Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2013-09-20 02:44 am
ptahrrific) wrote2013-09-20 02:44 am
Entry tags:
Fake News | Jon/"Stephen", Jimmy, Tucker, Olivia | PG-13 | Shout*For, Act II, chapter 1
Title: Shout*For, Act II, Chapter 1: It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Jimmy, Tucker, Olivia(/Kristen), cameos, OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
And we're back! With brand-new art of the band, from one of their newer and increasingly more suave photoshoots.
With their vacation over and their next album about to drop, the band is back to work, starting with a round of promotional events in New York City. You'd be surprised at how many ethical dilemmas can be packed into a couple of late-night talk show appearances (and one later-night raid on their suite's minibar).
Musical accompaniments: Stephen and Jimmy singing with Taylor Hicks; Stephen singing with Dolly Parton.
New York City.
"Now, I'm delighted to have both of you here," said the talk show host to Stephen and Jimmy, each in one of the comfortable armchairs facing his desk. "It's a real honor, don't get me wrong. But I have to ask...aren't you supposed to be the Shout Four?"
"I don't know, Lance," said Stephen solemnly, arching one eyebrow. "Are we?"
"Think about it for a second," added Jimmy. "Stephen's a pretty good actor, right?"
The Late Night audience burst into cheers of agreement. Stephen beamed for a minute as he soaked it in, then held up his hand and brought it down in a short, sharp motion. The applause quieted within a second.
"Hey, that's my audience," said Lance Bass, mock-affronted.
Jimmy grinned wide. "Not tonight, they're not."
In the wake of the appreciative laughter, Stephen picked up the thread. "And I think some of you might know that I have a movie coming out in a couple of months?" (More applause.) "In which the beautiful and talented Lisa Munn — spoiler alert! — plays two different characters? And yet you're going to be able to see both of them on screen at once, through the magic of film?"
"With you so far," said Lance.
"Well, in that case," said Jimmy, "who's to say that it isn't just the two of us in real life, and both Jon Stewart and Tucker Carlson are both characters that Stephen happens to play?"
The audience was laughing, but now that they'd gotten to this point in the script, Stephen felt a pang of uncertainty. Did Jon and Tucker still exist in real life? Think about it: they were all supposed to have been in New York City this whole day, and yet he still hadn't seen either one of them. Wasn't that just a little too convenient?
Jimmy kept the banter going, covering for Stephen's bout of existential insecurity, until Lance asked, "Something wrong, Stephen? You're awfully quiet."
"Well, now that you mention it...." Stephen's face fell, and it wasn't entirely acting, either. "Can I tell you something? I really wanted to be booked on Meet Miley Cyrus, to talk to Miley all about our new album...but she turned me down."
"That's awful!" exclaimed Lance, as the crowd booed (which lifted Stephen's spirits a little). "Although...I don't know if you've heard this, but me and Miley, we have kind of a rivalry going on. You see, we both have our own ice cream flavors from Ben & Jerry's, and she refuses to admit that Late Night Snack is superior to Sweet Miley Cyrus."
"Gosh," said Jimmy. "Sounds like we all have reasons to be mad at Miley."
"I know, right?" said Lance. "You know what we should do to get back at her?"
Stephen perked up. Sure, they'd done this in rehearsal, but maybe the answer had changed. "What?"
"We should give these people a totally awesome performance — the kind that will make her crazy with jealousy that you two came on my show and not hers!"
This was the cue for Stephen and Jimmy to reach behind their seats and retrieve a guitar and a keyboard, respectively. The already-clapping audience went wild.
"Now, since Jon and Tucker aren't here," added Lance — "or at least, not here for the studio audience, though we can add them in later using the magic of television — we're going to need to bring on two more musicians to round out the band. Sound fair?"
That had not been in rehearsal. Stephen froze. "What?"
"Depends on who you have in mind," added Jimmy cautiously. "Are they any good?"
"Let's bring them out, and you can decide," said the host with a smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome...Taylor Hicks and Dolly Parton!"
~*~
"...and then I completely screwed it up!" wailed Stephen over his chicken caesar wrap. "The very first measure, and I flubbed it. Not once, either! Twice in a row!"
"Wow," said Jon. "I mean, uh, that sounds rough. My sympathies."
After being split between various TV studios for most of the day, the band had finally been reunited at the rental studio, where they and their crew could have a quick dinner before jumping into rehearsal for tomorrow's performances. Jon had been shocked at first when Stephen insisted that they not watch his appearance on Late Night. Now it made more sense.
"Dolly Parton was very nice about it," confided Jimmy. "He was shy. She understood. She even thought it was cute. So did the audience, for the record."
"Easy for you to say, Jimmy Fallon!" cried Stephen. "You weren't shy at all. You didn't mess up anything! And one of your musical idols was there too!" He buried his head in his hands. "I've disgraced myself in country music forever. I will never be able to show my face in Nashville."
"Come on, Col-bert, it could be worse," said Tucker reassuringly, over his second cup of coffee. (He'd been booked on a morning show, so he'd had to wake up earlier than the rest of them, and unlike Jon he hadn't been on this coast long enough to adjust from LA time.) "Just imagine how Jon would react if you sprung a surprise guitar duet with Springsteen on him."
Jon was almost offended by how fast that calmed Stephen down. "Oh, geez, you're right. Jon would probably pass out."
"I would not!" protested Jon. "I mean, spontaneous orgasms, sure, but fainting?"
Tucker made a face. "Yuck."
"Oh, get over it, Carlson. I'm not being literal." (Hopefully.)
"So how did your taping go?" said Jimmy to Tucker, steering the conversation elsewhere. "Did you sing anything for them?"
"And did they make any claims of journalistic integrity, or have they given up on that by now?" added Jon, dunking a baby carrot in the swirl of veggie dip on his plate.
"Jon!" exclaimed Stephen, horrified by the disrespect or the baby carrot or both. "Don't be mean about the friendly friends over at Fox and Friends!"
