orangetoughguy | log post II

[Freddy follows along like a good loyal dog ready for a pat to the head or the ass. Whichever works. What everyone else sees on the outside though is just a guy making his way around the place with someone he knows. Anyone who greets them gets an upnod from the kid too. Puff puff. Smoke in one hand and beer in the other. Nothing doing.

Well. Something's doing over there in the corner but the girl with the funky eye make up's gotta do what a girl's gotta do for some shallow attention.]

Don't sweat it.

[Freddy points his cigarette at Larry. By the time they've reached this office he's already done with his smoke and his beer. Huh, where can he put this down? It's a party so who's going to think oddly of a glass on top a counter? The coke is still coming with him though.]

[It's all familiar stomping ground. The big bellied men with the fratboy minds and the ladies who don't apply make up but have it wear them... This casino isn't Vegas grade, that's for sure. It is a happening place. And usually they're the chumps who put up with the partying and substance abuse on the other side. The old man is done with his drink. He lets his cigarette float in the top.

No one is around. Except Gump. He doesn't count. Larry shuts the door.]

I mean it.

[This man is a motherfucking lifesaver. Larry may not be bleeding out like a stuck pig in the backseat of a stolen car like some time and place far away, the situation is still dire. He pushes back the kid's hair from the side and leans to cover his mouth with his before he tries to deny it more. Heroes and their humility.]

[There goes his beer too then, on some counter or the top of a filing cabinet. His cigarette actually goes in an ashtray he finds on the other side of his beer holder. The kid thinks nothing of the door shutting until he looks back up at Larry.]

It's--

[Nothing. No really, Lawrence Dimick, Freddy just sees it as something he could, would, and should do for a friend. Someone who's kind of more than 'just a friend.' Paws in his hair and a kiss take him by surprise but he melts right into it with ease. His own hands run from broad shoulders to Larry's neck then up to cradle the sides of his face. Don't try to pick pocket the cocaine, White. He'll know.]

[Who says the glasses'll stay here? Larry is planning on giving them to Gump or at least leaving em in that room. Offices aren't garbage bins however they are perfect places to really lay one on the one you love. The old man scoots a bit closer. Don't worry, kid. He isn't gonna press you into that file cabinet, it isn't comfortable.

Paws stay put on the kid not in his pockets. Which one was it though? Don't go for it. Don't even try. That's terrible. Worse than thinking about it. Not as worse as wondering if they'd ever in a million years do it together? Quit it, Dimick. Larry sighs and slides his tongue across Freddy's lower lip.]

Get rid of it, baby. I don't want it at home or on you.

[Even if he has to wait here.]

[Being this close to Larry, mouth to mouth, hands on each other, makes Freddy forget he even has the shit until the other man brings it up. No he doesn't even need to specify what it is. The kid knows. His lips purse as if trying to coax that tongue back into them but he stops. Freddy gives a nod knowing just what to do.]

Where's the commode in this place?

[Yeah. He's gonna flush that shit so no one can get their hands on it. The $20 bill though...they can keep that right? Or will they have to give it back to White's buddy?]

[He wants to forget all about cocaine about how it feels on his tongue or how it stings a little at first snort before the head rush. It's sick to keep thinking about when he could be completely giving himself over to the kid.]

There's one down the hallway, one by the bar on the left and two upstairs.

[Thick fingers comb through his not so salt and pepper hair. All of that shit is better left in the toilet.]

I can wait here.

[Or else he might try and intercept. That's a thought too.]

I got it. Gimme a couple minutes.

[Freddy nods. He has an idea to make Larry watch him toss it out or make Larry toss it out under his watchful eyes but...one step at a time. It's impressive enough the old man didn't give in tonight. He's fucking proud of that considering what he found about a half year ago. He gives one of those shoulders a firm squeeze.]

You're a tough guy. Take care of these while I'm gone.

[He gestures to the glasses before making his way out the office.]

Okay.

[Nothing doing. This is what's right. C'mon, Dimick. You really want this deep down. He's finding it hard to grasp the why other than Freddy doesn't like it. That's not the whole truth. He's a forty three year old man who doesn't want to stay in the gutter. It's not a swell place to be because that's where people end up alone.

Larry leans for another kiss. Before he can pursuade himself to keep on being strong his hand rests at a pocket. One second. Two. It's hard to push the kid off but he does before something stupid happens.]

