vigorli

Author: zebraljb
Rating: up to NC17 eventually
Disclaimer: I'm SO making this up. I hope Orli isn't a dumbass like this.
Archived: by the amazing Stef @ http://www.angelfire.com/pa5/itsallgood

MY CONFESSION
Five

I have been wrong about you…thought I was strong without you…for so long nothing could move me…for so long nothing could change me…

Orlando did not sleep well that night. He listened all night for Sean’s return to the hotel room, but he finally fell asleep around three without hearing a sound. When he got up at eight, feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all, he wandered out into the living room and saw that Sean’s things were gone. Orlando sighed; knowing he had fucked up yet believing it really wasn’t his fault. They didn’t understand.

He stumbled to the kitchen and found yet another note on the fridge. “Well done, mate. You sure know how to make friends and influence people. I saw myself out. Have a nice life. Bean.”

“And then we have a conference call at Paramount around seven,” Robin said, and Orlando could hear her flip through her ever-present calendar. “I told them it would have to be quick; you have that black tie dinner at nine and even you, with your perfect everything, need time to gussy yourself up.”

“Fine,” Orlando said, propping his cell phone against his shoulder as he dug for his own calendar. He knew that many actors had Palm Pilots and Blackberries and other electronic ways of organizing their lives, but Orlando preferred a piece of paper and a pencil to batteries and a touch screen any day. It was something he had picked up from Viggo.

Viggo. Orlando glanced out of the limo’s tinted window and saw Viggo. Viggo’s name, actually, on the front of a store window. “A Study of Life: Paintings, Photography and Sculpture by Viggo Mortensen,” Orlando read out loud.

“What, Orlando? Did you get a script I don’t know about?” Robin snapped.

“Stop.” Orlando rapped on the glass separation between the back and front of the limo. “Stop the fucking car!”

“Orlando, what the hell…”

“I’ll call you back, Robin.” He snapped his phone shut and opened the back door as soon as the car rolled to a stop. He jammed his hat over his curls and hurried to the window with Viggo’s name on it.
“A Study of Life: Paintings, Photography and Sculpture by Viggo Mortensen.” On display at the Rose Gallery this week only,” Orlando read. “Hmm…didn’t know Viggo sculpted, too.” He thought for a moment. He was in town for the next three nights, and all three were booked by Robin. “Fuck,” he murmured, rubbing at his forehead as he returned to the car. Not that he wanted to see Viggo anyway.

Right?

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Orlando said, nodding to the secretary. She hung up the phone and everyone at the table looked at each other expectantly.

“We’re really looking forward to working with you, Mr. Bloom,” one of the producers said, reaching out to shake Orlando’s hand. “I’ll have the paperwork sent to your manager.”

“Actually,” Orlando said, “that won’t be necessary. Would you be able to fax it to me at my hotel? I’m in the area for the next few days…I’d be able to look it over immediately.”

The producers looked at each other. “Of course, Mr. Bloom…if that is what you’d like us to do. Usually we send…”

“I really don’t care what you usually do,” Orlando said arrogantly. “I’ll have the hotel manager call over with the number.”

“Very well,” the producer sighed. Orlando shook hands all around and strode out of the office. It was eight o’clock, and he was due to the black tie charity dinner at nine.

His driver was waiting out front, and he hopped in the back of the car. It sped to his hotel, and as the car pulled up to the curb the driver said, “I’ll be back in an hour, Mr. Bloom, to take you to the restaurant.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Orlando said, climbing out. The driver started to pull the car out of the valet lane, Orlando standing and staring after it. “WAIT!” Orlando yelled, running up and slapping the trunk lid. The hotel’s doormen stared at him as the tires screeched to a stop.

“Yes, Mr. Bloom?” The driver threw the car into park and yanked the door open.

“It’s not necessary. The car, I mean,” Orlando said.

“Sir?”

“I’ll get a ride. Myself. I’ll get there myself.” Orlando ran a hand through his curls. “I won’t need you again tonight. Have a good evening.”

“If that’s what you wish, Mr. Bloom. Have a good evening as well.” The driver was visibly relieved as he climbed back into the car and drove away.

The doorman held the door open upon Orlando’s approach. “Is there a problem, Mr. Bloom?”

“No,” Orlando said, stress starting to flow off his shoulders. “Not at all.”

“Mr. Bloom?” A hotel clerk hurried over. “A confidential fax for you. Also, the tailor called. Your tuxedo for the event has been delivered to your room.” She held out a small stack of paper.

“Thank you…Rebecca,” Orlando said, reading her nametag. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” she said, enthralled.

“I’m starving. Could you have a salad brought up? Along with some mineral water?”

“I thought you were going to a dinner…” she began, then caught herself. “None of my business. Of course, Mr. Bloom.”

“You heard about the charity event?” Orlando stopped walking.

“Everyone in town’s heard about that,” the clerk said, shrugging. “I’m just grateful it’s not in our hotel. It’s a real pain in the ass when…” she stopped herself and blushed.

“Stuck up celebrities keep you at their beck and call?” Orlando finished for her, blushing slightly himself.

“Uh…” Rebecca said, unsure of what to say. “It is nice to have all the famous people come through. I mean, I’ve lived in California all my life, right around this area, and I still feel myself starstruck now and then.” Orlando laughed and she realized how stupid she sounded. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bloom.
Please go on up and I’ll have your salad brought up in a moment.”

“Won’t you bring it up yourself?” Orlando asked with a charming smile.

“If…if you want,” Rebecca said nervously.

“I do. See you shortly.” Orlando turned on his heel, leaving the young woman to stare after him.

Rebecca knocked on Orlando’s door about twenty minutes later. “Hello, Rebecca. Thank you so much. I’m famished.” Orlando answered the door in a pair of black dress pants and a black wifebeater. “Please come in.”

“Where would you like this?” She shyly held up the tray.

“Anywhere,” Orlando said, giving a vague wave as he returned to the bedroom. She set the tray down on the closest flat surface. “So…what time are you off tonight, Rebecca?” He called.

“Uh, about eight-thirty,” she said.

“Good.” Orlando returned wearing a dark blue shirt over the wifebeater. “Here.”

Rebecca stared at the envelope in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Look and see,” he said impatiently. “I wonder where my black shoes are.” He returned to the bedroom.

Rebecca opened the envelope and found two tickets and security passes for the charity dinner. “Mr. Bloom…”

“Found them,” Orlando said triumphantly, returning to the living room with his shoes in one hand and a garment bag in the other. “I won’t be needing this.” He handed the bag to her. “Please return it with my thanks.”

“I’m not sure…”

“I won’t be going to the dinner. I see no reason to waste the tickets. I think it will be a good place to stargaze, don’t you?” He asked with a grin.

“You’re not giving these to me,” she stated, shocked.

“I think I am. Do you have a nice dress? Could you get a date?”

“I live with my boyfriend. He’s off tonight,” she said absently. “Mr. Bloom…”

“Take them and go. You’ll be late, and I have someplace to be,” he said.

“I…thank you. Thank you so much,” she whispered. “Good night, Mr. Bloom. I told them you weren’t that…good night,” she finished, darting back out the door.

Orlando sighed, grabbed his jacket and wallet, and left the suite as well.