Hotel California
-on a dark desert highway / cool wind in my hair / warm smell of colitis / rising up through the air-
Chandler Bing inhales deeply on his umpteenth cigarette of the day. He is driving too fast in his little convertible, but then what does that matter? It's the middle of nowhere and he hasn't seen another vehicle, let alone a cop, for hours. Just wide open highway behind, desert on either side, and the horizon straight ahead. He's gotten rather used to this solidarity; it seems to suit him.
A few months back, he was surrounded. Almost becoming claustrophobic with all the attention he received. Riding high on the success of his tabloid- ish tell all book My Life As the Son of Mistress Bitch. Sure, his mother hadn't been pleased with all the bad press, but talk shows loved him, magazines did cover stories on him. Hell, even shock jock Howard Stern had called Chandler's sarcastic and sometimes angst filled humor "wit."
Interest, however, faded fast and his fifteen minutes were up. His book tour continued, though it was going downhill fast.
"Why am I even bothering anymore?" he groans to the emptiness surrounding him. He glances in the rearview mirror briefly watching the orange tip of the cigarette butt he threw to the asphalt fade away. "Just like everything else in my life."
He is tired and lonely. More than once in the past couple of weeks he has considered ending it all. It seems cliché to him, though, which may be the only reason he hasn't. The gun stashed in the glove box is there just in case he changes his mind. Not that anyone would really miss him. Perhaps it would be for the best if he just stopped and did it. Cliché's aren't all that bad.
-up ahead in the distance / I saw a shimmering light / my head grew heavy and my sight grew dim / I had to stop for the night-
Stifling a yawn, Chandler squints to read the gaudy, neon sign up the road.
"Odd place for a hotel," he mutters. 'Maybe God is trying to tell me something,' is his thought as he glances wryly to the glove box.
He pulls into the parking lot, gravel crunching underneath the tires of his car. Killing the engine he grabs the duffle bag from the back seat and then hesitates. After a moment of thought, he drops open the glove box, grabs the gun, and shoves it deep into the duffel bag. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder he steps out of the car.
A ringing bell marks his arrival when he pushes open the large glass door and enters the ... he looks around ... well, it must be a lobby of sorts, he supposes. It's fairly large and, despite how the outside of the building looks, quite nice.
"Not a bad place to do myself in," he laughs humorlessly.
"May I help you?"
He turns slowly to face the origin of the low, velvety voice.
-there she stood in the doorway / I heard the mission bell / and I was thinking to myself / this could be heaven or this could be hell-
This time his laugh is a little nervous. Had she heard him? He reaches his hand out to her, "I'm Chandler Bing. I assume you have vacancies? The parking lot looked pretty empty. Not much call for a hotel out here in the middle of ..."
Chandler trails off as she brushes by his extended hand. At least there was no spark of recognition in her eyes when he introduced himself. That's the last thing he needs is questions about the damned book.
She moves very gracefully behind the counter situated on one side of the spacious room. He follows her lead and moves in front of the counter, setting his bag at his feet.
She glances up at him, stunning blue eyes through thick black lashes, and opens a registry book in front of him.
"Monica," she says simply.
He is caught slightly off guard, had assumed the moment of introductions were over, but apparently not.
Chandler offers her a smile, one of his first in weeks. "Lovely."
She laughs lightly at him, shaking her head a little. Her humor fades quickly and she licks her lips before whispering, "Are you sure?"
He blinks. "Excuse me?"
Ducking her head, as if ashamed, Monica hands him a pen. "Sign here," she says, pointing a perfectly manicured finger to the first available line.
He scrawls his name, noticing some of the names that came before, and he wonders what their stories were.
He is brought back to reality when she shuts the book and turns to pull a key off the wall behind her.
"Follow me, I'll bring you to your room."
-then she lit up the candle / and she showed me the way / there were voices down the corridors / I thought I heard them say / Welcome to the Hotel California / Such a lovely place / (such a lovely place) / such a lovely face-
"We don't get much business out here," Monica says in a light voice. "It's been awhile since we've had a new face."