"They were...nice," said Tucker. "Asked for my opinions on some things in politics. I said the news hadn't been the same since Crossfire got canceled. They thought that was pretty adorable."
Jon frowned. "What's Crossfire?"
Tucker shrugged. "This debate show I used to watch with my dad when I was like seven. And then, yeah, I did a song. It wasn't anything exciting. You don't have to watch."
"Sure we do!" said Stephen. "You think the segment's on their website yet? If it isn't, we can check again tomorrow...."
"I said, you don't have to watch!" snapped Tucker.
Startled silence. Jon exchanged looks with the other two, trying to gauge whether he could brush Tucker off like usual, or whether he had to actually be sympathetic. Stephen in particular looked anxious, and Jon knew he should hold his boyfriend's hand or something, but they were surrounded by people and he couldn't risk it.
"Did you screw up too?" asked Stephen, sympathetic. "Because you were so overwhelmed with fannish awe at Nate Cole, Gabe Combs, Jason Perry, Jeremy Mhire, and/or the brown-haired guy who isn't Jeremy Mhire?"
Tucker downed some more coffee. "The song went fine," he said shortly. "The interview wasn't great. Okay?"
Before they could ask anything further, Brian stepped into the conversation. "About time to finish up here, gentlemen. We need you at your instruments in five minutes."
The four scrambled to clear their plates and wash up before following their manager to the studio floor. On the way, Jon said, "Just for the record, my spot on Late Show with Paul McCartney went fine. I mean, it was pretty boring, and if you don't want to watch I'd understand...but if you do, I'm not gonna stop you."
~*~
"Stop!" yelped Jon.
Jimmy froze, tipping back the bottle he'd been emptying into one of the hotel glasses.
"The Internet says you need to use at least three parts Pepsi to one part Bacardi," reported Jon, reading off his phone. "So you should probably split that between two of us."
The band had been stashed in their usual type of suite for the night: a living area with a bedroom on either side, two queen-size beds per bedroom, every inch dripping with luxury. This particular hotel gave them long-stemmed flowers and art deco sculptures on the tabletops, gilded molding on the ceilings, furniture on the balcony...and eight different brands of alcohol in the minibar.
"Maybe we should forget about the Bacardi and have all parts Pepsi," said Stephen, cuddling up to Jon on one of the couches, while Jimmy knelt by the table in the middle and tried to sort the drinks out. "They're one of Shout*For's generous sponsors, after all."
"You can have straight Pepsi if you want," Jon assured him. "Nobody's gonna judge."
Stephen didn't really want straight Pepsi. He was, truth be told, kind of sick of Pepsi — in all its variations, from Original Pepsi to Pepsi Free to Pepsi Light Lime. On the other hand, he was painfully aware of how pliable he got after even one drink. "Jon? If I drink, you promise not to take advantage of me, right?"
"Mmm, depends," said Jon. "Would it mean we can't cuddle?"
"Cuddling is fine!" said Stephen quickly. "Kissing is also fine. Just in case you were wondering."
"Oh, good," said Jon, and pulled Stephen up straighter so he could press their lips together.
Jimmy ended up mixing drinks for everyone.
Stephen was halfway through a glass of Bacardi and orange soda, Jon casually nuzzling his neck, when a freshly showered Tucker emerged from the room on the right. "Hey, Col-bert, are you going to...oh, geez. You can't get drunk! It's not legal. We're all underage. We have to perform tomorrow."
The compromising position he'd been in made Stephen blush, but Jon didn't seem bothered at all, sitting up unselfconsciously and looping a protective arm over Stephen's shoulders. "Nobody's getting drunk, Tucker. We are getting lightly buzzed, to distract ourselves from the strain of being in the middle of New York City and completely unable to go outside and cause some real trouble."
"I'll make you one too, if you want," added Jimmy.
Tucker made a face like he'd tasted something slimy. "I'll pass," he said. "I just wanted to know if Stephen's moving his stuff out of my room, and if so, can he please do it now so I can get some sleep."
They had standing orders for people who handled their luggage: Stephen's and Tucker's bags went in one room, Jon's and Jimmy's in the other. (It had been worked out back in the early days of the band. At first Stephen and Jimmy had roomed together, but then it became clear you really couldn't stick Jon and Tucker in the same room and expect anything good to come of that.) In practice, what usually happened was that either Stephen or Jimmy would hang out in the other's room until as late as possible, and they ended up falling asleep in the same bed as often as not.
"Sure, I'll get it now," said Stephen, untangling himself from Jon and getting to his feet. It used to be that Jimmy tried to make sure they alternated whether it was Tucker or Jon who got a whole room to himself. But obviously these days Stephen would want to cuddle with Jon every time.
He was just dragging his suitcase across the threshold into the living area when he came face-to-face with Jimmy: also towing a suitcase, and headed in the opposite direction.
"Where are you going?" said Stephen stupidly.
"To...the other room?" said Jimmy. "I thought you and Jon would want your privacy."
"I thought we would too!" put in Jon, leaning over the back of the couch.
"You said you weren't going to take advantage of me!" exclaimed Stephen.
"I wasn't! I'm not! But you never said that meant we couldn't do anything that maybe our platonic friend doesn't need to be listening in on."
"You know what," said Jimmy, starting forward again at a gentle angle that moved him around Stephen, "I'm just gonna put all my stuff in here anyway. Because I'm sure you two will at least want to talk! As a couple! And this way, if Jon does get too handsy, you'll have a whole empty bed to push him into."
"Hey!" cried Jon. "I will be a saint, here. Stephen's virtue is perfectly safe."
"Oh my god," groaned Tucker, burying his face in his hands. "What did I ever do to deserve this much gay drama in my life?"
Jon held up the bottle. "Drinks are still over here if you need 'em."
~*~
"No, no, be honest with us, Stewart," said Tucker two drinks later. "You're alone in a dressing room. Th' door opens. It's the Boss himself, and he says to you, he says, listen, Jon Stewart, I, Bruce Springsteen, want to jump your bones. You would. You so would."
