*Quinn's POV*
"Wes, just know that I still-" The phone beeped, signalling that the call ended. "Love you." I muttered, sticking my phone under my pillow. 6 was way to early to be up on a Saturday, but I doubted that I could fall asleep after that whole situation. I usually couldn't after his late night calls-well, early morning calls for me-that he usually wasn't even aware of.
"Goddamn it Ling, how many times to I have to tell you, it's right arm first!" Shrieked someone from the park next to my house. I groaned, shutting my eyes tightly. The sun was barely up, but since I knew I wasn't falling back asleep, I got out of bed, changed, and went out for a run. The great thing about runs was that you could escape whatever it was that you were dealing with, stay healthy, and not get lost since it was just around the neighbourhood.
People in this neighbourhood respected my privacy, and even though everyone who lived around here pretty much knew my schedule by now, nobody hunted me down or anything. It was one of those neighbourhoods where everyone knew what everyone else was up to at any given point of the day,the kind you see in movies or TV shows with young couples with babies no more than a year old (with the exception of a few toddlers sprinkled here around and there) with a dog, and old couples that hobble up and down the street with their dogs.
Did I mention almost everyone was in a relationship and owned a dog?
I was the odd one out, with the exception of a few others -like that little old man named Nigel who lives down the road and flies his African grey parrot on a leash when it's warm as he does his fastwalking around the neighbourhood, playing techno music, or "leisure" walking while playing Snoop Dogg.
But even Nigel had his little old couple friends, and sometimes they would even do their fastwalking around the neighbourhood with matching sun visor hats with the caps made of shiny reflective material in the summertime, and matching bobble beanies when it started getting chilly in the fall.
And don't forget the year-round tai chi that the Asian elderly population got the rest of them into. Seeing a horde of them at the park that I lived right next to was nothing new, but I'd occasionally wake up to some frustrated yelling like what I heard moments after the call this morning. They really did put a lot of work into being synchronized.
But it was alright, I guess. When I was home, I helped babysit the toddlers, or watch peoples' dogs on vacation, water their plants, all that jazz. I almost felt like a normal twenty-something year old, until that one time Nigel sicced his parrot on a pap that somehow managed to follow me from a meeting to the neighbourhood, and the parrot almost took off a chunk of the pap's ear.
After a few laps later, I went back home to get cleaned up, and start my morning. However, midway through brushing my teeth, calls started flooding in. I turned my phone over, and finished up brushing my teeth, and washing my face even though I had just taken a shower. Sticking my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I went about my normal morning business, until I finished up my breakfast and had absolutely nothing to do for 3 hours until some shoot that I had to go to.
Finally unable to resist the temptation, I took my phone out. and answered the call that was currently begging to be answered. "Hello?"
"Hi Quinn, it's Perez Hilton here." Shit, really? Of all calls for me to answer, it just HAD to be Perez? Great.
"I was wondering-what are your thoughts that Wesley Stromberg has admitted himself to rehab?"
I almost dropped the phone in shock. Quinn, stop. It's Perez Hilton. Don't give him the satisfaction of him knowing something before you. I scrambled to think of an answer that wouldn't give too much away.
"Well, I think it's a great step in the right direction, and going for help is something that's really hard to do. I'm proud of him."
I heard the scratching of a pencil on paper on the other end, probably Perez jotting down what I said. Or his own interpretation of what I had just said. Who knows?
"That's great. It's tough to accept that you need some help, and going for help. There's been some speculation that...Quinn, you were one of the major influences in his decision. How do you feel about that rumour going around?" I thought back to the conversation I had with Wes in those early hours of the morning, and remembered the raw, broken desperation, and his fear.
"I really don't think I'm that much of am influence in peoples' lives, we really need to start giving people credit where credit is due and just accept that someone was able to make a difficult decision."
"Alrighty, it was great talking to you, Quinn. Bye!" The call ended with a click. Since I didn't want any more calls flooding in, I sent out some tweets. I couldn't even check my email without multiple calls popping up on the screen.
"@QuinnBeattieRocks: @WesleyStromberg Super proud of you. :)"
Simple, but effective.
"@QuinnBeattieRocks: + since everyone seems to know what's going on, pls stop calling me. Trying to use my WiFi so I can't go on airplane mode lol"
Speaking of airplanes...I ran upstairs, and grabbed my overnight bag. I couldn't be bothered to check the weather, so I just stuffed a pair of skinny jeans, shorts, two tank tops, a random hoodie, and some necessities into my bag. I wasn't sure how long I'd be staying, but all I knew was that it wouldn't be for very long.
I dialed the familiar number in my phone, and hoped that I'd get an answer.
"Hi, would it be possible to have the jet ready in 3 hours for a trip to LA? I'm so so sorry for the short notice."
Herb, the pilot chuckled. "I've been expecting this call from you, the jet is ready when you are." I let out a sigh of relief, making Herb laugh even more. "Thank you so much!"
I packed a change of clothes and a hat in the bag, along with some other necessities, and calls a cab. Within 10 minutes, the cab was at my door. Within 20, I was in the jet, anxiously awaiting the touchdown in LA.
