Fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 14
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 14: bars
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them
Notes: Another exceedingly long part - Language! Special guest stars! Angst! Also, for the fun, the song mentioned in here is by Chicago and I even put up a link for you to download it - as it is the greatest song ever. Imagine a (supposedly) serious version of the song 'Crying'. It's like that. Honestly, I want to write a musical just around this song - I think if some guy belted this song out, horns and all (the horns!!!), I would stand up and applaud - it's that good. I love me some over-the-top hokey sad music.
Back to: Part 13, Part 12, Part 11, Part 10, Part 9, Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
“Dude, what the hell is your problem?”
Jemaine sat hunched over the bar, a beer cradled in his hands. He stared down the open mouth of the bottle as Dave stood next to him, scowling, frustrated, as he continued to talk as he had all evening, Jemaine not having said more than two or three words.
“Look, I know some bad shit went down, all right? And it probably had something to do with Bret, ‘cause god knows you two practically carry each other’s balls in your purses or whatever the fuck, but, I mean, can’t help you unless you talk to me.”
Jemaine blinked as an answer.
Dave sighed and pushed up his bandana, “Not to mention that this evening has basically been a clusterfuck of massive proportions. This is the fifth bar we’ve been to and at each one of them you - well, I mean, you-”
Dave was interrupted as a terribly attractive blonde woman walked up. She took one look at Jemaine’s still tousled dark hair, sad eyes, and the terrible bruise forming under his left eye and immediately cooed, “Oh! You poor, poor baby! What happened to you?”
She took the empty seat to the one side of him, her hand brushing his wrist; “My name is Kitty,” at looking at her and hearing her name, Dave rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air as she continued, “What’s yours?”
Jemaine didn’t answer and she began fawning all over him even more, “Shh, shh, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. Let me just…I’ll get you a drink, okay? I’m going to go tell my friends real quick where I am. I’ll be right back, promise!”
Kitty flounced off and Dave gestured after her wildly, voice incredulous, “That! That is exactly what I am talking about! Five bars! And at each one, you’ve gotten a Tiffany or an Amber or a, my fucking god, her name is Kitty! And she looks like she wandered out of the Playboy fucking Mansion or a runway and you just sit there like a sad sack of shit and each of them buys you drinks and you ignore them and seriously, seriously, dude, I am starting very much to hate your fucking Irish guts!”
Jemaine still didn’t answer and Dave groaned, fists pressed to either side of his head as he tried to calm down, breathing out through his teeth, “You’ve got to go with at least one of them, man. Please. For me. You’ve got to do something…get some ass…and then maybe spread the love. Stop being such a selfish son of a-”
“Back!” Kitty cried in a sing song voice as she easily hailed the bartender and ordered two shots of whiskey. Dave just shook his head as he looked at her. It was unreal.
The drinks came and she quickly did her shot. She looked encouragingly at Jemaine, her eyes all big and sweet; smile warm and Jemaine didn’t even look at her. His shoulders just rose and fell as he took in a big, heavy breath.
He didn’t look at Dave either but did reach out and take the shot. He downed it in one smooth motion and immediately wanted to cough it all up, throat burning, eyes watering but he didn’t, he didn’t because when he took the shot his ears rang and he could hear it again. Almost crystal clear.
Here. Guess you earned this.
So, instead, he let out a weak breath and rested an elbow on the bar, resting his forehead against his hand as he continued to look down the mouth of the beer. The whiskey settled in quickly, veins warm, body all ready feeling slightly off kilter. Jemaine didn’t drink much, so he knew if he started drinking, it wouldn’t take a lot. And Dave wanted him to drink; Kitty wanted him to drink…
Don’t you touch me.
After Bret had left, Jemaine had just stared at the door. Stared at it and stared at it. It had felt like an eternity, staring at that door - wishing Bret to come back, willing him to. But Bret hadn’t come back and Jemaine hadn’t known what else to do.
So he had fallen into some sort of autopilot.
He had called Dave and made arrangements (Dave questioning constantly if he was ‘okay, man’ and ‘what the hell is wrong with your voice? Why do you sound like Mr. Roboto’ and so on), he had gotten dressed, and then he had picked up the money.
That crumpled, stupid, stupid hundred dollar bill.
Jemaine had always said male prostitution was not degrading. And it hadn’t been degrading. It hadn’t been anything. Not until-
Guess you earned this.
And so they had gone to the first bar and, like Dave had said, Jemaine had women all over him. Each one of them marveling over the spot where Bret had punched him. Each one of them buying him drinks (he had had yet to even use the money). Each one of them practically undressing for him right there in the bar.
And, thus far, each time, he had rejected their drinks and rebuffed their advances and asked Dave to move on to the next bar.
But…it wasn’t fair…
It wasn’t fair to Dave to keep pushing the women off and the drinks off. It wasn’t even fair to the faceless women - what was this one’s name again? It was selfish. Selfish.
And besides, he had wanted this, hadn’t he? A return to form, a back to normal. And this was what he had been working for from the beginning. This was why he had come up with the idea to be Bret’s companion in the first place. This was what he had imaged from the start, over and over. The bar. The drinks. The women all over him.
He licked his lips, apprehensive but a moment, before he slowly craned his head and looked in the darker corners of the bar.
There was one last thing he had imagined, or started imagining…
He strained his eyes, looking and looking.
He felt like his eyes searched forever. Searched in vain.
There was nothing there.
Nothing.
Nobody.
Jemaine felt something in him crumble. He returned his attention to the bar. He grabbed his beer and downed it as quickly, as smoothly, and as efficiently, as he had drank the shot. He turned to Kitty, voice quiet, “You want to…go somewhere?”
88888888888
Kitty shoved Jemaine into the women’s room.
She didn’t even bother to lock the door behind her.
She shoved him up against the wall, tiny hands impatient, and her mouth sharp and vicious as she kissed him, her tongue forcing his lips apart. Her kisses couldn’t even rightly be called kisses as they were more like crazed suctions, her mouth and lips and tongue trying to draw out all the air and, maybe even, all the life from him.
She rubbed her breasts all over him, hips pumping against him through his clothes and Jemaine just let her. He hadn’t touched her. He hadn’t even kissed her back. He had just let her do what she wanted. And what he wanted.
Or what he should have wanted.
This was it. Right? This?
And, it wasn’t…some of it was nice.
Her body was small and soft and round. Curves and breasts and it was…nice.
But it was sort of like he was dying of thirst.
He wanted water.
Cool, clear, water.
But instead he got handed lemonade. And while lemonade was nice and tasted sweet, it was not nearly as satisfying as water. Not as satisfying as what he really wanted, really needed.
Kitty was moaning prettily and saying all these filthy, naughty little things and she was probably the most attractive woman Jemaine had ever seen, much less actually been close to. Certainly the most attractive woman to put her hands and mouth on him.
And he knew he should have been in seventh heaven. He should have been thanking his lucky stars. He should have been excited, aroused, eager, crazed…
He should have been thinking about how much he wanted to do this and then, the next day, how he would brag to Dave and Murray and to any one in New York City, shouting from the rooftops…
But he wasn’t.
He wasn’t thinking any of those things or feeling any of those things.
All he felt was empty.
Empty and hopeless and lost in a sea of despair.
And Kitty was starting to notice his lack of interest in what she was doing and her nasty words were sort of taking an accusatory tone, wanting to know why he wasn’t reciprocating.
She had him shoved against the wall, pinned to it…
Just a few hours before, Bret had done the same.
Bret.
Just the thought of him, of his name, and Jemaine’s eyes watered.
That terrible, terrible look on Bret’s face when he had heard Dave’s call.
Guess you earned this.
Don’t you touch me.
The sound of the door slamming shut.
Jemaine, as gently as possible, extracted himself from Kitty. This was what he had thought he had wanted. This was what he was supposed to have wanted. But it wasn’t any more. It wasn’t at all.
He wanted curly dark hair grown too long and warm, dark eyes. He wanted shaggy old animal jumpers and skinny jeans and ragged sneakers. He wanted scratchy beards and awkward dances that gave way to unexpected kisses and he wanted ‘resting’ and hand holding and then breathless coming-togethers….
Bret.
…where was he now?
