Truth - covered in security
I can't let you smother me
I'd like to, but it couldn't work
Trading off and taking turns
I don't regret a thing
-Nirvana, "Lounge Act"
***
Fulton
"Show him everything...."
I still don't get it. What's there to show? There's nothing but sand and ocean here.
Man, this beach is tripping me out. I've been here so many times, and I still can't figure it out. I turn and see the Portman of my Dreams, still holding that big rope that leads back into the dark ocean.
But this time, it's different, because now Portman hands me the rope, motioning me to pull it. I follow his orders, and I keep pulling and pulling, and this went on for what felt like hours. Then, finally, something emerges from the dark ocean. Excited, I pull the rope even faster. Whatever it was finally made it to shore, even though it's covered in seaweed and the seagulls swoop down to poke at it with their beaks. I shoo away the birds and take off the seaweed. I could make out the number 21 poking out through the seaweeds.
It was Portman, the real Dean Portman! I turn him on his front side, and bruises cover his face. Then, the Portman of my Dreams comes from behind and says, "Well, Mr. Reed, you lost another one!"
The phone rings, and I violently pry my eyes open and turn on the lamp to see the hotel room littered with our clothes and Portman snoring away next to me in my bed. I try to get the phone, but Portman's arm is tightly wrapped around my frame and against his bare chest. Finally, I get myself out of his bind (only to move his hand over my hair), and get the phone. It's our wake-up call, and I check the alarm clock next to our bed. Five in the morning. Dang. I shake Portman to get him up, but he won't budge, so with my fingers I shut his nostrils and wait until he can't breathe. With that, Portman instantly wakes up with eyes wide open, hyperventilating like crazy and screaming "What the fuck!?" That cracks me up so much, I fall over the bed and roll over the floor with laughter.
We shower (together, of course) and catch up with Bosco at the lobby, noting to myself that he looks a little down this morning. Portman tries to cheer him up, but Bosco just smiles like the cool jock he is. We meet up with this chunky young guy with these tight-fitting polo shirt and jeans, who introduced us as our escort for our day in L.A. We get in this comfy van and head out for our first stop.
Being the most wanted hockey players of the moment, Portman and I had a super busy schedule, which included not one but two commercials we had to do. The first was to advertise this 10-10-I-don't-know number that you always see on T.V. The other one was this Pepsi commercial that adulterates my favorite soft drink with a new flavor: Kiwi.
When we get to the studio at six-thirty, we get our scripts and rehearse what we're going to do. At nine, we shoot. Basically, we're in this set that looks like a coffee shop, and the idea is that this girl wonders what she can buy for a dollar. Then Portman and I step in and say (well, Portman does most of the talking, which is more than okay by me) that 10-10-something-or-the-other can get you 20 minutes of long distance for a buck. The girl then goes, "That's like, whoa, is that really true?" Then, Bosco comes from behind the counter wearing an apron and holding this empty foam cup, saying "Am I Jon Bosco?" It sounds cheesy, but it works. We do a few takes and by twelve we're done.
By then, our stomachs growl for solid nourishment, so our escort takes the three of us to this nice place that wasn't too far. No longer ignoring Bosco's funk, Portman asks cheerfully what's eating up our center and captain.
"I was supposed to do a photo shoot today. It was this other endorsement that fell through. You know about that?"
"Oh, dude, that sucks!" Portman goes.
"Well, it was for this Kiwi Pepsi thing, right? Kemp and I were working our asses off on landing this sweet ass deal, but then I heard a month ago that Pepsi finally chose someone else for it." Bosco leans back and returns to his former state of funk.
I knew this wasn't going to be good, considering that we got our deal a month ago, too. I stop eating and keep quiet in hopes of not making things worse. The problem was that Portman didn't.
"Was it the one that was worth $4 million?"
Bosco's curiosity awakes as he replies, "Yeah?"
"And had a commercial as part of the deal?"
Now even more curious, Bosco says, "Yeah, there was. Did Kemp tell you about it or who it went to, 'cause to be honest, I feel like strangling the bastard."
Portman's face lights up. "Dude, that's our deal!"
Way to go, Dean.
Bosco face turned to this unhealthy red color, gawks at us, and shook his head in total disbelief, whispering to himself, "I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this."
Portman tried to apologize, but Bosco cut him off angrily and started, "Do you know how fucking hard it was to get me that deal?"
"Dude, we're real sorry. You're a kick-ass center, and I'm sure you'll get a sweet deal to land on your door one day." Portman says in his cheerful tone, hoping he could bring up Bosco's spirits.
