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vigorliTitle: All the King's Horses 5/?: Another Bored Meeting
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Being gay is not easy for two men in the small-town South of the late '80s.
Warnings: We're around PG-13 now but may go just about anywhere. AU. Some het content, not explicit. Real-life angst.
Disclaimer: This is complete fiction. The characters in this story are being "played" by certain real actors, but that's the only connection with reality. None of the characters is meant to be a real person.
A/N: Viggo as V. Michael Delany, aka Dr. D, middle school principal and sometime junior college English teacher; Sean Bean as Sean Baker, car salesman and horseman; Orlando as James Orlando Kennedy, newspaper reporter. Feedback would really be appreciated on this one.
Second Tuesday in October, 8:30 p.m.
An hour into the Hoffman City School Board meeting, Jamie Kennedy was daydreaming about ways to die. Simple boredom was the easiest, most obvious route, but he'd always hated being simple and predictable. Plus, how did you die from boredom, exactly, anyway?
His first thought had been to somehow develop a sudden and vicious case of allergy to cheap-ass alcohol-based cologne. Then he could be overcome by the apparent half-gallon of the crap worn by some woman in the folding chairs behind him, have his throat swell shut, fall over onto the floor and die gasping while these idiots tried to remember to call for help. With any luck, Cologne Woman would try to give him mouth-to-mouth and every molecule in his body would seize up on the spot and then he'd be gloriously free of this boring, boring, endlessly tedious meeting from hell.
It was honestly hard to believe that this meeting had only been going on for an hour. It seemed like at least five hours already, and all they'd done was discuss bus routes, gas prices, substitute teachers and a single transfer student. Oh, and accepted bids for sidewalks and awnings at the elementary school. Jamie's notepad held approximately two dozen words and traincar full of doodled graffiti.
The meeting probably wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been up until midnight last night watching "Lifeboat" on TV, and then got a call at 4 a.m. of a potential arson fire with a fatality. Since 4 a.m. he'd had time to grab a shower and some non-smoky clothes, wolf down donuts for breakfast and a burger for lunch, and four extra-strength Tylenol for supper. He'd wanted to drive all the way down to Hoffman to cover a fucking city school board meeting like he'd wanted to have his eyelids tattooed.
But here he was, because Joanne - she of the emergency gall bladder surgery - had heard a rumor that "something was up" for tonight's meeting. So far, all that was up was his bile.
The only thing even remotely interesting so far was the back of one man sitting at the board table on the end opposite the six board members. Three people sat down at that end: One of them had already proved to be a contractor, delivering his company's bids for the awning and sidewalk job in person, so Jamie figured the other two would end up having some business with the board as well. The vaguely interesting one had his back to the room, and therefore to Jamie, but it was a nice-looking back in a charcoal suit coat, blond-streaked light brown hair falling slightly onto the collar and tucked behind the ears. What caught Jamie's attention, actually, was that he was wearing boots with the nice suit, and not fancy polished embossed fake cowboy boots but worn, dusty ropers. The contrast was amusing.
God knew Jamie was desperately in need of some amusement. The board president, who had the thickest Southern drawl Jamie had ever heard - and he'd heard some doozies - started reading a proclamation from the state recognizing the accomplishments of the high school's health sciences students and their work with the elderly.
Kill me now, Jamie thought. Okay, if he held his pen just right and fell hard and fast straight down on the floor, maybe he could stab himself in the heart. Or he could swallow his tongue. He actually sat and thought about that for a while, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, trying to figure out how in the hell you'd go about doing that, anyway. Glancing at the front table, he realized one of the board members was staring at him in mild fascination, so he gave her a bright smile in return and abruptly jotted down a bunch of notes.
At 9:15, he was fighting to keep his eyes open when the board president finally reached the "More Business" part of the agenda.
"Now Ms. Charlotte Armstrong is here with several members of the...," the president paused to check the paper in his hand... "Caring Women of America and I believe they have some issue they'd like to discuss. Ms. Armstrong, if you would."
