SIX: I can always count on our Futures
(Wednesday, April 21st, 2010 - Los Angeles, California - Jet's Apartment/Flynn's Arcade):
7:30AM:
"Hi, this is Jet. I'm not here right now, so leave it at the beep. …Thanks."
(BEEP)
"Hey, Jet, it's Sam. Yeah, I know, you haven't heard from me in ages. I just got back into town and I was just wonderin' how things were at the old arcade." Pause. "Give me a call sometime, man."
7:45PM:
"Hi, this is Jet. I'm not here right now, so leave it at the beep. …Thanks."
(BEEP)
"Jethro, it's mom. Your father wants me to tell you to stop sending messages to his pager. It's interrupting him at work."
7:59PM:
"Hi, this is Jet. I'm not here right now, so leave it at the beep. …Thanks."
(BEEP)
A tiny series of growls and a sharp bark was the non-verbal message he received, followed by, "Marv, get off the phone!" That was Sam, but who was Marv?
8:00PM:
"Hi, this is Jet. I'm not here right now, so leave it at the beep. …Thanks."
(BEEP)
"Jet, it's Annie. You're a whole hour late for work, you've missed the meeting! Thorne is furious, he wants to-"
Jet's hand reached over and snatched the phone off the cradle, interrupting the frantic message from his co-worker. "Tell him I'm on my way," He answered through half-sleep.
"What-" Annie didn't get a chance to respond to his reply before he ended the call. Dropping the wireless phone onto the floor, Jet scrubbed his face furiously as stretched his legs underneath the sheets of his bed.
Rolling onto his side, Jet stared at the clock, the large digital letters read 8:03AM. He was definitely late for work, which wasn't a first, but in this instance, it was the second to third strike on the batter's plate. If he was late tomorrow, strike three, J.D Thorne was going to fire his ass. Behind him the sheets began to move of their own accord, he paid it no mind until he felt her chin dig into his side. "Late for work?" She murmured, pulling her red mane out of her face. Jet rolled onto his back and to regard the blur that was Eva Popoff with half-mass eyes. "Aren't you?" He asked. Eva shook her head, a sly smile crossing her lips. "I'm never late for work," She sighed nonchalantly, running her fingers through her hair.
Jet sighed dejectedly. Eva was lucky she had people who would cover for her if she were late, but for Jet, his absence was likely to be noticed regardless. He was lead game designer for Elfwood Studios' latest game-in-development. It was kind of necessary for him to be there every day. Sitting up, Jet ran his fingers throughs his recently shaven hair. The spiky wisps of blonde-brown hair stood upright at the very top and seemed to lie flat on the back and sides of his head. "Have you seen my glasses?" He yawned.
Eva shrugged her shoulders as she surveyed the mess of clothing scattered across the floor. "They're somewhere amongst that mess on the floor. You're so untidy," The faintest hint of her accident hit his ears, which were only half-listening to her speak anyway. He blinked wearily at the prospect of feeling around for his glasses. Eva stood up from the bed and slipped into one of his dress shirts. Strolling casually around the bed she said, "I'll look for them. In meantime, get washed up."
"Don't step on them," Jet yawned again in the affirmative. He made his way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. It's an easy enough task without his glasses, Jet spent the better part of ten years inside the hallowed halls of Flynn's Arcade to know his way around blindfolded. Sam and his family planned on doing nothing with the place except keep it off the market. It was Kevin's home before he met Jordan, and thus would remain so until Sam didn't feel like paying for it anymore. Jet managed to change his mind, and at the mere age of eighteen, he left his cushy home in the L.A. suburbs with Alan for fixer-upper that used to be a arcade hotspot.
Walking past the staircase, Jet entered the tiny bathroom without pause. The door opened halfway at an angle, stopped by the sink on the other side. Reaching over he turned the light on and proceeded toward the toilet. It took a total of fifteen minutes for Jet to wake himself up completely. By that time he was practically finished cleaning himself of yesterday's grime and wear. He recalled the fragmented memories of the messages he received all through seven o'clock. Out of the four or five messages he got, he realized he hadn't spoken to two of the callers on his phone since December 2009.
