So, uh, what do I say? This is my Anthony Rapp fan fic. I didn't know where to put it, so I put it under where all the RENT stuff is. I figured it'd be found by those interested. I have this bizarre feeling that it's going to end up mega long, so this is just the beginning. I'll also assume everyone reads part 1 first so I won't bother messing up the tops of the documents like I am right now unless it's necessary. Uhm, I had something all planned out to say, but now I forgot. Damn. This is the first fan fic I've posted, so please, be kind. *grin* Anyway, on with the show...
Oh wait, any mention of RENT, or RENT characters... those are Jon Larson's. I'm sure you knew that. And my respects to Anthony Rapp...
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**Part 1**
To tell you the truth, I've never really met anyone in the least bit famous.
Maybe the time I was with a friend at a Christian rock festival back in the day when I was a psychotic teenybopper type religious freak. Yes, Audio Adrenaline and Eric Champion. I met them, but no one that I was so inspired by, no one I was so excited and honored at the slightest chance of meeting.
And here I was now, navigating the gridded streets of Portland. Rain swept down from the darkening sky. My busy little windshield wipers whisked the sheets of water to either side.
I think I retraced the same path five or six times as I always do when I come to Portland. Damn me for living in a small town! Although I think the nerves that affect me when I'm driving in Portland aren't the kind you get when you think you're going to get lost, or are overwhelmed by all the traffic and other big city fears. No, I get more nervous because I'm afraid I'll be late. For a play, a concert, a comedy show. Whatever I may be doing. Must be punctual. Must get good seats.
I finally find a street parking space (Bonus! It's after six pm, no charges!) which is lucky. Usually I have to pay to park in a lot. Which isn't so bad either, really. I'm about three blocks from the club. The club where he will be making a rather small CD promotion appearance. For as much as he is known, he is also not known. Not known enough to have big time investment types promoting a tour or advertising his music. A small setting. Personal. I'd rather it be this way really. He speaks too. He speaks to colleges and I imagine his music audiences about himself, acting, theater and GLBT * issues. Because all those things are important to him. He wants to support and inform people.
Precariously, I open my car door and try to haul my backpack out of the backseat before I'm hit by an oncoming slew of taxis. Barely successful, I dash for the sidewalk as I sling my jacket around my shoulders and pull the hood up about my head. I weave in and out of other pedestrians as I try to quickly make it to the venue.
I round the last corner and join a small group entering through the tight doors under a barely noticeable sign with lights and "Tonight: Anthony Rapp" spelled out. Actually the 'h' in Anthony and the first 'p' in Rapp are missing.
I squeeze in, just in time to snag a small table in the back with only one chair. It looks like the other chairs have been snagged by other table dwellers. Wild, I got my own table. I think about how much my best friend would have loved to be here. But he's only 20, not quite old enough to go to this club. I myself am barely old enough.
A waitress asks if I would like anything. I tell her just a glass of wine will suffice. She smiles sweetly and takes off, her tight golden curls bobbing down a cascade of ponytail.
She returns just in time for the lights to go down and Anthony makes his way onto the stage.
"He's really... beautiful," she says.
I can't help but grin madly. "I know. He's just... beautiful."
"He was in that show - Rent - wasn't he?" she says not looking at me because we are both watching him settle himself as the audience responded in various ways of seeing him appear - claps, chatter, whistles... cat calls from a couple of queens near the front? I chuckle to myself.
"Yes," I answer the waitress. "He originated the role of Mark in that show in the original run on Broadway."
"Two dollars."
"What?" I say looking at her abruptly. "Oh! For the drink. Sorry." I hand her two rather crumpled dollar bills. I manage to scrounge another dollar so she can have a tip.
"Thanks, darlin'" she replies smiling brightly again. "Enjoy the show."
"I'm sure I will," I think to myself as she wanders off again.
Anthony adjusts the stool they're provided him with. The microphone squeals with feedback as he alters the height and position. He clears his throat.
"Uh, hello," he says kind of nervously. Or perhaps that's just casualty I hear in his voice? "I uh, am enjoying Portland. Granted, it's rainy, but I like the city. All the museums and theaters... It's very... bohemian."
He pauses for laughter. I think I was the only one who really laughed out loud. He glances up in my direction and I know he sees me. I instantly blush. He smiles.
"So, uh, this song I'm gonna sing now, I've just written, so it's not on the album."
He begins to play and as soon as that voice sings the first notes, I fall in love all over again. His bleach blond hair is rather wild and a bit of moisture gleams from his soft lips.
All too soon, the performance is over and I'm snapped back to reality land.
"Okay, I hope everyone had a good time," Anthony says. "My little performance is over, but I'll be milling about so feel free to come and talk to me or whatever. Thank you again."
He clicks off the mike.
Some people hang around, and still others opt to leave. Most of the ones who stay are just hanging around like they would any other night. My guess is the majority of them don't realize all the things he's ever done in theater, music and movies. That's okay. More
opportunity for me.
Me! Yes! I fumble around for my backpack under the table. I at the very least have to get my friend's RENT album signed, because I promised I would. I fish around and retrieve that and my own RENT album and my copy of Anthony's solo album. I clutch them in my hands for dear life.
Seeing that he was only currently talking to one person, I felt I had my chance. I scurried across the smoky room and stopped short about five feet from him. I didn't feel I should intrude on his conversation.
