Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road - 2. Chapter 2-Bumpy Landing

Chapter 2

Bumpy Landing

Andy stirred. He wasn’t fully conscious, but he could sense heat and dampness, wrinkled sheets clinging to his sweaty skin. The pain swirling around his head prevented him from opening his eyes fully, and through the slits he managed to produce, Andy could only see darkness. He also heard, as from very far away, the sound of rain pounding down on walls and windows. Very slowly, and painfully, he pulled himself to a sitting position, a loud groan slipping from his dry lips.

“Hey, blondie, you up?” Andy heard faintly. He felt rather than saw, a large presence lower itself beside him . Then Andy felt sweet moisture at his lips as someone held a bottle of lukewarm water to his mouth.

“Drink this,” the faint, but deep voice said. Andy did as requested, feeling the water soaking into his dehydrated tissues and diminishing some of the throbbing in his head. Andy managed to whisper out a “thank you” before darkness consumed his once more, and he returned to its sweet oblivion.

Sometime later, Andy woke again. His head ached, his stomach churned, but this time he managed to fully open his eyes. The room was dark, but grey light was seeping in through opened windows. A cool, clean breeze swept the room, and he shivered as it moved over his sweat soaked skin.

Andy lay there for a moment in confusion. The ceiling he was staring at….cracked and discolored, but ornamented with elaborate plaster mouldings…..was neither that of his small, but stylish, L.A. condo or the comfortable, but sterile short term rental he was staying at for the duration of the Netflix shoot.

“Where am I?” Andy thought, starting to panic. He tried to recall the events of last night,but he could only glimpse scattered memories….a flaming fountain in the Pat O’Brien’s courtyard, the sweet taste of his first hurricane, dancing with Skylar in a crowded bar….nothing that explained him waking up naked except for his boxer briefs in a strange apartment.

Steeling himself to movement that he knew would only worsen the agony in his head, Andy forced himself into a sitting position and looked around the room. It was actually two rooms, he realized, connected with a large arch, trimmed with the same elaborate plaster decoration that graced the ceiling.

His bed was a mattress directly on the floor, stacks of books serving as impromptu night stands. Aside from the mattress and the books which seemed to swarm around the room, arranged in piles against the walls, topping the few chairs and tables scattered about the rooms, the apartment was sparsely furnished. It was also dark...no lamps lit, and the ceiling fans that hung from ornate medallions designed to showcase long gone chandeliers were also turned off.

Aside from the early morning light leaking in from the floor length windows in the front room, the only light came from a handful of candles on a small round table. A form sat at the table, writing, occasionally flipping through one of the books on the table.

It was a man who appeared to be in his late 20s, bearded, dark haired. Andy judged that standing the stranger would be around 6 feet. He was barefoot, wearing basketball shorts and a plain white tee that strained across his broad shoulders. The short sleeves revealed fully inked arms bulging with muscle.

As Andy studied the man, desperately trying to think of what to say, what to ask, the stranger turned toward Andy. His face was harsh, its features chiseled. A long, straight nose, cheekbones whose strong curves were apparent even underneath the beard, eyes dark and hooded under heavy brows and lids.. The mouth, though, wasn’t harsh or chiseled. It was soft, sensual, full lipped. And under Andy searching gaze, it widened into a grin, and suddenly, the face was no long harsh and frightening. Andy felt the panic that had been rising in him start to recede.

“Hey, Blondie. Decided to join the living? Up for good this time?”

“Ummm….yeah...I think so,” Andy rasped out, shocked at how dry and harsh his voice sounded.

“There’s so more water and some aspirin beside you,” the stranger said. “Sorry it’s not cold, but the storm knocked out the electricity, and it’s not back on.”

“Thanks,” Andy said, finding the water and aspirin on a stack of books to the right of the bed. He opened the water, closing his eyes in pleasure as the liquid quenched his great thirst. After a long swallow, he put the bottle down and grabbed the aspirin. But his hands were shaking too badly to open the tamper proof lid, and he dropped them onto his lap.

“Here,” the stranger said with another of those grins. “I’ll do it.” He rose with grace, moving across the room to sit beside Andy on the mattress. He smelled good: a whiff of something woody mixed with lavender. He took the aspirin bottle and quickly opened it, pouring two pills into Andy’s palm.

“Thanks,” Andy said, very conscious of his near nakedness and this vital man’s presence so close. It was an odd sensation. This awareness of someone else. Especially someone so attractive. It had been a long time since Andy had felt this.

“No” Andy told himself. “No...this is not a path to go down.” He forced himself to speak. He needed to find out who this bearded guy was, find out what happened, and to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. Please, god, it wasn’t one of those times when he had given in to temptation, to those desires he needed to keep hidden. Andy had been lucky so far; none of the guys he had fooled around with had betrayed him. Most had been like him; deeply closeted and with much to lose if their secrets were revealed. But still, the thought that one of them might call a tabloid or go to one of the gossip sites haunted him.