Actually, he isn't sure when he last spoke of Sam. It was probably 2008 because he hadn't updated the prescription for his glasses then. His parents, he definitely hadn't spoken to them since his birthday last year. As per tradition, he and Alan endured a seventeen minute drive out to Pasadena for the holidays. Eva was away at work - or doing something else entirely, he can't remember - so she wasn't able to come.
In the comfort of the home he knew best, the homemade cake and French fries went down easier than they would've if Eva had been present. His father was strangely civil, he didn't even try to bring up the issue of where he was working for once, and his mother certainly seemed to enjoy the peace. For all intents and purposes, it was a good 27th birthday. Stepping out of the bathroom, Jet hurried back up the stairs to get dressed.
"Eva?"
"Yes?"
"You find my glasses?"
"Yes, I have them here," Eva stepped out of the bedroom, one arm raised to reveal his coveted pair of glasses. Jet came to a stop in front of her, Eva smiled at the appreciative look on his face as she placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The contours of her face sharpened, coming into focus. He blinked accordingly, allowing his eyes to adjust.
"You shouldn't leave your clothes all over the place," She chided softly, pinching his nose. Jet grimaced, swatting her hand away from his face. He shrugged in mock-hopelessness as he entered his bedroom. Snatching up a short sleeved t-shirt from off the floor, he pulled it over his head in one quick tug. "What can I say? It's a habit I can't seem to kick," And truth be told, he was only half-joking.
(Sam's "Apartment" - Los Angeles Warehouse District):
The sun had barely risen out from behind the clouds when the Ducati rolled back into the Los Angeles' warehouse district. The helmet of the rider masked his identity from passing crowds on the sidewalks (if you can call workers "crowds"), but the tiny dog named Marv, stuffed in his backpack hanging off the front of the rider's chest was in plain sight, enjoying himself as his tongue and ears caught the wind.
Turning the corner, he steered the bike down into the dirt road incline surrounded by overgrown weeds and fallen trees, Marv barked at the familiar sight of home. Sam Flynn laughed when he felt the little dog squirm excitedly in the backpack, glad he wasn't the only one happy to be home. The Ducati rolled to a stop jew a few feet away from the closed garage door. Killing the engine, the young man hopped off the bike and unzipped the backpack.
Marv hopped out, landing on the ground with practiced ease. He walked in circles around Sam's feet before moving to scratch at the door. Sam pulled the helmet from his head, the sounds of the early morning came rushing into his ears, intensifying Marvin's precocious barks. "Hold your horses, buddy," He said. Kneeling down, Sam grabbed the edges of the door and pulled his weight upward.
The door slid open at gradual pace, revealing a drab living space built for one and ½ people. Once the door had disappeared above, Marvin hurried inside toward his bed. Sam strolled over to his couch, fishing around for the cell phone in his pockets. The space still smelled like old cheeseburgers and chicken from the last meal he had before he left town. Just thinking about it made him nauseous.
Casting a glance over at his companion, Sam gestured toward the fridge. "You hungry, boy?" He asked. Marvin shook his head in objection and yawned, he was too tired for eating. Sam frowned at the response he was given. Casting a glance over at the fridge, he sighed. He could eat later. Flopping down onto the couch, Sam regarded the Nokia cell phone in his hand as he searched his address book for the desired number. "Bradley, Jet" appeared below, sandwiched between "Bradley, Alan" and "Bradley, Lora".
Clicking on the name, he auto dialed the number and listened to the dial tone. Glancing over to the far left of the "apartment" he regarded the digital clock on the table next to the futon on the floor, the time was exactly 7:29AM. Jet was probably working right now, but it didn't hurt to leave a message to let him know he was back from Santa Monica. The dial tone rang for a fourth time before there was an overturned click and the chaotic noise from static and city life outside of an open window.
"Hi, this is Jet. I'm not here right now, so leave it at the beep. …Thanks." The recording lingered for a moment, catching the muffled voice of a woman Sam vaguely recognized, before the beep finally made itself known.
Now, what was there to say to a guy he hadn't spoken to in the last two years or so? Despite a strong friendship that practically predated their birth, the eventual rift that developed with age came to be and the two had gone their separate ways.
