Title: Empty Chairs

Author: Concupid

Pairing: Howard/Vince

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: drug and alcohol abuse, language, angst

Summary: Vince is keeping himself busy

Author's note: Another short chapter, thanks to everyone reading!

The lights left trails behind them as though the room were full of comets. Everywhere he looked, Vince saw shooting stars. He could see why it was called Ecstacy, it made everything seem genius. Leroy kept forcing water down his throat.

"When the fuck is Howard going to invite us to visit him in Hollywood?" Leroy whined as he drew a happy face on his arm in glow-in-the-dark paint.

"Soon as he gets in a jam, he'll call," Vince assured the numerous Leroys wavering before his eyes, "S'matter a'time."

xxx

Howard was photographed with Mimi Vole, a human disaster. A once promising actress and singer, Mimi was now known for being arrested and failing drug tests. When Vince saw her and Howard being spotted all about town together, he started looking into plane tickets. Howard was going to need to be rescued from the den of vice that was Hollywood.

Before Vince went and booked a flight, he was still waiting for Howard to actually ask him to come, Mimi went into rehab. The day she complete treatment, she was wearing corduroy and explaining how her life had been saved by free form jazz.

"Drugs will destroy your life and your self-image and everything you've ever worked for or cared about," Mimi said into the camera, her eyes shining with tears, "Nothing good ever came from drugs... except in the music world. Let's face it, 90% of good music and 99% of good jazz came from people who were off their faces. I'm talking the hard stuff, too. There's a lot of great jazz brought to us by the letter H..."

That's when her publicist ended the interview. Mimi said that she and "respected film and television actor, Howard Moon" were just good friends.

Vince had to admit, Mimi had always looked good but her new "jazzercised" body was a thing of beauty.

Howard was looking pretty good, himself. He was moisturized and conditioned, his hair looked shiny and manageable. He looked less like a tramp and more like a Hollywood actor playing a tramp.

Vince knitted a pullover for Bollo. He took up smoking so he could quit. He and Leroy got the band back together.

"When is Howard gonna give us the call?" Leroy sulked as Vince outlined his eyes in glittery stars.

"S'only a matter of time 'til he's in a fix, then he'll call," Vince said with authority, "Now, let's practice the 'Bridge Over Troubled Water/Highway to Hell' medley. You been missin' your intros."

xxx

Vince's brown roots were down to his ears when he grabbed a pair scissors and chopped away. Now he didn't need to worry about dying his hair any more. That would leave him more time for his homemade jam collection.

xxx

"Why are you screaming at me?"

"Because it's none of your business, that's why!" Vince screamed into the phone. It was a bit of an over reaction to Howard's query of, "How've you been?"

"You're being ridiculous," Howard sighed.

"You're being ridiculous!" Vince yelled. Tears were brimming in his eyes. Howard had been gone for over a year.

"I don't have time for this," Howard snapped, "I just called to say I'm not going to be able to call for a while. I'm working on a new project with Jurgen..."

"Fuck Jurgen and fuck you, too!" Vince screamed before beating his phone into pieces with his Cuban heel.

"Soooo..." Naboo sighed, "Still doing fine, I take it?"

"I'm fine," Vince mumbled, "Just... bad reception."