-plenty of room at the Hotel California / any time of year / (anytime of year) / you can find it here-
Chandler follows the dark haired beauty down the dimly lit hallway. Music drifts towards them, growing louder with each step they take. Soon they are passing through open French doors into a courtyard. There are strings of lights all over, providing enough illumination that the small enclosure is fairly bright. There are people scattered around the area, some dancing to the music, some just talking, all with drinks in their hands.
-her mind is Tiffany twisted / she's got the Mercedes bends / she's got a lot of pretty pretty boys / she calls friends / as they dance in the courtyard / sweet summer sweat / some dance to remember / some dance to forget -
Chandler watches them as he and Monica pass through the little party and through another set of open French doors and into another dark hallway. She opens the room with the shiny number 20 situated near the top center of the door.
"Feel free to join the party once you get settled in."
And then she's gone, the key dangling from the doorknob.
His eyes adjust slowly when he switches on the light inside the room. With a deep sigh he sets his bag on the bed and collapses facedown next to it. The door is still open, the key still in the lock, but he doesn't really care. He decides quickly that what he needs is a drink.
Chandler pushes himself back onto his feet and makes his way back to the courtyard, grabbing his key and shutting his door on the way by.
-so I called up the captain / please bring me my wine / he said 'we haven't had that spirit here since 1969'-
He drinks. He talks. He drinks some more. He has fun for the first time in a very long time. He drinks some more. Monica is there, and she's laughing with him, and he feels on top of the world. He drinks some more. She introduces him to her brother and her friends. He drinks some more. They are all really nice people. Phoebe, Joey, Rachel, and Ross are so much fun, and all around great. Ross is obviously protective of his little sister. And his little sister is amazing.
Later he finds himself back in his room, sprawled on the bed. He's not sure how he got back here, it's all kind of a blur.
-and still those voices are calling from far away / wake you up in the middle of the night just to hear them say / Welcome to the Hotel California / Such a lovely place / (such a lovely place) / such a lovely face-
He really hopes he didn't make a complete ass of himself in front of Monica and her friends. Scrubbing his hands down his face, he moves to the bathroom and strips, turning the shower on as hot as he can stand it.
-they're livin' it up at the Hotel California / what a nice surprise / (what a nice surprise) / bring your alibis-
The shower is quick, although it works quite well. Chandler dries himself off as he wanders out of the bathroom to find something to throw on. Before he can go through his bag, he hears a very light tapping on the door. He hesitates, and then moves to open it.
-mirrors on the ceiling / pink champagne on ice / and she said 'we are all just prisoners here / of our own device'-
"Monica?"
It's dark, but he knows it's her.
"Chandler."
She comes into the room and without another word, shuts the door behind her. Then her lips are on his and everything is right.
They make love and talk and make love again. She tells him about the nature of this place. How there is no escape.
-in the master's chamber / they gather for the feast / stab it with their steely knives / but they just can't kill the beast-
He laughs at first, until she tells him that she and her brother have been trapped here for more years than she can count, and when he looks in her eyes, he knows she telling the truth.
It scares the hell out of him. He thinks of the gun in his bag. Somehow, though, he knows it will be of no help.
So he runs.
-last thing I remember / I was running for the door / I had to find the passage back to the place I was before-
Monica's brother stops him.
"Settle down, man. It's not worth it to fight. This must be better than you had it on the other side. It happened for a reason."
-"relax" said the night man / "we are programmed to deceive / you can check out any time you like / but you can never leave"-
-----------------------------------------
The red blue and white lights flash as the two officers stand waiting for the ambulance to arrive. No hurry, the man in the crumpled car has been dead for hours.
"This place gives me the creeps," Officer Mike Hannigan mutters to his partner.
Officer Frank Buffay Jr. glances towards Mike. "I know ... ever since Phoebe ... "
Mike shoots him a look and he trails off.
Frank sighs, looking around. "I wonder why it's always this spot?"
With no answer from his partner, Frank continues talking. "I mean it's strange ... and you'd think after this many hits, this post would be down by now." He strolls over to the pole and inspects the damage, but amazingly, as always, all the damage is to the car.
Mike moves his gaze over the wreck, then up the pole to the old sign perched at the top.
He smiles a sad smile and mouths the words that no doubt were once lit up in bright neon.
"Hotel California"
_________________________
[A/N – This is my first fic ... thought I'd try my hand at a songfic and see how things go ... let me know what you think!
