Chapter 4

Breakfast is always a rowdy affair when you share an apartment with three other men. Especially when you and the others are all aspiring rock stars. And the next morning was no different than any other.

"Nggrhgnh."

"Same to you, Smooth."

"Aww, man, have some decency! We don't need to see you waddling around in your underwear this early in the afternoon!" Sleaze rolled his eyes at Charlie, mockingly covering his face to obscure his vision. Charlie, in response, flipped him the bird. Sleaze chuckled.

The groggy brunette slammed the bathroom door shut and relieved himself, before dealing with the consequences of the previous night's fight. If any of the others found out…

Charlie produced a small vial from inside another bottle in the medicine cabinet. He took great care to hide it from prying eyes, as he was trying to build a reputation in the world, and he didn't need it going the way of the dodo before its prime. Carefully unscrewing the cap, it magically turned into a brush covered in a substance that matched the color of his skin. Charlie examined his bruised knuckles. One scrape, some purple spots…all in all, not bad. It wasn't like he'd even gotten touched. After washing and drying his hands, Charlie applied some vitamin E oil, and then when that dried, dabbed the Estee Lauder concealer over the top of that. He was used to this by now- the dabbing and blending for a flawless cover had eluded him at first, but he'd had years of practice. And, his best friend's sister growing up had helped him a bit at first- she was the one who introduced him to this in the first place, as it was.

In minutes, it looked as though he hadn't been in a fight the night before. Approving of this transformation with a smart nod of his head (which still sported aggressive bedhead, but he wasn't showing off for anybody important), Charlie fished his bathrobe off the back of the door and pulled it on, before reemerging and heading towards the table. It was Sleaze's turn to cook, anyway.

"God, thank you, Smooth! None of us needed to see that, man. Like, seriously. Gag me out the door!" Sleaze shook his head in disapproval. Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Eat my shorts, dude." He smirked, with Bulldog and Shane looking at him curiously as he began to wiggle a bit in his chair. Suddenly, Charlie reached down, and hurled his balled up undergarments at Sleaze's head. They hit him square in the side of the face.

A moment of tense silence and stillness followed, though Charlie's smirk still hung proudly on his lips.

"Oh…my…God…" Sleaze peeled them off his face and looked like he was about to cry. Bulldog and Shane practically erupted into laughter.

"Fuckin' A, Smooth, that was totally rad!" Bulldog clapped to show his appreciation.

"Wicked ex." Shane agreed. Charlie and Bulldog both peeled their attention off Sleaze, who was in a personal state of emergency, flailing wildly and scrubbing at his face with a Brillo-pad. Charlie cocked an eyebrow.

"Wicked…ex? Did I, ah, miss a memo?" He went to rub at the back of his hand, and then stopped dead, instead moving to scratch at his wrist, to prevent a wasted motion. Shane nodded slowly.

"Yeah, man, ex. Like…exquisite? I don't know…I'm tryin' to make it a thing."

"Psh, sounds better if you just say the whole word, word?" Bulldog held up his sneaker for inspection.

"Huh. Wicked exquisite…I kinda like it." Charlie tested it again on his tongue, until suddenly, all four of them were saying it over and over again with the strangest accents they could think of. A menagerie of English, American, Spanish, Italian, and Russian accents cropped up, until they were all laughing so hard they nearly fell out of their chairs. Charlie wiped at his eyes, which didn't sport their obscuring glasses yet, and brushed his hair out of his face, breathing heavily. They calmed. In his fading morning haze, he reached for the newspaper, scanning headlines and reading snippets or articles that interested him.

"Man, why do you read that shit, anyway? Who the hell cares? It's grody." Bulldog morosely found the hole in his favorite pair of hi-tops, and poked his finger through it. Charlie glanced up.

"Because I like it." He blinked, never understanding his boys and their rebellion from local news. What was the big deal? He liked to know what was going on in the world. It helped him write lyrics.

"Nerd."

"Wuss."

It was playful bickering- happened all the time around the table. No one ever took any serious offense, even when it got more daring and more drastic than that. The coffee pot finished gurgling, and Sleaze deftly cranked out four cups and passed three of them around the table. The tell-tale crackle of bacon hitting the frying pan lifted Charlie's spirits about getting fired, and he smiled to himself. His stomach growled knowingly.

"Smells good." Shane murmured, hands shaking. He sniffed and looked up at Charlie with a pleading gaze.