Jemaine left a beautiful, but angry, Kitty in the bathroom and found Dave. He tugged silently at his elbow a moment before exiting this bar to move on to the next one.
88888888888
At the next bar, Jemaine did his best to push whatever girl came on to him on to Dave. But Dave, not wanting sloppy seconds, shooed them on and, while it was excruciatingly painful for him, did his best to weasel out of Jemaine what was wrong.
Tried to talk to him about his feelings.
Dave had never felt so disgusted with himself.
“Look…dude…I could just…you know, leave your ass here. I could. I could leave you here, in this bar, and you’d be royally fucked ‘cause this is a bad neighborhood and you certainly couldn’t handle yourself on your own so, you know, I could do that. But, I’m not, so, least you can do is give me something…”
Jemaine licked his lips and looked down into his half empty mug of ale. Dave had actually been buying him drinks now, even when, at the beginning of the night, he had sworn he’d had no money.
“C’mon, man, you can’t just stare at your drinks all night…I mean, thank god, at least now you’ve drank some of them but, I mean, you know…they’re-they’re not going to answer you. I can help you, Jemaine. I can…give you advice, even-even if it’s,” Dave looked about worriedly, not wanting any other living soul to overhear as he edged closer to Jemaine’s ear, whispering, “It’s…you know…you and Bret…relationship stuff…”
Jemaine did turn to look at Dave then, face a cross between quizzical and alarmed.
Dave rolled his eyes, cheeks actually changing slightly in color, as he returned, “Come on, man…it’s…it’s pretty fuckin’ obvious. Was from day one…”
Jemaine just blinked at him.
Dave sighed, “Look, I don’t-I don’t care if you two are, you know, going at it,” Dave shuddered at the idea, but bravely pressed on, “I mean, if you are it’s…probably about time, considering you’ve been like butt-crazy-retarded for each other for a long time. I mean, shit, you guys get a girl like, once in a blue moon and each time she’s usually scared off by the other one of you.”
Dave shook his head, still amazed he was even talking about this, “I mean, if Bret has a girl you're jealous and if you have a girl he’s jealous and, let’s face it, you’re not jealous of each other having girls, you’re jealous of…you know…not being the girl and, okay, even I’m getting confused talking about this, it’s just - you and Bret you’re…you know…you’re-um-good for each other.”
Jemaine just blinked at him some more, his eyebrows raised.
Dave shifted about in his chair, voice deadly as he hissed, “You tell anyone I said that, swear to god, I’ll cut your nuts off.”
Jemaine couldn’t stop the tiny smirk that formed from that comment and Dave, Dave, beamed, “Hey, good. Got a smile out of you.”
The smirk disappeared and Jemaine sighed, returning his attention to his drink. He finished it off and wished it was full again. Something must have shown in his face, because Dave whistled loudly and hailed the bartender over. Dave ordered another round and then nudged Jemaine’s shoulder, “So…I right then? ‘Bout you and Bret…that’s why you’re like this, right?”
Jemaine’s head nodded sort of jerkily.
“Shit…whatta waste! Least it explains why you’ve been blowing off these hot bitches tonight. And I mean hot bitches. Did you see the one at that second bar we went to? She had to be like, a 20 on a scale from 1 to 10 of hot chicks I’ve seen. Seriously, she was brickhousing all over the place. You know that song? Brickhouse? Like that…shit, and she would have let you snow plow her into the ground…shame…”
Their drinks came and Dave sipped at his, looking thoughtful, “So…let’s see…you and Bret…there was a fight. Naturally. Or some other mess. That explains the hang dogged expression…and that shiner. Fuck. Still can’t believe Bret punched you. It was Bret, right?”
Another nod.
“Damn. I didn’t think that little guy had it in him. Then again, it’s always those type that have a mean right hook. As you obviously know…so…fight with Bret, broke up your homo love nest…damn, here I was, initially trying to stay out of Murray’s gay soap opera and instead get sucked right into yours…country you guys come from sure seems to be full of a bunch of queens, that’s for sure. Okay, but back on track…so, you and Bret are on the outs and we need to find a way to get you back on the ins…hmm…what to do…”
As Dave thought about this, the bar got uncharacteristically silent for a second as the jukebox switched to the next song. The next song, however, broke out with a soft, solo piano and mournful, over-the-top lyrics of operatic proportions.
Jemaine gripped his glass and sort of hunched over, the words hitting him hard over the head and he took in a deep breath, hot tears squeezing out. He pressed a hand to his face, trying not to cry more but, once started, it was difficult to stop and he folded his arms over the bar, moaning, as he buried his head there, sobbing rather pathetically.
Dave was bowled over, looking about wildly as he listened to the song, “What in the-?! WHAT IS THIS?! This is a bar! A BAR! People come here to drink and to have sex! Not listen to this shit!”
Dave slammed his drink down loudly and then saw Jemaine was hunched over, crying. Dave’s eyes rolled to the heavens, “Aw, come on, man! Seriously?! This song isn’t…it’s about a chick, for Christ’s sake, it’s not even…okay…but…shit, shit, I’m-I’m gonna-”
Dave’s words fell into foreign curses as he got up from his seat and stalked over to the jukebox. He started smacking a hand at it and a bouncer in the bar came over to interrogate his behavior.
Jemaine was completely oblivious to this as he tried to get himself back together. God, he had blown it. Blown it entirely. No matter what he did, what he said, he knew that there was no way he could get ‘back in’ as Dave put it. Bret would never, ever forgive him.
How could he?
From Bret’s perspective, Jemaine had just played him. Used him. And, honestly, at the beginning, that was what he had been doing. Jemaine had initially seen all of this - the whole companion business - as a chance to get Bret’s money away from him so he could use it for himself. Bret hadn’t wanted to go to a bar and use the money to pick up chicks, so Jemaine had devised a way to get the money from Bret so he could use it on his own.
So what if he had to give Bret a few hugs? Hold his hand, play with his hair, it was no big deal, no skin off of his nose, as long as he got what he wanted. But as time had passed, as he had given the hugs and held Bret’s hand and played with his hair he had found himself…liking it. It had become so much easier each time, so much more enjoyable, until it had gotten to the point where he had wanted to do those things.
It hadn’t been a job anymore, a bothersome task, it had become-
Bret had started paying Jemaine to touch him because he had been lonely. He had been wanting someone to touch him, to be with him. And Jemaine, poor, stupid Jemaine, hadn’t even given a thought to the fact that he wanted the same things. It was just that, initially, he had wanted them with women and not with Bret.
Why would he have wanted them with Bret? Bret was just his friend. Honestly, before this, Jemaine had hardly ever really even given Bret a second thought. Bret was just his best friend, his mate from New Zealand, the slim, dowey-eyed, bearded, jumper-wearing second member of the band.
But this whole situation, this whole arrangement, had put Bret in different shoes, Jemaine as well. Jemaine had had to see Bret, had had to sort of, well, not be subservient to him as much as be mindful of him. Mindful enough to do the tasks to get the money.
And through that, he had actually really started to see Bret. To become aware of him, both emotionally and physically. He had never thought of how integral a part of his life Bret was.
It had first started to occur to him that night they danced - maybe that was why he had kissed him so unconsciously. It had seemed so easy to do, so natural, because it had just felt like…the next step.
The next step in what, he still wasn’t sure and he couldn’t place his finger on it because the drinks he had were really started to cloud his mind and Dave was still gone and tears were still leaking out to run numbly down his cheeks while that damn song kept playing on and on, growing wilder and wilder with each chord.
Still, the kiss had seemed like the right thing to do then, and, of course, Bret freaked out. Jemaine was surprised he hadn’t and then, eventually, it had led to that day.
That hot, hot day and Jemaine could easily flash his mind to it. Even if they hadn’t seen Nancy and Sid’s act across the street, Jemaine had this innate sense that things would have wounded up the way that they had eventually, it had just been inevitable.
Somehow, over the course of everything between them, whether through the deal or not, things had become much more heated, this sort of electricity, this unspoken sexual tension, winding its way between them.
He could still see Bret pressed to that wall, eyes almost black with desire, and Jemaine just standing there, rooted to the spot, looking at him, lusting after him. And he could still remember the fear gripping him. That thought…
The thought that what he did then would change things forever.