Jamie turned to look over his shoulder as one of the pod of women behind him stood, a sturdy blonde with epoxied hair, a white knitted sweater over a blue dress and what had to be a Bible clutched against her chest. Oh boy, Church ladies. Always good for entertainment.
"Yessir, Mr. Poss," Ms. Armstrong said in a clear, strong voice. "We're here tonight to protest the fifth-grade field trip to Witch Dance which is scheduled for October 24. We believe it is a sin against the Lord to force our innocent children to visit a place which glorifies witchcraft, especially during a time of year when Satan's forces are particularly strong in the world. We would like this field trip canceled for this year and from now on."
Jamie listened in fascination, jotting rapidfire notes.
"Well, now, I appreciate you sharing that viewpoint with us, Ms. Armstrong, ladies," the president said, then turned to the end of the table. "We've asked Dr. Delany to join us here tonight to see if we can work this out to everybody's satisfaction. Michael?"
The interesting back in the charcoal suit stood and turned to face the room and the meeting abruptly got far more intriguing to Jamie. Dr. Delany was one good-looking guy, with his cleft chin and cheekbones of doom and gorgeous blue eyes. Jamie was willing to bet that half the middle-school girls in this town had crushes on him. And - just a quick visual check - he wasn't wearing a wedding band. Didn't always mean anything, but it often did. Oh yeah.
"Evening Charlotte, Pam, Susan, the rest of you ladies," Michael said, his voice soft but carrying and an easy smile on his face. "I wish y'all had just come to see me about this instead of bothering the board. I'm sure we could've worked something out."
"We felt it was important that the board know, Mr. Delany," Armstrong said. "We didn't want anything covered up."
"Well, that's fine," Michael responded, unshaken, still smiling. "Let me just put this in context a little bit, and then propose how we can solve it. That work for y'all?"
The women nodded hesitantly, glancing toward Armstrong for their lead. When she nodded and sat tentatively back down, so did the rest.
Michael relaxed then, leaned lightly in the edge of the board table and slid his hands into his pockets. "Fifth grade classes have been taking a field trip to Witch Dance every year since the early '60s. The kids go out in school buses, with teachers and additional volunteer parent supervisors. They spend the morning taking the nature walks out there, which, if you've never taken them, you really should. They're well worth the time. After that we take them to the Nature Center and let them wander for a bit, then we have brown bag lunch, which we bring from the cafeteria. After lunch, a couple of Park Service people put on a presentation in the amphitheater. It varies from year to year. Last year, they had hawks. The kids loved it."
Jamie found himself mesmerized by that quiet voice, and he noted that the church ladies were just listening quietly as well.
"There's nothing remotely resembling witches or witchcraft about Witch Dance. I went to Witch Dance when I was in fifth grade. If you grew up here, you did, too. As far as I know, in 20-plus years of field trips to Witch Dance, not a single person has spontaneously become a witch or taken up dancing, although some took up dancing later."
A few of the board members chuckled and so did someone behind Jamie, a female voice, which rapidly got shushed.
"But why does it have to be now, around Halloween?" Armstrong asked, clearly scrambling for ground.
"Because that's when it fits best with the fifth grade science curriculum," Michael explained. "They're just wrapping up a segment on biology and this is a perfect mesh."
"So why Witch Dance? Why not some other science center?"
"Because Witch Dance is the only one we have around here that's within a single school-day bus trip, Charlotte. We can hardly take them to Memphis in one day. Or Birmingham."
"I still don't like it," Armstrong murmured.
"Do you know why Witch Dance is called Witch Dance?" Michael asked abruptly.
Armstrong and the other church women sat up straight. This they knew.. "Because it's the place where witches met, long ago, to dance naked under the full moon and practice their Satanic rituals," Armstrong said.
"Not even close," Michael said, almost wistfully. "In 1743 there was a small community at the site of Witch Dance, built on the side of the main road that passed through this part of the country. Traffic was fairly busy on the road, for the times, so the little community did all right. They had a store, an inn, a livery stable and a church. Well, one day a group of traveling performers came through the little town, on their way to New Orleans. That night, the performers put on a bit of a show for the locals, including some things that weren't seen too often this far out in the country. And after the show, as was often the case, some of the performers - the three women, in particular - were available for private entertainment."
