lust for life {l.s.}

part 2

1970

"This is your new place, then?" Niall gazes around in awe at Harry's spacious home in Hollywood Hills. It's his third one in this particular neighborhood, but Harry doesn't think Niall needs that kind of information thrown in his face. "How much does this crib cost you?" His best friend continues, running his fingers along the stone column, placed regally in Harry's expansive kitchen.

Perched on the spacious island counter, Harry swings his legs and shrugs, chomping on a banana. Jeff may be an asshole but being a Hollywood star sure does come with its perk. All he has to do is write down his weekly food requests, or anything else he desires, and one of his perky assistants delivers it to his door promptly. He loves that his kitchen is constantly stocked with colorful vibrant fruits and vegetables.

"'M not sure," he admits in between slow chews, as he gazes out the floor to ceiling windows, the city of Los Angeles placed below his palace-like house. It's something he tries not to dwell on. He knows he's incredibly lucky to live in a house as nice as this one, but the fact that the monthly mortgage was probably more than his parents made in a year left a sickly saccharine feeling in his mouth. "The agency covered the down payment when I shot the final installment in that alien space wars series. They said it would be in everyone's best interest for me to live close by to the set."

Niall's eyes practically bulge out of his head as he gasps. "You didn't have to pay a single cent?" He exclaims incredulously. "Cool beans! Thank you for letting me stay here, Haz, I never really thought I'd get to travel anywhere farther than maybe that one diner with the bottomless fries in the next town over from ours."

Harry can't help but laugh at his best friend's enthusiasm, although the amusement is overshadowed by the melancholy feeling that their hometown doesn't really feel like theirs anymore. Co-starring in his thoughts is a thick layer of ashamedness that he's lived in Hollywood for this long, and has never thought to bring Niall to stay with him. Something about his two worlds colliding, always had him hesitating.

"It's no problem at all," he reassures Niall truthfully. He absolutely loves the fact that there's someone else to fill this huge house and that's not his screaming agent or frenzied variety of personal assistants. "Honestly, Ni, you're the one who is doing me a favor. I'm not really sure how many more industry parties I can keep going to alone. You'd think after years of attending them, I'd be used to it. But, they still make me want to rip out all my hair," he picks at his nail anxiously, cringing at the thought of the next splashy party that Jeff has forced him to go to, under the guise of "networking."

His best friend levels him with a doubtful stare, hands placed on his hips. "Gee, it must be so hard to mingle with other hot and successful people, drink free alcohol, and party to your heart's content in enormous mansions," he deadpans.

Harry gets why he's so confused about this. Hell, Harry had been wildly confused at his negative feelings too.

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," he tries to explain, although he doesn't possess enough courage to elaborate. He almost feels on the edge of paranoia, as if someone from his team is listening in and will rip everything he's worked so hard for, right out of his hands if he steps out of line.

Niall just shrugs, never one to be swayed by other people's opinions, opting to always keep an open mind and decide for himself. It's probably the thing that Harry admires most about him.

"Whatever, tell me the skinny on that new model," Niall changes the subject, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Is she going to any of these parties?"

Groaning at Niall's beaming, shit-eating expression, he plops his banana peel on the counter, and buries his face in his hands. But in spite of it all, he finds himself smiling at Niall's answering rambunctious cackle. It's familiar, and feels like a refreshing splash of realness in his current cardboard world he's constructed for himself.

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Niall seeks Harry out in the corner of another brightly lit mansion in Hollywood Hills, smoking and staring off into the bold L.A. sunset that he's sure he won't ever get used to. Taking the cigarette from him and puffing a few drags, Niall exhales and then lets out a wry laugh.

"I see what you were saying earlier," the blonde admits begrudgingly. "All these people. They're so plastic and fake. Gosh, I don't know if a single one of them had anything of substance to say. And yet, all they do is talk."

Harry doesn't respond, knowing there must be more on Niall's mind. He remembers when he first came to his own jaded conclusions, ranting to his mother on the phone for nearly an hour, before letting her get a single word in.

Sure enough, Niall looks properly riled. "I tried to keep your name out of it," his best friend starts. "Didn't mention your name, because I wanted to see if they'd accept me for me. Dumb, I know. But I also didn't want you to be associated with me in case I embarrassed myself. But the second they found out I wasn't from NYC or here, they treated me like I was a piece of leftover trash in the gutter."

Opening his mouth to profusely apologize, or maybe assure Niall that anyone who had a shred of decency is typically found to be lacking at these sorts of events, he's quickly shut up as his best friend steamrolls right on with his tirade. Harry couldn't help as he smiles approvingly to himself. They really are platonic soulmates.

"You wanna know the funniest part of it all?" Niall asks in a tone that is completely devoid of anything remotely funny. "I finally mentioned that I was staying with you, and with the flip of a switch suddenly they couldn't get enough of me. Asking me questions about where we grew up and what we did back then, acting like our town was some quirky little spot instead of continuing to snub me. It was like my own fifteen minutes of fame except they just wanted to talk to me so I could introduce them to you. Everyone kept trying to figure out who you were dating or asking me if they could come to your newest premiere. No wonder you hate this."

"I'm sorry," Harry begins remorsefully, almost embarrassed that his best friend is now privy to the fake gaudiness of the phony Hollywood scene that's suffocated him for the past decade. Just as he's about to offer to call them a car so they can smoke a fat blunt and maybe watch reruns of their secret guilty pleasure, The Little House on the Prairie, Niall is clasping his shoulder with a grim look.

"Don't apologize to me, dude. I'm not upset with you at all. You know I could care less about what these people think of me. I dusted myself right off, always do. I only wanted to make sure that you were okay, having to deal with this freaky-deaky energy for the past ten years."

Puzzled, Harry looks into his best friend's somber eyes. "How do you mean?" He questions carefully, taking the cigarette back from Niall and letting out another slow drag, coughing lightly when it tickles his throat, gently.

"The way they talk about you is plain awful, Harry," his best friend looks extremely offended on his behalf. "Has it always been like this? How many of these parties do you have to go to? Jesus Christ, I want to jump off a cliff after thirty minutes here, I cannot imagine how tired you must be."

"After the first year, you kind of get used to it," Harry admits wryly, thinking back to the first party he'd ever attended. He had been the shiny new toy for all the other pretty things to fawn over and get their perfectly manicured hands on. He'd basked in the insincere attention at first, finally receiving the validation he'd been seeking since he'd left his desolate little town. But with each networking event, the blind enchantment seemed to wear off, just like Cinderella's fairy godmother's spell at the stroke of midnight.

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