Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2013-06-27 12:19 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2013-06-27 12:19 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News | ensemble | PG-13 | Shout*For, chapter 11
Title: Shout*For, chapter 11: Lion's Den
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Jimmy+Tina Fey, Olivia+Kristen, Tucker, cameos, OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Lots of stalking and/or predatory adults.
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Stephen gets shipped off to Vancouver for a few days, Tina Fey joins the madhouse that is the Shout*For studio, Jon dodges his aunt's friends, and Olivia discovers that the territory where she can hang out without a bodyguard has gotten even narrower.
Some Jimmy & Tina clips: abducted by aliens; singing (badly); Jimmy praising Tina.
California, early morning.
Stephen flitted his hand over the top of his aquarium, dropping a trail of food into the water, and counted the fish as they zipped up to nab their share. Pluto, Perdita, Copper, Lady, Slinky, Zero, Max: the gang was all here. (Most of them were multicolored tetras, although Perdita was a Dalmatian molly, obviously.) He'd been given his first fish after being told he wasn't allowed to get a puppy, named it Bruno after the dog from Cinderella, and stuck with the pattern ever since.
"I don't want you guys to worry while I'm away, okay?" he told them, as blue-and-white-striped Max and black-finned golden Copper fought over a nibble. "The automatic feeder's all set up, and Consuela will check in on you every day, and I will be back before you know it."
"Stephen!" called his father from the hall. "Aren't you packed yet, boy?"
"I'm packed!" yelled Stephen. He beamed at the fish for a moment longer, then grabbed his suitcase and his third favorite messenger bag. (He wasn't going to take either of the Louis Vuitton ones to Canada.) "I was just saying goodbye to the fish," he explained once he was at Papa's side.
"They'll still be here when you get back," his father reminded him.
"Yes, sir." Stephen knew that. It had been ages since Papa had threatened to dump them out on the driveway if he didn't behave on-set.
It was grey and almost cool outside, the grass still dew-sheened from the night. The car that would take him to LAX was already waiting; the driver took Stephen's suitcase. Stephen kept a pointed hold on the messenger bag.
He tried to squint through the tinted windows to see if Ned was already there, only to have Papa get his attention with firm hands on his shoulders. "Remember, even if it's a small part, that's no excuse to be a slacker. You keep up that character every minute you're on camera."
"I will."
"And don't make fun of the Canadians. They can't help where they're from."
"I'll be a perfect gentleman," Stephen assured him.
Papa nodded. "And, son...I saw the photos of your outing with young Lisa a few weeks back."
"I was a perfect gentleman there too!" exclaimed Stephen. Now, as long as Papa didn't ask what he'd been with Jon last night....
"I'm sure you were," said Papa, with...an edge of disapproval? (That couldn't be right. Did he want Stephen to get involved in a sex scandal?) "Reason I bring it up is...seems like a shame, your PR people have to go to the trouble of hunting down rentable dogs for things like these."
Stephen caught his breath. Papa couldn't mean...Could he?
"Why don't you take a look at breeds in your down time," his father continued, "and if you do America proud while you're up there, when you get back we can make a few calls, see what the puppy market looks like."
"I will do America so proud," said Stephen fervently, hugging his bag. "Canada won't know what hit it."
"That's my boy." For a second Stephen thought he might get a hug himself, but Papa just patted him on the shoulder before nodding him to the car, where the driver was patiently holding open his door.
It turned out Ned wasn't there yet. Stephen buckled himself in alone, then settled the messenger bag across his lap as a pre-emptive defense measure before pulling out his phone.
~*~
It was probably for the best that Stephen wasn't physically present at the studio, since Jon was over the moon enough just thinking about him.
He barely registered the schedule laid out in the morning meeting. He kept coming in low on his voice practice, to the point where Madeline went back to running him through basic vocal exercises to make sure she had a handle on where his range was these days. When the cast of the latest episode (with Craig reading for Stephen) was sitting down for a table read, he introduced himself to the new girl, only to have Tucker roll his eyes and Jimmy gently point out that Jon had already met Tina Fey that morning.
"Nah, it's okay," said Tina, waving away Jon's stammered apologies. "I'm pretty forgettable."
In the seat next to her, Jimmy shook his head. "You are not! Goodness knows I've tried."
Jon did a double-take. Far from being upset, though, Tina's eyes were sparkling. "Next time the aliens beam you up," she replied, "ask for a mindwipe."
Okay, that was less of a relief. Jon had always gotten the impression Jimmy was the sanest person in Shout*For. "Sorry," he interrupted, "the what now?"
He was even more gobsmacked when Tucker said, "The aliens. It happened like twenty times. Got really overdone after a while, but I guess kids like things predictable."
Now Jon was just staring.
Tina bit her lip. "Guys," she stage-whispered to Jimmy, "I don't think he's seen the show."
"Okay, so I'm getting that you two know each other," hazarded Jon, looking from Jimmy to Tina. Which meant this had to be some inside joke. Right?
"You must be even more zoned out than you look," said Jimmy sympathetically. "Or maybe it isn't clicking because you didn't know me back then? Here, let's jog your memory."
He nodded to Tina and sat up straight, squaring his shoulders, and folded his hands on the table. Tina automatically did the same, their bodies angled slightly toward each other but their faces looking forward.
"Good night..." began Jimmy.
"...and have a pleasant tomorrow!" finished Tina.
Jon held up his hands in surrender. "I swear, I have no idea what the hell you guys are talking about."