Jamie gave a quick glance around, seeing the audience caught between interest in the story and wanting to be disgusted at it.
"Long story short, several members of the community decided those women were witches, and no matter what their fellow performers tried, they weren't able to save them. The three women were hanged as witches. And the term witch dance is slang for hanging witches, making them dance on air."
Michael abruptly looked tired, very tired. He stood away from the table and walked over in front of the group of women.
"If you don't want your children to be able to go on the field trip with their classmates, that's your decision and I'll certainly respect it. Just send me a note asking for them to be excused, and I'll give them all-day study hall that day. Fair enough?"
"I... we'll ... let you know," Armstrong said, trying to save face. Michael nodded and turned back to the table.
"Is that okay, Barry?"
"Sounds real fair to me, Michael," Poss said in that thick drawl. "And unless anybody else has anything, I'll call for a motion to adjourn."
While the board went through the motions, Michael Delany headed straight for the double doors and out. Jamie jumped up and trotted after him, calling out quietly.
"Dr. Delany? Excuse me..."
The blond turned just outside the doors and gave him a mildly curious look.
"Hi, I'm Jamie Kennedy from the Leader. Covering for Joanne this week. Wonder if I could talk to you for a minute?"
Michael studied him, then looked toward the outside doors wistfully, then back at him. "You better get the Caring Women of America first. They'll scatter. I'll wait out by my car." He sounded resigned.
"Great. Thanks. I won't be long."
-----
Michael took a long drag off a cigarette and dropped his hand down beside his leg out of habit. Smoking was a bad habit, one he wrestled with continually, and he sure as hell didn't need the church bats to see him out here smoking in the dark, but he just needed it. Yeah, what he needed was a couple of smokes, about three scotches, a good fuck and a long night's sleep, but he'd settle for his rationed single cigarette.
He leaned back against his car, the Anonymobile, Sean called it, and tried not to feel bleached out. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him lately; he was still too young to be having a mid-life crisis. Maybe he was having a breakdown. Or maybe he just needed to run more. Or watch more football on TV,
The sky was clear tonight. He'd parked far enough away from the majority of the cars that he was left unbothered as everyone scuttled into their individual shells and scurried away into the night. Another soothing lungful of smoke and he stared up at the stars, idly identifying the old familiar constellations as he waited. One thing he was inordinately good at was waiting.
"Maybe I should've been a waiter," he murmured to himself, and sent a crooked smile up toward the stars. With a quick glance around the parking lot to make sure no church ladies were in sight, he lodged the cigarette in his mouth for long enough to shrug out of his suit jacket, relieved to be free of the constriction. Opening the door behind his back, he tossed the jacket atop the briefcase in the passenger seat and bumped the door shut with his butt, leaning back against the car. He'd just gotten the cigarette dropped into its hiding position again when he heard footsteps and looked over one shoulder to see the reporter approaching.
"Thanks for waiting, Dr. Delany," the young man said as he trotted up, all dark curly hair and big brown eyes in the yellow glow of the streetlights.
"Michael, please." Michael stood away from the car and extended a hand. "Or Mike, if you prefer."
The handshake was firm, respectable. The reporter's hand was softer than Michael's, but he'd expect that. They were about the same height, which seemed surprising, somehow. The reporter had seemed shorter in that brief meeting in the board room. Odd.
"Michael, then," the young man said, getting his notepad and pen in hand. "Jamie Kennedy, as I said before. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about tonight's meeting."
"Certainly." Michael gave him the press smile, which he thankfully didn't have to use an awful lot. "Where's Joanne? She hasn't quit on us, has she?"
"Joanne? Nah. Gall bladder trouble. She had to have surgery, so a few of us are taking turns covering her beat. Just my luck I got tonight." Jamie flashed a bright white smile, and Michael abruptly felt a tickle that he almost never felt outside of a few very small, very quiet bars in Memphis. The tickle was followed by a backwash of fear that left him almost breathless for a heartbeat or two.