Sam's subconscious liked to blame their fathers - or rather his father - for the split. Ever since they fought that fateful day almost twenty years ago, their bond had been rattled. Even with their apologies said, Jet wasn't so quick to confide in him, Sam wasn't terribly keen on doing the same. Jet had all but abandoned his action figures for the "more mature" pursuit of video games and graphic novels, leaving Sam without a companion in the world they created for themselves. "TRON" was still Sam's world. Jet was trying to leave it.
By some freakish twist of nature, Jet had actually become popular-by-proxy hanging out with Annie Braddock, a girl who'd fall in a love with grunge and alternative metal. Sam would watch Jet pass him in the halls – giving him the occasional nod 'hello' –, insulated by his new group of friends. Jet was content among people who followed clique rules. Sam had gone and found other things to entertain himself with, like shop class.
There wasn't too much of a difference when they became teenagers. When Sam finally started dating, his excuses for never hanging out with Jet varied from blonde to redhead to brunette. Jet was with Annie. It felt as though he'd been rejected. Jet and Annie's relationship, astonishingly, progressed from elementary, middle to high school. It was hard not to feel jealous of that. Jet and Annie invited him out from time-to-time, Sam realized Annie wasn't terrible – she was a sweetheart, actually – but he felt like a third wheel.
Their dynamic took a further downward shift when Annie moved to New York with her family. Jet had become morose, self-doubting. Sam felt burdened by his presence, and trying to remain as close as possible was tough, but it certainly wasn't for a lack of trying. Their perspectives were constantly changing, as were their lives.
They went to separate universities. Jet graduated from CSU and Sam dropped out of UOC at the start of his freshmen year, wanting instead to roam the states. By that time, Sam didn't feel obligated to stay in Los Angeles. He'd finish his college education, but it would be later. He felt free of responsibility when he finally left and stayed gone for two years. During that time, he began talking with the founder and runners of the Flynn Lives organization whenever he strayed in and out of Los Angeles. They were a weird, obsessive bunch, but it was nice to talk to perfect strangers about his father.
Despite the distance, they continued to try to keep in touch. Certainly enough to allow Jet to live in his father's old arcade-apartment after he moved out of his house, which meant a lot to Jet. Sam could imagine if they got drunk together (wherever) it would be like they were the best of buddies again.
But, knowing Jet was often preoccupied with dating his lawyer girlfriend, work at Elfwood Studios, or just didn't wanna talk, kept his expectations realistic. There had been a point where Sam believed that Jet had become so anti-social that he was tempted to ask him why they even tried to talk anymore.
What drama queen, he remembered thinking
Clearing his throat, Sam filled in the silence the best way he knew how. "Hey, Jet, it's Sam," He began. "Yeah, I know, you haven't heard from me in ages. I just got back into town and I was just wonderin' how things were at the old arcade." That sounded pretty good, he thought, rubbing his chin. "Give me a call sometime, man." Another moment of silence lingered before he finally ended the call.
Tossing the cell phone aside, Sam rose from the couch and headed for the fridge. If he was lucky, the finicky contraption was still on freeze and none of his food had gone to waste. The last thing he wanted to do was to go shopping on a Friday. Supermarkets were decidedly unpleasant the day before the official start of the weekend. Opening the door, the first thing he noticed was the puddle of water at the bottom of the third shelf. Further inspection revealed an malodorous smell coming from the side door.
Oh, no…
Opening the fridge completely, Sam found what little food he had had defrosted over the time he was out of town. The rice had gone bad, his beers were warm (probably no good either), the milk had curdled, the burger meat was done for, and worst of all, his ice cream was a bucket of mush overflowing on the top shelf in the freezer. "Damn it," He muttered, shutting the fridge.
This was not something he wanted to deal with right now, not today. It wasn't that he had to worry about a money shortage, he was loaded for the rest of his life. Grocery shopping was such a hassle though. Scratching the back of his head, Sam gazed around the living space for something to do.
He hadn't owned a television since living with his grandparents, there never seemed to be anything on, and on top of that, children's programs provided little in the way of entertainment as an adult. If he ever wanted to watch a movie he'd go see it in the theaters while they were still running, he rarely ever rented anything from any rental services despite the fact that that he had a computer to watch them on.