"Shut up, Tucker," said Jon. He thought idly about punching Tucker or something, but he would have to get up first, and that would disturb Stephen, who was lying across his lap. It was hard to be a mean drunk (or at least, a mean moderately-buzzed; Jimmy had put the bottle away, and, without Olivia around, nobody was getting out more) when you were busy being a pillow for your boyfriend.
"But you didn't say no," said Tucker. "I want that on the record," he added, pointing first at Jimmy and then Stephen from his own prone position on the next couch. "He did not say no."
"He did not," agreed Jimmy.
"Shut up, Jimmy, you're supposed to be th' sensible one," said Jon, playing with Stephen's hair. "Because that would never happen. You know that, right? That would never even happen. The Boss is a good man and a wonderful man and he is not a pedophile."
"Ephebophile," said Stephen from Jon's lap.
"Say again? You're slurring."
"Am not. Eff-eb-o-file," repeated Stephen, spitting out each syllable with careful enunciation. "Look it up. A pedophile is someone who wants to do it with prepab...for preabs...for kids who didn't do puberty yet. You are after puberty, Jon Stewart, which makes a grown-up who wants to do you an ephebophile. And that's the word."
"Sure. Whatever," agreed Jon. Stephen knew the most random things sometimes. "But it doesn't even matter, because he's not that either."
"But if he was."
"Stephen...." Jon fumbled for Stephen's hand, got it after a minute, and pressed it against his face. "You have to not get mad about...hypothetical ephebophile Bruce Springsteen."
Stephen squeezed Jon's hand and didn't answer. The blood had drained from his face, making him look kind of sick. Jon would have suggested that he lie down if he hadn't been doing it already.
"I said a stupid thing today," said Tucker out of nowhere.
Jon wished he was sober enough to say something witty to that. All he could come up with was, "Gosh, really?"
"Shut up, Jon," said Jimmy amiably. "Go ahead, Tucker."
"It was on Fox." Tucker closed his eyes. "I said they asked about politics, right? And...current events. And all that stuff."
"Uh-huh. With you so far."
"Dunno why they'd ask about that," muttered Jon. "We're teenage pop stars. They know we're teenage pop stars, right? Not, like, scholars. Not like people with opinions that matter."
"All of my opinions matter," protested Stephen.
"In part of it they asked about gay marriage," said Tucker, speaking over them both.
Startled silence, again. This time it was Jimmy who responded. "What did you say?"
"Stuff. Lots of stuff," said Tucker, waving one hand like he could grab his thoughts out of the air and drag them into line. "Like, how it's complicated, you know? And people have different opinions. And we should respect people and their opinions. And, like, religious freedom is important, and, and something about kids. Gotta do what's best for kids."
"But that's BS," said Jon. "You know it's BS, right? Gay parents aren't...listen, my dad...." No, he was definitely not drunk enough to start going into detail about his dad. "There's a whole lot of lesbians who would've been a way better second parent than my dad was. That's all I gotta say."
"Of course it's BS!" exclaimed Tucker. "I'm not proud of it. Why d'you think I don't want you watching?"
Jon glared at him. "You could've just not said it."
"No. Don't you even, Stewart. You don't get to be mad at me. Not for this."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because tomorrow," slurred Tucker, "tomorrow at th' launch party, your boyfriend is gonna be on the red carpet with Lisa Munn, an' they're gonna hold hands, an' they might even kiss, and are you gonna be mad about that?"
"No," said Jon. Then he corrected himself. "Yes. Mad about it, yes. But no, not mad at Stephen, no."
"Right. So."
"So we are not mad at you either," decided Stephen with finality. "Although I can't promise you will be invited to my wedding."
"Yeah," said Tucker. "Yeah, I can live with that."
~*~
As far as Stephen was concerned, the next morning should have been great. He wasn't hung over. Thanks to the magic of Vaxasopor, he wasn't even jet-lagged. He was recovering from the embarrassment of forever shaming himself in front of Dolly Parton, and today he got to do a special set at the Apple Store, the better to promote their new album on iTunes...as well as the new line of Shout*For iPhone cases.
Stephen had always liked Apple. They had given him a ton of free stuff these past couple of years.
Also, he would get to hang out with Olivia in the evening, and didn't have a single solo event to get to, meaning he would never be alone with Ned. So everything was shaping up to be wonderful, except that something was going on with Jon.
Breakfast was when Stephen first started to notice that Jon wasn't looking him in the eye. Well, it was early; he could have been still waking up. But then he flinched twice when Stephen touched him — not a sexual way, either, just ordinary in-public stuff, tapping his shoulder to get his attention, leaning against him when the photographer at the restaurant made them crowd together for a photo.
They were shepherded to Vanity Fair for the rest of the morning, handed off to a director of photography who put them all in black turtlenecks and kept telling them to look more serious. Stephen had a hard time repressing his excitement. "We look like real actors! From real theater!"
Tucker was more picky. "Not with our rings on. We can't vanish into character wearing something that specific."
And Jimmy wasn't impressed at all. "Honestly? We kind of look like rejects from a modern dance company."
"We do not!" complained Stephen. "We look classy. And black is very slimming. You think we look good, right, Jon?"
Again with the shying away from Stephen. "Sure," stammered Jon, unreasonably flustered. "We look fine."
That wasn't right at all. Jon should have said something like: We look like we should all grow beards and start lurking around coffee shops asking people to take a look at our screenplays.
Maybe he was just trying to make nice for the audience. Some guy was filming right now, after all, to release it as a bonus feature for the website; and there was a woman who kept asking questions in between shots, looking for a couple of good quotes to sprinkle in the blurb they'd write to accompany the pictures. Stephen had been urging Jon to snark less at these kinds of media people for ages now.
For some reason, he wasn't as happy about it as he'd expected to be.
"Jon, what's going on?" he demanded once they were back in the dressing room. "How come all of a sudden you're Mr. Flinchy?"
