Teletubbies & Turrentine,
a La La Land FanFic
Date Night
She was applauding but she felt like she could faint. Her stomach dropped to her feet, which were starting to feel like sweaty plastic wrapped hot dogs in her new black strapped Jimmy Choos. The unfortunate wave of adrenaline made a b-line directly to her face as her cheeks flushed what she was sure was an unattractive magenta. The teenage- like heat wave lingered at the top of her body while at the same time she could feel the complete lack of modesty her backless black cocktail gown boasted and the draft hitting her skin. The air conditioning from the room felt as if it hovered right over that opening in her dress as the goose bumps raised tiny hairs that followed the line of her spine.
It was all too much. She felt as if the floor could suddenly open up and swallow her whole just like one of those European heroine addiction glorification films out of the 90's. She became very much aware of her right hand and its placement on the knee of her husbands polyester suit pants, and hoped he wouldn't notice how cold and clammy they had gotten and that they were involuntarily starting to shake. Her breath started to become thin as her lungs became heavy and her mind flooded with physical flashbacks to becoming dizzy and faint from altitude sickness last Winter while vacationing in Vale.
She knew with every part of her being when she passed that neon sign above the door that it couldn't be a coincidence. After all, she designed the damn logo herself. On his bed.
In his shirt. Wearing only his shirt.
Omg his shirts.
Jesus Christ, as stupidly dirt poor as Sebastian always was, he still insisted on having his shirts dry cleaned and starched heavily. They always smelled like fresh warm cotton on a summer's day. He said it was the "mark of a great man."
"All great men have someone else clean their shirts and starch them. All the greatest Jazz musicians,… even when they lived on the street and had no money to their names , would drop a daily load off to the nearest dry cleaner and dig deep into their pockets or mugs for the coins to cover the cost of a couple of shirts." His stupid beautiful northern accent reverberated in her ear in like a ghost on her shoulder.
"Its something about the smell. When we're on stage and we start to sweat from the lights, its like the shirt stays the constant in our performance. The more heated we get, the more the smell of your mom's friggin' tumble dry starts permeating your nose, and you .. I dunno.. you smile. The smell of the starch reminds me of where I came from , who I want to be and where I'm goin'. Tide can't do that."
She snorted a little under her breath with the memory. Sometimes Seb could be a poet or a philosopher. Most of the time he was a stubbornly smirking son of a bitch, who she couldn't get enough of. That smile. No, smirk. It wasn't a full "eyes squinted, line making" smile per se. It never was. It was a smirk. A smirk of a hard working, gentle man, who's mouth she had to kiss whenever it was smirking at her.
Kiss.
Of course her mind went to the lips. Its difficult to not remember what the lips of a man felt and tasted like. That's something no one can erase. Our memories always go there immediately, and any woman who says that this doesn't happen, is a filthy liar. She tried to convince herself she wasn't a failure for thinking about his lips. It's only natural, right?
Mark's lips are pillowy-soft and full for a guy. So different from Seb. Seb? Seb always had thin pursed lips with frequent "frustrated up all night composer" stubble surrounding them. Ha. She wasn't a fan of the stubble on other former boyfriends, but for some reason, on Seb, it didn't bother her one bit. She knew he always had so many other things on the priority list rather than shaving and afterall, the 5 o'clock shadow didn't change how beautiful his eyes were.
"Shit. Stop it, Mia." She shaked her head to stop the mental movie from running any longer.
"Breathe," she silently ordered herself. "Breathe, you stupid wreck of a woman," she once again insulted her own mind and rolled her eyes in a response to the cognitive self-dictatorship.
"Whheeewww. " She let out an audible lungful of air, and placed her left hand over the midsection of her diaphragm.
"Are you okay, Toots?" Mark softly whispered as to not interrupt the performance on stage.
"Yeah, ..no. I'm fine. Sorry, ..just wish I hadn't gotten the garlic stir fry….forgot to take my Zantac before leaving the house. Ha. "
"Ha." Indeed. She rebutted internally.
"You stupid lying piece of shit, she thought. Are you really not going to tell him who that is? Who's club you are currently sitting in and who you are staring AT? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Mia. You are a grown ass woman." She continued her internalized conflict with her conscience.
"Oh. Are you going to be okay?" Mark asked as a concerned husband should. He knew to keep the house fully stocked of antacid whenever she was going for an audition. Mia has a sensitive tummy, and her emotions affect it greatly, so it's the guaranteed way to assist in her "process" and keep a sane and tranquil house; especially around award season.
"Yeah, no totally fine. We can just stop at the drugstore on the way home." Mia answered him reassuringly; but she didn't have heartburn. Oh it was a "heart- burn," but certainly didn't originate from acid in her stomach or tonight's Mr. Chow Chinese. She tried to contain herself and her thoughts; put her big girl panties on, handle the moment and try to have fun with her husband… but there he was.
As the audience continued clapping, she watched Sebastian stand up and walk over to good ol' "Futs" the saxophone player and proceed whispered something into his ear.
She started an internal Dr. Seuss –like banter.
He was there, and there he was. Is. Is….because this, this is the present day and he is there. Ten feet away from her …after how many years was it? 3? No wait. She finished that space thriller with Jake Gyllenhaal 2 years ago, went on the press tour then had the baby...so five. Five. FIVE. YES FIVE!