"Awww no." Bulldog saw the look, and shook his head firmly. "You know his rule- none of that at breakfast." He started poking at the other sneaker, then, putting them down on the table like it was nothing. Charlie wrinkled his nose- yeah, the life of four straight guys in one house seemed glamorous- sharing girls, always friends- but when you lived it, it was downright disgusting at times. Suddenly, a vision of the woman in white flashed through his mind, and he sighed.

"Come on, dude, I really need to take the edge off." Shane begged, resisting the urge to rub at his arms. He was cold. Charlie thought for a moment.

"Well…I suppose…but I want some, too."

Shane's eyes lit up, and he looked like he could've hugged Charlie. Immediately, he bolted to his room for his mirror, razor blade, and drugs. Charlie smiled. Shane only lived for two things- Cocaine (hence his nickname, Cocaine Shane), and music. Getting a smile out of him was rare unless it involved at least one of those things, anyway, so Charlie took them as they came.

Shane reappeared, substances in hand, and furiously began doling out and chopping his personal breakfast on the smooth reflective surface. Charlie tightened his bathrobe and went looking for a suitable straw- upon finding one, his senses seemed to dull.

He enjoyed the high. That much was true. Much like Shane, few things really got under Charlie's skin and made him feel absolutely electric. He was certainly no drug addict- he rarely touched the stuff unless feeling particularly in need of a distraction or some good fun- but he could say it provoked some of the best times in his teenage and adult life. This was because it usually coincided with such things as sex and music. Yet, even during the high, he usually became very reflective. It didn't last unless you pumped yourself full of the stuff. He'd seen hookers overdose on coke, and it wasn't a pretty sight. Definitely not something he wanted for himself. But there had to be another way to get the same feeling. Something besides performing and sex and drugs. Something that was permanent.

"Smooth? Hello? Anybody in there? It's your hit, man." Shane looked refreshed, and sat back, enjoying the dopamine that coursed through his system unabated. Charlie blinked owlishly.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks." He took the other half of the cut straw and was carefully passed the mirror. There were a couple hits left- he only wanted one. Bowing his head and inhaling through the straw, he snorted the cocaine and then wiped his nose on his sleeve, waiting.

It hit soon enough. His worries about the fight, his job, and the dull throb in his sore knuckles vanished, replaced by a desire to get up and go do something extra productive. But it would have to wait- he knew it was just the drug talking anyway. The small amount in his system would fade in less than fifteen minutes, and as he wasn't interested in keeping his high, he would just have to function normally. Regardless of the appetite decreasing substance now in his buzzing system, Charlie's stomach growled again, this time more audibly.

"I'm hurryin', dammit." Sleaze slid the popping bacon onto four plates, which were dressed with pancakes and eggs. He was definitely the best breakfast cook of them all, with Charlie in hot pursuit over dinner. He set the dishes on the table, and sat himself down.

"There. Done. Eat it." Sleaze managed to get out before staring plate demolition. Charlie chuckled and sipped his coffee before burying himself behind the newspaper and picking up his fork. He shoveled eggs into his watering mouth as fast as he dared, trying to quiet his innards.

As the four of them continued to eat, conversation struck up, but Charlie only murmured "uh huh's" in response. He was getting into the article he was reading about a rare backflip takeover at a corporation his father had put him to work at. Now that sounded like something fun to be a part of…provided you were on the side that profited. Maybe he could offer his services and-

No. No way. What was he thinking? He was a musician. That was the end of it. He was going to be a famous guitarist if it killed him. Nothing was going to stand in his way.

Still…

It sounded thrilling, he had to admit.

"So, Charlie, we know you're brainstorming for new ways to come up with the rent and shit…care to let us in?"

"Uh…what?"

"Fuck, man, do you ever hear a word we say when you've got your stupid newspaper in front of you?"

"Ah…"

"I've got it!" Shane cried happily.

"What?"

"Charlie can go work as a journalist!"

Bulldog guffawed over bacon.

"Shane, you know he can't write anything but lyrics and quarterly reports."

Sleaze chuckled.

"Yeah, man, think of the children!" He replied dramatically.

"What children?"

"All those orphans sleeping on newspaper have to have entertainment somehow. They probably read their beds, or some bogus shit like that. I mean, those poor, poor orphans! They've got it bad enough- don't make 'em read Smooth's stories!"

"Shut up, barf bag." Charlie murmured behind the paper.

"Aww, bite me, man."

"Hey, you're one to talk- remember your drama tryouts senior year?"

Sleaze quieted immediately at this. Shane practically giggled at the memory.

"Fuck, dude, you sucked, like, to the max."