"Ah," he managed to say, feeling like a fool, and got a flicker of an odd look from the reporter.
"Well, umm... mostly I wanted to know if you knew in advance what was coming at the meeting tonight."
"No. I mean, I knew there was some sort of protest from a parent group, but I didn't know any specifics."
"You seemed awfully well prepared."
Michael shrugged, bringing up the nearly gone cigarette to take a short drag. "I know about Witch Dance. I know about all the field trips our kids take. It's my business to know." The cigarette hand had dropped back into hiding position automatically.
"Was all that true, about Witch Dance?"
He turned an amused look on the really far too attractive reporter. "It's pretty easy to check. I'd have to be stupid to lie."
Jamie laughed then, a short laugh but a real one, and ran his hand with the pen through his curls. "Hey, cut me some slack. I've had four hours of sleep since Monday morning. I'm legally braindead."
"That's what I like to hear. My precious First Amendment freedoms protected by braindead reporters." Michael allowed himself to grin just a little.
"Better a braindead print reporter than a stillborn TV reporter."
"Oh, ouch." Michael laughed. "Now that's cold."
"I'm reckless when sleepy." Jamie grinned in return.
"Anything else?"
"Horny as hell."
They both stood there for a moment, just listening to that echo back and forth between them. Why did he have to say that? Michael wondered. He's probably going home to his girlfriend and I'm going home to... my dog. Not comparable.
"That was out of line. I apologize," Jamie said. "I really am awfully tired."
"No problem." Michael took a deep breath, glanced down at the cigarette and saw that it was pretty much gone. Dropped it on the asphalt and ground it out with a toe. "Did you have any other questions?"
"Er... yes... Did you expect there to be any further fall-out from this protest?"
"I wouldn't think so, no. We'll respect the wishes of any parents who don't want their children to go on the field trip, and everybody will go as usual."
"Do you think this was a legitimate protest?"
"It's not my place to determine the legitimacy of someone else's conscience. People have to do what they have to do. As long as it doesn't break the law or harm the children, they're within their rights."
Jamie scribbled to get that quote correctly, then looked up. "Could I get the correct spelling of your name, please?"
Michael considered him for a moment, mulling on the tingle he'd felt and the "horny" comment, and made a reckless decision. "I can do better than that." Pulling his wallet, he slid out a school business card with his name as principal. "May I borrow your pen?" Jamie handed the pen over, watching with avid interest as Michael flipped the card over and jotted seven neat numbers in the lower back corner.
Michael handed pen and card out to Jamie. "I know sometimes you reporters need answers outside of regular work hours," he said quietly. Jamie took the pen and card, his fingertips touching Michael's for a heartbeat or two longer than necessary as each of them considered the other in silence. Then Michael turned away and opened his passenger door, popping the glove compartment and snagging a small cardboard packet. He closed everything and handed the packet to Jamie, who looked at it curiously.
"You look like you're about to fall asleep and it's a long drive back up to Blue Springs." Michael indicated the packet. "No-Doze, truck driver strength. They'll give you a good couple hours."
Jamie lifted an eyebrow. "Do a lot of late-night driving, do you?"
"Don't sleep well sometimes, but gotta be awake for the kiddies. And if you tell anybody I said that, I'll deny it. Got it?"
"Got it, and... thanks." Holding up the packet, Jamie smiled. "Nice to meet you, Michael."
"Nice meeting you, too, Jamie."
Jamie turned to head for his car, tearing the packet open as he went. Michael watched him walk away, thinking how godawful attractive that back view was, just like the front view had been. In a perfect world, he could have flirted. In a perfect world, they might be embarking on a slow dance of discovery that might end with... who knows what? In a perfect world... Shit. Shit. Shit.
Just... shit.
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Being gay is not easy for two men in the small-town South of the late '80s.
Warnings: We're around PG-13 now but may go just about anywhere. AU. Some het content, not explicit. Real-life angst.