-JustOneOfMyLies]
-on a dark desert highway / cool wind in my hair / warm smell of colitis / rising up through the air-
Chandler Bing inhales deeply on his umpteenth cigarette of the day. He is driving too fast in his little convertible, but then what does that matter? It's the middle of nowhere and he hasn't seen another vehicle, let alone a cop, for hours. Just wide open highway behind, desert on either side, and the horizon straight ahead. He's gotten rather used to this solidarity; it seems to suit him.
A few months back, he was surrounded. Almost becoming claustrophobic with all the attention he received. Riding high on the success of his tabloid- ish tell all book My Life As the Son of Mistress Bitch. Sure, his mother hadn't been pleased with all the bad press, but talk shows loved him, magazines did cover stories on him. Hell, even shock jock Howard Stern had called Chandler's sarcastic and sometimes angst filled humor "wit."
Interest, however, faded fast and his fifteen minutes were up. His book tour continued, though it was going downhill fast.
"Why am I even bothering anymore?" he groans to the emptiness surrounding him. He glances in the rearview mirror briefly watching the orange tip of the cigarette butt he threw to the asphalt fade away. "Just like everything else in my life."
He is tired and lonely. More than once in the past couple of weeks he has considered ending it all. It seems cliché to him, though, which may be the only reason he hasn't. The gun stashed in the glove box is there just in case he changes his mind. Not that anyone would really miss him. Perhaps it would be for the best if he just stopped and did it. Cliché's aren't all that bad.
-up ahead in the distance / I saw a shimmering light / my head grew heavy and my sight grew dim / I had to stop for the night-
Stifling a yawn, Chandler squints to read the gaudy, neon sign up the road.
"Odd place for a hotel," he mutters. 'Maybe God is trying to tell me something,' is his thought as he glances wryly to the glove box.
He pulls into the parking lot, gravel crunching underneath the tires of his car. Killing the engine he grabs the duffle bag from the back seat and then hesitates. After a moment of thought, he drops open the glove box, grabs the gun, and shoves it deep into the duffel bag. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder he steps out of the car.
A ringing bell marks his arrival when he pushes open the large glass door and enters the ... he looks around ... well, it must be a lobby of sorts, he supposes. It's fairly large and, despite how the outside of the building looks, quite nice.
"Not a bad place to do myself in," he laughs humorlessly.
"May I help you?"
He turns slowly to face the origin of the low, velvety voice.
-there she stood in the doorway / I heard the mission bell / and I was thinking to myself / this could be heaven or this could be hell-
This time his laugh is a little nervous. Had she heard him? He reaches his hand out to her, "I'm Chandler Bing. I assume you have vacancies? The parking lot looked pretty empty. Not much call for a hotel out here in the middle of ..."
Chandler trails off as she brushes by his extended hand. At least there was no spark of recognition in her eyes when he introduced himself. That's the last thing he needs is questions about the damned book.
She moves very gracefully behind the counter situated on one side of the spacious room. He follows her lead and moves in front of the counter, setting his bag at his feet.
She glances up at him, stunning blue eyes through thick black lashes, and opens a registry book in front of him.
"Monica," she says simply.
He is caught slightly off guard, had assumed the moment of introductions were over, but apparently not.
Chandler offers her a smile, one of his first in weeks. "Lovely."
She laughs lightly at him, shaking her head a little. Her humor fades quickly and she licks her lips before whispering, "Are you sure?"
He blinks. "Excuse me?"
Ducking her head, as if ashamed, Monica hands him a pen. "Sign here," she says, pointing a perfectly manicured finger to the first available line.
He scrawls his name, noticing some of the names that came before, and he wonders what their stories were.
He is brought back to reality when she shuts the book and turns to pull a key off the wall behind her.
"Follow me, I'll bring you to your room."
-then she lit up the candle / and she showed me the way / there were voices down the corridors / I thought I heard them say / Welcome to the Hotel California / Such a lovely place / (such a lovely place) / such a lovely face-
"We don't get much business out here," Monica says in a light voice. "It's been awhile since we've had a new face."
-plenty of room at the Hotel California / any time of year / (anytime of year) / you can find it here-
Chandler follows the dark haired beauty down the dimly lit hallway. Music drifts towards them, growing louder with each step they take. Soon they are passing through open French doors into a courtyard. There are strings of lights all over, providing enough illumination that the small enclosure is fairly bright. There are people scattered around the area, some dancing to the music, some just talking, all with drinks in their hands.
