Down in Flames
Title: Down in Flames
Summary: Trent gets an opportunity to be bigger than life itself, how will stop from going down in the flames of the hell they call "The Business".
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Total Drama characters.
Pairings: Begins with Trent/Gwen, a little Trent/Lindsay later on in the story.
Warnings: Mild language, Drug References, and Sexual References and Humor.
fulltimereviewer: So Trent's finally heading to hell's gate, Los Angeles, and he meets the devil himself.
Chapter Two: Hell's Gate
I felt like a tramp among ladies sitting in the clean, sleek lobby of Hölle Studios. My dirty and worn checkered shoes were a prime example of how much I didn't belong here. Everyone else had shiny loafers, like the ones my dad would spend what seemed like hours shining every day. There was a peaceful silence here; the only thing that broke it was the occasional phone call and the constant trickling of the water feature next to the receptionist's desk. I was used to the constant racket of an auto shop; the clang and bang of tools against car parts. The receptionist took over half an hour to even notice I was there. I could have seduced and slept with that receptionist in under thirty minutes now.
"Mr. McLean will see you know." She hissed from between her perfectly even and straight teeth that were whiter than Gwen's thighs. I picked up my guitar, the handle slipped around in my sweaty palm. Flashing the receptionist an honest smile and not getting one in return only intensified my anxiety.
My heart began to beat faster and faster as the stairs creaked underneath my feet. I looked at the walls and saw the dozens of gold records. You'll never get one of those. You'll be too strung out to even record a song after a while.
The office was nowhere as big as I anticipated. But, I guess everything is always bigger and better in your head. Much like showbiz kid, not everything that glitters is gold. I sat down in one of the chairs in front of Mr. McLean's massive desk. Behind that desk was a breath-taking view of the Hermosa Beach. Gwen would have loved to see that.
Even though isn't a fan of large crowds, she would get over it. Just the pictures that she could take there would be beyond amazing. Heck, we've never even been to a beach together. I can just imagine us running around like little kids just as we always did. Splashing in the water, laying in the sand people-watching, eating greasy beach food, and gazing at the sunset that is what Gwen and I would do and that would be the best day ever.
I looked around his office and saw tons of pictures lining a shelf. He was photographed with rappers, country singers, pop vocalists. I have something in common with all of them. Everything else in the office seemed to be normal. But, there was certain flair to it.
His desk legs were made from guitar necks and the lamp on the desk had a cymbal as a lamp shade. Which had to get ridiculously hot; I mean really, a metal lampshade? I guess you have to sacrifice functionality for style.
There was a small pick on his desk. I picked it up and realized what it really was. The glass pick from Toad McGee's infamous playing of his guitar underwater, which caused his untimely death. I used to say that, that would be the worst way to die. Now, I wish I could die known as the stupid badass that attempted to play his electric guitar underwater and not the strung-out, ex-teen heartthrob, dead beat, one-album wonder dumbass.
The pick was so smooth and cold in my hands. What it would be like to play with this. I looked around to make sure no one was coming. I sat the priceless pick down on the desk. Should I really do this? Hell yeah kid, show them you have some "edge". Lupe's case seemed to be screaming my name. I succumbed to the urges of playing her. Taking Lupe's neck into my left hand and slowly picking up the pick with my right.
When the two things were in my hand, it was like giving a pyromaniac matches and lighter fluid. I was running around those strings creating chords and riffs I didn't even know I could play. The glass sounded so pure even on my simple acoustic guitar. The sounds sent this tingling all over my body. It was stronger than any pleasure than I had every felt; even stronger than being with Gwen. Damn, Did I really think that playing with that pick was better than sex? That is a true artist.
"So, you have taken a liking to the Toad pick." My eyes flew wide open and I almost threw the pick back into its place. Chris laughed and sat in his huge seat across from me. He picked it up and began to twirl it in between his fingers as if it was a child's toy. Then, he did something that almost made me have a heart attack.
Mr. McLean spotted his trashcan on the other side of his office. He aimed and chunked the pick into it. When it landed at the bottom of the can it made a loud chink; sounding as if the glass broke. My eyes stretched to the size of saucers. He did nothing but laugh at me. "Wow, you really are from the boonies kid aren't 'cha?" I answered yes, rhetoric was never one of my strong points. Yeah, you being a naïve lamb in a city of lions got you in trouble more time than I can count.
"Do you honestly think that I would have the actual Toad pick sitting out?" I stayed silent this time. He sighed, and opened a drawer. It was filled to the brim with imitation Toad picks. "You see kid; I always put out one of these picks when I'm interviewing a possible client." I nodded and ran my hand over the hundreds of glass pieces. He placed his hand on my shoulder and began to walk me back to my seat. "Little brownnosers will stare at the pick until I come in here and will ask me three billion questions about it."
He sat on the desk and opened a bottle of whiskey that was sitting there. "But, a true rocker," he poured two glasses and handed me one," he'll make that guitar his bitch. Just like you did." I never thought of Lupe as my bitch before that day, she was always like a first love. I respected her, I love her. She wasn't my bitch.