"I told you he hadn't seen the show," Tina admonished Jimmy, before finally giving Jon a straight answer. "Look, you know Professional Important News with Demetri Martin? Kid-friendly take on current events plus lots of cross-promotion for whatever the company's doing next?"
"You have to know that one," added Jimmy. "We were on it."
"With you so far," Jon assured them.
"Great!" said Tina. "Well, before that, the show that did basically the same thing was Weekend Update. Me and Jimmy were the co-hosts. Jimmy being kidnapped by aliens was a running gag, because it was really easy to put on some lights and set up the mechanism that lifted him out of the chair, and the audience always loved it."
"Thank you," said Jon with a sigh. Now he could stop being horrified that his bandmates had been conspiracy theorists this whole time without him noticing. "Um, was Stephen involved, or...?"
"Stephen was doing That's So Rachel most of those years, wasn't he?" asked Tina.
Jimmy nodded. "Did you see that, Jon? With Stephen playing Rachel Maddow's little brother?"
"Doesn't ring a bell," said Jon with an uncomfortable shrug.
It wasn't easy, trying to wrap his head around the idea that Jimmy and Stephen had done major projects that didn't involve each other. Jon hadn't thought in much detail about their lives before they'd met him, but he'd always had the vague impression that they'd spent almost a decade joined at the hip. And now he found out Jimmy had another friend that he could settle effortlessly into a rhythm with. Sure, Tina looked remarkably like a girl version of Stephen, but that didn't make it any less jarring.
"I really thought everyone our age had..." Jimmy was saying, almost mournfully. "You know, at least caught an episode here and there."
"Listen, I'm sure you two were great on it," stammered Jon. Stephen would have had a better idea of what to say to make him feel better. But Stephen wasn't here, and Tina patting him on the back only seemed to go so far. "I never watched a lot of Disney Channel, that's all."
"Not cool enough for you?" asked Tucker dryly.
"The hell is your problem?" demanded Jon. "We didn't have cable half the time, you dick."
(Tina looked mildly scandalized. "They're always like this," Jimmy explained in an undertone.)
"And you couldn't even be bothered to look at your friends' Wikipedia pages and get a retroactive clue about what they've worked on?" replied Tucker, without giving an inch. "No wonder Stephen dumped you as a friend."
"That was a misunderstanding!" said Jimmy quickly. "Jon's been un-dumped. Re-friended. Taken Off Notice."
Tucker shrugged. "So Stephen has the attention span of a mayfly. We already knew that. The point still stands."
Jon had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping something about how it had been in Stephen's mouth, and his knowledge of That's So Rachel had not been a prerequisite. Mercifully, Craig chose that moment to call them all to order, forcing Jon to detach from the real world and pay some kind of attention to the TV one.
~*~
Studio on the CW lot, Vancouver, British Columbia.
The information about Wigfield that Stephen had found online couldn't seem to agree whether it was a heartwarming small-town drama, a biting piece of social satire, or a dark comedy. After several hours on the set in the midst of its actors, he was just as confused as the Internet was.
They were filming the season's two-part finale, in which the residents of Wigfield finally came together to carry off a parade honoring the history and culture of their town. One of the floats, meant to carry the ragtag school choir and its plucky teacher, had broken down at the last minute, and Stephen played the student who jumped up and made a Dramatic Speech about how they couldn't lose heart, then burst into song to remind them that the power of music would carry them through. The fact that he had never once been on the show before didn't seem to matter. Either it was a clever joke that interacted with the atmosphere of the series in a way Stephen didn't get, or the director wasn't big on continuity.
While they were running through the blocking in casual clothes, Stephen broke off after the first line of his Dramatic Speech. "Sorry, I'm still not sure how I'm supposed to be playing this," he said. "Am I totally earnest? Do I give it, like, a comedy spin, maybe go over-the-top with the emphasis? Am I confident this is going to work, or freaking out and making this last-ditch desperate effort to —"
"What you were doing is fine!" called the director. "Keep doing that!"
What Stephen had been doing was flailing in confusion and letting his delivery waver all over the place. He didn't see how that could be right.
Everything had been straightforward when filming The Princess And The Pop Star. To say nothing of the Shout*For series, where Craig always knew exactly what he wanted and snapped when anyone (Jon, mostly) went a toe out of line. Why couldn't Wigfield be that easy? Why wouldn't someone just tell him what to do? If he guessed and got it wrong — if he screwed the whole thing up, if Papa was disappointed —
"Stephen? You still with us?"
"Just getting into character!" stammered Stephen, mind racing. He could start with what came most naturally to him, and work his way up to the more difficult approaches if the easy ones got rejected. Start by just...being himself. Speaking from an absolute understanding of how the world worked, without bothering to put a lot of thought behind it. "Okay, I've got it. Cue me."
And even if the director sent it to air without caring whether it was good, Stephen knew at least Jon would like it.
~*~
Back in LA, afternoon, uptown.
"Don't look now," murmured Kristen over the display of thousand-dollar earrings, "but I think the guy with the sunburn is following us."
Great. Olivia had been planning on a nice, quiet afternoon of looking at pretty jewels and flashy handbags. And Kelly Van Susteren was supposed to be high-end enough that she wouldn't need Lonny trailing after her, ready to casually intimidate people who didn't respect a celebrity's personal space. "How long?" she asked, studying a necklace with chains of dark orange stones held by a big gold clasp.
"I dunno. Maybe ten minutes? I was checking Twitter for a while there, so it could be longer."
