Title: His Heroine, Chapter VII "Just a Boy"
Author: Zeldabel / Zelda Loves Charlie / Orlando Hope
Disclaimer: The characters—with the exception of Phoebe—belong to JJ Abrams. "Ordinary Day" belongs to Vanessa Carleton.
Just a Boy
"Just a day,
Just an ordinary day
Just trying to get by
Just a boy,
Just an ordinary boy
But he was looking to the sky
And as he asked if I would come along
I started to realize
That everyday you find
Just what he's looking for,
Like a shooting star he shines."
"Ordinary Day," Vanessa Carlton
Sabrina Boone Carlisle was not pleased to discover she was pregnant. Short of having an abortion, she did everything possible to miscarry her baby. She "slipped" on a patch of ice, threw dinner parties flowing with booze and thick with smoke, she had her worthless brother-in-law punch her in the stomach. When nothing worked, and the lump in her stomach grew annoyingly larger, Sabrina smoked joints, refused to eat and tried to shame the baby by telling him how unloved and unwanted he was.
She despised the feeling of the baby growing within her. She'd wake up to feel his little foot kicking against her, and almost weep with despair. She had a life, a wonderful life full of hard work and ambition and success. She had absolutely no room for this little person, had no desire to spend time with someone who didn't speak her language.
By her seventh month, Sabrina was forced to admit defeat.
"Look," her husband said, awed as he stared at the grainy, black-and-white sonogram. "It's our baby, Sabrina."
"How wonderful," Sabrina spat.
Richard slid an arm around her shoulders. "There's no need to be afraid, darling," he said soothingly. "You are going to be a great mom."
Sabrina was appalled. How could Richard think she was afraid of, as opposed to totally disgusted by, motherhood? "I'm not afraid," she snapped. "I'm---"
"We're going to be wonderful parents," Richard said distractedly, still staring at the screen. Suddenly, he grew excited. "Look, Sabrina! It's his winkie!"
Sabrina winced. How could she be expected to live in a world where words like winkie were commonplace? She needed to be surrounded by spread sheets and bridal gowns, not diapers and warm bottles. There was no room in her heart or life for Big Bird.
Or a little boy.
Richard was amazed. "There's no need to be afraid," he repeated. "It's just a boy. Just an ordinary boy."
Boone Carlisle, still donned in the tux and shiny loafers he'd worn to the wedding, sprinted across the Cancun beach to his hotel room. After two weeks of organizing the very high-profile wedding of the very flirtatious, very skinny daughter of a Hollywood director to the most prominent attorney in LA, he was free. Free to meet two old college buddies at a local bar, kick back with a couple of beers, listen to loud music, and, if he was lucky, spend the rest of the evening with a beautiful girl.
"Shit!" Boone yelled, colliding head-on with something hard and unyielding. He had been far too busy imaging dancing close with a dark-eyed Mexican senorita to pay attention to where he was going. And, as late as it was, he ha expected the beach to be deserted.
"No, don't worry about me," came a voice from the darkness. "I've just been hit by a Hummer, but you go on about your business."
"I'm sorry," Boone said, struggling to his feet. He looked down at his tuxedo and groaned. It was heavy with wet sand and probably ruined. His mother was going to kill him.
Pushing his mother's image from his mind, Boone stretched out a hand to the person he had hit. Squinting in the darkness, he was able to see an outline of lots of frizzy hair and perhaps…shiny beads. He remembered seeing an ad for one of the club shows. All the performers wore silly afros and danced to really bad music under a revolving disco ball. "Hey, are you part of the 'Stayin' Dead 70's Revue'?"
"Now that's a new one," the voice said. It was a female voice, but much deeper and huskier than most. It was void of the champagne-bubble giggles Boone was used to hearing in female voices. "I had one college dude ask me if I was participating in the Lane Bryant swimsuit shoot, a teenage girl offered me a bottle of Frizz Ease, and a Broadway producer offered me the role of Little Orphan Annie in his newest musical.
Apparently, he has written a play about comic strip characters gone to the darkside – Annie is a crackhead who is preparing for a sex-change operation. But you are the first person to ask me if I'm part of the 'Stayin' Dead 70's Revue'."
"Really?" Boone asked, pleased.
"Oh, yes," the girl said. "You should be very proud of yourself."
Boone shrugged. "Well, thanks." He cleared his throat. "Listen, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Let me help you up."
"No, I'm fine here," the girl answered. In the darkness, he saw her silhouette lay back on the sand. "Hurry on. I bet you were in a hurry to meet some little anorexic girl in a thong and two seashells. Probably has sharp little white teeth – like Chiclets."
Boone laughed out loud, starling himself. It had been so long since he'd laughed. He spend most of his time with Sabrina's wedding employees, all who were too downtrodden and disillusioned to laugh. And, for the past two months, the bride's mother had Boone's cell phone number on speed dial. Every five minutes, she was calling to complain about the veil or the shape of the groom's cake or the color of the doves which would be released after the ceremony. "They have to be pure white, Boone dear," she'd whine. "None of that dove gray nonsense. Pure white. Are you writing this down, Boone dear?"
Laughter was very seldom a part of Boone's life.
"Actually," Boone said, sinking to his knees despite himself. "I was meeting Dave and John, two old buddies from UCLA. And if they show up in thongs, I'm going to go totally Odepius Rex and gouge my eyes out."