The thought that there was no running from this, no hiding from it, if they went that next step.
The thought that it was real, and if he wasn’t good enough, if he somehow screwed things up - that his whole life was right there.
But had had wanted it. Wanted it so badly. He had wanted the change, he had wanted to move on, he had wanted to move another step and-
And he had screwed it up. He had. He had screwed it up royally and now his entire life, gone. Gone in a blink of an eye. Gone in one phone call.
And he couldn’t blame Dave for it. He couldn’t blame the phone or the answering machine. He could only blame himself.
That look on Bret’s face…
And the best part was, Jemaine had completely forgotten about talking to Dave.
Completely forgotten about the bar and the women…
The moment his lips had met Bret’s that first time in their hot apartment, the first time he had really touched Bret, the first time he had brought him to completion, Jemaine had completely and utterly forgotten about everything else.
All that had mattered was Bret.
Jemaine had become completely immersed in him and now, now…
Now it was over.
Jemaine took in a hitching breath and sipped at his drank when a voice rang out, “Jermaine?!”
Jemaine scowled, that voice sounded awful shrill and childish. Mel?
He turned to see a rather attractive woman with a mop of (right now, shaggy) red hair. She looked as if she had drank as much as he had, plus visited three more bars, her eyes swimming as she giggled and poked his arms, “Jermaine! It-it IS you!”
“Do I-”
“S’me…Kelly.”
Jemaine shook his head and she laughed, “Oh, right, right…no, no 's Miss-Miss Adams…”
Jemaine’s face lit up with recognition, “Miss Adams!”
“Yeeeeah," she drawled as she tried, many times, unsuccessfully, to get on to the bar stool next to him. She was quite drunk. Eventually Jemaine had to help her. Once seated, she threw her arms around him in a sloppy hug, “OH! Jermiane! ‘S good to see you-”
“Jemaine.”
“Hrm?”
“My name...it’s…it’s Jemaine.”
“Jemal?”
“Jemaine?”
“Jimaine?”
“Close enough.”
“”S,” Miss Adams paused to belch a second before continuing, “’S good to see you, ‘maine…how’s been?”
“Not…not so good…”
“Where’s….you know…the string bean?”
“String bean?”
“Brent.”
“Bret.”
“Brit?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah. Where’s he…”
Jemaine returned his attention back to his drink, “Not here…”
Miss Adams pushed out a loud breath of air through her teeth, shaking her head in an exaggerated motion, “Yeah, coupla me and my girlfriends…went out for some beers…some laughs…tried to invite that Mel but-but she didn’t want to come…she gave me a restraining order, can you believe that?!”
Miss Adams shook her head some more, messy red curls flying, “Just ‘cause I made a tent outside her place a coupla days...pssssh,” she signaled over the bartender, “Yeah! I want a blowjob,” she burst into giggles before going on, “A blowjob shot. Jimjam wants one here too, don’t you, Jimjam?”
Jemaine just gave a curt nod and the bartender went off to make their drinks as Miss Adams continued, “Dunno, man…some bitches…they’re sooo self-centered. Had-had no interest in her, I just like your band, see the shirt?"
Miss Adams pointed to her Flight of the Conchords shirt and Jemaine nodded, sluggishly realizing she was the other new fan Murray had mentioned. She continued, "Can’t help if she’s there, right? And if Doug isn’t with her, well…all the more for me…”
The bartender brought back the shots and Miss Adams eventually managed to grab hers, as her vision swam and it was hard to get a solid grip on her drink. She looked at hers, then at Jemaine’s, then at Jemaine and then back again, “Come on, big’ in…take your drink. Good for what ails ya…”
“I don’t know…”
“Come onnnn, it’s a blowjob. A blowjob is good for anybody. Trust me.”
Jemaine sighed and looked at it fleetingly, he was all ready pretty close to as drunk as Miss Adams was, he wasn’t sure if he should go the extra mile. But then, he was still able to think and that was about the last thing he currently wanted, so he took the shot, tapped it to hers and drained it. Actually…this blowjob was pretty good. Certainly better than the beer and the whiskey.
Miss Adams ordered them another.
88888888888
Dave had disappeared.
Possibly dragged out back for his behavior on the jukebox, but it was hard to say and Jemaine could barely remember his name at this point.
Miss Adams, or Kelly, as Jemaine had taken to calling her (she told him she was off duty, so it was better to go by her first name), had an arm flung out on the bar and was staring at the empty shot glasses with rapt attention.
When she spoke her voice was slurred but thoughtful, “So…I talk’d lot ‘bout me…’bout my bitches…’bout Mel-Bell…howza ‘bout you…can tell somethin’ eat’ in at ya and it’s not…not a good eat’ in atcha, if ya knows whatta mean…”
“’S,” Jemaine snorted (he’d been half a sleep before she spoke), “’S nothing…’s just,” he shrugged, nonchalant, “’S Bret…”
“Ahhh - ‘k, so, Rhett…how long you two been together?”
“Since ‘versity.”
“Oh. Nice, nice. Met-met my first girlfriend in college too. Yeah, we together a long time-”
“No, Bret’s…he’s not…not my girlfriend.”
Kelly let out peals of laughter, “Well duh! He’s…boyfriend.”
“No, no, he’s…we’re not…”
Kelly raised herself onto one elbow, staring at Jemaine critically. Jemaine was actually attempting to think now and the road was a difficult one. He let out a weary breath, “Don’t…don’t know…what we are anymore.”
“Yeah?”
“He was…my friend…then…you know…he won some money.”
“Rich now?”
“No, just…we don’t have money often…least-least…not extra spending and he wanted…wanted a prostitute-”
“Really?!”
“His…words….and I….I-used to be one.”
“YOU?!”
“Well…yeah, I’ve tried on…you know…different hats…so…so I offered to let him, I-I just-I just,” Jemaine pressed a hand to this temple, brain starting to ache, “I just wanted the money, you know? Use it to pick up girls and then-then I started touching him and it…it escalated.”
Kelly let out a breath, a sort of chuckle, as she rolled her eyes, “Yeah. Can ‘magine.”
“And now it’s…it’s all fucked up,” Jemaine froze, and then laughed, shaking his head, “I said ‘fucked’.”
“So? I say it all the time? I’ll fucking say it now. FUCKED.”
“No, no I don’t…normally don’t…curse. Don’t like it. Bret doesn't either…”
Kelly couldn’t help it, she rolled her eyes again, “’Course you don’t…you and Bret…when I met you…I could tell…sooo repressed.”
“You-you met me for all of five minutes. Didn’t-didn’t even meet Bret-”
“Trust me…read pe’ple real good. My first grade class? I tell ya, I know Becky Bingsales’ gonna grow up to be a slut and she’s only six. And Mark Gilmore? He’s gonna be a jock in high school then grow up to be a douche has-been who tried to make the majors, trust me, trust me…I know these things. I read people….that’s why I know Mel’s…well…Mel is so not happy with Doug…and I think if she gave the other side a chance, you know, really walked on the wild side and experimented a little, she’d-well-she’d-”
“Um…Bret?”
“Oh, yeah, so, so you and Bret…right,” Kelly waved a weak hand, “Go on,”
“So…Bret and I….we just…we did some things-”
“You fucked.”
“Gah! Don’t…don’t like that word…”
“Made sweet, sweet love?”
Jemaine balked at that too, “Wasn’t…love. Love is…love is,” he shook his head, changing the subject, “We…were together. In a more proper prostitute/john way…as Dave’d put it…Dave…where is he?”
Jemaine looked around wildly a moment then gave up, returning to his talk with Kelly, “Anyway…we were together and I….I started…it was like…it was like I saw Bret, really saw him, for the first time, you know?”
He looked at Kelly for confirmation and she nodded so he continued, “An’ I-I forgot all ‘bout being his hooker and started thinking bein’ ‘bout his…his…something and then…god…he smiled at me today…smiled at me all warm and it was like-it was like…and then Dave called and Bret…we remembered, we both remembered what I was and what I was doing and now Bret hates me,”
Jemaine’s voice got kind of choked then, tears threatening to return, “And I don’t-I don’t know what to do…I don’t know if we’re friends anymore, I don’t know if we’re band mates anymore…I don’t-I don’t know what we are or what to do or where to go and I just…I just want him back…I just want him back so badly…”
“If you…got him back…what would he be?”