Video games were an occasional guilty pleasure he delved in when he felt like mashing buttons, but the consoles and titles collected more dust than they were used (as he almost never felt like dragging them over to Jet's place). The last game he remembered playing was something Elfwood Studios had developed. A turn based RPG that looked a little more inspired by "Final Fantasy" than he was betting anyone working there would be willing to admit. If they ever got sued, he certainly hoped Jet had nothing to do with that particular game.
Presently distracted by his own thoughts, Sam didn't notice Marvin climb from out of the groove of his bed and hop onto the couch. The dog trotted over to Sam's discarded phone, studied the object for a moment before sitting on the whole thing. The cell phone redialed the last number called, Marv wiggled and listened to the phone vibrate beneath him with anticipation. A moment later the unfamiliar voice of the person Sam had been taking to rattled low over the speaker. Marv sat up, turned, and barked excitedly at the phone, pawing the pad in elation.
At least until Sam spotted him.
"Marv, get off the phone!" His friend hurried over to the couch and snatched the cell phone from off the cushions. Marv, for all his stature, looked a little put off by the sudden repossession of his favorite toy. Sam ended the call with an exasperated sigh. He couldn't understand for the life of him why Marv liked to play with the phones.
The workers at the shelter he rescued him from said the precocious dog loved to play with buttons and things that flashed, but Sam figured he would've grown out of it after almost two years of living with him. Marv barked indignantly at him, walking about in a circle on the right cushion.
"Marv, we don't play with cell phones, alright?" He admonished softly. "What if you called the cops? How was I gonna explain to them that my dog called them for no good reason?"
Marv made no move to respond to that question on any level. Letting out a whine, he hopped down from the couch and headed back over to his bed. Sam huffed in exasperation as he stuffed his phone into his pocket. There was nothing around here that needed to be meddled with and he had all the time in the world to go shopping for a new fridge and food to boot. "Hey, Marv, wanna go shopping?"
Marvin barked in the negative.
He sighed, it looked like he was going shopping alone. "Well, don't eat any of the furniture while I'm gone," Sam muttered as he headed toward the garage door.
(Downtown Los Angeles - In Transit):
Jet yawned for what felt like the sixth time as Eva's Volvo came to a halt at the next red light. Removing his glasses he rubbed his right eye and yawned again. Eva shot him a sideways glance and a lopsided grin. "You're still tired? Even after all that coffee?" She asked. Jet grumbled something under his breath as he fished around his pockets for a peppermint.
Damn right he was still tired. Not even the coffee seemed to be stimulating his situational awareness like it normally did.
"Thorne's running my ass into the ground," He muttered, scrubbing his face. "He doesn't think we're going to make the schedule and I'm not helping matters by sleeping in all the time." Eva let out a coo of sympathy for her boyfriend. She reached over and scratched the back of his neck as if he were dog in need of comfort. He leaned into her touch with a sigh.
"I'm sure you'll get the game done in time," She reassured.
"Maybe, maybe not," Jet mumbled. He rolled down the window to let in some of the morning air, congested with exhaust fumes and God-knows-what-else. Eva's perfume was choking him. He'd barely gotten any thing down for breakfast before he forced himself to leave the comfort of his home, and follow Eva out to her car before she ditched him, something she was notorious for doing when she wanted to leave for work and he was lollygagging.
"What've you got on the schedule today? FCon still trying to convince ENCOM to enter into an advantageous marriage?"
"Yes," She replied with a smile. "In fact, I go now to see ENCOM's biggest shareholder."
Jet chuckled. "You're not talking about Sam, are you?"
"Yes, that's the one. Samuel Flynn," Eva replied. Jet chuckled again as he raised his arms above his head and placed his hands behind him. "Yeah, well, good luck, I guess," He yawned for the ninth time. "God, I hate this."
"And why is that, Jethro?"
"Don't call me Jethro."
"And why is that, Jet?"
"Well, if I know Sam, and I know Sam, he's not gonna say yes. If anything, he's gonna say no and then kick ya off his property. But hey-" Jet placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "-best of luck to ya, I know you'll knock 'em dead with your presentation at least." He grinned at her looking like a very condescending Cheshire cat.
"You're hilarious, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
Eva rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's confidence on the matter, never noticing the rider on the Ducati that drove past the car as the light turned green.
(TBC)
Updated: 8/28/2018 - 10/12/2018