"What? Going on? Nothing's going on," said Jon. He was getting babble-y, the way he did when he was nervous. "I flinch sometimes. It's what I do. I'm a flincher."
"Not like this!" Stephen peeled the black turtleneck over his head. "You were fine up until last night! What happened?"
Jon glanced at Tucker and Jimmy, both tugging their socks off and politely looking at other things. He was getting out of his own clothes even more slowly than usual. "I really don't think we should talk about this here...."
"Why not?" demanded Stephen.
Jon stared at him for a long moment. "Stephen, do you — do you just not remember anything?"
"I remember lots of things," said Stephen crossly, but now he was getting nervous. Vaxasopor could do dodgy things to your memory while you were on it, and he didn't actually remember how he'd gotten to bed. It wasn't the first time that had happened; his doctor swore it was normal, nothing to worry about, as long as he made sure to take his pills directly before he was planning to sleep. "To be fair, after we heard Tucker's impromptu confessional everything kind of cuts out, but if I said something rude to you before we fell asleep, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. Probably."
"You weren't rude," said Jon. His whole frame had relaxed, like a weight had been lifted, though he still didn't look happy. "You went sleepwalking. It freaked me out a little. Don't sweat it. You're clearly awake now, I'll be fine, and we have to keep it together and go sell some 99-cent downloads."
Gathering up his street clothes, he broke for the showers.
Jimmy (now down to boxers and undershirt) was less abrupt. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked Stephen. "Sleepwalking can be pretty serious on Vaxasopor, I think. Have you gotten any other side effects?"
"Not as far as I know." Stephen shimmied out of the Vanity Fair pants. "Although, in the interest of full disclosure, I do not know what any of the others are."
"You could be dizzy, groggy, confused, depressed, or having hallucinations," said Tucker helpfully. "I think that's all the big ones. Unless you had an allergy, and I assume you would have noticed that."
"Oh. In that case, no, no side effects," said Stephen. "At least, I don't think so. If I was having hallucinations, how would I know?"
~*~
The limo holding Olivia and Lonny inched its way through the New York streets: aiming to arrive at the launch party fashionably late, but not quite as late as the stars of the night. Olivia made her bodyguard get a photo of her awesome silver-and-black cocktail dress — hey, it wasn't like he had anything better to do right now — which she texted straight to Kristen, terrible lighting and all.
<3 Olivia <3
Sneak preview b4 the paps put it up everywhere :)
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
I hope you have a jacket on you girl because that is some scandalous shoulder you're flashing.
<3 Olivia <3
Dont worry babe, these shoulders = all 4 u.
<3 Olivia <3
cant say the same abt the collarbone area tho...
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
You shameless hussy!
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
Next thing we know you're going to be flashing your ankles, and then where will we be?
<3 Olivia <3
hey do u know who else is gonna b there? aside from me + the guys + coked-up industry/production people
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
Hopefully some non-coked-up industry/production people!
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
I know the company sent over Jaquie Brown and Serita Singh. And I think the Corddry Brothers? Nate might be a little young for that scene, though.
<3 Olivia <3
no such thing as 2 young. I was barely 13 for my 1st of these, remember?
<3 Olivia <3
Ok nvm, almost @ the club. Will let u know whos there soon.
She stashed the phone in her teeny purse, shrugged on the jacket, and was ready to step out when they pulled up to the red carpet.
It was mostly press and photographers thronged around the entrance to the club. The fans were back a layer, far enough that Olivia couldn't make out anything specific in the yelling and the waving of signs. She focused on smiling at the cameras, striking cute poses in front of a backdrop patterned with the big Shout*For logo and the logos of a handful of sponsors.
Given that there were, let's be real here, no teen pop stars bigger than her, the next limo had to be the guests of honor.
Olivia got out of the way at first, so as not to confuse the cameras. Sure enough, it was the band, looking wonderfully dashing. Wardrobe had put all their outfits together on a snappy black/white/navy color scheme: Tucker in his button-down and bowtie, Jimmy in a fitted tee and black jeans, Jon sporting a black leather jacket that looked depressingly non-fake, and Stephen in slacks that hugged his long legs with creases so sharp you could cut yourself on them.
All four purity rings were visible, but so were Stephen's and Jimmy's friendship necklaces. Olivia clamped down on a snicker. Intentionally or not, that little gesture was going to stir up a wave of the exact secret-gay rumors the network was trying so hard to squash.
It wasn't long before the photographers got bored of shouting different configurations for the guys to pose in, and started calling for shots of Stephen and Olivia together. She almost felt all right about sashaying back out...
...at least, until her heel caught on the carpet, and the world spun around her.
Stephen was kneeling at her side in an instant: helping her up, giving her something to brace herself on, through the touchy process of standing without flashing anyone in the process. By the time she was back on her feet she still had an iron grip on his shoulders, and his arms were firmly around her waist.
The cameras were going wild. Olivia flashed them her best isn't-it-cute-that-I'm-awkward grin. It would look good on Gawker, at least.
Stephen — who was way better at this, maybe because he was rarely self-aware enough to be awkward — dipped closer, put his lips next to her ear, and whispered:
"Don't worry, I have breath mints."
Oh. Apparently Olivia had drunk more before getting here than she realized. That would explain the falling, too.
"Thanks," she said weakly, and went back to striking poses, trying not to breathe too much in the direction of anyone in the press before they were finally able to get inside.
Characters/Pairings: Jon/"Stephen", Jimmy, Tucker, Olivia(/Kristen), cameos, OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: See series Table of Contents.
And we're back! With brand-new art of the band, from one of their newer and increasingly more suave photoshoots.
With their vacation over and their next album about to drop, the band is back to work, starting with a round of promotional events in New York City. You'd be surprised at how many ethical dilemmas can be packed into a couple of late-night talk show appearances (and one later-night raid on their suite's minibar).
Musical accompaniments: Stephen and Jimmy singing with Taylor Hicks; Stephen singing with Dolly Parton.