Olivia scanned the store over Kristen's shoulder. There was a gentleman in the store's crisp uniform about twenty feet down. "Security at two o'clock," she said. "Grab 'em, will you?"
Kristen nodded and swished off, the folds of the pearly grey skirt she'd worn today rippling over her legs. Olivia took a breath, made sure her hair was smoothed back, and turned.
Past a couple of designer scarf displays stood a middle-aged white guy with a terrible haircut. He was wearing sunglasses, a black jacket, and a shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing that the sunburn on his face went some distance down his chest. Olivia wondered if he had tan lines left by the glasses. He seemed like the type. "Hello there!" she said, brightly, closing the distance between them.
The guy started, but recovered quickly. "Why, if it isn't Lisa Munn! I'm —"
"Did you want an autograph?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Because I accept cash," said Olivia, "but no checks, and definitely no credit cards. And you have to provide your own pen."
"Maybe in a little bit," said the guy, scrabbling to regain control of the conversation. "Any truth to the rumors you have an alcohol problem?"
It was Olivia's turn to be thrown. "What the fuck."
"Not language we're used to hearing from a star with such a clean image!" said the lone paparazzi aggressor, and, oh, great, he was holding a phone and probably had the camera rolling. "Anything in particular getting you down? Boyfriend troubles, maybe?"
"Look, if you want an interview, you really should've talked to my agent," said Olivia. "Might even have granted the request if you'd done it before you started following me around while I'm shopping."
"The dog you two have been seen with. Why is it never around any other —"
"Are you having any trouble, miss?" interrupted a clear female voice, from a woman also in the burgundy vest and sharply ironed pants of an employee, plus the tie of a manager.
Olivia nodded at the guy with the phone. "He's harassing me. Probably filming illegally, too."
Three more employees appeared out of nowhere, just as neatly pressed but notably taller than their colleagues. "Sir, we're going to need you to come with us," said the tallest icily.
"All I was doing was asking the young lady a few questions," the guy replied, with an oily smile. "But if you don't want my business, I'm happy to leave."
"Mmhmm. We're going to need to talk to you for a few minutes first. And take a look at that phone."
The guy considered this for a few seconds, then bolted.
Olivia threw herself to the left just in time to avoid being knocked over. The stalker hit the carpet and was tackled by security an instant later, while she fell back into one of the scarf displays. Arms wrapped around her from behind — "It's just me!" hissed Kristen as Olivia started to struggle.
"Please accept my sincere regret for this incident," said the manager who had first interrupted them, interposing herself between Kristen and Olivia and the man who was now thrashing on the carpet, yelling something about his first amendment rights. "On behalf of all of us at Kelly Van Susteren, I would like to —"
"Just get us out of here," said Olivia faintly.
"Why did you go talk to him?" hissed Kristen, arm around Olivia's waist as the manager led them into her office. "They would have gotten him anyway! You should have stayed out of the way!"
"He could have taken off," said Olivia. "Had to keep him talking while security got there."
"And what if he'd grabbed you right when you went up to him, huh?"
"Well, he didn't!" protested Olivia.
"But he could have!"
They sank onto one of a row of matching, expensive, stiff couches. "We will of course be providing both you girls with complimentary gift cards," the manager was saying. "Can I offer you anything to drink? Water? Tea?"
"Bourbon," said Olivia flatly.
"Of course," said the manager.
"She's kidding!" exclaimed Kristen. This was followed by a horribly fake-sounding laugh. "She's such a kidder, aren't you, Lisa? Ha ha ha! Water for both of us."
"And then can you give us a few minutes?" added Olivia. "I need to call my bodyguard."
"Naturally, naturally. Take as much time as you need."
As soon as she was out of the room, Kristen said, "Promise me you won't do that again."
Olivia managed to fumble her phone out of her shoulder bag, but her hands were shaking too much to dial. "Which one? Say hi to aggressive paparazzi, or ask for a drink from someone who's desperate to please me so I won't sue her store?"
"Both!"
"Okay, okay. I promise."
"Pinky swear," ordered Kristen.
Olivia obediently locked pinkies with her. "I'll do you one better. I swear it on my fabulous manicure."
Some of the tension went out of Kristen. It was bleeding away from Olivia too, the adrenaline rush dying down and leaving her drained and fuzzy.
"You really worry about me, don't you," she continued, turning the linked fingers into holding hands.
"How can I not?" huffed Kristen, with weary affection. "You're crazy. And half the time you don't even have me around to look out for you."
"Maybe I should go into animation too," said Olivia. "Less people recognize your face. And it's way lighter on the travel."
Kristen tugged her hand away. "You don't have to give up your dreams or anything," she said, straightening the bow that looped around the waistline of her dress. "Just, you know, maybe let Lonny do what they pay him all that money to do."
"Okay, okay. Calling him now."
~*~
Muffled laughter and the clink of cocktail glasses greeted Jon as he slipped into the house. Aunt Ruth was having one of her parties. (Book clubs, she called them, but as far as Jon could tell they were mostly about drinking and gossip and not once mentioning a book.)
He made his way upstairs as quietly as possible. Normally he'd let his aunt know he was home, but he didn't feel brave enough tonight to face down a pack of bored middle-aged women with too much money, some of whom were always trying to pinch his cheeks and tell him what a sweet boy he was, and some of whom were always trying to pinch, well, technically also his cheeks. He'd come across a fair amount of cougar videos that started like that. It wasn't nearly as hot when it was actually happening to you.