“Huh?”
Kelly looked very pensive as she spoke, voice a quiet drawl, “If you got ‘im..what would he be to you? Friend, band-mate, john-”
“Don’t-don’t know-”
“Yeah, see, think…think you do,” Kelly sighed, sitting up straighter, “I think, and, this is just me readin’ the two of you and lookin’ at this thing outside but…I think you two have been in a relationship a long time…”
Jemaine also sat up straighter as she continued, “You were friends, then band mates, and then…then something changed and you-you started off so platonic in your relationship…really but then you finally, finally moved it to that physical level and it-it prob’bly sucked at first. Right?’
Jemaine confirmed it with a nod and she smiled, pleased to be correct, “Yeah, prob’bly was awkward and awful ‘cause you guys are so fuckin’ repressed but then…then it was just natural ‘cause, frankly, you were all ready there in your relationship, you just needed to relax and once you did-once you did you guys were like ducks to water, easy and sure…flyin’ high…was perfect,”
She sighed sadly, “But then…you know, I mean, relationships are hard, much less when you don’t even fuckin’ know you’re in one, which, you guys were, you became boyfriend and boyfriend so subtly you didn’t even know it, so, once you did, and once you were really alerted to it, really had it rubbed in your faces…you freaked out.”
“But…I was his prostitute.”
“Yeah, that was just a blind. An excuse. Just something for you to use to slip it in more gradually. More easily, without thought, better to pretend it was something else than something big and scary and life changing. I mean, you probably didn’t even give it a second thought but, yeah, you used that to get an in and make it work. To go to the next step-”
“Next step…been…I’ve been thinkin’ that a lot tonight-”
“’Course, ‘cause you’ve finally gone that next step. You went from colleagues to friends to lovers…you know the friendship scale, right?”
“Yeah…actually…”
“Yeah, so…you went to lovers and what do lovers do?”
Jemaine was at a loss, offering weakly, “…have sex?”
“Well, yeeeah,” Kelly scoffed, “But, you know, they also, love.”
“No, no…”
“Yes. YES. Just say it…”
“Say what?” Jemaine asked, sort of panicked.
“Say you love ‘im.”
“No…don’t…”
“Say it,” Kelly pressured, “Trust me, guy, you’ll feel better. Try it out. Don’t be scared…just-just you and me here…”
“I…love Bret?”
“Yeah, good, good!” she encouraged, “Say it again.”
“I love Bret.” Jemaine repeated.
“Again.”
“I love Bret.”
“Ag-”
“I love Bret,” And the words sank in then and Jemaine felt himself smiling. He was smiling the biggest, dopiest smile on the planet, “I love him.”
“YES! Thank you…god…you’re-you’re sucha dumbass…” Kelly chuckled into the remainder of her drink.
“I love him, I love him, I love Bret,” Jemaine chanted, then frowned and rubbed at his temple again, moaning in despair, “Agh! But-but he doesn’t love me-”
“’Course he does.” Kelly said, matter-of-fact, pushing Jemaine’s drink towards him.
He took a sip of it, shaking his head vehemently, “No, no, he doesn’t-”
“He does, look,” she sighed. This was just like trying to explain simple mathematics to her kids, “He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t have been upset if he didn’t. He was upset because he loves you and because you fucked up. You get pissed off at people you love just as much as people you hate.”
“Yeah but…can’t fix it.”
“Sure, you can. He loves you. Just ‘cause you fuck up doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop.”
“Yeah but…I can’t…I don’t know how to fix…”
“Look, look…I’m…I’ma gonna give you some advice that’ll blow yer lil’ Austarlian-”
“New Zealand-”
“New Zooland mind…’k…you ready? You ready fo’ it?” Kelly offered teasingly, sort of wavering in her chair in her excitement, “Love…love is no simple matter, you know…lots of kinds of love and it…”
She let out a breath as the words sank into her, making her feel dizzy, “-it’s not like in the movies…or in books…or in television or stories or…love is…it’s not…not ‘bout winning and losing. Not ‘bout happy endings or good guys and bad guys…love is…love is ‘bout how you make it….think-think that last bit’s from a song but…love isn’t perfect…it's not gonna to fix everything...gotta work at it…but, you know, play yer cards right and-and it can rock...”
“Don’t-don’t know if that blew my mind-”
“Yeah, well, blew mine…Christ…I drank too much.” Kelly muttered this as she drained the rest of her drink. Jemaine shrugged and did the same, “So…what-what should I do?”
“Do you,” Kelly laughed, “Do you ‘member the first thing I ever told you?”
“That you’re a lesbian.”
“No, after that.”
Jemaine shook his head and Kelly shook hers, sort of tired now as she said simply, “You ever find someone, you don’t let them go. You get them. Before it’s too late. So…you know…go-go get ‘im, Tiger.”
Jemaine looked doubtful, “You…you really think he’ll…forgive me?”
Kelly shrugged, “Can’t say for sure but…mean…what else you have to lose?”
Jemaine began to nod, growing more sure as he rose to his feet, he wobbled a little, but only a little, as he spoke, voice mildly confident, “Yeah…yeah…gotta-gotta try. I’ve…got to go find him…find Bret.”
“Yeah, that’s m’ boy!”
“There you are!” A voice rang out and Jemaine blinked, turning to see an angry, and soaking wet, Dave charge over, “You ass! I got kicked out for smacking that machine around for you and was stuck outside; outside in the mother-fuckin’ rain until the bouncer's shift changed over so I could sneak back in!”
“”S…raining?”
“What, my fucking wetsuit didn’t tip you off, hell yes it’s raining, you New Zealand asshole!”
“New Ze-oh.”
“Yeah. OH! And here I come in and you’re still picking up hot ass chicks! I should clock you on the other cheek so you have a matching set!”
“Oh, Dave, no this-this is Miss…this is Kelly. Adams. She’s…she’s a teacher.”
“Hey there, ‘sup, Wetty.”
“It’s Dave…and damn, she’s as drunk as you, huh…”
“I am,” Kelly cooed and took Dave’s arm, “Let me guess, you were helping ol’ sad sack Jimjam here and he was getting all the pussy, am I right?”
Dave blinked as he looked at her, then he said without missing a beat, “I love you.”
Kelly giggled, “Love you too, boy, but, yeah, you’re really not my type. I’m into girls.”
Dave blinked again, voice serious, “Marry me.”
Kelly laughed, shaking her head, “Not unless you get an operation…and even then, it’s a ‘no’. Can help you out though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Jemaine, you go get your boy, win him all romantic film style,” Kelly pushed Jemaine towards the door, then turned to Dave, “Me? I’m going to take Dave over to meet the girls I came to the bar with. They’re other teachers from my school. Lonely, horny, hetero teachers who could use a good lay.”
Dave looked increasingly happier, “Really?”
“Yup…here…here comes Miss Taylor now. Yo!” Kelly whistled, “Adelaide!”
A tall, buxom blonde woman with a very, very low cut, clinging top wandered over, she spoke in a very thick accent, “Oh, Mizz Adams! Ve vere so vorried.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it on the ‘v’s, honey…want you to meet a friend of mine…this here is,” Kelly looked at Dave, who was looking at Adelaide Taylor’s ample cleavage as if it was mesmerizing. She nudged him and he coughed out his name, “Dave.”
“Dave,” Kelly said again, “Yes, Dave he’s…he got in a fight. With his friend, Jemaine, guy just walked out on him - left him out in the rain.”
“Oh?! Really?!” she cooed.
“Huh?” Dave breathed and Kelly reached behind his arm, pinching him hard, he yelped then, thinking quickly and remembering Jemaine’s hangdog expression earlier, he mimed it, sobbing out, “Oh, yeah-yeah,” he sniffled, “Big fight…with my best friend…he hit me an-an-"
“Oh, oh, oh! You poor, poor zing!” Adelaide took Dave into her arms, shoving his head deep into her massive breasts. Jackpot.