"Now, I'm delighted to have both of you here," said the talk show host to Stephen and Jimmy, each in one of the comfortable armchairs facing his desk. "It's a real honor, don't get me wrong. But I have to ask...aren't you supposed to be the Shout Four?"
"I don't know, Lance," said Stephen solemnly, arching one eyebrow. "Are we?"
"Think about it for a second," added Jimmy. "Stephen's a pretty good actor, right?"
The Late Night audience burst into cheers of agreement. Stephen beamed for a minute as he soaked it in, then held up his hand and brought it down in a short, sharp motion. The applause quieted within a second.
"Hey, that's my audience," said Lance Bass, mock-affronted.
Jimmy grinned wide. "Not tonight, they're not."
In the wake of the appreciative laughter, Stephen picked up the thread. "And I think some of you might know that I have a movie coming out in a couple of months?" (More applause.) "In which the beautiful and talented Lisa Munn — spoiler alert! — plays two different characters? And yet you're going to be able to see both of them on screen at once, through the magic of film?"
"With you so far," said Lance.
"Well, in that case," said Jimmy, "who's to say that it isn't just the two of us in real life, and both Jon Stewart and Tucker Carlson are both characters that Stephen happens to play?"
The audience was laughing, but now that they'd gotten to this point in the script, Stephen felt a pang of uncertainty. Did Jon and Tucker still exist in real life? Think about it: they were all supposed to have been in New York City this whole day, and yet he still hadn't seen either one of them. Wasn't that just a little too convenient?
Jimmy kept the banter going, covering for Stephen's bout of existential insecurity, until Lance asked, "Something wrong, Stephen? You're awfully quiet."
"Well, now that you mention it...." Stephen's face fell, and it wasn't entirely acting, either. "Can I tell you something? I really wanted to be booked on Meet Miley Cyrus, to talk to Miley all about our new album...but she turned me down."
"That's awful!" exclaimed Lance, as the crowd booed (which lifted Stephen's spirits a little). "Although...I don't know if you've heard this, but me and Miley, we have kind of a rivalry going on. You see, we both have our own ice cream flavors from Ben & Jerry's, and she refuses to admit that Late Night Snack is superior to Sweet Miley Cyrus."
"Gosh," said Jimmy. "Sounds like we all have reasons to be mad at Miley."
"I know, right?" said Lance. "You know what we should do to get back at her?"
Stephen perked up. Sure, they'd done this in rehearsal, but maybe the answer had changed. "What?"
"We should give these people a totally awesome performance — the kind that will make her crazy with jealousy that you two came on my show and not hers!"
This was the cue for Stephen and Jimmy to reach behind their seats and retrieve a guitar and a keyboard, respectively. The already-clapping audience went wild.
"Now, since Jon and Tucker aren't here," added Lance — "or at least, not here for the studio audience, though we can add them in later using the magic of television — we're going to need to bring on two more musicians to round out the band. Sound fair?"
That had not been in rehearsal. Stephen froze. "What?"
"Depends on who you have in mind," added Jimmy cautiously. "Are they any good?"
"Let's bring them out, and you can decide," said the host with a smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome...Taylor Hicks and Dolly Parton!"
~*~
"...and then I completely screwed it up!" wailed Stephen over his chicken caesar wrap. "The very first measure, and I flubbed it. Not once, either! Twice in a row!"
"Wow," said Jon. "I mean, uh, that sounds rough. My sympathies."
After being split between various TV studios for most of the day, the band had finally been reunited at the rental studio, where they and their crew could have a quick dinner before jumping into rehearsal for tomorrow's performances. Jon had been shocked at first when Stephen insisted that they not watch his appearance on Late Night. Now it made more sense.
"Dolly Parton was very nice about it," confided Jimmy. "He was shy. She understood. She even thought it was cute. So did the audience, for the record."
"Easy for you to say, Jimmy Fallon!" cried Stephen. "You weren't shy at all. You didn't mess up anything! And one of your musical idols was there too!" He buried his head in his hands. "I've disgraced myself in country music forever. I will never be able to show my face in Nashville."
"Come on, Col-bert, it could be worse," said Tucker reassuringly, over his second cup of coffee. (He'd been booked on a morning show, so he'd had to wake up earlier than the rest of them, and unlike Jon he hadn't been on this coast long enough to adjust from LA time.) "Just imagine how Jon would react if you sprung a surprise guitar duet with Springsteen on him."
Jon was almost offended by how fast that calmed Stephen down. "Oh, geez, you're right. Jon would probably pass out."
"I would not!" protested Jon. "I mean, spontaneous orgasms, sure, but fainting?"
Tucker made a face. "Yuck."
"Oh, get over it, Carlson. I'm not being literal." (Hopefully.)
"So how did your taping go?" said Jimmy to Tucker, steering the conversation elsewhere. "Did you sing anything for them?"
"And did they make any claims of journalistic integrity, or have they given up on that by now?" added Jon, dunking a baby carrot in the swirl of veggie dip on his plate.
"Jon!" exclaimed Stephen, horrified by the disrespect or the baby carrot or both. "Don't be mean about the friendly friends over at Fox and Friends!"
"They were...nice," said Tucker. "Asked for my opinions on some things in politics. I said the news hadn't been the same since Crossfire got canceled. They thought that was pretty adorable."
Jon frowned. "What's Crossfire?"
Tucker shrugged. "This debate show I used to watch with my dad when I was like seven. And then, yeah, I did a song. It wasn't anything exciting. You don't have to watch."
"Sure we do!" said Stephen. "You think the segment's on their website yet? If it isn't, we can check again tomorrow...."
"I said, you don't have to watch!" snapped Tucker.
Startled silence. Jon exchanged looks with the other two, trying to gauge whether he could brush Tucker off like usual, or whether he had to actually be sympathetic. Stephen in particular looked anxious, and Jon knew he should hold his boyfriend's hand or something, but they were surrounded by people and he couldn't risk it.
"Did you screw up too?" asked Stephen, sympathetic. "Because you were so overwhelmed with fannish awe at Nate Cole, Gabe Combs, Jason Perry, Jeremy Mhire, and/or the brown-haired guy who isn't Jeremy Mhire?"