Taking a sip of the whiskey that he poured for me, I realized that I was drinking. Drinking was something that I rarely did, and if I did it was never hard liquor. Gwen and I experimented a few times in high school. We'd become mixologists in her parent's attic on their date nights. Our favorite mixture was lemon-lime soda, beer, and some lime. We even made the poor man's mojito – lemonade, a peppermint, and a sprig of vodka. But that was all. Nothing hard, nothing serious, all in good fun.
"So how long are you out here kid?" He asked me while taking his proper seat on the other side of the desk. I didn't know how to answer him. I only bought a one-way ticket. Just to L.A. I made no plan on how to get back.
I opened my mouth to reply. I cleared my throat to suppress the burning of the alcohol and to try to bring some moisture to my dry mouth. "Uh, I don't know; as long as you needed me sir." Wow, way to sound articulate Trent; great job with the "sir", now you look like a brownnosing kiss-ass. He chuckled and finished his almost full glass of whiskey in one gulp and poured a new one. He told me to call him Chris, no more of that sir shit. I wish I could call him Sir. Shit now.
"So, I want you to be a star. I want you to be my star. You are talent. Pure, uncut, unpolished, backwoods, small town, talent is what you are. I want the whole world to see your talent kid. Is that what you want?" He asked me in this way that I couldn't figure out if he was complimenting or insulting me. I nodded. "Good, that's what I want to see. Now, the legal team is out today but did you want to get a contract drawn up tomorrow?"
Whoa. A contract? "Don't you think this is a little rushed?" He nodded and told me that things were fast paced there, in Hollywood. I don't know about being a contracted artist. I mean what will Gwen think? This isn't just one of those decisions that you make on a whim. "How about I sleep on it?" I asked him while running my hands over my hair. That was my nervous habit, Gwen joked that my hair would fall out if I kept doing that. I would rather my hair fall out, than to wake up with chills and tweak all day long.
He looked me over, as if he was reconsidering his decision. As if I was a tougher cookie than he thought. "Well, kid you're smart. How about you come back here around nine tonight for Shawn's rap party?" I cocked my head to the side. "Shawn is a girl that I found in a cabaret. Her style was a little project-y, her voice was a little too old for the pop crowd, and her body wasn't quite tight enough." He pulled a picture of a slightly overweight dark skinned girl with a ponytail that was obviously not her hair and a butt that everyone would envy.
She looked perfectly fine, in fact she looked like Gwen's boss Rochelle. "So, I got her. Sent her to Eva the personal trainer; Dr. Jason Jonas the plastic surgeon to give her everything that Eva couldn't; to Harmoniez to lighten up her voice and to give her some rapping skill; and finally to Mona-Liza to give Shawn her own swagger." He then showed me this girl.
This girl was a doll, and not in the good way. She was plastic from head to toe. Her face had been cut and sewn until she looked like one of those urban dolls. Her body went from being healthily large to being sculpted like a soda bottle. One thing that threw me way off was her breasts. They went from being naturally large to being half their size and looking faker than a three dollar bill. Her hair was still someone else's but I'm sure that it used to belong to a old woman in India and not Mr. Ed.
"She's pretty sexy isn't she?" Chris asked me while he put away his phone, and muttered something underneath his breath. "Well, I have a lunch with Shawn. Come tonight so you can get a taste of the industry." I just nodded and stood up to try to leave his office as quickly as possible. I picked up Lupe and headed toward the door. This dream day started to feel like a nightmare as soon as I heard about Shawn. Would I end up like that? No. No, I won't. No kid, you're right you'll end up much worse.
I waited for the clock to have its little hand on the four. That would mean Gwen was off and that I could call her. The long hand on the analog clock hanging on the wall of the hotel was slowly but surely moving. There was twenty minutes until she was done with her shift at the diner. I sighed. Maybe I could just rest my eyes for a second.
Closing my eyes for a second turned into me sleeping for four hours, and I woke up and it was almost eight. I cursed to myself and checked my phone; no new text messages. I sighed and got looked at the clock again. Maybe I should go to this party.
I walked over to my suitcase and pulled out a dark black hoodie, white dress shirt, and as Gwen called them my "Black Tie" jeans. Of course I would wear my classic checks. That was a damn nice outfit in my opinion. Wow, you look like a GAP model. You know what that stands for Gay Ass People. Wear clothes with class like Humör, Versace, and Vivienne Westwood.
Just to freshen up, I hopped in the shower. Just as the hot water hit the tile bottom of the tub, my phone began to vibrate. I had a text message from Gwen, and little did I know that it held the most important news that I would ever receive.
Damn straight.
An:
So who do y'all thing Shawn is? *Hint,Hint* She's a TDI character. Here's the real question who is the real life "celebrity" I based her on?I really like this story and I have some twists and turns coming… XD Muwahahahaha!