Disclaimer: This is complete fiction. The characters in this story are being "played" by certain real actors, but that's the only connection with reality. None of the characters is meant to be a real person.
A/N: Viggo as V. Michael Delany, aka Dr. D, middle school principal and sometime junior college English teacher; Sean Bean as Sean Baker, car salesman and horseman; Orlando as James Orlando Kennedy, newspaper reporter. Feedback would really be appreciated on this one.
Second Tuesday in October, 8:30 p.m.
An hour into the Hoffman City School Board meeting, Jamie Kennedy was daydreaming about ways to die. Simple boredom was the easiest, most obvious route, but he'd always hated being simple and predictable. Plus, how did you die from boredom, exactly, anyway?
His first thought had been to somehow develop a sudden and vicious case of allergy to cheap-ass alcohol-based cologne. Then he could be overcome by the apparent half-gallon of the crap worn by some woman in the folding chairs behind him, have his throat swell shut, fall over onto the floor and die gasping while these idiots tried to remember to call for help. With any luck, Cologne Woman would try to give him mouth-to-mouth and every molecule in his body would seize up on the spot and then he'd be gloriously free of this boring, boring, endlessly tedious meeting from hell.
It was honestly hard to believe that this meeting had only been going on for an hour. It seemed like at least five hours already, and all they'd done was discuss bus routes, gas prices, substitute teachers and a single transfer student. Oh, and accepted bids for sidewalks and awnings at the elementary school. Jamie's notepad held approximately two dozen words and traincar full of doodled graffiti.
The meeting probably wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been up until midnight last night watching "Lifeboat" on TV, and then got a call at 4 a.m. of a potential arson fire with a fatality. Since 4 a.m. he'd had time to grab a shower and some non-smoky clothes, wolf down donuts for breakfast and a burger for lunch, and four extra-strength Tylenol for supper. He'd wanted to drive all the way down to Hoffman to cover a fucking city school board meeting like he'd wanted to have his eyelids tattooed.
But here he was, because Joanne - she of the emergency gall bladder surgery - had heard a rumor that "something was up" for tonight's meeting. So far, all that was up was his bile.
The only thing even remotely interesting so far was the back of one man sitting at the board table on the end opposite the six board members. Three people sat down at that end: One of them had already proved to be a contractor, delivering his company's bids for the awning and sidewalk job in person, so Jamie figured the other two would end up having some business with the board as well. The vaguely interesting one had his back to the room, and therefore to Jamie, but it was a nice-looking back in a charcoal suit coat, blond-streaked light brown hair falling slightly onto the collar and tucked behind the ears. What caught Jamie's attention, actually, was that he was wearing boots with the nice suit, and not fancy polished embossed fake cowboy boots but worn, dusty ropers. The contrast was amusing.
God knew Jamie was desperately in need of some amusement. The board president, who had the thickest Southern drawl Jamie had ever heard - and he'd heard some doozies - started reading a proclamation from the state recognizing the accomplishments of the high school's health sciences students and their work with the elderly.
Kill me now, Jamie thought. Okay, if he held his pen just right and fell hard and fast straight down on the floor, maybe he could stab himself in the heart. Or he could swallow his tongue. He actually sat and thought about that for a while, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, trying to figure out how in the hell you'd go about doing that, anyway. Glancing at the front table, he realized one of the board members was staring at him in mild fascination, so he gave her a bright smile in return and abruptly jotted down a bunch of notes.
At 9:15, he was fighting to keep his eyes open when the board president finally reached the "More Business" part of the agenda.
"Now Ms. Charlotte Armstrong is here with several members of the...," the president paused to check the paper in his hand... "Caring Women of America and I believe they have some issue they'd like to discuss. Ms. Armstrong, if you would."
Jamie turned to look over his shoulder as one of the pod of women behind him stood, a sturdy blonde with epoxied hair, a white knitted sweater over a blue dress and what had to be a Bible clutched against her chest. Oh boy, Church ladies. Always good for entertainment.