Tucker downed some more coffee. "The song went fine," he said shortly. "The interview wasn't great. Okay?"
Before they could ask anything further, Brian stepped into the conversation. "About time to finish up here, gentlemen. We need you at your instruments in five minutes."
The four scrambled to clear their plates and wash up before following their manager to the studio floor. On the way, Jon said, "Just for the record, my spot on Late Show with Paul McCartney went fine. I mean, it was pretty boring, and if you don't want to watch I'd understand...but if you do, I'm not gonna stop you."
~*~
"Stop!" yelped Jon.
Jimmy froze, tipping back the bottle he'd been emptying into one of the hotel glasses.
"The Internet says you need to use at least three parts Pepsi to one part Bacardi," reported Jon, reading off his phone. "So you should probably split that between two of us."
The band had been stashed in their usual type of suite for the night: a living area with a bedroom on either side, two queen-size beds per bedroom, every inch dripping with luxury. This particular hotel gave them long-stemmed flowers and art deco sculptures on the tabletops, gilded molding on the ceilings, furniture on the balcony...and eight different brands of alcohol in the minibar.
"Maybe we should forget about the Bacardi and have all parts Pepsi," said Stephen, cuddling up to Jon on one of the couches, while Jimmy knelt by the table in the middle and tried to sort the drinks out. "They're one of Shout*For's generous sponsors, after all."
"You can have straight Pepsi if you want," Jon assured him. "Nobody's gonna judge."
Stephen didn't really want straight Pepsi. He was, truth be told, kind of sick of Pepsi — in all its variations, from Original Pepsi to Pepsi Free to Pepsi Light Lime. On the other hand, he was painfully aware of how pliable he got after even one drink. "Jon? If I drink, you promise not to take advantage of me, right?"
"Mmm, depends," said Jon. "Would it mean we can't cuddle?"
"Cuddling is fine!" said Stephen quickly. "Kissing is also fine. Just in case you were wondering."
"Oh, good," said Jon, and pulled Stephen up straighter so he could press their lips together.
Jimmy ended up mixing drinks for everyone.
Stephen was halfway through a glass of Bacardi and orange soda, Jon casually nuzzling his neck, when a freshly showered Tucker emerged from the room on the right. "Hey, Col-bert, are you going to...oh, geez. You can't get drunk! It's not legal. We're all underage. We have to perform tomorrow."
The compromising position he'd been in made Stephen blush, but Jon didn't seem bothered at all, sitting up unselfconsciously and looping a protective arm over Stephen's shoulders. "Nobody's getting drunk, Tucker. We are getting lightly buzzed, to distract ourselves from the strain of being in the middle of New York City and completely unable to go outside and cause some real trouble."
"I'll make you one too, if you want," added Jimmy.
Tucker made a face like he'd tasted something slimy. "I'll pass," he said. "I just wanted to know if Stephen's moving his stuff out of my room, and if so, can he please do it now so I can get some sleep."
They had standing orders for people who handled their luggage: Stephen's and Tucker's bags went in one room, Jon's and Jimmy's in the other. (It had been worked out back in the early days of the band. At first Stephen and Jimmy had roomed together, but then it became clear you really couldn't stick Jon and Tucker in the same room and expect anything good to come of that.) In practice, what usually happened was that either Stephen or Jimmy would hang out in the other's room until as late as possible, and they ended up falling asleep in the same bed as often as not.
"Sure, I'll get it now," said Stephen, untangling himself from Jon and getting to his feet. It used to be that Jimmy tried to make sure they alternated whether it was Tucker or Jon who got a whole room to himself. But obviously these days Stephen would want to cuddle with Jon every time.
He was just dragging his suitcase across the threshold into the living area when he came face-to-face with Jimmy: also towing a suitcase, and headed in the opposite direction.
"Where are you going?" said Stephen stupidly.
"To...the other room?" said Jimmy. "I thought you and Jon would want your privacy."
"I thought we would too!" put in Jon, leaning over the back of the couch.
"You said you weren't going to take advantage of me!" exclaimed Stephen.
"I wasn't! I'm not! But you never said that meant we couldn't do anything that maybe our platonic friend doesn't need to be listening in on."
"You know what," said Jimmy, starting forward again at a gentle angle that moved him around Stephen, "I'm just gonna put all my stuff in here anyway. Because I'm sure you two will at least want to talk! As a couple! And this way, if Jon does get too handsy, you'll have a whole empty bed to push him into."
"Hey!" cried Jon. "I will be a saint, here. Stephen's virtue is perfectly safe."
"Oh my god," groaned Tucker, burying his face in his hands. "What did I ever do to deserve this much gay drama in my life?"
Jon held up the bottle. "Drinks are still over here if you need 'em."
~*~
"No, no, be honest with us, Stewart," said Tucker two drinks later. "You're alone in a dressing room. Th' door opens. It's the Boss himself, and he says to you, he says, listen, Jon Stewart, I, Bruce Springsteen, want to jump your bones. You would. You so would."
"Shut up, Tucker," said Jon. He thought idly about punching Tucker or something, but he would have to get up first, and that would disturb Stephen, who was lying across his lap. It was hard to be a mean drunk (or at least, a mean moderately-buzzed; Jimmy had put the bottle away, and, without Olivia around, nobody was getting out more) when you were busy being a pillow for your boyfriend.
"But you didn't say no," said Tucker. "I want that on the record," he added, pointing first at Jimmy and then Stephen from his own prone position on the next couch. "He did not say no."
"He did not," agreed Jimmy.
"Shut up, Jimmy, you're supposed to be th' sensible one," said Jon, playing with Stephen's hair. "Because that would never happen. You know that, right? That would never even happen. The Boss is a good man and a wonderful man and he is not a pedophile."
"Ephebophile," said Stephen from Jon's lap.
"Say again? You're slurring."
