Teen Idols And Happy Meals

Mocha And Mysteries

Jacen’s POV

“If you want to live at every moment as it presents itself, you've got to die to every other moment.”

The words slipped away into oblivion as the book I held in my hands was suddenly snatched away, dragging me back into my surroundings with a disorienting snap. The smothering smell of cloves and gin hit me in a powerful wave as I glanced up to see a familiar face, scrunched up in confusion as he studied my book like a scientist trying to determine if a particular bacteria was potentially dangerous.

“What are you doing?” Pat asked. His hair, newly brunette, was shining with mousse and molded into a style I knew he was too lazy to ever do on his own.

“I was reading,” I said pointedly, leaning back in my chair. Normally I liked to relax in my dressing room, but after the stylist had finished my hair I’d been too absorbed in my book to return to the private room. In hindsight, it probably would’ve been a smart idea.

“Why?” he pressed further, dark eyes clouding like stormy skies with obvious confusion, “It for school or something?”

“No,” I replied, “It’s for fun.”

“Really? People do that?” he asked, raising a newly plucked eyebrow in disbelief as he checked out the cover. “Aldous Huxley’s The Genius and the Goddess,” he recited aloud before lowering his gaze to me. “It doesn’t sound like erotica.”

“That’s because it’s not,” I snapped, rolling my eyes as I grabbed the book back. “It’s a classic. My favorite actually.”

“So what you’re telling me is . . . you like books?” he traversed the subject gingerly, pausing frequently as if looking for reassurance. “This is insane! What else have you been keeping from me?”

I shook my head back and forth mournfully. “Estou cercado por estupidez,” I muttered under my breath.

“And now you speak Spanish!” he exclaimed wildly, “It’s like I don’t even know you!”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s Portuguese, actually.”

 “Damn man – what else don’t I know about you? Are you actually like a communist spy? Do you kill kittens for sport? Maybe I would know these things if we ever actually talked instead of just doing drugs all the time. Actually, no never mind, I like the drugs. Let’s keep doing those. Ah, I remember when you and I would get high together before a show like this,” he said wistfully, making a melodramatic hand gesture to emphasize. “Those were the days.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, kicking him in the shin. He gave a yelp of pain before diving at me and knocking me from my chair. We hit the floor in a rolling tangle of limbs, laughing as we struggled. He tried to get me in a headlock but I managed to loosen his grip with a knee to stomach. That was the thing about starring in action films; you actually got pretty good at this sort of thing.

“Boys!” came the shrill call of the set manager as he appeared backstage, wielding his clipboard like a weapon. “You’re live in ten!”

“Alright, alright,” I said, climbing to my feet before helping Pat up. “We’re ready, see? Don’t pop an artery.”

He grumbled some before stalking off, leaving Pat and I to laugh some more. “I swear that guy needs a damn orgasm before he has a massive stroke. Maybe someone should teach him what masturbating is.”

“Not it,” I said immediately, grabbing my drink off the table.

“Is that a damn frappe?” he asked in annoyance. He, like all my friends, were constantly trying to break me of my girly drink habit. I thought of Monica, who never ceased to comment about my gay beverage choices and smiled, albeit sadly. I missed her, more than I would’ve thought I would.