"Yessir, Mr. Poss," Ms. Armstrong said in a clear, strong voice. "We're here tonight to protest the fifth-grade field trip to Witch Dance which is scheduled for October 24. We believe it is a sin against the Lord to force our innocent children to visit a place which glorifies witchcraft, especially during a time of year when Satan's forces are particularly strong in the world. We would like this field trip canceled for this year and from now on."
Jamie listened in fascination, jotting rapidfire notes.
"Well, now, I appreciate you sharing that viewpoint with us, Ms. Armstrong, ladies," the president said, then turned to the end of the table. "We've asked Dr. Delany to join us here tonight to see if we can work this out to everybody's satisfaction. Michael?"
The interesting back in the charcoal suit stood and turned to face the room and the meeting abruptly got far more intriguing to Jamie. Dr. Delany was one good-looking guy, with his cleft chin and cheekbones of doom and gorgeous blue eyes. Jamie was willing to bet that half the middle-school girls in this town had crushes on him. And - just a quick visual check - he wasn't wearing a wedding band. Didn't always mean anything, but it often did. Oh yeah.
"Evening Charlotte, Pam, Susan, the rest of you ladies," Michael said, his voice soft but carrying and an easy smile on his face. "I wish y'all had just come to see me about this instead of bothering the board. I'm sure we could've worked something out."
"We felt it was important that the board know, Mr. Delany," Armstrong said. "We didn't want anything covered up."
"Well, that's fine," Michael responded, unshaken, still smiling. "Let me just put this in context a little bit, and then propose how we can solve it. That work for y'all?"
The women nodded hesitantly, glancing toward Armstrong for their lead. When she nodded and sat tentatively back down, so did the rest.
Michael relaxed then, leaned lightly in the edge of the board table and slid his hands into his pockets. "Fifth grade classes have been taking a field trip to Witch Dance every year since the early '60s. The kids go out in school buses, with teachers and additional volunteer parent supervisors. They spend the morning taking the nature walks out there, which, if you've never taken them, you really should. They're well worth the time. After that we take them to the Nature Center and let them wander for a bit, then we have brown bag lunch, which we bring from the cafeteria. After lunch, a couple of Park Service people put on a presentation in the amphitheater. It varies from year to year. Last year, they had hawks. The kids loved it."
Jamie found himself mesmerized by that quiet voice, and he noted that the church ladies were just listening quietly as well.
"There's nothing remotely resembling witches or witchcraft about Witch Dance. I went to Witch Dance when I was in fifth grade. If you grew up here, you did, too. As far as I know, in 20-plus years of field trips to Witch Dance, not a single person has spontaneously become a witch or taken up dancing, although some took up dancing later."
A few of the board members chuckled and so did someone behind Jamie, a female voice, which rapidly got shushed.
"But why does it have to be now, around Halloween?" Armstrong asked, clearly scrambling for ground.
"Because that's when it fits best with the fifth grade science curriculum," Michael explained. "They're just wrapping up a segment on biology and this is a perfect mesh."
"So why Witch Dance? Why not some other science center?"
"Because Witch Dance is the only one we have around here that's within a single school-day bus trip, Charlotte. We can hardly take them to Memphis in one day. Or Birmingham."
"I still don't like it," Armstrong murmured.
"Do you know why Witch Dance is called Witch Dance?" Michael asked abruptly.
Armstrong and the other church women sat up straight. This they knew.. "Because it's the place where witches met, long ago, to dance naked under the full moon and practice their Satanic rituals," Armstrong said.
"Not even close," Michael said, almost wistfully. "In 1743 there was a small community at the site of Witch Dance, built on the side of the main road that passed through this part of the country. Traffic was fairly busy on the road, for the times, so the little community did all right. They had a store, an inn, a livery stable and a church. Well, one day a group of traveling performers came through the little town, on their way to New Orleans. That night, the performers put on a bit of a show for the locals, including some things that weren't seen too often this far out in the country. And after the show, as was often the case, some of the performers - the three women, in particular - were available for private entertainment."
Jamie gave a quick glance around, seeing the audience caught between interest in the story and wanting to be disgusted at it.
