Chapter 43: Industrial Devolution (Patreon)

Chapter 43: Industrial Devolution

Four Seasons Hotel Royal Suite, LA. January 2009.

“You’re leaving?” Dong Lover made his dissatisfaction clear via his tone on the other end of the line.

“Yeah. On a midnight plane to Heathrow.” Chartered, not scheduled. Just because I hadn’t bothered to buy a jet didn’t mean I wasn’t gonna fly in style. “In about a week from now. We can grab a bite when you get here.”

“Man, are you seriously gonna do me like that? My career in Hollywood is finally getting started and the best you can do is ‘grab a bite’ with me? I won’t stand for it!”

“I’m really a rather boring person, Donald, old boy.” As much as I’d like to take him out on the town, the truth was, I had no idea where to go. And even if I did, the plush hotel bedding had me swaddled tight; just like the springy landline cord coiled around my swirling finger as I spoke to Gambino on the phone. 

“My ass, Bas! Hawaii wasn’t that long ago. What makes you think I forgot any of the time we spent together?” Touché.

“The new year has come and gone, and left a new me in its wake?” 

“Save that line for the gym membership you’re never gonna use.” Mighty persistent, wasn’t he? “Look, don’t be that guy. We both know you’re just being lazy. Get off your keister and put on your big boy pants. You’re coming out with me tonight.”

Hmm. I almost had another excuse leap off the tip of my tongue: Potter was a scant few weeks away; I shouldn’t jeapordise my performance. The paps were always after me; I didn’t wanna give them more material. I was only just recovering from a bout of food poisoning and had yet to finish my renegade playthrough of Mass Effect. The list could go on, and my lazy bones would encourage me to do so as long as I stayed tucked inside my fluffy, white duvet.  

On reflection, however, what was the point of being a celebrity if I wasn’t going to live my life like the scoundrel I was supposed to be?

Fuck it. “You’ve convinced me. Give me a time and a dress code.” 

“Sensational, knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, dude. You’ll be my plus one at an industry party, so ditch the black tie but keep it fashionable. See you in an hour. I’ll pick you up at the lobby!” Clack. He hung up without allowing the opportunity to even consider vacillating. 

Needless worry on his part, though. I’d made my decision. The only thing I’d be wishy-washy about was the goopy green face mask expertly exfoliating my face. 

Nothing for it then. 

A swift taekwondo empowered kick flung away my blanket, and I was out of my bedroom before it could settle back on the mattress. “Hey, Fed? Slip into something uncomfortable. I’m heading out for a party and I assume you’ll want to shadow.”

To my immense surprise, my probationary consigliere hadn’t bothered putting on her jammies despite the late hour. “If Bas has been idle for over four days in a row; remain vigilant. Boredom will inevitably get the better of him. Do not be surprised if he exhibits impulsive behaviour and announces spontaneous plans. “It appears that my predecessor has given valuable advice.”

“Try your best not to kill my vibe.” I held up two shirts from my suitcase. “Which one?”

Expressionlessly, she tilted her head and pointed to my left. “Mandarin collar,” then to my right. “Turtleneck in the morning - should serve to hide any hickeys you’re planning on collecting.”

“Er…? Aren’t you meant to dissuade me from going out at all?”

“Why? You are an adult now. You will do what you do. Have fun, and leave any cover-up to me.”

There was no covering up my face splitting grin when she said that. “I’m liking you already!”

–

Bel-Air, Santa Monica. January 2009.

A quiet cul-de-sac in the interiors of a gated community wouldn’t seem like the hottest new nightclub to most. But in Hollywood you, much like what goes on behind closed doors, couldn’t be more wrong. “Donald, you made it!”  

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Dan. By the way, let me introdu-”

“Holy shit!” The aforementioned Dan looked like he was a deer in headlights. Ironically, a lot like the Christmas themed lawn ornaments he still had up. 

“Bas Rhys, meet Daniel Glass, and vice versa. He’s the head of Glassnote Records - and hopefully my distributor if I ever finish recording my album.” 

“I’m looking forward to that record release party almost as much as I am to tonight’s.” A little subtle nudging on my part. Let the schmoozing - ahem networking - begin! 

“Then let’s not waste another second.” He threw open the doors to his lux mansion and grandly invited us in. “Hey everyone, give our newest guests a warm welcome!” The second those hinges spread as wide as they could, I felt the rush of the energy brimming inside pour over me like a booze soaked tidal wave. “Say hi to my freshest find: Donald Glover - and bringing us a party favour with him, Bas fuckin’ Rhys!” That wasn’t my middle name, but to the drunk whooping crowd polluting his home, it may very well have been. 

But even that hollering was drowned out beneath the dancing DJ’s blaring music. In all that mishigas I realised that Fedex had slunk away into the crowd - likely monitoring me through a viable vantage point without cramping my style. 

“We can talk business all night, gentlemen. But first you gotta enjoy your night. What’s your poison?”

“I’ll start with a beer. Bas is underage.” Glover, what the fuck!?

“Does he look like he has a liquor licence to worry about? I’m thirsty, and tonight I’m allergic to water!” My mission for the evening was to ensure that neither my vision nor my steps were on the straight and narrow. 

“That’s what I like to hear. Break out the fortaleza. We’re doing shots!” 

The Hollywood in everyone spilled out full force at that proclamation. You might’ve expected a waiter presenting us with three drinks on a tray. 

Not the case. 

