vigorli

Title: Red
Author: Vogue (

vogirl78)
Rating: PG, for language
Pairing: Viggorli implied
Summary: Sequel to “Oops.” Viggo reacts to Orli’s soundbite.
Feedback: I *heart* it.
Disclaimer: Sure, I was there, saw everything. Didn’t get any photographic evidence, though, maybe because THIS IS FICTION!
Archive: My site, BOV, Vigorli, Carefully Kissed, Vigorlean Cult, Mirrormere. All others ask and ye shall receive.
Beta: Are you kidding?

EDIT: Author's Note: Part Two of the 3-part "Premiere" series.

****

Hmmm. Rich, earthy brown. Yes. Right here. Nope, shit. Still not right. This painting is starting to take on the personality and texture of mud. Damn. Leave it alone. Just leave it alone for now.

I rinse off the brush and set it down, sighing as I do so. The smell of turpentine must be getting to me. I need to step back for a while. Maybe a sienna color would work. What time is it? Oh, it’s almost ten. Exene will be here soon to pick up Henry. Let’s see, anything I haven’t done? Make sure he packs enough clothes for school. Presents for his teachers. Don’t forget that. Shit, is it almost Christmas already? Not going to think about Christmas alone. Not sienna. Orange, maybe? It would have to be dark. His camera, make sure he brings his camera.

I walk out of the studio and breathe in the relatively fresh air of the living room. Wow. I must have been in there for a while. Let’s see . . . yeah. Two hours, almost. Man.

Okay, this kitchen is a mess. Jesus, Henry, can’t you pick up after yourself? It’s just a cereal box, for Chrissake. Simple. Fold bag, tuck in flap, put in cabinet, close door. Not that difficult. Oh, yeah . . . that’s my coffee cup, isn’t it? Good, Viggo, why don’t you bitch about Henry some; after all, your own housekeeping skills are so very exemplary. Hello, pot? This is kettle.

Black, my subconscious supplies. But wait, no. Black would be way too much. The doorbell rings, interrupting my silent exchange and I almost drop the mug into the sink. Getting jumpy in your old age, ranger. I look out the window - that would be Exene’s car. “Come in,” I yell.

The door opens and I hear Exene in the front hall. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen,” I call.

She walks in, twirling her keys around her index finger. “Wow, this kitchen is a mess.”

“Hello to you too, Christine,” I drawl, knowing how it irks her to be called by her given name. “Henry!”

“Coming, Dad,” he calls from upstairs. I hear the slam of his bedroom door, followed by the sound of buffalo stampeding as he descends the stairs with all the poise and grace of your average teenager. I smile, thinking about how much I’m going to miss his presence over the coming weeks.

Exene saunters over to where I’m washing dishes, smirking the whole way. “Read an article about you.”

“Oh really? That’s interesting.” Wow, that is completely uninteresting. Maybe purple. I haven’t tried a cool color. Maybe that’s what it needs, a cool color.

“Yeah, Premiere. The Hero Returns.” She puts down her keys and begins helping me put away bowls. “You’re a hero now.” The singsong quality of her voice is irritating, which is unusual. She often teases me, but not typically in this manner.

“I guess so,” I mumble, not liking this subject matter at all. Purple wouldn’t be right, exactly. Why is this so hard? Blue? A deep blue?

“Oh, come on Viggo, don’t get all humble on me. You mean you haven’t read it?”

“Not really interested.” Why are you? Blue would just melt into the background. Not gonna work.

“Well, then you missed some great comments from your co-stars.” The smirk on her face was now reminiscent of some predatory jungle animal, closing in for the kill.

“Exene, what are you talking about?” I’m suddenly uneasy, wondering if maybe I should have read it. What was said? Who said it? Should I worry? I brush this thought aside as my son enters the room. “Henry, you’ve got your clothes for school?”

“Yeah, Dad, got them right here in my bag.”

“Camera?”

“Yep.”

“What about - “

“The presents for my teachers, yeah, I got ‘em.” He smiles at me. “Dad, stop worrying. I have everything I need. I made a list.”

“Good.” I turn to Exene. “Something I need to know?”

“Mmm.” She smiled in a lazy, almost satisfied way. “Read for yourself.”

“I don’t have a copy of it.”

She looks at me as though I’ve grown an extra head. I know that she wishes for the kind of fame this movie has brought, and doesn’t understand why I shun it. I really couldn’t explain it myself.

“You don’t have a copy of it.” Her voice is incredulous, but she recovers herself quickly. “I think I have my copy in the car. I’ll let you borrow it.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I concentrate on grabbing Henry’s extra bag and leading everyone out of the kitchen and outside. Exene opens the door to her car and pulls out the magazine, handing it to me with a flourish.

“Enjoy.” She’s grinning openly now, watching me as I say goodbye to Henry and he gets in the car.

I look up to meet her gaze. “Enjoy what?”

“Enjoy,” she repeats, ducking into the car and starting it, backing out of the driveway and leaving me staring after them, pages clutched loosely in my left hand.

****

Okay, all thoughts of the painting are now officially gone. I look down at the glossy cover of Premiere, wondering what could have possibly elicited this reaction from Exene. It can’t have been that bad, or she wouldn’t be teasing me about it. We may gripe at each other, but we don’t wish each other ill. What then? I open the magazine, finding the article and skimming through it.

I slowly begin to ease up as I read. I have to laugh at this author’s take on the Subway incident. Queers, that girl said. God, that was random. Did we look like a couple to her, standing in line for sandwiches? Maybe I just exude that gay look. I snort. Yeah, that gay cowboy look. More likely it was the reporter, wearing his ‘big-city’ garb to a fast-food restaurant in the middle of Montana.

Let’s see, a quote. Where are the quotes? Ah, here we go. Don Phillips, he’d never say anything uncomplimentary. They dug up Diane Lane? Hmm. PJ, of course. None of this is bad. None of this is even particularly noteworthy. I continue to skim through, wondering what all the fuss is about, and I’m almost to the end of the article before I see it.

Okay, they got Orli. He’s talking about that night in New Zealand. It shocked the hell out of me that he came, let me tell you. Not that I was complaining . . . I had been hard-pressed to keep my reaction to just normal levels when I’d talked to him. Of course, Orli has to be at every party. I think if Liv threw a party in the wilds of Africa he’d jump on a plane and be there in a minute to hang out with his “mates.” I read through his recounting of the tale, smiling in memory.

Then . . . whoa. That last line hits me like a ton of bricks. “I can’t believe how much this is gonna make me sound like I’m in love with the guy.” I read that last line over and over, mouthing the words as I follow them on the page.

Whoa.

Ten million different emotions immediately flame into being in my stomach, rendering me completely immobile. My breath catches in my throat.

“I can’t believe how much this is gonna make me sound like I’m in love with the guy.”

Now it comes to me. The perfect color, the one I’ve been looking for. I’d recognize it anywhere as it slowly creeps up my face.

Red.

THE END

...or is it? Stay tuned for Part Three of the "Premiere" series, entitled "Premiere." Coming soon!