Between a movie nights, pool parties, and excursions for smoothies and pie, Jon had gotten used to not being around at all on party nights. But Stephen was out of town, Jimmy was spending the afternoon catching up with Tina, and he would feel like an intruder hanging out with Olivia and Kristen alone.
Safely ensconsed in his room, Jon tried to remember what he'd done in his free time before he'd had friends.
He flipped through his shelf of video games, only to find that he'd finished all the single-player ones and none of them looked worth replaying. There was always going to be fresh porn on the Internet, but as he woke up his laptop he found himself strangely un-hopeful. He wasn't worried about it bothering Stephen — if anything, Stephen would probably appreciate Jon doing a little research, getting ideas for things two guys could do other than kissing that fell into "allowed before marriage" territory. It was just that, when you got right down to it, there was only so much you could jerk off....
Had he seriously just thought that?
Jon buried his head in his hands. Good god, what was Stephen doing to him?
~*~
When Ned rendezvoused with Stephen after the rehearsal had wrapped up, Stephen was still chatting with a couple of the regulars. "I know you were worried there, Steve, but what you did with the speech was great," the actress who'd played the music teacher told him. "You really nailed it."
Stephen was so pleased that he didn't even correct her about being called 'Steve'. "I guess it just comes naturally to me," he said, modestly playing down his triumph. "By the way, where's good to eat around here?"
"Don't worry about that," said Ned before she could answer. "We've got food taken care of," he informed Stephen, hand resting on the small of his back to guide him away. "Come on, buddy, time to clear out of here."
Stephen waved to his fellow actors and let Ned lead him out to a waiting car. He was starting to feel good about having come here after all. The people were nice, it was fun to make your own creative decisions once you got over being terrified that they would get you in trouble, and Ned had yet to do a single thing that creeped him out. Maybe he should do this more often.
"So, where are we having dinner?" he asked as their ride pulled away.
"The hotel has lovely room service," Ned informed him.
Stephen made a face, then peered through his tinted window at the lights of Vancouver. "Are the restaurants in Canada really that terrible?"
"Stephen, Stephen, Stephen." Ned squeezed his thigh. "This is why you don't do your own planning."
"I did already know about the poutine," said Stephen defensively. "I was prepared to work around that."
"It isn't about the food, buddy, it's about the company. Remember the photographers at LAX this morning?"
Stephen frowned. "There are always photographers at LAX." He'd grinned at them the way he always did. The only one of the band who rarely managed to look happy when the photos hit the Internet was Jon, which was just as well, given that he was The Broody One and all.
"And when you're traveling with the band, you have Killer around to keep them from getting too enthusiastic." (Killer was the band's bodyguard, and a fantastically scary one. He made Stephen nervous, and Stephen was the one he was looking out for. It didn't help that Stephen had never heard him say a word.) "We didn't bring any security, and this isn't Hollywood. Not a lot of places prepared to deal with a star of your caliber."
"We should've brought Killer!" exclaimed Stephen. All this time he'd focused on trying to get out of the trip, he hadn't even thought about trying to get someone else to come along. Why hadn't Jon come up with that idea? Sure, Stephen hadn't told him the real problem, but that didn't mean he couldn't have thought of a real solution.
"I know, I know you love the attention." Ned rubbed his leg in a comforting gesture. "I'll try to make it up to you once we're back in the room."
~*~
When Lonny finally arrived at the Kelly Van Susteren, he was accompanied by a man Olivia vaguely recognized from her legal team, who interrogated both her and Kristen about whether they'd signed any waivers or releases or merchandise or body parts or anything at all (they hadn't). That done, he moved on to a discussion with the store manager.
"You girls don't need to stay around for this," Lonny assured them. "Where were you planning to go next?"
Olivia couldn't even remember. "Let's just go home," she said. They could use their gift cards some other time.
"Amen," agreed Kristen. "You brought a car, right?"
Lonny had. "Anything else you need from me, let me know," he said, he and Kristen flanking Olivia as they made their way through the now-cleaned-up store and down to the parking lot.
Olivia felt better just having him around. Lonny was about three times her mass, and his nice casual suit didn't hide the fact that it was mostly muscle; so far nobody had bothered her when he was around. He was also a pleasant conversationalist, but at the moment Olivia didn't feel like talking to anyone she didn't know as well as Kristen.
As they settled into the back of the car, Kristen said, "By the way, when you feel up to it, take a look at unicorngirl18."
Olivia agreeably poked through her browser app, bringing up the address of Stephen's secret Tumblr. She was greeted by a gifset of unspeakably adorable puppies, tagged "schnoodles", which was either the name of the breed or onomatopoeia for what the tagger wanted to do with them. "Ooh, these are too cute. I'd get one."
"Huh?" Kristen peered over her shoulder. "No, no, that must be a newer post. Scroll down a little."
Olivia scrolled past half a dozen more dog photo posts, including (if the tags were right) Toy Australian Shepherds, King Charles Spaniels, Pomeranians, and a couple of Chinese Imperials with their fur ponytailed over the tops of their heads using some truly hideous bows.
And then the puppies gave way to a string of hipster graphics, cutsey text over soft-focus photos of pretty white teenagers: Stephen had gone on a serious reblogging streak through Things Boys Do We Love. His selection included such profound phrases as "when boys have a cute laugh" and "when boys love animals" and "when boys have curly hair" and...and, uh, "when boys play guitar"...and, with startling specificity, "when boys have blue eyes and dark hair".
