AN: Thank you all for the kind reviews! I just knew there were some closet Kathy fans out there…I love Paget Brewster, she rocks. Ahem.
Anyway, someone pointed out that Chandler is out of character—yes, he is, as are several of the characters…sorry 'bout that, but it's not really changing, LOL. Also, some folks said the time jumping was confusing them…I'll add a timeline of sorts to the end of this chapter, kay?
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and are very motivating.
Kissing a FoolThree: When We Were Kings
1985
There was a distant, muted pounding resonating inside his head.
He lay in bed, on the shaky border between consciousness and total darkness, hoping that the pounding would cease, praying that darkness would take him.
But it only grew louder, and more persistent, and it took him several minutes more to realize that the pounding wasn't coming from inside his head;
It was coming from his hotel room door.
Groaning loudly, he peeled himself off of his sweat-soaked sheets, and shuffled toward the door, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as he walked.
"Yeah, yeah I'm coming!" he shouted, immediately regretting the action as a sharp pulse of pain shot through his head. Sighing, he opened the door, and let his red-faced agent into the room.
"Chandler, what in the hell are you doing? You have a press junket for your movie, starting…" his agent looked at his watch dramatically, "thirty minutes ago! Get your ass in gear!"
Chandler stood in the center of the room, gaping at the aging man blankly.
"Are you deaf? Come on?"
"Fuck off, Howard, I don't feel like it!" Chandler growled, and attempted to push his way past the burly, balding man en route to the bathroom.
"Listen to me you little punk! You WILL get dressed, and you WILL go out there and promote the shit out of this movie! A lot of people are depending on you, and—"
"YOU can't talk to me like that," Chandler spun on his heel and stabbed his finger in Howard's red, puffy face, "YOU work for ME, remember? I don't have to DO anything!"
Howard took a deep breath and counted to ten, fighting down every urge he had to smack the sixteen year old into next week—instead he simply shook his head, and threw his hands up in defeat.
"Fine, do what you want, but you will have to deal with the consequences…"
"Whatever," Chandler said, running his hand over his face tiredly, "Just gimme ten minutes, alright?"
The interviews were all the same: What's the movie about? Did you enjoy working on it? Was it difficult to juggle filming the movie and Family Style simultaneously? How much longer do you think Family Style will last? Are the rumors about you and Kathy Scott true? By the end of his tenth session, Chandler had had enough; why couldn't he just tape one interview, and give it to all the nosy news people? He said as much to Howard, who simply shook his head and smiled ruefully.
"Sorry Chandler, this is The Business."
The Business. Right. Being holed up in a hotel room all day, no cigarettes, no booze, telling people what they want to hear, and nothing more. That is exactly what he signed up for.
Chandler stood up as his latest interviewer walked out, and dug through his pockets for a cigarette. He lit his cigarette and smiled contently as he exhaled, the smile fading to a frown as Howard approached him.
"Your next one is here, you gotta get rid of that cigarette," Howard said gruffly.
"Why can't I smoke in my interview?" Chandler whined, and dropped his cigarette onto the hotel room carpet, stamping it out before Howard could warn him otherwise.
"Chandler, what did I tell you about—argh, it's like talking to a brick wall!" Howard shook his head, "Look, you are sixteen years old. And sixteen year olds don't smoke!"
"Yeah, okay, what planet are you living on?" Chandler chuckled.
"Don't start—look I—" Howard was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the hallway. He turned around just in time to see Nora Tyler-Bing make a grand (loud) entrance.
"Chaaandler, daaarling," Nora cooed, and approached her son, arms outstretched.
"Nora," Chandler muttered, his mood suddenly darkening.
"Sweeetheart, you look amaaazing," Nora continued, as she pulled her reluctant son into a Hollywood embrace; a slight kiss on the cheek and a terse hug—he'd received warmer greetings from total strangers—but then, total strangers probably loved him a hell of a lot more.
"What are you doing here, Nora?"
"What, can't a mother visit her only son unannounced? And you haven't said one word about my new nose job!"
"Hi Mom, I like your new nose," Chandler said sardonically.
"Ugh, what do I have to do to get a drink around here?" Nora announced loudly, smiling as several assistants began scurrying.
"What do you want, Mom?" Chandler pulled out another cigarette, and, ignoring a look of warning from Howard, he lit it and took a long drag.
"I told you darling, I was—"
"Bullshit," Chandler seethed, "You need money again, don't you? Or are you simply trying to get your face on Entertainment Tonight?"
"You little—" Nora started, then stopped herself, before taking a deep breath and shaking her head slowly, "Why do you think I want something from you, darling?" Nora said with false sweetness.
"Because everyone who is nice to me does," Chandler muttered, and stormed out of the room.
*
"Chandler," Howard called from the hotel corridor, "you aren't done with your interviews."
"Yes I am," Chandler yelled, and turned to face Howard.
"No, you signed a contract. You have to do this, Chandler, or you don't get paid, okay?"
"Howard, come ooooon! I'm tired!"
"I'll give you something to perk you up…trust me Chandler, it'll make your job a lot easier if you just listen to me, okay?"
"Whatever," Chandler relented, and yawned dramatically.
"Come on," Howard steered Chandler back toward the hotel room, "I've got something in my bag that'll get you through the day."
1987
Howard looked up from his magazine, and sighed deeply. Who the hell would be knocking on his door at this time of night? He slapped the magazine down onto the coffee table, and walked to the front door. He peered through the peephole, then stepped back, before rubbing his brow and opening the door.
"Chandler," he whispered, "What are you doing here?"