On to Part 15
Part 14: bars
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: R
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them
Notes: Another exceedingly long part - Language! Special guest stars! Angst! Also, for the fun, the song mentioned in here is by Chicago and I even put up a link for you to download it - as it is the greatest song ever. Imagine a (supposedly) serious version of the song 'Crying'. It's like that. Honestly, I want to write a musical just around this song - I think if some guy belted this song out, horns and all (the horns!!!), I would stand up and applaud - it's that good. I love me some over-the-top hokey sad music.
Back to: Part 13, Part 12, Part 11, Part 10, Part 9, Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
“Dude, what the hell is your problem?”
Jemaine sat hunched over the bar, a beer cradled in his hands. He stared down the open mouth of the bottle as Dave stood next to him, scowling, frustrated, as he continued to talk as he had all evening, Jemaine not having said more than two or three words.
“Look, I know some bad shit went down, all right? And it probably had something to do with Bret, ‘cause god knows you two practically carry each other’s balls in your purses or whatever the fuck, but, I mean, can’t help you unless you talk to me.”
Jemaine blinked as an answer.
Dave sighed and pushed up his bandana, “Not to mention that this evening has basically been a clusterfuck of massive proportions. This is the fifth bar we’ve been to and at each one of them you - well, I mean, you-”
Dave was interrupted as a terribly attractive blonde woman walked up. She took one look at Jemaine’s still tousled dark hair, sad eyes, and the terrible bruise forming under his left eye and immediately cooed, “Oh! You poor, poor baby! What happened to you?”
She took the empty seat to the one side of him, her hand brushing his wrist; “My name is Kitty,” at looking at her and hearing her name, Dave rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air as she continued, “What’s yours?”
Jemaine didn’t answer and she began fawning all over him even more, “Shh, shh, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. Let me just…I’ll get you a drink, okay? I’m going to go tell my friends real quick where I am. I’ll be right back, promise!”
Kitty flounced off and Dave gestured after her wildly, voice incredulous, “That! That is exactly what I am talking about! Five bars! And at each one, you’ve gotten a Tiffany or an Amber or a, my fucking god, her name is Kitty! And she looks like she wandered out of the Playboy fucking Mansion or a runway and you just sit there like a sad sack of shit and each of them buys you drinks and you ignore them and seriously, seriously, dude, I am starting very much to hate your fucking Irish guts!”
Jemaine still didn’t answer and Dave groaned, fists pressed to either side of his head as he tried to calm down, breathing out through his teeth, “You’ve got to go with at least one of them, man. Please. For me. You’ve got to do something…get some ass…and then maybe spread the love. Stop being such a selfish son of a-”
“Back!” Kitty cried in a sing song voice as she easily hailed the bartender and ordered two shots of whiskey. Dave just shook his head as he looked at her. It was unreal.
The drinks came and she quickly did her shot. She looked encouragingly at Jemaine, her eyes all big and sweet; smile warm and Jemaine didn’t even look at her. His shoulders just rose and fell as he took in a big, heavy breath.
He didn’t look at Dave either but did reach out and take the shot. He downed it in one smooth motion and immediately wanted to cough it all up, throat burning, eyes watering but he didn’t, he didn’t because when he took the shot his ears rang and he could hear it again. Almost crystal clear.
Here. Guess you earned this.
So, instead, he let out a weak breath and rested an elbow on the bar, resting his forehead against his hand as he continued to look down the mouth of the beer. The whiskey settled in quickly, veins warm, body all ready feeling slightly off kilter. Jemaine didn’t drink much, so he knew if he started drinking, it wouldn’t take a lot. And Dave wanted him to drink; Kitty wanted him to drink…
Don’t you touch me.
After Bret had left, Jemaine had just stared at the door. Stared at it and stared at it. It had felt like an eternity, staring at that door - wishing Bret to come back, willing him to. But Bret hadn’t come back and Jemaine hadn’t known what else to do.
So he had fallen into some sort of autopilot.
He had called Dave and made arrangements (Dave questioning constantly if he was ‘okay, man’ and ‘what the hell is wrong with your voice? Why do you sound like Mr. Roboto’ and so on), he had gotten dressed, and then he had picked up the money.
That crumpled, stupid, stupid hundred dollar bill.
Jemaine had always said male prostitution was not degrading. And it hadn’t been degrading. It hadn’t been anything. Not until-
Guess you earned this.
And so they had gone to the first bar and, like Dave had said, Jemaine had women all over him. Each one of them marveling over the spot where Bret had punched him. Each one of them buying him drinks (he had had yet to even use the money). Each one of them practically undressing for him right there in the bar.
And, thus far, each time, he had rejected their drinks and rebuffed their advances and asked Dave to move on to the next bar.
But…it wasn’t fair…
It wasn’t fair to Dave to keep pushing the women off and the drinks off. It wasn’t even fair to the faceless women - what was this one’s name again? It was selfish. Selfish.
And besides, he had wanted this, hadn’t he? A return to form, a back to normal. And this was what he had been working for from the beginning. This was why he had come up with the idea to be Bret’s companion in the first place. This was what he had imaged from the start, over and over. The bar. The drinks. The women all over him.
He licked his lips, apprehensive but a moment, before he slowly craned his head and looked in the darker corners of the bar.
There was one last thing he had imagined, or started imagining…
He strained his eyes, looking and looking.
He felt like his eyes searched forever. Searched in vain.
There was nothing there.
Nothing.
Nobody.
Jemaine felt something in him crumble. He returned his attention to the bar. He grabbed his beer and downed it as quickly, as smoothly, and as efficiently, as he had drank the shot. He turned to Kitty, voice quiet, “You want to…go somewhere?”
88888888888
Kitty shoved Jemaine into the women’s room.
She didn’t even bother to lock the door behind her.
She shoved him up against the wall, tiny hands impatient, and her mouth sharp and vicious as she kissed him, her tongue forcing his lips apart. Her kisses couldn’t even rightly be called kisses as they were more like crazed suctions, her mouth and lips and tongue trying to draw out all the air and, maybe even, all the life from him.
She rubbed her breasts all over him, hips pumping against him through his clothes and Jemaine just let her. He hadn’t touched her. He hadn’t even kissed her back. He had just let her do what she wanted. And what he wanted.
Or what he should have wanted.
This was it. Right? This?
And, it wasn’t…some of it was nice.
Her body was small and soft and round. Curves and breasts and it was…nice.
But it was sort of like he was dying of thirst.
He wanted water.
Cool, clear, water.
But instead he got handed lemonade. And while lemonade was nice and tasted sweet, it was not nearly as satisfying as water. Not as satisfying as what he really wanted, really needed.
Kitty was moaning prettily and saying all these filthy, naughty little things and she was probably the most attractive woman Jemaine had ever seen, much less actually been close to. Certainly the most attractive woman to put her hands and mouth on him.
And he knew he should have been in seventh heaven. He should have been thanking his lucky stars. He should have been excited, aroused, eager, crazed…
He should have been thinking about how much he wanted to do this and then, the next day, how he would brag to Dave and Murray and to any one in New York City, shouting from the rooftops…
But he wasn’t.
He wasn’t thinking any of those things or feeling any of those things.
All he felt was empty.
Empty and hopeless and lost in a sea of despair.
And Kitty was starting to notice his lack of interest in what she was doing and her nasty words were sort of taking an accusatory tone, wanting to know why he wasn’t reciprocating.
She had him shoved against the wall, pinned to it…
Just a few hours before, Bret had done the same.
Bret.
Just the thought of him, of his name, and Jemaine’s eyes watered.
That terrible, terrible look on Bret’s face when he had heard Dave’s call.
Guess you earned this.
Don’t you touch me.
The sound of the door slamming shut.
Jemaine, as gently as possible, extracted himself from Kitty. This was what he had thought he had wanted. This was what he was supposed to have wanted. But it wasn’t any more. It wasn’t at all.
He wanted curly dark hair grown too long and warm, dark eyes. He wanted shaggy old animal jumpers and skinny jeans and ragged sneakers. He wanted scratchy beards and awkward dances that gave way to unexpected kisses and he wanted ‘resting’ and hand holding and then breathless coming-togethers….
Bret.
…where was he now?