In spite of the trainwreck her afternoon had been, Olivia started giggling. At least someone she cared about was having a good day.
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Jimmy+Tina Fey, Olivia+Kristen, Tucker, cameos, OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Lots of stalking and/or predatory adults.
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
Stephen gets shipped off to Vancouver for a few days, Tina Fey joins the madhouse that is the Shout*For studio, Jon dodges his aunt's friends, and Olivia discovers that the territory where she can hang out without a bodyguard has gotten even narrower.
Some Jimmy & Tina clips: abducted by aliens; singing (badly); Jimmy praising Tina.
Stephen flitted his hand over the top of his aquarium, dropping a trail of food into the water, and counted the fish as they zipped up to nab their share. Pluto, Perdita, Copper, Lady, Slinky, Zero, Max: the gang was all here. (Most of them were multicolored tetras, although Perdita was a Dalmatian molly, obviously.) He'd been given his first fish after being told he wasn't allowed to get a puppy, named it Bruno after the dog from Cinderella, and stuck with the pattern ever since.
"I don't want you guys to worry while I'm away, okay?" he told them, as blue-and-white-striped Max and black-finned golden Copper fought over a nibble. "The automatic feeder's all set up, and Consuela will check in on you every day, and I will be back before you know it."
"Stephen!" called his father from the hall. "Aren't you packed yet, boy?"
"I'm packed!" yelled Stephen. He beamed at the fish for a moment longer, then grabbed his suitcase and his third favorite messenger bag. (He wasn't going to take either of the Louis Vuitton ones to Canada.) "I was just saying goodbye to the fish," he explained once he was at Papa's side.
"They'll still be here when you get back," his father reminded him.
"Yes, sir." Stephen knew that. It had been ages since Papa had threatened to dump them out on the driveway if he didn't behave on-set.
It was grey and almost cool outside, the grass still dew-sheened from the night. The car that would take him to LAX was already waiting; the driver took Stephen's suitcase. Stephen kept a pointed hold on the messenger bag.
He tried to squint through the tinted windows to see if Ned was already there, only to have Papa get his attention with firm hands on his shoulders. "Remember, even if it's a small part, that's no excuse to be a slacker. You keep up that character every minute you're on camera."
"I will."
"And don't make fun of the Canadians. They can't help where they're from."
"I'll be a perfect gentleman," Stephen assured him.
Papa nodded. "And, son...I saw the photos of your outing with young Lisa a few weeks back."
"I was a perfect gentleman there too!" exclaimed Stephen. Now, as long as Papa didn't ask what he'd been with Jon last night....
"I'm sure you were," said Papa, with...an edge of disapproval? (That couldn't be right. Did he want Stephen to get involved in a sex scandal?) "Reason I bring it up is...seems like a shame, your PR people have to go to the trouble of hunting down rentable dogs for things like these."
Stephen caught his breath. Papa couldn't mean...Could he?
"Why don't you take a look at breeds in your down time," his father continued, "and if you do America proud while you're up there, when you get back we can make a few calls, see what the puppy market looks like."
"I will do America so proud," said Stephen fervently, hugging his bag. "Canada won't know what hit it."
"That's my boy." For a second Stephen thought he might get a hug himself, but Papa just patted him on the shoulder before nodding him to the car, where the driver was patiently holding open his door.
It turned out Ned wasn't there yet. Stephen buckled himself in alone, then settled the messenger bag across his lap as a pre-emptive defense measure before pulling out his phone.
~*~
It was probably for the best that Stephen wasn't physically present at the studio, since Jon was over the moon enough just thinking about him.
He barely registered the schedule laid out in the morning meeting. He kept coming in low on his voice practice, to the point where Madeline went back to running him through basic vocal exercises to make sure she had a handle on where his range was these days. When the cast of the latest episode (with Craig reading for Stephen) was sitting down for a table read, he introduced himself to the new girl, only to have Tucker roll his eyes and Jimmy gently point out that Jon had already met Tina Fey that morning.
"Nah, it's okay," said Tina, waving away Jon's stammered apologies. "I'm pretty forgettable."
In the seat next to her, Jimmy shook his head. "You are not! Goodness knows I've tried."
Jon did a double-take. Far from being upset, though, Tina's eyes were sparkling. "Next time the aliens beam you up," she replied, "ask for a mindwipe."
Okay, that was less of a relief. Jon had always gotten the impression Jimmy was the sanest person in Shout*For. "Sorry," he interrupted, "the what now?"
He was even more gobsmacked when Tucker said, "The aliens. It happened like twenty times. Got really overdone after a while, but I guess kids like things predictable."
Now Jon was just staring.
Tina bit her lip. "Guys," she stage-whispered to Jimmy, "I don't think he's seen the show."
"Okay, so I'm getting that you two know each other," hazarded Jon, looking from Jimmy to Tina. Which meant this had to be some inside joke. Right?
"You must be even more zoned out than you look," said Jimmy sympathetically. "Or maybe it isn't clicking because you didn't know me back then? Here, let's jog your memory."
He nodded to Tina and sat up straight, squaring his shoulders, and folded his hands on the table. Tina automatically did the same, their bodies angled slightly toward each other but their faces looking forward.
"Good night..." began Jimmy.
"...and have a pleasant tomorrow!" finished Tina.
Jon held up his hands in surrender. "I swear, I have no idea what the hell you guys are talking about."