I don't know, but I'm thinking that Bosco's not impressed with anything that's coming out of Portman's mouth right now and, to be honest, he probably never was. Finally, in this irritated but calm tone, Bosco tells him to "just shut up." Bosco brushes his hair with his hand as Portman tells him to "chill out". Then, Bosco slams his hand on the table and says, "You know what? Fuck it. I'll eat outside." And that's what he does, but not before calling Dean a "fucking ditz." Portman heard this, but he looked unaffected and just shrugged his shoulders. I too heard it, but I didn't take it as lightly. I get up and stop Bosco short, relaxing my hand over his shoulder.
"That wasn't cool. Look, I'm sorry about the whole thing. I'll talk to Mr. Kemp. There has to be a mistake somewhere, so maybe we can fix it, but you didn't have to insult Dean."
Bosco seems touched but unmoved as he comes closer and replies quietly, "Reed, I respect you a lot, okay, so please take what I'm about to say as constructive criticism." He then comes even closer, glances quickly at Portman, then speaks to me, "You're better than this." With that, he leaves.
The waiter then heads to see what the trouble was. I apologize to him by saying, "He's not really a big fan of pastrami." Boy, that came off bad. We keep eating inside, while Bosco eats outside. We paid the bill and went off with our escort to drop off the now irreparibly depressed Bosco at the hotel and then head to another studio to do the commercial. I wasn't feeling too well about the day. Portman really pissed Bosco off, but I know it's totally my fault.
And I knew that wasn't a good thing, too, because tomorrow we had this game with the Anaheim Ducks. I've been hearing a lot of scary stuff about them this season, like how they just signed these two new enforcers who are supposed to be the west coast version of us and are as of yet 7-1-1 for the season. This was definitely not the time to have gripes.
Portman
Being a Bash Brother is full of responsibilities. First, there are the two commercials. Then, we go do this radio interview and take these calls from our fans here in L.A., and by the looks of how those phone boards are lighting up, I can safely bet that there are lots, even though we know we'll beat their home teams in a cinch, just like we beat Calgary, San Jose, and L.A. As always, I do all the talking, and Fulton just answers any question they have for him, staying quiet the rest of the time to give way to my rants. Nothing personal was asked, which was good, because I really didn't want to lie about the great things that were going on in my private life now.
After that, we did yet another interview, this time with some TV anchor guy. It's the same deal as the radio interview; nothing special happens. Good, good.
Somehow, I'm getting the feeling that Fulton wasn't happy with me, especially since lunchtime today. He's gazing outside the window, staying in that little world of his that I never get to see. He probably felt bad about taking Bosco's deal away. I was a little upset about that, because that was a super sweet deal we had now with Pepsi. I don't want to let go of it, but I don't want Fulton getting a guilt trip, too. Wanting to know if it was me or Bosco, I raise my fingers in front of his face and snap them, and he comes back with a little shake.
"Bro, you're spacing out again."
Suddenly snapping out of it, Fulton speaks softly, "Oh, sorry bro."
"What's up?" He didn't say anything, but if you want to get anything out of Fulton's mouth, you had to ask the right question, and even then he might not answer. "Is it about that whole Pespi thing with Bosco?"
"Dean, you shouldn't have told him."
"I know, but it just came out."
"Just be careful next time, okay?"
"Yeah," I say through a sigh.
"Why didn't Mr. Kemp tell us about it? I mean, Bosco was working his ass off to get it, but it's ours. It doesn't feel right."
"Dude, don't feel too bad about it."
"But I have to feel bad about it! He's our teammate, Dean! We have to talk to Mr. Kemp and see if we can get us out of it."
That didn't hit me right, and it makes me sad, but Fulton goes on.
"Dean, I know it's a good deal and all, but it's not ours." Making sure the escort wasn't looking, he holds my hand. "We can get better deals. We'll just talk to Mr. Kemp about it, okay?"
If it was anyone else, I would've said no (and in a much more colorful way), but this is Fulton. His thumb rubs against my hand, and it sends me this chill of pleasure and peace into my body. With his comforting touch, I nod to give the okay. Then Fulton asks, "Bro, I don't mean to ask you, but, about what Bosco said in the restaurant?"
"About me being a ditz?"
"Yeah. Doesn't that hurt? I was thinking that you'd be a little more pissed."
"Bro, I'm totally okay with it. I'm not a smart guy and all, but I can live with it. Plus, he just said it because he was angry, right? Don't sweat it." I shrug it off. I think I can hold a straight face better than Fulton. Fulton was a really smart guy, while I was a stupid jock, and I have to accept that. I could never come close to having his brains.
It was getting dark, and Bosco's funk was contagious. To break the mood, I ask our escort to take us to some popular nightclub to pass the time. After a long day of work, Fulton and I need the time-out to undo this ball of yarn in us and get our asses drunk a little.