Jemaine left a beautiful, but angry, Kitty in the bathroom and found Dave. He tugged silently at his elbow a moment before exiting this bar to move on to the next one.
88888888888
At the next bar, Jemaine did his best to push whatever girl came on to him on to Dave. But Dave, not wanting sloppy seconds, shooed them on and, while it was excruciatingly painful for him, did his best to weasel out of Jemaine what was wrong.
Tried to talk to him about his feelings.
Dave had never felt so disgusted with himself.
“Look…dude…I could just…you know, leave your ass here. I could. I could leave you here, in this bar, and you’d be royally fucked ‘cause this is a bad neighborhood and you certainly couldn’t handle yourself on your own so, you know, I could do that. But, I’m not, so, least you can do is give me something…”
Jemaine licked his lips and looked down into his half empty mug of ale. Dave had actually been buying him drinks now, even when, at the beginning of the night, he had sworn he’d had no money.
“C’mon, man, you can’t just stare at your drinks all night…I mean, thank god, at least now you’ve drank some of them but, I mean, you know…they’re-they’re not going to answer you. I can help you, Jemaine. I can…give you advice, even-even if it’s,” Dave looked about worriedly, not wanting any other living soul to overhear as he edged closer to Jemaine’s ear, whispering, “It’s…you know…you and Bret…relationship stuff…”
Jemaine did turn to look at Dave then, face a cross between quizzical and alarmed.
Dave rolled his eyes, cheeks actually changing slightly in color, as he returned, “Come on, man…it’s…it’s pretty fuckin’ obvious. Was from day one…”
Jemaine just blinked at him.
Dave sighed, “Look, I don’t-I don’t care if you two are, you know, going at it,” Dave shuddered at the idea, but bravely pressed on, “I mean, if you are it’s…probably about time, considering you’ve been like butt-crazy-retarded for each other for a long time. I mean, shit, you guys get a girl like, once in a blue moon and each time she’s usually scared off by the other one of you.”
Dave shook his head, still amazed he was even talking about this, “I mean, if Bret has a girl you're jealous and if you have a girl he’s jealous and, let’s face it, you’re not jealous of each other having girls, you’re jealous of…you know…not being the girl and, okay, even I’m getting confused talking about this, it’s just - you and Bret you’re…you know…you’re-um-good for each other.”
Jemaine just blinked at him some more, his eyebrows raised.
Dave shifted about in his chair, voice deadly as he hissed, “You tell anyone I said that, swear to god, I’ll cut your nuts off.”
Jemaine couldn’t stop the tiny smirk that formed from that comment and Dave, Dave, beamed, “Hey, good. Got a smile out of you.”
The smirk disappeared and Jemaine sighed, returning his attention to his drink. He finished it off and wished it was full again. Something must have shown in his face, because Dave whistled loudly and hailed the bartender over. Dave ordered another round and then nudged Jemaine’s shoulder, “So…I right then? ‘Bout you and Bret…that’s why you’re like this, right?”
Jemaine’s head nodded sort of jerkily.
“Shit…whatta waste! Least it explains why you’ve been blowing off these hot bitches tonight. And I mean hot bitches. Did you see the one at that second bar we went to? She had to be like, a 20 on a scale from 1 to 10 of hot chicks I’ve seen. Seriously, she was brickhousing all over the place. You know that song? Brickhouse? Like that…shit, and she would have let you snow plow her into the ground…shame…”
Their drinks came and Dave sipped at his, looking thoughtful, “So…let’s see…you and Bret…there was a fight. Naturally. Or some other mess. That explains the hang dogged expression…and that shiner. Fuck. Still can’t believe Bret punched you. It was Bret, right?”
Another nod.
“Damn. I didn’t think that little guy had it in him. Then again, it’s always those type that have a mean right hook. As you obviously know…so…fight with Bret, broke up your homo love nest…damn, here I was, initially trying to stay out of Murray’s gay soap opera and instead get sucked right into yours…country you guys come from sure seems to be full of a bunch of queens, that’s for sure. Okay, but back on track…so, you and Bret are on the outs and we need to find a way to get you back on the ins…hmm…what to do…”
As Dave thought about this, the bar got uncharacteristically silent for a second as the jukebox switched to the next song. The next song, however, broke out with a soft, solo piano and mournful, over-the-top lyrics of operatic proportions.
Jemaine gripped his glass and sort of hunched over, the words hitting him hard over the head and he took in a deep breath, hot tears squeezing out. He pressed a hand to his face, trying not to cry more but, once started, it was difficult to stop and he folded his arms over the bar, moaning, as he buried his head there, sobbing rather pathetically.
Dave was bowled over, looking about wildly as he listened to the song, “What in the-?! WHAT IS THIS?! This is a bar! A BAR! People come here to drink and to have sex! Not listen to this shit!”
Dave slammed his drink down loudly and then saw Jemaine was hunched over, crying. Dave’s eyes rolled to the heavens, “Aw, come on, man! Seriously?! This song isn’t…it’s about a chick, for Christ’s sake, it’s not even…okay…but…shit, shit, I’m-I’m gonna-”
Dave’s words fell into foreign curses as he got up from his seat and stalked over to the jukebox. He started smacking a hand at it and a bouncer in the bar came over to interrogate his behavior.
Jemaine was completely oblivious to this as he tried to get himself back together. God, he had blown it. Blown it entirely. No matter what he did, what he said, he knew that there was no way he could get ‘back in’ as Dave put it. Bret would never, ever forgive him.
How could he?
From Bret’s perspective, Jemaine had just played him. Used him. And, honestly, at the beginning, that was what he had been doing. Jemaine had initially seen all of this - the whole companion business - as a chance to get Bret’s money away from him so he could use it for himself. Bret hadn’t wanted to go to a bar and use the money to pick up chicks, so Jemaine had devised a way to get the money from Bret so he could use it on his own.
So what if he had to give Bret a few hugs? Hold his hand, play with his hair, it was no big deal, no skin off of his nose, as long as he got what he wanted. But as time had passed, as he had given the hugs and held Bret’s hand and played with his hair he had found himself…liking it. It had become so much easier each time, so much more enjoyable, until it had gotten to the point where he had wanted to do those things.
It hadn’t been a job anymore, a bothersome task, it had become-
Bret had started paying Jemaine to touch him because he had been lonely. He had been wanting someone to touch him, to be with him. And Jemaine, poor, stupid Jemaine, hadn’t even given a thought to the fact that he wanted the same things. It was just that, initially, he had wanted them with women and not with Bret.
Why would he have wanted them with Bret? Bret was just his friend. Honestly, before this, Jemaine had hardly ever really even given Bret a second thought. Bret was just his best friend, his mate from New Zealand, the slim, dowey-eyed, bearded, jumper-wearing second member of the band.
But this whole situation, this whole arrangement, had put Bret in different shoes, Jemaine as well. Jemaine had had to see Bret, had had to sort of, well, not be subservient to him as much as be mindful of him. Mindful enough to do the tasks to get the money.
And through that, he had actually really started to see Bret. To become aware of him, both emotionally and physically. He had never thought of how integral a part of his life Bret was.
It had first started to occur to him that night they danced - maybe that was why he had kissed him so unconsciously. It had seemed so easy to do, so natural, because it had just felt like…the next step.
The next step in what, he still wasn’t sure and he couldn’t place his finger on it because the drinks he had were really started to cloud his mind and Dave was still gone and tears were still leaking out to run numbly down his cheeks while that damn song kept playing on and on, growing wilder and wilder with each chord.
Still, the kiss had seemed like the right thing to do then, and, of course, Bret freaked out. Jemaine was surprised he hadn’t and then, eventually, it had led to that day.
That hot, hot day and Jemaine could easily flash his mind to it. Even if they hadn’t seen Nancy and Sid’s act across the street, Jemaine had this innate sense that things would have wounded up the way that they had eventually, it had just been inevitable.
Somehow, over the course of everything between them, whether through the deal or not, things had become much more heated, this sort of electricity, this unspoken sexual tension, winding its way between them.
He could still see Bret pressed to that wall, eyes almost black with desire, and Jemaine just standing there, rooted to the spot, looking at him, lusting after him. And he could still remember the fear gripping him. That thought…
The thought that what he did then would change things forever.