"Am not. Eff-eb-o-file," repeated Stephen, spitting out each syllable with careful enunciation. "Look it up. A pedophile is someone who wants to do it with prepab...for preabs...for kids who didn't do puberty yet. You are after puberty, Jon Stewart, which makes a grown-up who wants to do you an ephebophile. And that's the word."
"Sure. Whatever," agreed Jon. Stephen knew the most random things sometimes. "But it doesn't even matter, because he's not that either."
"But if he was."
"Stephen...." Jon fumbled for Stephen's hand, got it after a minute, and pressed it against his face. "You have to not get mad about...hypothetical ephebophile Bruce Springsteen."
Stephen squeezed Jon's hand and didn't answer. The blood had drained from his face, making him look kind of sick. Jon would have suggested that he lie down if he hadn't been doing it already.
"I said a stupid thing today," said Tucker out of nowhere.
Jon wished he was sober enough to say something witty to that. All he could come up with was, "Gosh, really?"
"Shut up, Jon," said Jimmy amiably. "Go ahead, Tucker."
"It was on Fox." Tucker closed his eyes. "I said they asked about politics, right? And...current events. And all that stuff."
"Uh-huh. With you so far."
"Dunno why they'd ask about that," muttered Jon. "We're teenage pop stars. They know we're teenage pop stars, right? Not, like, scholars. Not like people with opinions that matter."
"All of my opinions matter," protested Stephen.
"In part of it they asked about gay marriage," said Tucker, speaking over them both.
Startled silence, again. This time it was Jimmy who responded. "What did you say?"
"Stuff. Lots of stuff," said Tucker, waving one hand like he could grab his thoughts out of the air and drag them into line. "Like, how it's complicated, you know? And people have different opinions. And we should respect people and their opinions. And, like, religious freedom is important, and, and something about kids. Gotta do what's best for kids."
"But that's BS," said Jon. "You know it's BS, right? Gay parents aren't...listen, my dad...." No, he was definitely not drunk enough to start going into detail about his dad. "There's a whole lot of lesbians who would've been a way better second parent than my dad was. That's all I gotta say."
"Of course it's BS!" exclaimed Tucker. "I'm not proud of it. Why d'you think I don't want you watching?"
Jon glared at him. "You could've just not said it."
"No. Don't you even, Stewart. You don't get to be mad at me. Not for this."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because tomorrow," slurred Tucker, "tomorrow at th' launch party, your boyfriend is gonna be on the red carpet with Lisa Munn, an' they're gonna hold hands, an' they might even kiss, and are you gonna be mad about that?"
"No," said Jon. Then he corrected himself. "Yes. Mad about it, yes. But no, not mad at Stephen, no."
"Right. So."
"So we are not mad at you either," decided Stephen with finality. "Although I can't promise you will be invited to my wedding."
"Yeah," said Tucker. "Yeah, I can live with that."
~*~
As far as Stephen was concerned, the next morning should have been great. He wasn't hung over. Thanks to the magic of Vaxasopor, he wasn't even jet-lagged. He was recovering from the embarrassment of forever shaming himself in front of Dolly Parton, and today he got to do a special set at the Apple Store, the better to promote their new album on iTunes...as well as the new line of Shout*For iPhone cases.
Stephen had always liked Apple. They had given him a ton of free stuff these past couple of years.
Also, he would get to hang out with Olivia in the evening, and didn't have a single solo event to get to, meaning he would never be alone with Ned. So everything was shaping up to be wonderful, except that something was going on with Jon.
Breakfast was when Stephen first started to notice that Jon wasn't looking him in the eye. Well, it was early; he could have been still waking up. But then he flinched twice when Stephen touched him — not a sexual way, either, just ordinary in-public stuff, tapping his shoulder to get his attention, leaning against him when the photographer at the restaurant made them crowd together for a photo.
They were shepherded to Vanity Fair for the rest of the morning, handed off to a director of photography who put them all in black turtlenecks and kept telling them to look more serious. Stephen had a hard time repressing his excitement. "We look like real actors! From real theater!"
Tucker was more picky. "Not with our rings on. We can't vanish into character wearing something that specific."
And Jimmy wasn't impressed at all. "Honestly? We kind of look like rejects from a modern dance company."
"We do not!" complained Stephen. "We look classy. And black is very slimming. You think we look good, right, Jon?"
Again with the shying away from Stephen. "Sure," stammered Jon, unreasonably flustered. "We look fine."
That wasn't right at all. Jon should have said something like: We look like we should all grow beards and start lurking around coffee shops asking people to take a look at our screenplays.
Maybe he was just trying to make nice for the audience. Some guy was filming right now, after all, to release it as a bonus feature for the website; and there was a woman who kept asking questions in between shots, looking for a couple of good quotes to sprinkle in the blurb they'd write to accompany the pictures. Stephen had been urging Jon to snark less at these kinds of media people for ages now.
For some reason, he wasn't as happy about it as he'd expected to be.
"Jon, what's going on?" he demanded once they were back in the dressing room. "How come all of a sudden you're Mr. Flinchy?"
"What? Going on? Nothing's going on," said Jon. He was getting babble-y, the way he did when he was nervous. "I flinch sometimes. It's what I do. I'm a flincher."
"Not like this!" Stephen peeled the black turtleneck over his head. "You were fine up until last night! What happened?"
Jon glanced at Tucker and Jimmy, both tugging their socks off and politely looking at other things. He was getting out of his own clothes even more slowly than usual. "I really don't think we should talk about this here...."
"Why not?" demanded Stephen.
Jon stared at him for a long moment. "Stephen, do you — do you just not remember anything?"
"I remember lots of things," said Stephen crossly, but now he was getting nervous. Vaxasopor could do dodgy things to your memory while you were on it, and he didn't actually remember how he'd gotten to bed. It wasn't the first time that had happened; his doctor swore it was normal, nothing to worry about, as long as he made sure to take his pills directly before he was planning to sleep. "To be fair, after we heard Tucker's impromptu confessional everything kind of cuts out, but if I said something rude to you before we fell asleep, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. Probably."