The salt, tequila, and lemon were all there, sure. But each item was dressed over the body of a scantily clad brunette, wearing a navel exposing crop-top and lowrider daisy dukes. They rolled her out on a trolley table and displayed her in the centre of the dance floor. “We need someone to step up and show the schoolboy how it’s done.” Was that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge.

Time I rose to it. I shouldered my way forward, stood in the centre of the ring, and dropped my head low. 

My tongue darted out. I trailed it across the line (of what was thankfully actually) salt along her midriff. Her core flexed and my tongue dipped into the ridges of her suddenly showing abs. Someone was ticklish. 

I kept going. A pair of hands precariously balancing the shot glass topped with tequila on her sternum was my next point of attack.

Gently, I locked my teeth around the rim, threw my head back, and drained the liquid flame down my throat. Hoooh… I blew out a breath to quell the fire.

The lime was last - but between those plump, quivering lips of hers - definitely not least. 

Dipping down, I pressed my lips to hers, sucked the lime into my mouth, and bit to release the sour chaser. 

Her torso arched up, and her tongue slipped in and greeted my tonsils. I felt her nails painfully burrow into the nape of my neck as she locked one knee around my waist and inhaled me. I could hear bystanders chant even as my ears were tuned into the cute little moans echoing under me. 

Her breath successfully stolen away, she collapsed onto the trolley with a weak thud. Her eyes were swimming in unshed tears as her chest heaved to replace the lost oxygen in her system.

Unlike my belly, my lungs were nowhere near burning. Guess my PADI certification had fringe benefits I hadn’t fully appreciated. 

Standing back up to full height; I surveyed the circle of revellers; wiped the combination citrus and saliva with a flick of my thumb, and asked, “who’s next?”

The party goers went mental.

Another song. Pulse, pulse, pulse!

Beats kept bumping, and I kept dancing. Every note blasting open a pore, sending soothing rivulets of sweat down my spine. 

Another drink. Gulp, gulp, gulp!

Every sip driving me deeper into a haze. The refreshment sending the continuum into reverb, as time slowed, rewinded, fast forwarded, and repeated.

Another girl. Bas, Bas, Bas!

Fingers and flesh swam across my skin, threatening to send me into syncope from the blood loss in my brain.

Lighting in these mansion soirees was far different from a nightclub. Chandeliers hung in place of disco lights. The staccato thrum of the speakers blaring out music still pounded relentlessly inside my chest cavity and blocked ears, but the vibrations wouldn’t hide in the dark. Each and every inch of jiggling flesh was on display. 

Without a clue how long - and how much - it’d been, I was seeing triplets. Time for a break.

Wading through them, the crowd tried to claw me back in. Unfamiliar hands gripped at my sleeves, wandering lips kissed at my cheeks, and roiling fantasies groped wherever they could find purchase on my person. I suffered through the ocean of champagne induced molestation until I mercifully plonked myself on a couch. 

I spied Gambino a short distance away; leaning on a pillar, nursing a beer, and in deep conversation with our host for the evening. They needed my help. I’m a deal closer. “Hey there, stranger!” Or maybe not.

Took me a while, but I eventually recognised the woman who’d perched herself in my lap - sort of, anyway. “Tequila girl!”

“You remembered! I thought you’d like already forgotten about me.” She spoke in that lilting valley girl way that almost made every sentence sound like a question.

“Don’t let my face fool you. I’m not squinting, my eyes are just half-lidded.” My vocab wasn’t limited, but you can bet I slurred every syllable out. 

“Like oh my god, you’re so funny! I don’t believe you, though. But I totally have a way you can make it up to me.” Oh, would you look at that? She had a drink in her hand. “To us. Cheers!” 

Cheers. I pursed my lips and waited for the glass rim to make contact. But before it could, “Oops.” The crystal was knocked out of tequila girl’s hand, spilling its contents on the expensive carpet below. “How clumsy of me, no?” Fedex’s ever so slightly Italian intonation was entirely devoid of contrition.

Ignoring the gasping woman on my lap, I craned my neck and sought my protector. Our eyes met, and hers quickly darted back and forth between mine and the alcohol soaking into the rug. “Whu-?”

“Mr Rhys, perhaps you should save that digestif for after you have had something to eat.” She unwrapped tequila girl’s arm from around my neck and urged me to get up.

I wasn’t sober, but even my booze-addled brain deduced that she was trying to feed me a drink spiked with something. Maybe it was rohypnol, or acid, hell it could’ve been viagra for all I knew. Point was I didn’t, and neither was I prepared to find out. 

“Step off, bitch! Bas, baby, who is this hag?” A human condom stopping me from getting blackmailed or baby-trapped.

“Someone who knows best.” I snaked my arms under her knees and around her hips, and lifted her up like a princess as I stood up. Then unceremoniously dropped her like a leprosy infected pauper on the seat I’d just vacated. “But hey, you can always have the drink yourself.”

“Go fuck yourself, Bas Rhys!” she screeched as I walked away arm in arm with Fedex.

Yes. I’m very much afraid that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do. What a waste of a party.

Whatever. If I wanted a taco, I knew just the place to go. “You ever had late night Cali-Mex out of a boardwalk food truck?”

“Would it surprise you if I said no? What is the occasion?” 

A successful audition. “We’ve got to celebrate the end of your probation, haven’t we?” I tugged on her arm snuggled tightly in the crook of my elbow. “C’mon. My treat.”