The thought that there was no running from this, no hiding from it, if they went that next step.
The thought that it was real, and if he wasn’t good enough, if he somehow screwed things up - that his whole life was right there.
But had had wanted it. Wanted it so badly. He had wanted the change, he had wanted to move on, he had wanted to move another step and-
And he had screwed it up. He had. He had screwed it up royally and now his entire life, gone. Gone in a blink of an eye. Gone in one phone call.
And he couldn’t blame Dave for it. He couldn’t blame the phone or the answering machine. He could only blame himself.
That look on Bret’s face…
And the best part was, Jemaine had completely forgotten about talking to Dave.
Completely forgotten about the bar and the women…
The moment his lips had met Bret’s that first time in their hot apartment, the first time he had really touched Bret, the first time he had brought him to completion, Jemaine had completely and utterly forgotten about everything else.
All that had mattered was Bret.
Jemaine had become completely immersed in him and now, now…
Now it was over.
Jemaine took in a hitching breath and sipped at his drank when a voice rang out, “Jermaine?!”
Jemaine scowled, that voice sounded awful shrill and childish. Mel?
He turned to see a rather attractive woman with a mop of (right now, shaggy) red hair. She looked as if she had drank as much as he had, plus visited three more bars, her eyes swimming as she giggled and poked his arms, “Jermaine! It-it IS you!”
“Do I-”
“S’me…Kelly.”
Jemaine shook his head and she laughed, “Oh, right, right…no, no 's Miss-Miss Adams…”
Jemaine’s face lit up with recognition, “Miss Adams!”
“Yeeeeah," she drawled as she tried, many times, unsuccessfully, to get on to the bar stool next to him. She was quite drunk. Eventually Jemaine had to help her. Once seated, she threw her arms around him in a sloppy hug, “OH! Jermiane! ‘S good to see you-”
“Jemaine.”
“Hrm?”
“My name...it’s…it’s Jemaine.”
“Jemal?”
“Jemaine?”
“Jimaine?”
“Close enough.”
“”S,” Miss Adams paused to belch a second before continuing, “’S good to see you, ‘maine…how’s been?”
“Not…not so good…”
“Where’s….you know…the string bean?”
“String bean?”
“Brent.”
“Bret.”
“Brit?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah. Where’s he…”
Jemaine returned his attention back to his drink, “Not here…”
Miss Adams pushed out a loud breath of air through her teeth, shaking her head in an exaggerated motion, “Yeah, coupla me and my girlfriends…went out for some beers…some laughs…tried to invite that Mel but-but she didn’t want to come…she gave me a restraining order, can you believe that?!”
Miss Adams shook her head some more, messy red curls flying, “Just ‘cause I made a tent outside her place a coupla days...pssssh,” she signaled over the bartender, “Yeah! I want a blowjob,” she burst into giggles before going on, “A blowjob shot. Jimjam wants one here too, don’t you, Jimjam?”
Jemaine just gave a curt nod and the bartender went off to make their drinks as Miss Adams continued, “Dunno, man…some bitches…they’re sooo self-centered. Had-had no interest in her, I just like your band, see the shirt?"
Miss Adams pointed to her Flight of the Conchords shirt and Jemaine nodded, sluggishly realizing she was the other new fan Murray had mentioned. She continued, "Can’t help if she’s there, right? And if Doug isn’t with her, well…all the more for me…”
The bartender brought back the shots and Miss Adams eventually managed to grab hers, as her vision swam and it was hard to get a solid grip on her drink. She looked at hers, then at Jemaine’s, then at Jemaine and then back again, “Come on, big’ in…take your drink. Good for what ails ya…”
“I don’t know…”
“Come onnnn, it’s a blowjob. A blowjob is good for anybody. Trust me.”
Jemaine sighed and looked at it fleetingly, he was all ready pretty close to as drunk as Miss Adams was, he wasn’t sure if he should go the extra mile. But then, he was still able to think and that was about the last thing he currently wanted, so he took the shot, tapped it to hers and drained it. Actually…this blowjob was pretty good. Certainly better than the beer and the whiskey.
Miss Adams ordered them another.
88888888888
Dave had disappeared.
Possibly dragged out back for his behavior on the jukebox, but it was hard to say and Jemaine could barely remember his name at this point.
Miss Adams, or Kelly, as Jemaine had taken to calling her (she told him she was off duty, so it was better to go by her first name), had an arm flung out on the bar and was staring at the empty shot glasses with rapt attention.
When she spoke her voice was slurred but thoughtful, “So…I talk’d lot ‘bout me…’bout my bitches…’bout Mel-Bell…howza ‘bout you…can tell somethin’ eat’ in at ya and it’s not…not a good eat’ in atcha, if ya knows whatta mean…”
“’S,” Jemaine snorted (he’d been half a sleep before she spoke), “’S nothing…’s just,” he shrugged, nonchalant, “’S Bret…”
“Ahhh - ‘k, so, Rhett…how long you two been together?”
“Since ‘versity.”
“Oh. Nice, nice. Met-met my first girlfriend in college too. Yeah, we together a long time-”
“No, Bret’s…he’s not…not my girlfriend.”
Kelly let out peals of laughter, “Well duh! He’s…boyfriend.”
“No, no, he’s…we’re not…”
Kelly raised herself onto one elbow, staring at Jemaine critically. Jemaine was actually attempting to think now and the road was a difficult one. He let out a weary breath, “Don’t…don’t know…what we are anymore.”
“Yeah?”
“He was…my friend…then…you know…he won some money.”
“Rich now?”
“No, just…we don’t have money often…least-least…not extra spending and he wanted…wanted a prostitute-”
“Really?!”
“His…words….and I….I-used to be one.”
“YOU?!”
“Well…yeah, I’ve tried on…you know…different hats…so…so I offered to let him, I-I just-I just,” Jemaine pressed a hand to this temple, brain starting to ache, “I just wanted the money, you know? Use it to pick up girls and then-then I started touching him and it…it escalated.”
Kelly let out a breath, a sort of chuckle, as she rolled her eyes, “Yeah. Can ‘magine.”
“And now it’s…it’s all fucked up,” Jemaine froze, and then laughed, shaking his head, “I said ‘fucked’.”
“So? I say it all the time? I’ll fucking say it now. FUCKED.”
“No, no I don’t…normally don’t…curse. Don’t like it. Bret doesn't either…”
Kelly couldn’t help it, she rolled her eyes again, “’Course you don’t…you and Bret…when I met you…I could tell…sooo repressed.”
“You-you met me for all of five minutes. Didn’t-didn’t even meet Bret-”
“Trust me…read pe’ple real good. My first grade class? I tell ya, I know Becky Bingsales’ gonna grow up to be a slut and she’s only six. And Mark Gilmore? He’s gonna be a jock in high school then grow up to be a douche has-been who tried to make the majors, trust me, trust me…I know these things. I read people….that’s why I know Mel’s…well…Mel is so not happy with Doug…and I think if she gave the other side a chance, you know, really walked on the wild side and experimented a little, she’d-well-she’d-”
“Um…Bret?”
“Oh, yeah, so, so you and Bret…right,” Kelly waved a weak hand, “Go on,”
“So…Bret and I….we just…we did some things-”
“You fucked.”
“Gah! Don’t…don’t like that word…”
“Made sweet, sweet love?”
Jemaine balked at that too, “Wasn’t…love. Love is…love is,” he shook his head, changing the subject, “We…were together. In a more proper prostitute/john way…as Dave’d put it…Dave…where is he?”
Jemaine looked around wildly a moment then gave up, returning to his talk with Kelly, “Anyway…we were together and I….I started…it was like…it was like I saw Bret, really saw him, for the first time, you know?”
He looked at Kelly for confirmation and she nodded so he continued, “An’ I-I forgot all ‘bout being his hooker and started thinking bein’ ‘bout his…his…something and then…god…he smiled at me today…smiled at me all warm and it was like-it was like…and then Dave called and Bret…we remembered, we both remembered what I was and what I was doing and now Bret hates me,”
Jemaine’s voice got kind of choked then, tears threatening to return, “And I don’t-I don’t know what to do…I don’t know if we’re friends anymore, I don’t know if we’re band mates anymore…I don’t-I don’t know what we are or what to do or where to go and I just…I just want him back…I just want him back so badly…”
“If you…got him back…what would he be?”