The eighteen year old that was standing in Howard's doorway was a mere shadow of the obstinate teenager that he had once worked with. Emaciated, shivering, pale and withdrawn, the boy's bright blue eyes were open wide; the dark circles that lined them accentuated the cerulean hauntingly. The boy shivered again, and blinked several times, before opening his mouth to speak.
"Howard," he whispered, and sniffled audibly, "You gotta help me."
Howard darkened, but stepped back to allow the boy entry into the house. He closed the door then folded his arms stiffly.
"Why should I help you, Chandler?"
"I…I just need a little more, Howard, to keep me going for a little while longer."
"And how would that be helping you?" Howard smirked, "One hit will only get you through the night…where are you gonna go tomorrow?"
Chandler looked up at Howard, tears lining his eyes, "Please," he whispered desperately, any semblance of dignity falling away, "I'll do anything."
"Do you have any money?" Howard arched his eyebrow.
"I—I have a few hundred left from that commercial I did last month…and I—"
"That isn't enough, and you know it," Howard said gruffly. He paused, and smiled softly, running his hand through Chandler's unwashed hair slowly, "But I suppose we could work something out…follow me," Howard whispered, and led Chandler upstairs slowly.
Who works for whom now? Howard thought bitterly, as he closed his bedroom door behind Chandler, and ignored the nagging voice deep within his subconscious that reminded him that this was all his fault—that he was responsible for destroying his biggest star—and that there was really nothing left for him to take.
1996
"Monica…MONICA!"
"What?" Monica jolted, and looked over at Rachel crossly.
"Don't you think you have enough sugar?" Rachel pointed at Monica's right hand, and Monica immediately stopped dumping sugar into her coffee.
"Sorry," Monica muttered, and immediately set about sweeping sugar granules off of the table and into her cupped hand.
"Mon, they have people here to do that," Rachel said, then shook her head, "course I forgot who I was talking to," she giggled. When Monica didn't respond, she leaned toward her and placed her hand on Monica's arm gingerly.
"Mon, have you tried calling him?"
"Of course I have!" Monica snapped, and dumped the renegade sugar into her already full coffee mug, "I called, I wrote him a letter, I even sent him a fucking e-mail," Monica reddened when she realized how loud her voice had gotten. She glared at the curious onlookers in the shop, and sighed deeply, as she stared down at her hands, balled into tiny fists on her lap.
"He hates me," she whispered.
"No he doesn't, he's just mad!" Rachel said brightly.
"Rach, it's been a month. He hates me."
"He…wow, a month, huh?"
"Rach!"
"Sorry, I just…maybe you should go see him. Try and talk to him?"
"I would, but it's like he's fallen off the face of the earth! He is never home!"
"And how would you know that?"
Monica flushed, and shrunk into her seat, "I dunno."
"You little stalker," Rachel giggled, eliciting a small laugh from Monica.
"I wonder where he's been all this time…I wish you were still on speaking terms with Joey," Monica sighed.
"Yeah, me too," Rachel smiled sympathetically, though her eyes said differently.
*
Kathy stood up slowly, and pulled Chandler's t-shirt over her head. She pulled the comforter over Chandler, and watched him silently for several minutes.
She'd never seen him this bad before.
She thought she'd seen him at his worst; but he had never really shown his emotions the way he had been the past few weeks…and he had never stayed in her life this long before.
It was beginning to scare her.
She took in a sharp breath, as Chandler rolled to his side, and let out a deep sigh in his sleep. When his breathing evened again, she exhaled, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
She wanted to be his savior. To be everything he needed, and everything he wanted. She wanted his world to revolve around her the way it seemed to revolve around this woman.
Because she never thought the world would ever revolve around anyone but himself.
He was capable of love—he was capable of selflessness.
Just not with her.
She wiped away a stray tear, and stood up slowly, before circling the bed and kissing him on his forehead softly.
"I love you," she whispered, then walked out of the bedroom, and closed the door.
When the door clicked, Chandler opened his eyes, and felt his heart ache anew.
1985
"For all the publicity this club has gotten, its not all that great," Sean whined, as he downed his third Jack and Coke and winked at a skinny blonde who crossed his path.
"It's alright," Chandler shrugged, as he snubbed out his cigarette and scanned the sweaty crowd languidly. His eyes fell onto Kathy, who was swinging her head and hips to the rhythmic thumping of the music, her hair whipping around her loosely, and a small smile playing on her lips. Chandler smiled slightly, his eyes following her as she moved into the crowd.
"Dude, are you even listening to me?"
Chandler jolted, and looked toward Sean, his eyes wide.
"What?"
"Oooh, I see," Sean grinned, his brown eyes landing on Kathy.
"What?"
"You so want her, dude!"
Chandler reddened, and backed up slightly, "Whatever," he choked out.
"You do!"
"Shut up, asshole!" Chandler yelled, walking away before Sean could reply.
He pushed his way through the sweaty, rhythmic crowd, his breathing ragged and his head spinning. He was vaguely aware of the flashing colored lights, and the deafening music that surrounded him. He spotted Kathy, and snaked his way through the remaining clubbers, taking her hand as he slid to her side.
"Hey handsome," Kathy grinned, as she continued to dance.
"Hey," Chandler rasped, "Let's get outta here."
"Why?" Kathy furrowed her brow in confusion, "I like it in here!"
Chandler blinked, then pulled her toward him, kissing her roughly and pressing his moist body to hers.
She pulled away slowly, and looked up at him, her eyes dancing in the flashing club lights.
"Oh," she whispered, and smiled slightly, as he yanked her arm and led her off of the dance floor.
AN:
Timeline:
1984-86 – Chandler is a teenager with a hit TV show
1987, 88 and into the 90's – His career falls and his life is…bad.
1995 – meets and has a relationship with Monica
1996 – "present day"
Hope that helps…