"I told you he hadn't seen the show," Tina admonished Jimmy, before finally giving Jon a straight answer. "Look, you know Professional Important News with Demetri Martin? Kid-friendly take on current events plus lots of cross-promotion for whatever the company's doing next?"
"You have to know that one," added Jimmy. "We were on it."
"With you so far," Jon assured them.
"Great!" said Tina. "Well, before that, the show that did basically the same thing was Weekend Update. Me and Jimmy were the co-hosts. Jimmy being kidnapped by aliens was a running gag, because it was really easy to put on some lights and set up the mechanism that lifted him out of the chair, and the audience always loved it."
"Thank you," said Jon with a sigh. Now he could stop being horrified that his bandmates had been conspiracy theorists this whole time without him noticing. "Um, was Stephen involved, or...?"
"Stephen was doing That's So Rachel most of those years, wasn't he?" asked Tina.
Jimmy nodded. "Did you see that, Jon? With Stephen playing Rachel Maddow's little brother?"
"Doesn't ring a bell," said Jon with an uncomfortable shrug.
It wasn't easy, trying to wrap his head around the idea that Jimmy and Stephen had done major projects that didn't involve each other. Jon hadn't thought in much detail about their lives before they'd met him, but he'd always had the vague impression that they'd spent almost a decade joined at the hip. And now he found out Jimmy had another friend that he could settle effortlessly into a rhythm with. Sure, Tina looked remarkably like a girl version of Stephen, but that didn't make it any less jarring.
"I really thought everyone our age had..." Jimmy was saying, almost mournfully. "You know, at least caught an episode here and there."
"Listen, I'm sure you two were great on it," stammered Jon. Stephen would have had a better idea of what to say to make him feel better. But Stephen wasn't here, and Tina patting him on the back only seemed to go so far. "I never watched a lot of Disney Channel, that's all."
"Not cool enough for you?" asked Tucker dryly.
"The hell is your problem?" demanded Jon. "We didn't have cable half the time, you dick."
(Tina looked mildly scandalized. "They're always like this," Jimmy explained in an undertone.)
"And you couldn't even be bothered to look at your friends' Wikipedia pages and get a retroactive clue about what they've worked on?" replied Tucker, without giving an inch. "No wonder Stephen dumped you as a friend."
"That was a misunderstanding!" said Jimmy quickly. "Jon's been un-dumped. Re-friended. Taken Off Notice."
Tucker shrugged. "So Stephen has the attention span of a mayfly. We already knew that. The point still stands."
Jon had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping something about how it had been in Stephen's mouth, and his knowledge of That's So Rachel had not been a prerequisite. Mercifully, Craig chose that moment to call them all to order, forcing Jon to detach from the real world and pay some kind of attention to the TV one.
~*~
The information about Wigfield that Stephen had found online couldn't seem to agree whether it was a heartwarming small-town drama, a biting piece of social satire, or a dark comedy. After several hours on the set in the midst of its actors, he was just as confused as the Internet was.
They were filming the season's two-part finale, in which the residents of Wigfield finally came together to carry off a parade honoring the history and culture of their town. One of the floats, meant to carry the ragtag school choir and its plucky teacher, had broken down at the last minute, and Stephen played the student who jumped up and made a Dramatic Speech about how they couldn't lose heart, then burst into song to remind them that the power of music would carry them through. The fact that he had never once been on the show before didn't seem to matter. Either it was a clever joke that interacted with the atmosphere of the series in a way Stephen didn't get, or the director wasn't big on continuity.
While they were running through the blocking in casual clothes, Stephen broke off after the first line of his Dramatic Speech. "Sorry, I'm still not sure how I'm supposed to be playing this," he said. "Am I totally earnest? Do I give it, like, a comedy spin, maybe go over-the-top with the emphasis? Am I confident this is going to work, or freaking out and making this last-ditch desperate effort to —"
"What you were doing is fine!" called the director. "Keep doing that!"
What Stephen had been doing was flailing in confusion and letting his delivery waver all over the place. He didn't see how that could be right.
Everything had been straightforward when filming The Princess And The Pop Star. To say nothing of the Shout*For series, where Craig always knew exactly what he wanted and snapped when anyone (Jon, mostly) went a toe out of line. Why couldn't Wigfield be that easy? Why wouldn't someone just tell him what to do? If he guessed and got it wrong — if he screwed the whole thing up, if Papa was disappointed —
"Stephen? You still with us?"
"Just getting into character!" stammered Stephen, mind racing. He could start with what came most naturally to him, and work his way up to the more difficult approaches if the easy ones got rejected. Start by just...being himself. Speaking from an absolute understanding of how the world worked, without bothering to put a lot of thought behind it. "Okay, I've got it. Cue me."
And even if the director sent it to air without caring whether it was good, Stephen knew at least Jon would like it.
~*~
"Don't look now," murmured Kristen over the display of thousand-dollar earrings, "but I think the guy with the sunburn is following us."
Great. Olivia had been planning on a nice, quiet afternoon of looking at pretty jewels and flashy handbags. And Kelly Van Susteren was supposed to be high-end enough that she wouldn't need Lonny trailing after her, ready to casually intimidate people who didn't respect a celebrity's personal space. "How long?" she asked, studying a necklace with chains of dark orange stones held by a big gold clasp.
"I dunno. Maybe ten minutes? I was checking Twitter for a while there, so it could be longer."
Olivia scanned the store over Kristen's shoulder. There was a gentleman in the store's crisp uniform about twenty feet down. "Security at two o'clock," she said. "Grab 'em, will you?"