"Long story short, several members of the community decided those women were witches, and no matter what their fellow performers tried, they weren't able to save them. The three women were hanged as witches. And the term witch dance is slang for hanging witches, making them dance on air."
Michael abruptly looked tired, very tired. He stood away from the table and walked over in front of the group of women.
"If you don't want your children to be able to go on the field trip with their classmates, that's your decision and I'll certainly respect it. Just send me a note asking for them to be excused, and I'll give them all-day study hall that day. Fair enough?"
"I... we'll ... let you know," Armstrong said, trying to save face. Michael nodded and turned back to the table.
"Is that okay, Barry?"
"Sounds real fair to me, Michael," Poss said in that thick drawl. "And unless anybody else has anything, I'll call for a motion to adjourn."
While the board went through the motions, Michael Delany headed straight for the double doors and out. Jamie jumped up and trotted after him, calling out quietly.
"Dr. Delany? Excuse me..."
The blond turned just outside the doors and gave him a mildly curious look.
"Hi, I'm Jamie Kennedy from the Leader. Covering for Joanne this week. Wonder if I could talk to you for a minute?"
Michael studied him, then looked toward the outside doors wistfully, then back at him. "You better get the Caring Women of America first. They'll scatter. I'll wait out by my car." He sounded resigned.
"Great. Thanks. I won't be long."
-----
Michael took a long drag off a cigarette and dropped his hand down beside his leg out of habit. Smoking was a bad habit, one he wrestled with continually, and he sure as hell didn't need the church bats to see him out here smoking in the dark, but he just needed it. Yeah, what he needed was a couple of smokes, about three scotches, a good fuck and a long night's sleep, but he'd settle for his rationed single cigarette.
He leaned back against his car, the Anonymobile, Sean called it, and tried not to feel bleached out. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him lately; he was still too young to be having a mid-life crisis. Maybe he was having a breakdown. Or maybe he just needed to run more. Or watch more football on TV,
The sky was clear tonight. He'd parked far enough away from the majority of the cars that he was left unbothered as everyone scuttled into their individual shells and scurried away into the night. Another soothing lungful of smoke and he stared up at the stars, idly identifying the old familiar constellations as he waited. One thing he was inordinately good at was waiting.
"Maybe I should've been a waiter," he murmured to himself, and sent a crooked smile up toward the stars. With a quick glance around the parking lot to make sure no church ladies were in sight, he lodged the cigarette in his mouth for long enough to shrug out of his suit jacket, relieved to be free of the constriction. Opening the door behind his back, he tossed the jacket atop the briefcase in the passenger seat and bumped the door shut with his butt, leaning back against the car. He'd just gotten the cigarette dropped into its hiding position again when he heard footsteps and looked over one shoulder to see the reporter approaching.
"Thanks for waiting, Dr. Delany," the young man said as he trotted up, all dark curly hair and big brown eyes in the yellow glow of the streetlights.
"Michael, please." Michael stood away from the car and extended a hand. "Or Mike, if you prefer."
The handshake was firm, respectable. The reporter's hand was softer than Michael's, but he'd expect that. They were about the same height, which seemed surprising, somehow. The reporter had seemed shorter in that brief meeting in the board room. Odd.
"Michael, then," the young man said, getting his notepad and pen in hand. "Jamie Kennedy, as I said before. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about tonight's meeting."
"Certainly." Michael gave him the press smile, which he thankfully didn't have to use an awful lot. "Where's Joanne? She hasn't quit on us, has she?"
"Joanne? Nah. Gall bladder trouble. She had to have surgery, so a few of us are taking turns covering her beat. Just my luck I got tonight." Jamie flashed a bright white smile, and Michael abruptly felt a tickle that he almost never felt outside of a few very small, very quiet bars in Memphis. The tickle was followed by a backwash of fear that left him almost breathless for a heartbeat or two.
"Ah," he managed to say, feeling like a fool, and got a flicker of an odd look from the reporter.
"Well, umm... mostly I wanted to know if you knew in advance what was coming at the meeting tonight."
"No. I mean, I knew there was some sort of protest from a parent group, but I didn't know any specifics."