"Five fucking years." She mistakenly mubled behind her teeth out loud after proudly solving the equation.
"Huh"? Mark asked.
Shit. Thinking quickly she surprised herself with involuntarily once again not telling the truth.
"Oh, The Last Five Years. That last song sounded just like Jason Robert Brown's off-broadway musical, The Last Five Years. " She lied through her teeth.
"Oh yeaaah. You told me about how you wanted to play the star in that one, in college. What's her name? "Sherrie, right ?"
"Cathy." The heroine's name is "Cathy ", but that's awesome that you remembered. "
She smiled and tapped her husband's leg with her right hand, as she dodged the Freudian slip and remembered that she chose a life-partner who listens to everything she says. Intently. He was truly like an elephant and could remember every sorority story, family dysfunction, or ghost story she ever told him. He was her biggest fan, and a good solid, grounded, match to her sometimes flightiness and creative mind. Yes. She was lucky. She reminded herself. Lucky, dammit.
The silence once again took over. She turned her attention once more toward the stage and put forth all the effort possible to remain poised and normal, as Seb brushed back the dark blonde chunk of hair that fell into his eyes and lowered his head into the microphone at the piano and began to speak.
"Uh, that was my own composition, and I'm glad you all enjoyed it. That's the best, compliment really. Makes my heart happy. Again, my name is Sebastian." His eyes glanced over to where she was sitting.
Oh God. He had seen her. He knew she was there.
His eyes looked down once more.
"Uh, this is my club, uhh I hope and I hope you all have an amazing time tonight and come back and see us, alright?" His eyes shot directly over to her again, and he smirked.
The full house clapped and some girls "wooted," as if he had a young blonde fan base of roadies.
He smirked. That stupid beautiful smirk.
Her heart pumped hard once more and her eyes started to well with tears. He was looking at her. Straight through to her soul. Why was she crying? Why was she upset? Why was she searching the room trying to see the young hot things that "wooted?" She shouldn't care. She's married, and settled to someone who remembers to stock the house with Pepto for her, and happy… WITH A BABY.
She had always prepared herself for when and if she ran into Seb once more in this city of 2 million random strangers. OF COURSE she was going to cross paths with him again. Of course, because life is just like that, and she's Mia and the universe friggin' hates her.
What she hadn't prepared herself for was for him to be happy and for him get everything he wanted in life. She was sitting in the very goal and dream he imagined in his mind and told her about daily. She was happy for him. So happy it was making her sad?
She got her dream too. She was a successful actress now, recently nominated for a Golden Globe even, and had gotten to the point where she was sent scripts by her manager instead of spending the morning sitting in cramped hallways with all the dime a dozen actresses in LA.
Mark noticed the change in her face. "Hey, do you want to go?"
Without even thinking Mia answered "Yeah."
Mark opened his billfold and took out two twenty dollar bills which he left on the small lamp lit table; way more than was actually due as per the bill. He always tipped well, especially on Date Night, and they were only there long enough to have two small cocktails. She liked that about him. Her successful Entertainment lawyer was always a generous, provider.
Mia tried her best to stand up without falling over, but knowing she didn't feel well, Mark grabbed the back of her bent elbow to escort her out. She stepped back a little to let him lead the way out, as she trailed slowly behind him. Mark had gotten to the first step on the landing out when Mia's internal struggle got the best of her. She had to see him one last time. She had to turn her head and she had to know that he saw her. She reached the door frame held onto it with her right hand, steadied herself, and glanced back to the stage over her bare shoulder.
In this same instance Sebastian who was on his way to the backstage stopped and turned to look and meet her eyes perfectly.
She wanted to run to him. She wanted to walk over and talk. She wanted to say so many things; so many things that her husband wouldn't understand and would bring up dangerous memories that were buried deep in her. She wanted to do so many things at that moment, and for a split second she contemplated living her actions out when Sebastian smirked. He smirked and pressed the corners of his mouth out toward the mid face so hard , that one could even call it a smile.
He smiled.
In that instance she knew he was OK. He knew she had to leave. She wanted to follow the magnetic energy she felt and make her way toward him, but chanced too much with knowing she was far behind Mark now. She swallowed everything she knew and every thought that flickered in her mind, and smiled back to him.
She smiled.
There were so many things unanswered so many things unsaid and still so many questions in her mind that she didn't think she would consider when she met him again, but they were there.
Mia smiled knowing this would not be the last she saw of him. She knew where he was now, and what no one knew was how close his jazz bar was to her Publicist's office downtown. How could she fight the urge to not drop in the next time she was in town? She passed this building every Tuesday for the last three years and had no clue. How could she not? Did she have to forego any visits to him? She had just basically lied to her husband for fear of him finding out her true feelings of a love lost, but was that the right thing to do?
No. Stop worrying. She can handle herself. Maybe one visit couldn't hurt. Just one visit. She'll stop by to see Seb for a quick visit next week after her appointment. That's all. Just to tell him how happy she is for him and see how he's been getting along, and …well… catch up a little.
She smiled harder in reciprocation, knowing the unscrupulous plan she had made for herself, and justified, turned her head slowly, and started back up the stairs.
Yep. She'll just stop by next week. That's all. Just two adults catching up. They owed it to the way they left things years ago. What could possibly go wrong?