Adam listens because Tommy doesn’t stop. “It is, oh my god. What in fuck, Tommy?”
“First song I ever learned. My uncle taught me.”
Adam starts humming, then singing. He knows only stray parts of one verse, but his voice is pure and clear and Tommy likes hearing it so he switches after awhile to a lazy version of Stairway to Heaven and sure enough, Adam knows that one. Considering how drunk they are, they think they sound damn great.
Eventually the energy it takes even for slow songs peters out and the guitar winds up lying across Tommy’s knees, humming faintly.
Adam pours a sloppy refill of whisky into Tommy’s glass, tops off his own. “Why do guitars make that noise?” he asks, downing a slug.
Tommy burps. “It’s the pickups, they’re not humbuckers.”
“That sounds vaguely filthy.”
Tommy snorts.
“Is that a nice guitar?” Adam asks.
“Naw, it’s pretty cheap. It’s okay, though. The Gibson cost more, I had to save up for that one.” Tommy belches. “It’s got humbuckers.”
“Why do you need two guitars?” Adam asks, mystified.
“Are you kidding?”
“Totally serious, a guitar’s a guitar, right?”
Tommy sighs. “Guitars are like dessert, there’s always room for one more.”
“Especially if one has bumfuckers and the other doesn’t?”
“Humfuckers,” Tommy corrects. Then giggles. “Buffhummers. Wait, that’s not right, oh shit.”
“Variety,” Adam explains. “The spice of life.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Adam shifts until he’s pillowing his head against the couch, staring straight at Tommy’s profile. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Right now?” asks Tommy.
“Mm-hmmm. Now.”
“Nope.”
“Do you want one?”
“Now?”
“No, yesterday. Yes, now, dork.”
“Not really. I feel like I’m too busy.”
Adam’s not satisfied. “How long has it been?”
“Dude! Getting a little personal there.”
“Don’t you miss it? Like, snuggling and kissing?”
Tommy snorts and struggles to get more upright. “Dude, you are so gay.” He crawls back to the amp and switches it off and leaves the guitar propped against it. “And before you get on my ass about it, I didn’t mean gay bad, I meant gay horny.”
“That might be more insulting than the other meaning.”
“Don’t front, you’re horny,” Tommy grumbles, struggling to get to his feet.
“I am,” Adam agrees morosely. “What are you doing up there?” he asks, already forgetting the insult.
Tommy sticks out his hand. “You can’t sleep like that.”
Adam grasps his hand and Tommy hauls him up, and Adam weighs a lot. Compared to his own scrawny self.
“I miss it,” Adam mutters half to himself, swaying.
“Huh?”
“Snuggling. Kissing. He left me.”
Tommy is way too intoxicated for this conversation. He totally cannot follow Adam’s train of thought. He suspects Adam can’t, either. “Dude, what are you telling me?”
“Broke up. After two years.”
Ohmigod, he isn’t going to cry, is he? Tommy pushes Adam onto the couch, where he flops like a rag doll. Tommy would like to sit down, too, but he just stood up and if he sits again he will end up end sleeping right there. And wake up with serious back pain.
“It’s going to be okay. Right? It’s going to be okay?”
“I miss him.”
“Hoo boy.”
“Where’re my keys?” Adam mumbles.
But no, Tommy won’t let Adam drive like this. He finds his dad’s ratty old Army blanket and tosses it over Adam, who curls up on the couch and falls asleep. Tommy barely stumbles to his unmade bed and falls on it and wakes up in the morning. The blanket is folded on the couch and there’s a note: Had to go to work. Thnx for the fun tiemz!
Mike intercepts him in the kitchen with a mug of fresh coffee. “Who was that?”
Tommy takes the mug and drinks, waving vaguely in the air with the other hand. “Um, just a guy,” he says fast and scoots back to his bedroom.
Continue to Part 2 http://montmorency.livejournal.com/54075.html