Kristen nodded and swished off, the folds of the pearly grey skirt she'd worn today rippling over her legs. Olivia took a breath, made sure her hair was smoothed back, and turned.
Past a couple of designer scarf displays stood a middle-aged white guy with a terrible haircut. He was wearing sunglasses, a black jacket, and a shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing that the sunburn on his face went some distance down his chest. Olivia wondered if he had tan lines left by the glasses. He seemed like the type. "Hello there!" she said, brightly, closing the distance between them.
The guy started, but recovered quickly. "Why, if it isn't Lisa Munn! I'm —"
"Did you want an autograph?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Because I accept cash," said Olivia, "but no checks, and definitely no credit cards. And you have to provide your own pen."
"Maybe in a little bit," said the guy, scrabbling to regain control of the conversation. "Any truth to the rumors you have an alcohol problem?"
It was Olivia's turn to be thrown. "What the fuck."
"Not language we're used to hearing from a star with such a clean image!" said the lone paparazzi aggressor, and, oh, great, he was holding a phone and probably had the camera rolling. "Anything in particular getting you down? Boyfriend troubles, maybe?"
"Look, if you want an interview, you really should've talked to my agent," said Olivia. "Might even have granted the request if you'd done it before you started following me around while I'm shopping."
"The dog you two have been seen with. Why is it never around any other —"
"Are you having any trouble, miss?" interrupted a clear female voice, from a woman also in the burgundy vest and sharply ironed pants of an employee, plus the tie of a manager.
Olivia nodded at the guy with the phone. "He's harassing me. Probably filming illegally, too."
Three more employees appeared out of nowhere, just as neatly pressed but notably taller than their colleagues. "Sir, we're going to need you to come with us," said the tallest icily.
"All I was doing was asking the young lady a few questions," the guy replied, with an oily smile. "But if you don't want my business, I'm happy to leave."
"Mmhmm. We're going to need to talk to you for a few minutes first. And take a look at that phone."
The guy considered this for a few seconds, then bolted.
Olivia threw herself to the left just in time to avoid being knocked over. The stalker hit the carpet and was tackled by security an instant later, while she fell back into one of the scarf displays. Arms wrapped around her from behind — "It's just me!" hissed Kristen as Olivia started to struggle.
"Please accept my sincere regret for this incident," said the manager who had first interrupted them, interposing herself between Kristen and Olivia and the man who was now thrashing on the carpet, yelling something about his first amendment rights. "On behalf of all of us at Kelly Van Susteren, I would like to —"
"Just get us out of here," said Olivia faintly.
"Why did you go talk to him?" hissed Kristen, arm around Olivia's waist as the manager led them into her office. "They would have gotten him anyway! You should have stayed out of the way!"
"He could have taken off," said Olivia. "Had to keep him talking while security got there."
"And what if he'd grabbed you right when you went up to him, huh?"
"Well, he didn't!" protested Olivia.
"But he could have!"
They sank onto one of a row of matching, expensive, stiff couches. "We will of course be providing both you girls with complimentary gift cards," the manager was saying. "Can I offer you anything to drink? Water? Tea?"
"Bourbon," said Olivia flatly.
"Of course," said the manager.
"She's kidding!" exclaimed Kristen. This was followed by a horribly fake-sounding laugh. "She's such a kidder, aren't you, Lisa? Ha ha ha! Water for both of us."
"And then can you give us a few minutes?" added Olivia. "I need to call my bodyguard."
"Naturally, naturally. Take as much time as you need."
As soon as she was out of the room, Kristen said, "Promise me you won't do that again."
Olivia managed to fumble her phone out of her shoulder bag, but her hands were shaking too much to dial. "Which one? Say hi to aggressive paparazzi, or ask for a drink from someone who's desperate to please me so I won't sue her store?"
"Both!"
"Okay, okay. I promise."
"Pinky swear," ordered Kristen.
Olivia obediently locked pinkies with her. "I'll do you one better. I swear it on my fabulous manicure."
Some of the tension went out of Kristen. It was bleeding away from Olivia too, the adrenaline rush dying down and leaving her drained and fuzzy.
"You really worry about me, don't you," she continued, turning the linked fingers into holding hands.
"How can I not?" huffed Kristen, with weary affection. "You're crazy. And half the time you don't even have me around to look out for you."
"Maybe I should go into animation too," said Olivia. "Less people recognize your face. And it's way lighter on the travel."
Kristen tugged her hand away. "You don't have to give up your dreams or anything," she said, straightening the bow that looped around the waistline of her dress. "Just, you know, maybe let Lonny do what they pay him all that money to do."
"Okay, okay. Calling him now."
~*~
Muffled laughter and the clink of cocktail glasses greeted Jon as he slipped into the house. Aunt Ruth was having one of her parties. (Book clubs, she called them, but as far as Jon could tell they were mostly about drinking and gossip and not once mentioning a book.)
He made his way upstairs as quietly as possible. Normally he'd let his aunt know he was home, but he didn't feel brave enough tonight to face down a pack of bored middle-aged women with too much money, some of whom were always trying to pinch his cheeks and tell him what a sweet boy he was, and some of whom were always trying to pinch, well, technically also his cheeks. He'd come across a fair amount of cougar videos that started like that. It wasn't nearly as hot when it was actually happening to you.