“Who are you and what exactly happened last night?”

“I”m Will. Will Harte,” said the bearded man, settling himself near the foot bed so he could look at Andy easily. “And I don’t know how the rest of your night went. I found you just past midnight passed out on a sofa at my bar. You were too drunk to tell me where you lived or who I could call to come take care of you, so I brought you to my place to sleep it off. We’re on Esplanade a mile or two from the French Quarter.”

“Oh,” Andy said. He spent a moment trying to recall last night, but nothing concrete came...just more flashes of drinks, of various bars, of dancing.

“What happened to my clothes?" he asked.

“You threw up on your shirt before we could get you out of the bar, and you then you vomited all over your pants when we were unloading you here. I’ve rinsed them out, but with no electricity, I couldn’t wash and dry them.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Andy could feel the hot red flush of embarrassment sweep over him.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been there, too. Most people who come to this city end up there at some point. Anyway,” Will said, rising. “I’ll grab something for you to wear. A shower, even though it’s going to have to be a cold one, will make you feel better.”

Will walked over to a small chest and pulled out a pair of athletic shorts and a tattered tee. He then walked toward a small opening in a side wall, and gestured for Andy to follow him. Andy, conscious of his lack of clothing, climbed unsteadily out of bed and walked toward Will.

Will moved into the small hallway. He handed the folded clothes to Andy and gestured to the left down the hall. ‘Bathroom is down there. You’ll see the soap and towels. I don’t have a spare toothbrush, but help yourself to toothpaste and mouthwash. Luckily my stove is gas, so I can make some coffee for you while you shower, if that sounds good.’

“Coffee sounds amazing.”

“Well, I’ll warn you, I have sugar, but no milk.”

“Just sugar’s fine and thank you.”

“No problem, Blondie” Will said, smiling. As Andy turned to go the bathroom, Will called out, “Hey!”

Andy turned, eyebrows raised in question.

“What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Blondie.”

Andy felt a sense of surprise. Even with his current has-been status, it had been a decade since most people hadn’t recognized him. Sure, the new hair made him look a bit different, but even last night, people, too many people for his comfort, had recognized him and asked for him to say his stupid catchphrase. If he never said, “I’ll have a little help from above” again, it was still too late to keep him from hating it and wishing that stupid show had never been made.

Andy realized that he had been silent was too long for such a simple question, and Will was looking at him puzzled.

“Sorry, just a bit foggy this morning. It’s Andrew, but everybody calls me Andy.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“Andrew, I guess, but it doesn’t really matter.”

“In that case, Andrew is it.” With another flashing grin, Will turned and walked the opposite way into the tiny kitchen at the end of the hall.

The first icy blasts of the shower had been brutal, but the cold water, mixed with the heady scent of Will’s pine tar soap, had worked wonders on Andy’s hangover. By the time he had finished rubbing toothpaste over his teeth with a finger and swished a bit of mouthwash, he felt almost human again. The quick glance in the mirror, however, cut off his premature celebration over his dwindling hangover. He felt miles better, but he looked like shit; skin dry and patchy, huge bags under his eyes, cracked lips. Laura, his makeup person, was going to kill him.

That reminded him that he needed to be at the makeup trailer at 9 a.m., and he had no idea what time it was. Panicking, he pulled on his briefs and Will’s clothes, and rushed out of the bathroom and down the hall into the kitchen.

“What time is it?” he asked, almost yelling.

Will, who had been toasting a piece of bread over one of the stove’s burners, turned at Andy’s harsh tones. He glanced at the black Casio on his wrist. It’s a little after 6.”

“Cool,” Andy said, relaxing. He glanced at Will’s questioning face. “Sorry….i have to be at work at 9, and I realized i didn’t know what time it was.”

“I understand. Here,” Will said, placing the toast on a plate and handing it Andy. “I thought you might like a little something to settle your stomach.” He gestured to a mug on the counter top. Coffee’s ready to go...sugar’s beside it.” He picked up his own mug and moved to the tiny bistro table in the corner and sat. Andy followed and sat opposite.

“Thank you so much for…” Andy gestured around, “all of this. It you hadn’t found me and helped me out…”

“Well, I did, and it’s no big deal. I’ve had my own share of help, so I like paying it forward.” Enough of this gratitude shit. What do you do for work?”

“I’m …..” Andy paused. He was enjoying the novelty of hanging out with someone who did know him, did already have a preconceived notion of who he was. Who didn’t want something. “I’m working on set. A Netflix series, actually.”

“That sound interesting. What’s is about?”

“Have you heard of a movie called “Where the Day Takes You” from the 90s?”