We go to this place called the Viper Room, where all the popular kids hang out. The room was dark and there was this DJ playing music that bumped through our bodies as though it was trying to replace our heartbeats. I let the music flow through me, and pretty soon I start jumping up and down. Fulton isn't much of a dancer, so he heads to the bar, but I was so pumped up, I pull him back and, seeing that no one seems to care, I kiss him smack-dab on the lips.
With that, Fulton gives this big grin and juicy eyes and starts grooving to the music. After a couple of hours of mindless fun, we finally pull ourselves to the bar. There, Fulton orders two Buds for himself as I order a Heineken. As I drink my beer, I note this guy who's glaring at me with a smile. He's this buff-looking Latino guy in his late twenties who wears a tight-ass polo shirt that shows off his huge chest and arms as if they want to break free. I smile back and poke Fulton as the guy turns away. I whisper to Fulton, "Fult, there's this really hot dude sitting down there." I point to where he is, chatting away with this equally buff, young, and hung white dude. As the guy turns back, Fulton and I turn away.
"I guess we better turn on the A/C." Fulton goes dryly. I hide my face behind my Heineken and move my eyes to see him from the side of the bottle. He's still looking at me with that contagious smile of his. Fulton just drinks his Buds and ignores him, occasionally glancing at the guy and studying him.
Seeing that Fulton wasn't moved by the display of manly assets, I say to him, "Dude, you don't look impressed."
"I think he's playing with you."
"Oh, come on, bro! Otherwise he wouldn't be flirting at me. Maybe we could even have a threesome."
Fulton turns to me with this drunken look. "What?"
"Yeah, that'd be so awesome! Maybe I can talk him into it."
"You're serious?"
"Yeah."
"What if he knows who we are and tells everyone about it?"
"C'mon, bro! It's not as if everyone knows who we are! It'll be fun!"
Fulton has a mixed view on threesomes. We once did a threesome in his Hummer with this girl we picked up at a bar one night about a year ago. Fulton wasn't too up for it, so after trying real hard to wake his erotic side up but to no avail, he quit and stood outside the car in the cold night on this lonely road, waiting until I was done with her. I know threesomes are definitely not intimate things, but at least he understands it's just for fun and not for intimacy. Fulton tries really hard to hide his smirk, but he couldn't erase it. I can tell he's been meaning to do two other guys at the same time for a long time, so he was definitely not going to deny the opportunity to unleash his animalistic desires.
Still, Fulton doesn't give, and as he takes one more careful look at the guy, he goes, "I still think the guy's playing with you."
"Then just let me go and I'll figure it out."
He doesn't like the idea, but he sighs and nods to give me the okay.
So I walk over to him, place my hand softly over the guy's shoulder, and wait for his answer. He turns his merry face towards me, showing his sexy eyes and luscious lips. He looks totally okay with it, so he gestures with his head towards this exit nearby and goes off. Once he exits, I give a heads-up to Fulton, who raises his bottle to give me good luck, and I exit.
And there he is in the narrow alley, under this light blue lamp that glistened over his soft face, relaxing against the wall, his heavy gaze pulling me in. I come close to his body, but he stops me short, grabs me by my shoulders, and softly swings me against the wall. With that, our eyes lock as his hands begin running through my hair. He speaks with this quiet yet light and not-too-manly voice,
"You're a pretty hot stud."
"Yeah, 'cause I was born hot!" Yeah, I was enjoying this.
He slowly takes off my leather jacket and says, "My place isn't very far from here. If you're not busy or anything, maybe you could come over."
Not even trying to resist his charm, I reply, "You mind if I bring a friend along?"
With that, he raises my shirt from out of my pants, comes closer to my face and whispers, "Sounds great. In fact, it sounds perfect. I mean, why not take advantage, right?" He comes even closer and speaks in my ear. "Because there's nothing better than fucking up not one but two faggots, right?"
Uh-oh. I was in deep shit.
Just when I realized I walked into a trap, his fist rams into my bare stomach, and I cringe to the floor. Damnit! He caught me off guard!
"Especially two faggot enforcers, right Dean Portman?"
He recognized me! Now I was in really deep shit!
He pulls me up by the hair and closes my mouth with his hand. "And just who could be this little friend so that I take a stab at him, too? Is it Fulton Reed? I bet he's your fuck buddy, huh?" I punch the guy in the stomach, but he weathers it and sends a jab into my face, which nearly knocked me out. Whoa, this was a strong ass motherfucker! He pushes me up against the wall again and tries another fast jab at my face, but my adrenaline starts pumping in me as I quickly dodge his fist, which instead slams to the brick wall, nearly piercing it through! That just gives me a second to snap behind him and wrap my right arm around his neck to choke him. He then crouches down and sends me flying over him and onto some trash cans. I couldn't move a muscle. I was paralyzed, and coming from a Bash Brother, that's saying a lot! His foot then slams onto my stomach. "How do you like that, Dean Portman? It's not very fun being queer, is it?"