"You seemed awfully well prepared."
Michael shrugged, bringing up the nearly gone cigarette to take a short drag. "I know about Witch Dance. I know about all the field trips our kids take. It's my business to know." The cigarette hand had dropped back into hiding position automatically.
"Was all that true, about Witch Dance?"
He turned an amused look on the really far too attractive reporter. "It's pretty easy to check. I'd have to be stupid to lie."
Jamie laughed then, a short laugh but a real one, and ran his hand with the pen through his curls. "Hey, cut me some slack. I've had four hours of sleep since Monday morning. I'm legally braindead."
"That's what I like to hear. My precious First Amendment freedoms protected by braindead reporters." Michael allowed himself to grin just a little.
"Better a braindead print reporter than a stillborn TV reporter."
"Oh, ouch." Michael laughed. "Now that's cold."
"I'm reckless when sleepy." Jamie grinned in return.
"Anything else?"
"Horny as hell."
They both stood there for a moment, just listening to that echo back and forth between them. Why did he have to say that? Michael wondered. He's probably going home to his girlfriend and I'm going home to... my dog. Not comparable.
"That was out of line. I apologize," Jamie said. "I really am awfully tired."
"No problem." Michael took a deep breath, glanced down at the cigarette and saw that it was pretty much gone. Dropped it on the asphalt and ground it out with a toe. "Did you have any other questions?"
"Er... yes... Did you expect there to be any further fall-out from this protest?"
"I wouldn't think so, no. We'll respect the wishes of any parents who don't want their children to go on the field trip, and everybody will go as usual."
"Do you think this was a legitimate protest?"
"It's not my place to determine the legitimacy of someone else's conscience. People have to do what they have to do. As long as it doesn't break the law or harm the children, they're within their rights."
Jamie scribbled to get that quote correctly, then looked up. "Could I get the correct spelling of your name, please?"
Michael considered him for a moment, mulling on the tingle he'd felt and the "horny" comment, and made a reckless decision. "I can do better than that." Pulling his wallet, he slid out a school business card with his name as principal. "May I borrow your pen?" Jamie handed the pen over, watching with avid interest as Michael flipped the card over and jotted seven neat numbers in the lower back corner.
Michael handed pen and card out to Jamie. "I know sometimes you reporters need answers outside of regular work hours," he said quietly. Jamie took the pen and card, his fingertips touching Michael's for a heartbeat or two longer than necessary as each of them considered the other in silence. Then Michael turned away and opened his passenger door, popping the glove compartment and snagging a small cardboard packet. He closed everything and handed the packet to Jamie, who looked at it curiously.
"You look like you're about to fall asleep and it's a long drive back up to Blue Springs." Michael indicated the packet. "No-Doze, truck driver strength. They'll give you a good couple hours."
Jamie lifted an eyebrow. "Do a lot of late-night driving, do you?"
"Don't sleep well sometimes, but gotta be awake for the kiddies. And if you tell anybody I said that, I'll deny it. Got it?"
"Got it, and... thanks." Holding up the packet, Jamie smiled. "Nice to meet you, Michael."
"Nice meeting you, too, Jamie."
Jamie turned to head for his car, tearing the packet open as he went. Michael watched him walk away, thinking how godawful attractive that back view was, just like the front view had been. In a perfect world, he could have flirted. In a perfect world, they might be embarking on a slow dance of discovery that might end with... who knows what? In a perfect world... Shit. Shit. Shit.
Just... shit.
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Date: 2005-03-27 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-27 07:04 pm (UTC)Rain
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Date: 2005-03-27 07:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-27 07:07 pm (UTC)Glad you're enjoying. ::grin::
Rain
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Date: 2005-03-27 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-27 07:09 pm (UTC)Thanks again for the encouragement!
Rain
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Date: 2005-03-28 11:50 am (UTC)I liked how Jamie noticed such a lot of things - a keen eye for detail that fits with his job as a reporter! And the meeting between he and Michael has left me wanting more of them. Michael's loneliness comes across very strongly.