Between a movie nights, pool parties, and excursions for smoothies and pie, Jon had gotten used to not being around at all on party nights. But Stephen was out of town, Jimmy was spending the afternoon catching up with Tina, and he would feel like an intruder hanging out with Olivia and Kristen alone.
Safely ensconsed in his room, Jon tried to remember what he'd done in his free time before he'd had friends.
He flipped through his shelf of video games, only to find that he'd finished all the single-player ones and none of them looked worth replaying. There was always going to be fresh porn on the Internet, but as he woke up his laptop he found himself strangely un-hopeful. He wasn't worried about it bothering Stephen — if anything, Stephen would probably appreciate Jon doing a little research, getting ideas for things two guys could do other than kissing that fell into "allowed before marriage" territory. It was just that, when you got right down to it, there was only so much you could jerk off....
Had he seriously just thought that?
Jon buried his head in his hands. Good god, what was Stephen doing to him?
~*~
When Ned rendezvoused with Stephen after the rehearsal had wrapped up, Stephen was still chatting with a couple of the regulars. "I know you were worried there, Steve, but what you did with the speech was great," the actress who'd played the music teacher told him. "You really nailed it."
Stephen was so pleased that he didn't even correct her about being called 'Steve'. "I guess it just comes naturally to me," he said, modestly playing down his triumph. "By the way, where's good to eat around here?"
"Don't worry about that," said Ned before she could answer. "We've got food taken care of," he informed Stephen, hand resting on the small of his back to guide him away. "Come on, buddy, time to clear out of here."
Stephen waved to his fellow actors and let Ned lead him out to a waiting car. He was starting to feel good about having come here after all. The people were nice, it was fun to make your own creative decisions once you got over being terrified that they would get you in trouble, and Ned had yet to do a single thing that creeped him out. Maybe he should do this more often.
"So, where are we having dinner?" he asked as their ride pulled away.
"The hotel has lovely room service," Ned informed him.
Stephen made a face, then peered through his tinted window at the lights of Vancouver. "Are the restaurants in Canada really that terrible?"
"Stephen, Stephen, Stephen." Ned squeezed his thigh. "This is why you don't do your own planning."
"I did already know about the poutine," said Stephen defensively. "I was prepared to work around that."
"It isn't about the food, buddy, it's about the company. Remember the photographers at LAX this morning?"
Stephen frowned. "There are always photographers at LAX." He'd grinned at them the way he always did. The only one of the band who rarely managed to look happy when the photos hit the Internet was Jon, which was just as well, given that he was The Broody One and all.
"And when you're traveling with the band, you have Killer around to keep them from getting too enthusiastic." (Killer was the band's bodyguard, and a fantastically scary one. He made Stephen nervous, and Stephen was the one he was looking out for. It didn't help that Stephen had never heard him say a word.) "We didn't bring any security, and this isn't Hollywood. Not a lot of places prepared to deal with a star of your caliber."
"We should've brought Killer!" exclaimed Stephen. All this time he'd focused on trying to get out of the trip, he hadn't even thought about trying to get someone else to come along. Why hadn't Jon come up with that idea? Sure, Stephen hadn't told him the real problem, but that didn't mean he couldn't have thought of a real solution.
"I know, I know you love the attention." Ned rubbed his leg in a comforting gesture. "I'll try to make it up to you once we're back in the room."
~*~
When Lonny finally arrived at the Kelly Van Susteren, he was accompanied by a man Olivia vaguely recognized from her legal team, who interrogated both her and Kristen about whether they'd signed any waivers or releases or merchandise or body parts or anything at all (they hadn't). That done, he moved on to a discussion with the store manager.
"You girls don't need to stay around for this," Lonny assured them. "Where were you planning to go next?"
Olivia couldn't even remember. "Let's just go home," she said. They could use their gift cards some other time.
"Amen," agreed Kristen. "You brought a car, right?"
Lonny had. "Anything else you need from me, let me know," he said, he and Kristen flanking Olivia as they made their way through the now-cleaned-up store and down to the parking lot.
Olivia felt better just having him around. Lonny was about three times her mass, and his nice casual suit didn't hide the fact that it was mostly muscle; so far nobody had bothered her when he was around. He was also a pleasant conversationalist, but at the moment Olivia didn't feel like talking to anyone she didn't know as well as Kristen.
As they settled into the back of the car, Kristen said, "By the way, when you feel up to it, take a look at unicorngirl18."
Olivia agreeably poked through her browser app, bringing up the address of Stephen's secret Tumblr. She was greeted by a gifset of unspeakably adorable puppies, tagged "schnoodles", which was either the name of the breed or onomatopoeia for what the tagger wanted to do with them. "Ooh, these are too cute. I'd get one."
"Huh?" Kristen peered over her shoulder. "No, no, that must be a newer post. Scroll down a little."
Olivia scrolled past half a dozen more dog photo posts, including (if the tags were right) Toy Australian Shepherds, King Charles Spaniels, Pomeranians, and a couple of Chinese Imperials with their fur ponytailed over the tops of their heads using some truly hideous bows.
And then the puppies gave way to a string of hipster graphics, cutsey text over soft-focus photos of pretty white teenagers: Stephen had gone on a serious reblogging streak through Things Boys Do We Love. His selection included such profound phrases as "when boys have a cute laugh" and "when boys love animals" and "when boys have curly hair" and...and, uh, "when boys play guitar"...and, with startling specificity, "when boys have blue eyes and dark hair".
In spite of the trainwreck her afternoon had been, Olivia started giggling. At least someone she cared about was having a good day.