A/N: Boo ... that last chapter kind of dragged, huh? This one will too, I'm afraid ... but I'm just so excited to get to the ending! So I'm breaking all of my rules and publishing my first drafts from now on, just to get you the story.
A few notes, though, things that I haven't really addressed:
- I know nothing about the film industry. I pretty much just made it up and hoped that no one knew what I was talking about
- For some of the places, I used Google Maps. Some of them I made up, and I've actually been to a few others. I won't really tell you which is which, but I bet you can tell by the level of detail in the descriptions.
- This is the most important: THIS CHAPTER HAS SOME MATURE CONTENT IN TERMS OF LANGUAGE. I did, however, use asterisks instead of the full-on words. It's just that one of my characters in here is kind of a jerk, and he needed some more colorful language to convey that. If you think I should change the rating because of this chapter, let me know and I'll make my decision shortly.
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"Here, Casey, take this," Derek said, sliding something through the gate to her.
Casey looked at him for a moment, a puzzled look on her face. Slowly, recognition dawned on her, and she grabbed the flattened box. She reconstructed it and reached back through the gate for the bottles of amber liquid that he was now handing her. When the carrier was full, Derek grabbed onto the gate and swung himself into the darkness.
He took the six-pack from her and they ambled along in silence. Derek glanced over at Casey, taking in her moonlit profile, and smiled to himself. Man, it's been a long time since we've done this. What, nine or ten years now?
"What are smiling about?" Casey stopped walking and put her hands on her hips.
Derek only grinned at her and kept walking. If only she knew how happy I am right now, he mused, whistling. Maybe she would thaw a little.
They finally arrived at their spot, a covered picnic table and bench by a small lake. Lush, green banks circled the lake and a stray canoe floated by, moved by an unseen hand. Off to the left stood a community center, generally used for throwing parties and holding meetings; tonight, the entire park was theirs alone.
Derek sat on the picnic table, propping his feet on the bench below him. Wordlessly, he cracked open a beer and handed one to Casey. She accepted it and took a small, delicate sip, pursing her lips as the bitter liquid flowed into her mouth. Derek opened another beer, for himself this time, and they sat without speaking, listening to the springtime symphony of insects and animals.
After almost an hour, Derek cleared his throat and drew in a breath to speak.
"Don't," Casey whispered, her eyes locked on her beer bottle.
"Don't what, Casey?" Derek asked, genuinely surprised. He thought that he wouldn't be able to shut her up; instead, she didn't want to say a word.
"Don't ruin this moment. It's nice, you know, just sitting here with you. Not talking. Just being. Finally." Casey exhaled loudly and picked at the edge of the label on her bottle.
"But Casey," Derek protested, turning his body towards her, "I want to know what's going on with you. What you've been up to all these years."
"I'm not ready," Casey answered quietly. A firmness resonated in her voice, and Derek decided not to press the issue. "But if you want to tell me, I'm ready to listen."
"It's not much," Derek answered, shrugging his shoulders and taking a swig of his second drink. "But if you're interested, I'll tell you."
"I am."
"OK, then. You obviously knew I went to LA, right?"
"Right."
"Then I'll start there."
Derek pulled up to a dingy two-bedroom house in San Pedro, California, 23 miles south of his place of employment in Culver City. He was late, as usual, not accounting for the extra time it would take to go anywhere because of the thick, incessant traffic in Los Angeles and the surrounding towns and suburbs. I hope this place is still available, he thought, putting the Prince into park. I don't really have any other choice.
A greasy man opened the door and stood in the doorway, staring at Derek as he made his was up the front walk. Derek extended his hand to the man in greeting; the man just looked at it until Derek dropped it back to his side.
"Hi, I'm Derek Venturi. I'm here about the room for rent."
"You got a job?"
"Uh, yes, sir, I do. I work at"—
"I don't give a f*ck where you work, I just wanna know if I'm gonna get my rent. You smoke?"
"Uh, sometimes," Derek said, completely taken aback by the man's crude manner.
"What?"
"Uh, just cigarettes …"
"Keep it at that. I don't want no cops up in here busting your punk-ass for weed, got it?"
"Got it," Derek muttered.
"Drugs?"
"Pardon me?"
"Do you do drugs, dumbass. Again, I don't need any f*ckin' cops in my house."
"No, I don't do drugs."
"Good. Lady friend?"
"Nope."
"Man friend?"
"Hell no."
"You got a problem with men with man friends?"
"Uh …" Derek trailed off, trying to gauge where the conversation was turning.
"I'm just sayin', be careful around here. Pretty boy like you, all the butt f*ckers are gonna wanna piece-a that."
"Um … thanks for the warning?" Derek's statement came out like a question, unsure of how to respond.
"No problem. So do you want the place?"
"Can I see it first?"
"Will it make a difference?" the man asked, arching his thick, bushy eyebrows.
"No, not really," Derek said, glancing around the neighborhood.
"Good. Five hundred a month and the room is yours. Bathroom down the hall, shelf in the refrigerator, parking on the street. Questions?"
"Not really."
"Good. Now give me first and last months' rent, and I'll give you a key." The man turned and walked into the house, beckoning for Derek to follow him. "Come on, I don't have all f*cking day!"
"Wow, Derek, that sounds … great," Casey said when Derek stopped to take a breath.
"Actually, it wasn't that bad. I mean, I had a place to live and someone to talk to. I wasn't there very often anyway; I worked 15-hour days most days."
"What did you do, exactly?"
"My job title was junior executive assistant," Derek answered, "but I was pretty much everyone's gopher boy."
"'Gopher boy'?" Casey asked, puzzled.
"You know, gopher. 'Go for this, Derek;' 'go for that, Derek,'" he mimicked, making a face and taking another swig of his beer.
"And what do you do now?"
"Pretty much the same thing."
"Pretty much?"
"OK, exactly the same thing. I haven't gotten a promotion in the seven years that I've been there. They keep telling me that I need more motivation, or I need to work harder, or I need a certification or a degree." Derek made another face.
"Do you ever want to go back to school and get any of those things?" Casey asked, taking a dainty sip of her drink.
"Yeah, I guess so." Derek shrugged his shoulders and stared out across the water. "It's just that, I've never really been into school, you know? And I'm making enough money to keep me in Ramen, which is really enough for me. And with some fantastically slutty women from Long Beach, Derek added silently.
"Is it really, though, Derek?" Casey asked, finally looking at him. Her eyes seared into his skin, and Derek momentarily glanced away. "Are you really happy?"
"I guess so," he said again, shifting his eyes to the ground. "Like I said, it keeps me in Ramen."
"I guess I'm just surprised at you, Derek," Casey said, staring at the singe of the moon on the water. "The guy I used to know had so much confidence and was convinced that he was going to take over and revolutionize the film industry. This guy, you, you're just some lackey."
"Wow, Case, harsh," Derek said, recoiling at her words. "I still have time to revolutionize the film world. I still have Jake Rademacher's number."
"But have you called it, Derek? Or have you just let it sit for seven years? Do you even know if he can still be reached there?"
Derek sat in silence. She has some good points, he thought, but she doesn't need to know that. Who does she think she is, judging me like this?
A/N: Woo hoo, we have more of an idea of what happened to Derek! Basically, he got caught in a job with awesome potential, but he's wasting it ... but for what? I guess we'll find out soon enough ...