I stood there for probably ten minutes. It seemed like ten hours. And I knew I looked like a geek with all those albums in my hands. In fact, as soon as the tall red-headed girl got up from Anthony's table, I fumbled with them and almost sent them all crashing to the floor when he looked up at me and said, "Well, hello there" as if he'd known me for ages.
Oh wait, any mention of RENT, or RENT characters... those are Jon Larson's. I'm sure you knew that. And my respects to Anthony Rapp...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
**Part 1**
To tell you the truth, I've never really met anyone in the least bit famous.
Maybe the time I was with a friend at a Christian rock festival back in the day when I was a psychotic teenybopper type religious freak. Yes, Audio Adrenaline and Eric Champion. I met them, but no one that I was so inspired by, no one I was so excited and honored at the slightest chance of meeting.
And here I was now, navigating the gridded streets of Portland. Rain swept down from the darkening sky. My busy little windshield wipers whisked the sheets of water to either side.
I think I retraced the same path five or six times as I always do when I come to Portland. Damn me for living in a small town! Although I think the nerves that affect me when I'm driving in Portland aren't the kind you get when you think you're going to get lost, or are overwhelmed by all the traffic and other big city fears. No, I get more nervous because I'm afraid I'll be late. For a play, a concert, a comedy show. Whatever I may be doing. Must be punctual. Must get good seats.
I finally find a street parking space (Bonus! It's after six pm, no charges!) which is lucky. Usually I have to pay to park in a lot. Which isn't so bad either, really. I'm about three blocks from the club. The club where he will be making a rather small CD promotion appearance. For as much as he is known, he is also not known. Not known enough to have big time investment types promoting a tour or advertising his music. A small setting. Personal. I'd rather it be this way really. He speaks too. He speaks to colleges and I imagine his music audiences about himself, acting, theater and GLBT * issues. Because all those things are important to him. He wants to support and inform people.
Precariously, I open my car door and try to haul my backpack out of the backseat before I'm hit by an oncoming slew of taxis. Barely successful, I dash for the sidewalk as I sling my jacket around my shoulders and pull the hood up about my head. I weave in and out of other pedestrians as I try to quickly make it to the venue.
I round the last corner and join a small group entering through the tight doors under a barely noticeable sign with lights and "Tonight: Anthony Rapp" spelled out. Actually the 'h' in Anthony and the first 'p' in Rapp are missing.
I squeeze in, just in time to snag a small table in the back with only one chair. It looks like the other chairs have been snagged by other table dwellers. Wild, I got my own table. I think about how much my best friend would have loved to be here. But he's only 20, not quite old enough to go to this club. I myself am barely old enough.
A waitress asks if I would like anything. I tell her just a glass of wine will suffice. She smiles sweetly and takes off, her tight golden curls bobbing down a cascade of ponytail.
She returns just in time for the lights to go down and Anthony makes his way onto the stage.
"He's really... beautiful," she says.
I can't help but grin madly. "I know. He's just... beautiful."
"He was in that show - Rent - wasn't he?" she says not looking at me because we are both watching him settle himself as the audience responded in various ways of seeing him appear - claps, chatter, whistles... cat calls from a couple of queens near the front? I chuckle to myself.
"Yes," I answer the waitress. "He originated the role of Mark in that show in the original run on Broadway."
"Two dollars."
"What?" I say looking at her abruptly. "Oh! For the drink. Sorry." I hand her two rather crumpled dollar bills. I manage to scrounge another dollar so she can have a tip.
"Thanks, darlin'" she replies smiling brightly again. "Enjoy the show."
"I'm sure I will," I think to myself as she wanders off again.
Anthony adjusts the stool they're provided him with. The microphone squeals with feedback as he alters the height and position. He clears his throat.
"Uh, hello," he says kind of nervously. Or perhaps that's just casualty I hear in his voice? "I uh, am enjoying Portland. Granted, it's rainy, but I like the city. All the museums and theaters... It's very... bohemian."
He pauses for laughter. I think I was the only one who really laughed out loud. He glances up in my direction and I know he sees me. I instantly blush. He smiles.
"So, uh, this song I'm gonna sing now, I've just written, so it's not on the album."
He begins to play and as soon as that voice sings the first notes, I fall in love all over again. His bleach blond hair is rather wild and a bit of moisture gleams from his soft lips.
All too soon, the performance is over and I'm snapped back to reality land.
"Okay, I hope everyone had a good time," Anthony says. "My little performance is over, but I'll be milling about so feel free to come and talk to me or whatever. Thank you again."
He clicks off the mike.
Some people hang around, and still others opt to leave. Most of the ones who stay are just hanging around like they would any other night. My guess is the majority of them don't realize all the things he's ever done in theater, music and movies. That's okay. More
opportunity for me.
Me! Yes! I fumble around for my backpack under the table. I at the very least have to get my friend's RENT album signed, because I promised I would. I fish around and retrieve that and my own RENT album and my copy of Anthony's solo album. I clutch them in my hands for dear life.
Seeing that he was only currently talking to one person, I felt I had my chance. I scurried across the smoky room and stopped short about five feet from him. I didn't feel I should intrude on his conversation.
I stood there for probably ten minutes. It seemed like ten hours. And I knew I looked like a geek with all those albums in my hands. In fact, as soon as the tall red-headed girl got up from Anthony's table, I fumbled with them and almost sent them all crashing to the floor when he looked up at me and said, "Well, hello there" as if he'd known me for ages.