Just then, the white dude that was with the Latino dude earlier comes out of the club, grinning at the sight of me on the floor, bruised and bleeding. Oh shit. I start screaming Fulton's name, but the traffic on the street is too loud to hear my weakened voice. The Latino guy now anchors me down with his foot. I try calling his name again. "Fulton...."
Fulton
It's like ESP or something. Maybe it was a sixth sense, but whatever it was, it pierced through the loud and thumping music and rang in my head as I drank my beer. Dean's in trouble. I stop drinking.
Portman
The white dude now picks up this steel pole and walks up to me.
"Fulton...."
Fulton
It's still there.
"Dean...."
I jump out of my chair, jogging towards that exit, not knowing if something was really up or if I'm losing my marbles.
Portman
Fulton bursts out of the club and sees my body now anchored by the Latino guy's foot.
"Fult, behind you!"
The white guy raises the pole, ready to hit me, but Fulton grabs the pole from behind him, pulls him away from me, and slams him against the wall. The pole falls from the guy's hand. Fulton picks it up and smacks it straight onto the guy's face! The white guy falls like a log to the ground, totally knocked out. The pole hits him so hard; it rings like a bell! That surprised everyone else, except Fulton, whose eyes are turning into steel and stares squarely at the Latino guy. Fulton's teeth were grinding, and he grips the pole real tight in his hand. Not even on the ice can you see Fulton worked up like he is now, and when Fulton's pissed as hell, it shows.
Then, raising the poll over his chest, Fulton says, "Get your filthy foot off of him!"
The Latino guy doesn't budge. Instead, his foot just grinds into my stomach even more. Fulton decides to finish him off without the pole, drops it, and marches towards the Latino guy. The guy swings for a punch, but Fulton swings behind him, picks him by the shirt, and sends him flying onto the wall with enough force to make a dent on the stucco. Once he makes sure the two guys are down and out, he props me up against his shoulders and helps me walk away from the bastards and down the dark alley. But the bastards get up and limp towards us. Fulton and I run a little faster, taking advantage of the fact that we could walk and they couldn't. Fulton then points to another dark alley, and we hide there.
Now that I think of it, I really did act like chicken shit back there. They fucked me up, and I wanted to pay back the favor. I turn around and head back, but Fulton grabs my arm and shakes his head.
"Don't fight back. You can't take them on by yourself!"
"You can!"
"I don't want to get us into another fight, okay? Please? Let's just get away this one time."
I didn't want to, but let's be honest. I couldn't even come close to leaving a scratch on those buff assholes, let alone punch them. Plus, this wasn't Fulton's fight, and he's a real pacifist. It's always me that starts the fights and him bailing me out of them. His tight hug and a brush of his hand over my bruised abs soothe me and simmer my anger down. Once we're both calm, we poke our heads out to the first alley. They're gone. Seeing that the coast is clear, we run back up towards the street, but then, a pair of headlights pops up from the side of the alley and shines in front of us and a motor revs up. Shit, more trouble. The car screeches as it speeds towards us, getting faster and faster. Fulton and I run as fast as we can, but my bruises were slowing me down, so Fulton pulls me to this backdoor to a house, smashes it down with his foot, and quickly moves the both of us inside as the speeding car almost grazes us. Once it's past us, the two of us get out and see the car swerving into a street, giving us a glimpse of the driver. It's those two bastards again.
"We got the dirt on your asses, Bash Brothers!" The Latino guy goes as he speeds off into the night.
Now we're all alone in the alley. We start walking up towards the busy street.
"I'm so sorry I left you like that. I didn't save you."
"Are you kidding, Fulton? You creamed those assholes!"
"But I didn't save you!"
"Dude, it's okay."
"It's not okay! I shouldn't have let you go alone."
Trying to reason with him, I go, "If you didn't show up at all, I would've gotten the ringing dildo treatment from the buff white guy!"
Hearing that, Fulton stops and looks at me. "Please promise me something: Let's never talk about doing a threesome again."
I shook his hand. "Deal!"
I call our escort with my cell phone and the number he gave me, trying to tell him where we are. After an hour, he finally finds us and helps me into the car. Once we're in, I go on and tell him what happened (except for the flirting part, of course). Fulton insists that we go to the hospital, but I keep telling him that I'll be fine.
But then, as we were heading back, I remember something that happened as I tried to call Fulton. I know he couldn't possibly hear me calling him, but he knew I was in trouble. I turn to him, and, whoa, he turns to me with the same dumb look that I gave off. He's thinking the exact same thing! Somehow, our minds were in sync. We were talking to each other without really talking. It's freaking both of us out!
Is love supposed to do that?