I walked out the hotel doors as I sighed in relief. I love my family, I really do. However, spending two weeks in LA with two angsty teens, Nicole, and my brother, isn't the most relaxing experience in the world. However, thank God for Tom. Without him here, Nicole couldn't go the spa, and, heh, I wouldn't be able to get a drink.
I didn't really have a set place in mind, so I just settled for walking down a few blocks and entering the first bar I found. It was pretty dumpy- it was just some dive called Jim's Tap- but the atmosphere was pretty welcoming. I looked around for a good place to sit, when I heard a familiar laugh behind me.
It was just as high-pitched and lilted as I remembered it, but now there was a slight gruffness to it, I guess to account for age. His outburst soon dissolved into tiny, breathy chuckles. It was Him, alright.
I turned around, looking at Him. He was talking to the bartender, listening intently to a story. The barkeep was talking so that only He could hear, but by the expression on His face, it must be a good one. His hair was still as unruly as ever, and the same sense of passion was still in His eyes. His chin had a lot more hair on it than usual- practically a beard- but it was shaven neatly to stop at the base of his chin. He stopped to scratch it, then spoke to the bartender with a glint in His eye, causing the Barkeep to erupt into laughter. Knowing Him, it was probably some witty one-liner. Then again, how well do I really know Him? I haven't seen Him in how long- twenty years? He's so successful now- he's making billions as a star director in Hollywood, for Christ's sake. I wonder if he even remembers me.
I see the bartender move on from their conversation, walking over to another patron at the other end of the bar. It's now or never, Dee.
I walked over, and sat down next to him.
"It's been a while hasn't it, Stamps?" He looked at me in surprise, nearly choking on his drink.
He stared at me for a long while, taking me in. I suppose he isn't the only one who's changed over the years.
"David Spencer." He says in disbelief, lightly shaking his head. His accent changed. It's definitely more American sounding now, but it still carries that soft quality to it. I wonder how long he's been here?
"It's been twenty years, my God." He said, grinning. Then his brows furrowed.
"My GOD." He laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder. I smiled back at him, patting him on the back.
"Why- why are you here?" He asked. I put a hand on my chest in mock offense. He quickly amended himself, chuckling.
"No, I mean, why are you, of all people, someone I knew twenty years ago, in some crappy dive bar in LA?" I grinned at him, scratching my beard.
"Well, heh, I suppose I could ask you the same question, mate." Joe smirked.
"I see some things about you haven't changed." I laughed and knocked shoulders with him. He took another sip of his drink. Guessing by the color and glass, it was scotch. He noticed my gaze.
"Well, how about we get you a drink before we start pouring out our life stories to each other?"
"Good idea."
I was about two drinks in. I'm sure my face was already a solid shade of pink, but I was having a great time. I had already told Joe about myself- My wife, Nicole, my two knucklehead teenagers, Carrie and Roland (something from Stephen King, probably, it was Nicole's idea), and my lack of a stable job. He had laughed at that.
"Well, you've never been too great at sticking with one thing, have you, mate?" I laughed along with him, remembering the countless series I gave up on back in the day.
I learned a couple things about him too- How he and Beth got married, and after five years divorced (I gave him my condolences), how he moved over to the states working for Maker, and how a very influential coworker of his got him into the movie business. After he got in, he was determined to stay in by working constantly until he found his big break- directing this little indie movie called Chelsea's Creek. The movie was a smash hit, and next thing he knew, he was moving from his dumpy little apartment to a pristine house in Malibu. He's in LA this week on business.
It was funny- the more Joe drank, the more his old voice steadily returned to the surface. Even the barkeep was surprised- he didn't even realize Joe wasn't from the U.S. I looked over at Joe, his tan face was a spotty red, now, I suppose the lightweight in him didn't change. I wondered what happened between us? Why did we…disconnect? I realized that I had asked my question out loud when Joe fixed me with a serious gaze.
"…I think it was when my channel started to die. I think that's when it started." I looked up at him. His eyes were staring intently at the wall, the only visual homage to the struggle to remember against the alcohol.
"And," He continued, "and then, when my channel actually did die, you were, uh, just busy with your own stuff, I suppose." A few stray memories of birthday and wedding invites floated up to my conscious. All of them I couldn't go to because of my family, or my job. Eventually, I stopped getting invitations to ignore. I felt guilt wash over me, reaching down to my toes. I looked away from Joe, and buried my face, now pink with shame, into my scotch glass. I felt him looking at me. I also heard him laugh.
"Tell me you aren't feeling guilty right now, mate." I was taken aback. I looked up at him.
"Joe, I'm s- "
"Don't you dare, Squid nugget. Don't you dare start apologizing to me." He said, after sloppily clamping his hand on my mouth. I looked at him quizzically. He took his hand away, wiping it off on my shirt.
"David, if I was really angry with you, after all this time, do you think I'd sit here chatting with you, telling you about my life for three and a half hours?" He sighed.
"Look, Dee. Things happen for a reason. If we'd stayed in touch, I'd probably still be in the U.K. by now, with an income situation similar to yours. Sure, we haven't seen each other in twenty years, but hey, we're seeing each other now, aren't we?" I nodded, thinking hard about his words. I turned to him, smiling.
"You're right, Stamps. Heh, I suppose some things don't change." He chuckled and took the last swig of his drink. I copied him, finishing my own.
"The bar's closing soon. Do you need a ride to your hotel?" I nodded appreciatively. We paid our bills, and Joe called his private transport.
"Private transport, eh? I mean, if you're filthy rich, why walk like a commoner?" I teased him, wrapping an arm around his (much higher than I remembered) shoulders. He laughed, leaning on me for support.
"I don't use it often, but it does come in handy for not getting mugged while stumbling home from a bar." He typed out a few words on his smartphone (one of the newer models, he even had the 3D screen projection upgrade) then turned to me, smiling.
"Our ride should be here in a few seconds." Exactly a few seconds later, a sleek looking car (that I had a hard time not drooling over) opened its doors, and we stepped inside.
We traveled down at least twenty different backroads- to avoid late-night paparazzi, Joe explained- before we pulled into the circle drive way of the cheap Marriott I was staying in. I felt a little cocky- I saw the jaws of the valet and several patrons hit the floor when we pulled up. I shook my head, mentally reminding myself to be humble. I turned to Joe, who was smiling at me.
"Well Squid, I'm really glad I got to see you tonight. It was nice catching up with you." I laughed, pulling him in for a hug.
"It was nice to see you too. It has been a while, after all." Joe snorted at that.
He hesitated for a moment, then asked the driver for a pen and paper. He quickly scribbled something on the paper, tore it off, and gave the driver back the notepad. He handed me the note.
"I don't know how long you're planning on staying in LA for, but eh, you know…" I saw the paper had 10 numbers on it. Joe's phone number. I looked up, smiling.
"…if you ever want to hang out somewhere nicer than a dive bar, just uh, give me a call." He finished, smirking at me. I got out of the car, smiling.
"I might just take you up on that offer."
We waved goodbye as the door started to shut automatically. I watched him drive off, weaving down hidden back streets and away from prying eyes. I clenched the note in my hands, careful not to drop it as I moved inside.
When I walked into the hotel elevator, a wave of nostalgia suddenly came over me.
One day, we were two idiots making gaming letsplays on YouTube. Twenty years later, he's a billionaire living in Malibu and I have a family.
I guess it really has been a while.