"You weren't rude," said Jon. His whole frame had relaxed, like a weight had been lifted, though he still didn't look happy. "You went sleepwalking. It freaked me out a little. Don't sweat it. You're clearly awake now, I'll be fine, and we have to keep it together and go sell some 99-cent downloads."
Gathering up his street clothes, he broke for the showers.
Jimmy (now down to boxers and undershirt) was less abrupt. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked Stephen. "Sleepwalking can be pretty serious on Vaxasopor, I think. Have you gotten any other side effects?"
"Not as far as I know." Stephen shimmied out of the Vanity Fair pants. "Although, in the interest of full disclosure, I do not know what any of the others are."
"You could be dizzy, groggy, confused, depressed, or having hallucinations," said Tucker helpfully. "I think that's all the big ones. Unless you had an allergy, and I assume you would have noticed that."
"Oh. In that case, no, no side effects," said Stephen. "At least, I don't think so. If I was having hallucinations, how would I know?"
~*~
The limo holding Olivia and Lonny inched its way through the New York streets: aiming to arrive at the launch party fashionably late, but not quite as late as the stars of the night. Olivia made her bodyguard get a photo of her awesome silver-and-black cocktail dress — hey, it wasn't like he had anything better to do right now — which she texted straight to Kristen, terrible lighting and all.
<3 Olivia <3
Sneak preview b4 the paps put it up everywhere :)
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
I hope you have a jacket on you girl because that is some scandalous shoulder you're flashing.
<3 Olivia <3
Dont worry babe, these shoulders = all 4 u.
<3 Olivia <3
cant say the same abt the collarbone area tho...
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
You shameless hussy!
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
Next thing we know you're going to be flashing your ankles, and then where will we be?
<3 Olivia <3
hey do u know who else is gonna b there? aside from me + the guys + coked-up industry/production people
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
Hopefully some non-coked-up industry/production people!
Kristen (ಠ_ృ)
I know the company sent over Jaquie Brown and Serita Singh. And I think the Corddry Brothers? Nate might be a little young for that scene, though.
<3 Olivia <3
no such thing as 2 young. I was barely 13 for my 1st of these, remember?
<3 Olivia <3
Ok nvm, almost @ the club. Will let u know whos there soon.
She stashed the phone in her teeny purse, shrugged on the jacket, and was ready to step out when they pulled up to the red carpet.
It was mostly press and photographers thronged around the entrance to the club. The fans were back a layer, far enough that Olivia couldn't make out anything specific in the yelling and the waving of signs. She focused on smiling at the cameras, striking cute poses in front of a backdrop patterned with the big Shout*For logo and the logos of a handful of sponsors.
Given that there were, let's be real here, no teen pop stars bigger than her, the next limo had to be the guests of honor.
Olivia got out of the way at first, so as not to confuse the cameras. Sure enough, it was the band, looking wonderfully dashing. Wardrobe had put all their outfits together on a snappy black/white/navy color scheme: Tucker in his button-down and bowtie, Jimmy in a fitted tee and black jeans, Jon sporting a black leather jacket that looked depressingly non-fake, and Stephen in slacks that hugged his long legs with creases so sharp you could cut yourself on them.
All four purity rings were visible, but so were Stephen's and Jimmy's friendship necklaces. Olivia clamped down on a snicker. Intentionally or not, that little gesture was going to stir up a wave of the exact secret-gay rumors the network was trying so hard to squash.
It wasn't long before the photographers got bored of shouting different configurations for the guys to pose in, and started calling for shots of Stephen and Olivia together. She almost felt all right about sashaying back out...
...at least, until her heel caught on the carpet, and the world spun around her.
Stephen was kneeling at her side in an instant: helping her up, giving her something to brace herself on, through the touchy process of standing without flashing anyone in the process. By the time she was back on her feet she still had an iron grip on his shoulders, and his arms were firmly around her waist.
The cameras were going wild. Olivia flashed them her best isn't-it-cute-that-I'm-awkward grin. It would look good on Gawker, at least.
Stephen — who was way better at this, maybe because he was rarely self-aware enough to be awkward — dipped closer, put his lips next to her ear, and whispered:
"Don't worry, I have breath mints."
Oh. Apparently Olivia had drunk more before getting here than she realized. That would explain the falling, too.
"Thanks," she said weakly, and went back to striking poses, trying not to breathe too much in the direction of anyone in the press before they were finally able to get inside.
no subject
So what, Miley has a TCR-like show and a show where she's herself?
The kids looking up drink recipes online is adorable. Baby drunkards.
Also, Stephen being a pliable drunk. <3
"You know it's BS, right? Gay parents aren't...listen, my dad...." No, he was definitely not drunk enough to start going into detail about his dad. "There's a whole lot of lesbians who would've been a way better second parent than my dad was
That's a really bad argument. Comparing best case scenario to worst case scenario isn't really the point. A better argument would be something like: "child rearing can be learned by anyone regardless of their gender and the children of same sex couples can learn about other genders from friends and relatives just as well as they would from their parents."
"You went sleepwalking. It freaked me out a little.
Okay, here I was thinking that Stephen had made an aggressive pass on Jon (making it difficult for Jon to keep his promise!)
Sleepwalking is scary.
no subject
Saying "same-sex couples are not inherently worse at child-rearing than mixed-sex couples" is a perfectly decent argument. Not that Jon lays it out that logically...but to be fair, he's a drunk teenager being morose about his sexuality and family, not a sober teenager defending a point in debate club.
As for Jon the next morning, keep in mind that he's going to be reluctant to talk about anything embarrassing, especially when Tucker and Jimmy are in the room...
no subject
I got the impression that because Stephen doesn't understand she's a character, he looks up to her and wants to be on her show.
I was trying to come up with words that rhyme as well as Report and Colbert does and the best I could come up with was "Montana's Americana" - a segment where she decides what cultural works qualify to enter her personal American canon.
Hmm, I did smell a classic romance novel trope!