"UCLA, huh? I guess that means you're from California?"
"Born and raised in Brentwood," Boone answered, lying back on the sand.
"Brentwood, really?" The girl said, excited.
"Yeah."
"I have no idea where that is, man," she said, deadpan.
Boone laughed again, and folded his hands beneath his head. "LA. You know, like OJ?"
"How fortunate," the girl said dryly. "What neighborhood parties you must have."
Boone pretended to stare up at the sky, yet watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. He was becoming accustomed to the darkness now, and he could make her out in bits and pieces. She looked like she had bright red corkscrews sprouting from her head, and was wearing a very modest bathing suit. "Listen," he said, nudging her calf with his foot. "I'm Boone."
"Ah, no names!" She cried, draping an arm across her face. "Can't we just meet anonymously on a deserted beach, like in a romance novel, rather than swapping email addresses and blood types and all that crap?"
"Nope," Boone said cheerfully. "Boone Carlisle, at your service."
"Ugh, last names, too," she sighed. "Can I at least make up a name? Something trendy like Montana or sexy like, I don't know, Sabrina?"
"Not Sabrina," Boone said quickly. "That's my mother's name."
"So? I can still be Sabrina."
"No, you can't," Boone argued. "Later when we make love, and I cry out your name in ecstasy, I don't want to feel like an incestuous sicko."
"Well, you did bring up the Odepius Rex thing," she pointed out. She was silent for several beats, then said, "Phoebe."
"I'm sorry?"
"My name. It's Phoebe."
Boone looked over at her. "Is that your real name?"
"What you think I'd make that up?" She snapped, not unkindly. "It's as good as Boone."
"Fair enough." He agreed. He turned on his side so he could gaze openly at her.
"You're staring," Phoebe pointed out. She dropped all pretense of staring at the stars and looked him in the face.
"Yes, I am," Boone agreed.
"So are you going to tell me?" Phoebe asked.
"Tell you what?" Boone whispered, reaching over to push a stray corkscrew from her cheek. His fingertips lingered on her cheek. He wanted to come away with some of her essence, some of the laughter he saw within her.
"You're deepest secret."
"Hum." Boone pondered this. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."
"Now there's an original line," Phoebe laughed. "Anyway, I've already told you my deepest secret. My name is Phoebe. You're the only guy south of Oklahoma who knows that."
"Well, let's see," Boone mused. "I'm in love with my sister."
Phoebe blinked her leprechaun eyes. "Well, I wasn't expecting that one."
"Wow. I feel like I should be paying you," he said. "I've been with you ten minutes and I've laughed, told you my deepest secret, and forgotten all about my mother. You're better than therapy."
"If you invite me to a bachelor's party, I'm going to be seriously affronted," Phoebe warned.
Boone laughed out loud. "No one with breasts like that could be considered one of the guys," he assured her.
Despite the darkness, Boone saw Phoebe flush. He also saw, to his absolute delight, her nipples tighten under her suit. Reaching out, afraid to frighten her away, Boone flittered his palm across her nipples. When he heard her groan, he hardened instantly.
"Okay, forget about talking," Phoebe said, reaching for him.
Boone didn't need inviting twice. In a nanosecond, he was on top of her, his tongue in her mouth, his hands pushing at the straps of her suit. He felt her strong legs clamp around his back, and felt her fingers working at his shirt. Pulling his mouth from hers, he buried his face in her cleavage, pushing her breasts up to surround him.
"And as he spoke, he spoke ordinary words
Although they did not feel
For I felt want I had not felt before
You'd swear those words could head
And as I looked up into those eyes
His vision borrows mine.
And to know he's no stranger,
For I feel I've held him for all of time."
"Thank you, Vanessa Carleton," Boone said against her skin, smiling as Phoebe finished her song.
Phoebe burst out laughing. "Those lyrics popped into my head for some reason. Just an ordinary day, an ordinary boy."
"Except it's night," Boone teased, nipping at her shoulder.
"Well, there's that," Phoebe breathed.
"I---" Boone began. He cocked his head. "Do you hear something?"
Phoebe looked panicked. "Oh, God, you're schizophrenic. I knew something had to be wrong with you. Other than being in love with your sister, I mean."
"Hum. Did the voices make me say that again?" Boone asked, distracted. What was that ringing? It sounded like the melody to "I'm a Bitch."
His cell phone.
Shannon's ring.
Shannon.
Boone rolled off Phoebe and dove for his phone. He had pressed "send" before the second chorus began.
"Boone?" Shannon's voice was tinny and full of static. "I need you."
Shannon and Boone say side by side, listening to the now-familiar sounds of the jungle. Boone was pretending to sleep, but Shannon knew better.
"Boone?" She prodded.
"What, Shannon?" He asked, annoyed.
"When I called you in Cancun, after that wedding…" she paused.
"Yeah?"
"Were you with someone?"
Boone was quiet for a few beats. Shannon was just beginning to think he was going to ignore her when his voice rang out in the darkness. "Yes."
"Was she someone special?" For some reason, the Cancun call had always bothered Shannon. When Boone'd answered his cell phone, he'd been reluctant and almost cool.
Not to mention breathing very, very heavily.
"No. No one special."
Shannon looked over at Boone's profile. His wizard's eyes were focused on the first stars appearing in the sky. "Just a girl," he said finally. "Just an ordinary girl."