“That would be a negative.”

“Well, that what the series is. It’s based on the movie which is about a group of homeless teens. In the film it’s set in Hollywood, but Louise….the screenwriter….wanted to set in New Orleans. She expanded the themes; but the big difference is that the series version is going to be a musical.”

“A musical? So homeless teens scampering around the Quarter singing at each other? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Instead of being offended, Andy found Will’s disdain charming, funny even. He was so used to people pretending that everyone’s ideas, no matter how ludicrous many of them actually were, were wonderful and profound that he embraced Will’s scepticism.

“It’s not like it sounds. Louise is really talented, and the script is great. And the musical numbers are fantasy sequences or done as actual performance within the story. For example, one of the characters sings for cash on the street. So not really singing at each other.”

“I get it. I’ll keep a watch out for it. I don’t watch a lot of tv, but I’ll make an exception for you.” Will smiled at the handsome man across the table and took a final sip of coffee. No point in indulging in a burdening crush if the object was just passing through. “I’ll call a cab for you. I’d drop you off myself, but I don’t have a car.”

Andy finished his own coffee. “You’ve done enough a cab is fine.” He got up and followed Will who was walking into the apartment's main living space.

“What about your clothes?” Andy asked as he gathered his keys, wallet, and dead phone.

"They're old. Don't worry about them."

“I can’t just take your stuff.’

“Drop them off one night at the bar, then.” Will fumbled around the table he had been using as a desk and grabbed a matchbook. He handed it to Andy. “The address is on the back. I’m usually there Monday-Thursday, 9 pm to 5 am.”

“Tough schedule.”

“You get used to it. Besides, I’m finishing up my degree, and this way work never interfered with my class schedule. At any rate, I only have a couple of weeks left. You’ll have to hurry to visit if you don’t want to miss me.”

“Why are you leaving?”

“Graduation is actually at the end of the month, and I’ve got a job lined up at a non-profit. The Amanda Brooks House.”

“I know that place. We had a meeting with the director of it and talked to some of the kids to get a feel for what life is really like for homeless teens. It seems like a really great place.”

“It is. I could have used it at one point….” Will signed, not finishing his thought. “But at least I can help others. That’s one of the reasons I was willing to take a chance on helping you. My friend Bruno said he saw you there, and I assumed you were volunteering. I didn’t realize you were just a tourist.” A grin softened the last words.

“Hey,” Andy said in mock defensiveness. “I am a working tourist. But, I did find the shelter inspiring. I’ve been toying with doing some volunteering. When I get back to L.A., I’ll have to find somewhere similar.”

“Glad New Orleans could inspire something other than a hangover,” Will smiled and then fished out his phone to dial United Cab.

Forty-five minutes later, Andy was lugging the bag filled with his damp clothes up the porch steps to the house the studio had rented for he and Skyler off Magazine street. He had debated dumping the whole still stinking mess of clothes in the trash can outside, but he couldn’t really afford to waste expensive things anymore. Sighing, as he thought of his current bank balance and the millions stashed in the trust he couldn't access, he unlocked the door.

Opening it, he heard Skyler moving around in the kitchen. The living room lights were on, and the apartment was mercifully cool. Andy stopped to plug in his dead phone before heading to the laundry nook right outside of the kitchen.

Skyler heard him loading the washer, and stuck her head around the kitchen door.

“I don’t have to ask you how your night went. Lucky asshole.” She pulled back into the kitchen.

Andy followed Skyler, noticing that the smell of coffee was strong. He walked toward the coffee maker and grabbed a mug from the tray beside it. After pouring a cup, he turned. “What do you mean ‘lucky asshole’?”

“I mean you got some action, and with a real hottie. I had to come back alone.” She pouted.

“What are you talking about. I didn’t hook up with anyone. I passed out at bar, and the bartender took me to his house to sleep it off.”

“Beard boy is a bartender? I don’t usually do facial hair, and I try to stay away from service industry, but he is hot. I can’t blame you for tapping that.”

“How did you know Will has a beard? Where you there at the bar? Did you leave me there alone?”

“No, of course we didn’t leave you. At least not on purpose. You disappeared sometime after we got to the karaoke place, but we didn’t realize you weren’t with us until we started ordering Ubers around midnight. I called and texted you, but didn’t get an answer. “

“My phone died.”

“Anyway, you’re a big boy, I figured you could take care of yourself. And it looks you did. So,” she asked conspiratorially, “is it huge? Cause from the picture it look beard boy’s dick would be huge.”

A word pierced the fog of confusion in Andy’s brain. “Picture?” he said.

Awareness dawned on Skyler’s face. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” he asked, terror blooming within him.

“Babycakes,” Skyler said, picking up her phone and tapping on it for a bit, before settling on a site. “You’ve gone viral.”