“Huh?”
Kelly looked very pensive as she spoke, voice a quiet drawl, “If you got ‘im..what would he be to you? Friend, band-mate, john-”
“Don’t-don’t know-”
“Yeah, see, think…think you do,” Kelly sighed, sitting up straighter, “I think, and, this is just me readin’ the two of you and lookin’ at this thing outside but…I think you two have been in a relationship a long time…”
Jemaine also sat up straighter as she continued, “You were friends, then band mates, and then…then something changed and you-you started off so platonic in your relationship…really but then you finally, finally moved it to that physical level and it-it prob’bly sucked at first. Right?’
Jemaine confirmed it with a nod and she smiled, pleased to be correct, “Yeah, prob’bly was awkward and awful ‘cause you guys are so fuckin’ repressed but then…then it was just natural ‘cause, frankly, you were all ready there in your relationship, you just needed to relax and once you did-once you did you guys were like ducks to water, easy and sure…flyin’ high…was perfect,”
She sighed sadly, “But then…you know, I mean, relationships are hard, much less when you don’t even fuckin’ know you’re in one, which, you guys were, you became boyfriend and boyfriend so subtly you didn’t even know it, so, once you did, and once you were really alerted to it, really had it rubbed in your faces…you freaked out.”
“But…I was his prostitute.”
“Yeah, that was just a blind. An excuse. Just something for you to use to slip it in more gradually. More easily, without thought, better to pretend it was something else than something big and scary and life changing. I mean, you probably didn’t even give it a second thought but, yeah, you used that to get an in and make it work. To go to the next step-”
“Next step…been…I’ve been thinkin’ that a lot tonight-”
“’Course, ‘cause you’ve finally gone that next step. You went from colleagues to friends to lovers…you know the friendship scale, right?”
“Yeah…actually…”
“Yeah, so…you went to lovers and what do lovers do?”
Jemaine was at a loss, offering weakly, “…have sex?”
“Well, yeeeah,” Kelly scoffed, “But, you know, they also, love.”
“No, no…”
“Yes. YES. Just say it…”
“Say what?” Jemaine asked, sort of panicked.
“Say you love ‘im.”
“No…don’t…”
“Say it,” Kelly pressured, “Trust me, guy, you’ll feel better. Try it out. Don’t be scared…just-just you and me here…”
“I…love Bret?”
“Yeah, good, good!” she encouraged, “Say it again.”
“I love Bret.” Jemaine repeated.
“Again.”
“I love Bret.”
“Ag-”
“I love Bret,” And the words sank in then and Jemaine felt himself smiling. He was smiling the biggest, dopiest smile on the planet, “I love him.”
“YES! Thank you…god…you’re-you’re sucha dumbass…” Kelly chuckled into the remainder of her drink.
“I love him, I love him, I love Bret,” Jemaine chanted, then frowned and rubbed at his temple again, moaning in despair, “Agh! But-but he doesn’t love me-”
“’Course he does.” Kelly said, matter-of-fact, pushing Jemaine’s drink towards him.
He took a sip of it, shaking his head vehemently, “No, no, he doesn’t-”
“He does, look,” she sighed. This was just like trying to explain simple mathematics to her kids, “He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t have been upset if he didn’t. He was upset because he loves you and because you fucked up. You get pissed off at people you love just as much as people you hate.”
“Yeah but…can’t fix it.”
“Sure, you can. He loves you. Just ‘cause you fuck up doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop.”
“Yeah but…I can’t…I don’t know how to fix…”
“Look, look…I’m…I’ma gonna give you some advice that’ll blow yer lil’ Austarlian-”
“New Zealand-”
“New Zooland mind…’k…you ready? You ready fo’ it?” Kelly offered teasingly, sort of wavering in her chair in her excitement, “Love…love is no simple matter, you know…lots of kinds of love and it…”
She let out a breath as the words sank into her, making her feel dizzy, “-it’s not like in the movies…or in books…or in television or stories or…love is…it’s not…not ‘bout winning and losing. Not ‘bout happy endings or good guys and bad guys…love is…love is ‘bout how you make it….think-think that last bit’s from a song but…love isn’t perfect…it's not gonna to fix everything...gotta work at it…but, you know, play yer cards right and-and it can rock...”
“Don’t-don’t know if that blew my mind-”
“Yeah, well, blew mine…Christ…I drank too much.” Kelly muttered this as she drained the rest of her drink. Jemaine shrugged and did the same, “So…what-what should I do?”
“Do you,” Kelly laughed, “Do you ‘member the first thing I ever told you?”
“That you’re a lesbian.”
“No, after that.”
Jemaine shook his head and Kelly shook hers, sort of tired now as she said simply, “You ever find someone, you don’t let them go. You get them. Before it’s too late. So…you know…go-go get ‘im, Tiger.”
Jemaine looked doubtful, “You…you really think he’ll…forgive me?”
Kelly shrugged, “Can’t say for sure but…mean…what else you have to lose?”
Jemaine began to nod, growing more sure as he rose to his feet, he wobbled a little, but only a little, as he spoke, voice mildly confident, “Yeah…yeah…gotta-gotta try. I’ve…got to go find him…find Bret.”
“Yeah, that’s m’ boy!”
“There you are!” A voice rang out and Jemaine blinked, turning to see an angry, and soaking wet, Dave charge over, “You ass! I got kicked out for smacking that machine around for you and was stuck outside; outside in the mother-fuckin’ rain until the bouncer's shift changed over so I could sneak back in!”
“”S…raining?”
“What, my fucking wetsuit didn’t tip you off, hell yes it’s raining, you New Zealand asshole!”
“New Ze-oh.”
“Yeah. OH! And here I come in and you’re still picking up hot ass chicks! I should clock you on the other cheek so you have a matching set!”
“Oh, Dave, no this-this is Miss…this is Kelly. Adams. She’s…she’s a teacher.”
“Hey there, ‘sup, Wetty.”
“It’s Dave…and damn, she’s as drunk as you, huh…”
“I am,” Kelly cooed and took Dave’s arm, “Let me guess, you were helping ol’ sad sack Jimjam here and he was getting all the pussy, am I right?”
Dave blinked as he looked at her, then he said without missing a beat, “I love you.”
Kelly giggled, “Love you too, boy, but, yeah, you’re really not my type. I’m into girls.”
Dave blinked again, voice serious, “Marry me.”
Kelly laughed, shaking her head, “Not unless you get an operation…and even then, it’s a ‘no’. Can help you out though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Jemaine, you go get your boy, win him all romantic film style,” Kelly pushed Jemaine towards the door, then turned to Dave, “Me? I’m going to take Dave over to meet the girls I came to the bar with. They’re other teachers from my school. Lonely, horny, hetero teachers who could use a good lay.”
Dave looked increasingly happier, “Really?”
“Yup…here…here comes Miss Taylor now. Yo!” Kelly whistled, “Adelaide!”
A tall, buxom blonde woman with a very, very low cut, clinging top wandered over, she spoke in a very thick accent, “Oh, Mizz Adams! Ve vere so vorried.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it on the ‘v’s, honey…want you to meet a friend of mine…this here is,” Kelly looked at Dave, who was looking at Adelaide Taylor’s ample cleavage as if it was mesmerizing. She nudged him and he coughed out his name, “Dave.”
“Dave,” Kelly said again, “Yes, Dave he’s…he got in a fight. With his friend, Jemaine, guy just walked out on him - left him out in the rain.”
“Oh?! Really?!” she cooed.
“Huh?” Dave breathed and Kelly reached behind his arm, pinching him hard, he yelped then, thinking quickly and remembering Jemaine’s hangdog expression earlier, he mimed it, sobbing out, “Oh, yeah-yeah,” he sniffled, “Big fight…with my best friend…he hit me an-an-"
“Oh, oh, oh! You poor, poor zing!” Adelaide took Dave into her arms, shoving his head deep into her massive breasts. Jackpot.
On to Part 15