-her mind is Tiffany twisted / she's got the Mercedes bends / she's got a lot of pretty pretty boys / she calls friends / as they dance in the courtyard / sweet summer sweat / some dance to remember / some dance to forget -
Chandler watches them as he and Monica pass through the little party and through another set of open French doors and into another dark hallway. She opens the room with the shiny number 20 situated near the top center of the door.
"Feel free to join the party once you get settled in."
And then she's gone, the key dangling from the doorknob.
His eyes adjust slowly when he switches on the light inside the room. With a deep sigh he sets his bag on the bed and collapses facedown next to it. The door is still open, the key still in the lock, but he doesn't really care. He decides quickly that what he needs is a drink.
Chandler pushes himself back onto his feet and makes his way back to the courtyard, grabbing his key and shutting his door on the way by.
-so I called up the captain / please bring me my wine / he said 'we haven't had that spirit here since 1969'-
He drinks. He talks. He drinks some more. He has fun for the first time in a very long time. He drinks some more. Monica is there, and she's laughing with him, and he feels on top of the world. He drinks some more. She introduces him to her brother and her friends. He drinks some more. They are all really nice people. Phoebe, Joey, Rachel, and Ross are so much fun, and all around great. Ross is obviously protective of his little sister. And his little sister is amazing.
Later he finds himself back in his room, sprawled on the bed. He's not sure how he got back here, it's all kind of a blur.
-and still those voices are calling from far away / wake you up in the middle of the night just to hear them say / Welcome to the Hotel California / Such a lovely place / (such a lovely place) / such a lovely face-
He really hopes he didn't make a complete ass of himself in front of Monica and her friends. Scrubbing his hands down his face, he moves to the bathroom and strips, turning the shower on as hot as he can stand it.
-they're livin' it up at the Hotel California / what a nice surprise / (what a nice surprise) / bring your alibis-
The shower is quick, although it works quite well. Chandler dries himself off as he wanders out of the bathroom to find something to throw on. Before he can go through his bag, he hears a very light tapping on the door. He hesitates, and then moves to open it.
-mirrors on the ceiling / pink champagne on ice / and she said 'we are all just prisoners here / of our own device'-
"Monica?"
It's dark, but he knows it's her.
"Chandler."
She comes into the room and without another word, shuts the door behind her. Then her lips are on his and everything is right.
They make love and talk and make love again. She tells him about the nature of this place. How there is no escape.
-in the master's chamber / they gather for the feast / stab it with their steely knives / but they just can't kill the beast-
He laughs at first, until she tells him that she and her brother have been trapped here for more years than she can count, and when he looks in her eyes, he knows she telling the truth.
It scares the hell out of him. He thinks of the gun in his bag. Somehow, though, he knows it will be of no help.
So he runs.
-last thing I remember / I was running for the door / I had to find the passage back to the place I was before-
Monica's brother stops him.
"Settle down, man. It's not worth it to fight. This must be better than you had it on the other side. It happened for a reason."
-"relax" said the night man / "we are programmed to deceive / you can check out any time you like / but you can never leave"-
-----------------------------------------
The red blue and white lights flash as the two officers stand waiting for the ambulance to arrive. No hurry, the man in the crumpled car has been dead for hours.
"This place gives me the creeps," Officer Mike Hannigan mutters to his partner.
Officer Frank Buffay Jr. glances towards Mike. "I know ... ever since Phoebe ... "
Mike shoots him a look and he trails off.
Frank sighs, looking around. "I wonder why it's always this spot?"
With no answer from his partner, Frank continues talking. "I mean it's strange ... and you'd think after this many hits, this post would be down by now." He strolls over to the pole and inspects the damage, but amazingly, as always, all the damage is to the car.
Mike moves his gaze over the wreck, then up the pole to the old sign perched at the top.
He smiles a sad smile and mouths the words that no doubt were once lit up in bright neon.
"Hotel California"
_________________________
[A/N – This is my first fic ... thought I'd try my hand at a songfic and see how things go ... let me know what you think!
-JustOneOfMyLies]