"And you would definitely know what it's like to suck that much." Sleaze countered, growing irritated.

Voices were being raised now- some in anger, others in play. It still wasn't a full out fight, but…

Charlie, feeling his re-directed instigation was successful, smiled and went back to reading. He turned the page- the "want ads" were filled.

"Let's see here…" he squinted, bringing the paper closer to his nose. Time for another trip to the optometrist, it seemed. He was starting to have a hard time seeing with his glasses, too.

"Well, I didn't want to- your boyfriend forced me down."

"Aw, fuck, no, you know that I'm not-"

Maintenance Worker Needed: Minimum Wage Only. No, that wouldn't do.

"Yeah, I called him a flamer. He yelled at me and told me he wasn't. Then he hit me with his purse." Shane commented to Bulldog, who snickered.

"Well at least I'm not the one who owns more cosmetic supplies than half the valley population. And what are you laughin' at, 'Dog? You wear neon pink shorts!"

Small Firm looking for Accountant. Open office space, chance of promotion. Well, that looked promising, but it was sort of a step backward…

"The ladies love 'em, man."

"As much as they love that butchered alien eating your brain? Oh, wait, sorry, that's your fade!"

"Motherfucker, I'm gonna-"

Strapping young model needed for photography job. Inquirers over 19 years of age need not apply. Bring cocaine. I do a lot of cocaine. Seriously. Charlie whistled through his teeth softly. That one was just creepy. He desperately hoped he'd never have the misfortune of running into the person who paid for that one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed.

"Guys?"

"Take it back, penis-breath!"

"Aw, shit, I'm so scared! What are you gonna do, hit me with your 'man-purse' again?"

"Ah, guys?"

"You little shit!"

"Man-purse!"

"Shorts!"

"Lamebrain!"

"GUYS!" Charlie shouted over the din, tipping his newspaper down so he could see over the top of it. Sleaze had Shane by the hair, yanking. Bulldog was kneeling on the table, with Sleaze's head locked under his right arm and grinding his face into his syrup covered plate. He had Shane tucked tightly under his other bicep. Shane had one drool-covered finger stuck in Bulldog's left ear. All three of them looked up in surprise, the plate that Sleaze's face had been stuck to dislodging and clattering back to the table when he lifted his head.

"…Purse." Shane coughed quietly. A swift yank on his blonde locks shut him up. Charlie glared at them, cocaine high over.

"F.Y.I., I haven't come up with anything just yet. I was thinkin' we just have to play the circuit a bit more and cut back on stuff we don't need. Or, here's a, ah, novel thought- you guys could get jobs!" He smiled falsely and gestured to them all.

The barking laughter that followed put him in poor spirits, so he quietly excused himself from the table and went to find something to wear for the day. The three he left behind finally quelled their mirth and looked at each other, all smiles again.

"You think he's serious?"

"Probably. He did just get fired yesterday, and then we dragged him out to party hardy. He hasn't had time to think yet."

"He's a fuckin' genius- he'll come up with something…right?"

Smiles fell. Truth was, they were worried. If Charlie couldn't keep his job…there was no hope for any of them. And there was no way they were going to bend and work for the man. He could, of course, if he wanted to- it paid the bills. But it wasn't for them. So what happened if Charlie's brilliant mind didn't come up with a plan, and soon? They didn't have a whole lot of extra to play with, and knowing them, it wouldn't last long.

Bulldog sat back, wiping his ear. He appeared to be deep in thought as he stared hard at the newspaper Charlie had left behind in his recent egress. Something was playing on the edges of his mind.

Charlie reappeared, dressed in a white tee and jeans, his white sneakers squeaking on the kitchen tiles.

"I'm going out. Gotta go see about my baby. Don't kill each other." He said blankly as he searched the adjoining living room (which was rather messy, but what did one expect when four single men lived in the same enclosed space?) for his leather jacket.

"Does that include impromptu games of Russian Roulette?" Shane called out. They heard the front door creak open.

"…No." And then the door shut.

Shane chuckled, and then he caught the thoughtful expression on Bulldog's face.

"What doth trouble thee, O fearsome canine?" The blond quipped.

It hit Bulldog like a ton of bricks in that instant.

"Guys, congratulate me."

"Why?" Sleaze was still trying to de-stick his face from the syrup, and wiggled his nose.

"Because Charlie's not the only one who has at least half a brain."

Shane grinned.

"Uh oh. What's goin' on under that fade of yours?"

Bulldog flashed his blinding teeth.

"I know how we can find Charlie a job."