Go.

[It's not just because he's a cop either. Cop or crook they've both seen what a narc addiction can do to a man. Some get off easily, some even make a rich party habit out of it, some people get all the breaks and some just don't care. But Freddy Newendyke cares, he cares about Lawrence Dimick and has no desire to see him mixed up in that element, no matter how casual or social. Just once is too much. On that push he turns to leave the office, giving Larry one last look before he's gone.]

[The old man takes a look at his Rolex. Okay. A minute starts now. He pulls out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. A little sweat there. That doesn't take as long as he'd hope even when he takes extra care to meticulously fold it back into place. Twenty more seconds. Well, the kid must have at least gone in one direction. Larry takes up both glasses and leaves the room. No Freddy in sight.

That means he went to the one in the hallway right? Larry takes a long look down the corridor as he passes into the gambling room. Gump says hello. He says hello back with a fraction of the heart. The glasses go on the nearest table. Before he knows it, he's almost sprinting to the men's room.]

[Flush!

There goes all the cocaine. The $20 he's still keeping. Sure dollars don't count for much in this world but they can always give it back as a friendly gesture or exchange currency or keep it with the diamonds for the day they return. Nobody takes payment in diamonds in LA, nobody. Not fair equal trade payment anyway.]

[The door hits the tile when he pushes it open. For a moment he almost says the kid's name, his real name, out loud. Coherent brain activity is at an all time low. He doesn't see Freddy out in the open of the bathroom down the hall.

Maybe he chose another one. Fuck.]

...kid?

[Larry's voice surprises him--nearly startles him because he's handling drugs. It's a habit okay? A floppy blonde head pops out of the larger handicap stall. Everyone knows it's not really this big to fit a wheelchair.]

Yeah?

[Who else would be calling him 'kid'?] Everything okay?

[He's there in two steps holding the door open and looking around. The toilet. The floor. The kid. His hands.]

It's gone?

[Okay. So the battle's not over yet is it? Green eyes look straight at brown ones as he points to the toilet bowl.]

Gone. I still got this though.

[He holds up the bill and it's clean as a whistle. Sorry Larry. No actually he's not sorry at all.]

[Slowly nodding he lets it sink in. Even though he doesn't have the shakes---it's been that long, he feels like there's something unsettled on the inside. Brown eyes are looking right on back.]

Are you sure?

[They say all money has a little bit on it. So what. Dimick, are you desperate enough to lick a twenty dollar bill in a men's room?]

Yeah, I'm sure.

[Nice try. He pockets that bill ahead of time.] Let me know if that guy wants it back, cause it's my tip for covering your shift with you if he doesn't.

[Ball's in Dimick's court if he wants to lie and say the guy does.]

I don't think he would.

[Swallow. More nodding.]

Let's head home. I'm done.

[He almost was able to shake it all off. Almost. That's how many times he's had to say no? Fucking shit. Larry heads for the door, not sure of what else to say when he came on in here.]

Wait.

[Freddy reaches out to grab Larry by the wrist, wanting to pull him back into the mens room. He's getting one of those paper towels now to soak it with cold water then wring it. The old man needs it on his forehead.]

[He's so damn wrapped up in the drain of his thoughts that the touch physically startles him. Just Freddy.]

Shit it isn't---[like he feels sick. He does. More words try to hit the air in the same chord. It's all untrue.]

Fuck. [Larry's shoulders shake in a rueful laugh that doesn't make a sound either. He's grinning though, grinning like the fool he is. One more twist of the corner of his mouth and it's a sneer.]

I'm sorry.

[He's not bleeding to death on a ramp or anything but Freddy's patting and rubbing away at his forehead before he balls up the paper and tosses it.]

It's okay, Larry. You did good. Nobody thinks you gotta get through this like you're fucking untouchable, okay?

[The kid means it, fucking sincere.]

[Damn. He didn't know his skin was so hot. The wet paper towel feels better than it should. Larry tilts his head this way and that after a few dabs to best enjoy it before it's thrown away.]

Okay.

[Freddy Newendyke, his own personal hero.]

I'm trying. Believe me.

[Please. Two more seconds and he could have tried to get into the stall and get the coke.]

I believe you, baby.

[They're in a mens room in a casino that's have a crazy party farther out. What's the likelihood of someone coming in now? Probably not. So the kid wraps his arms around Larry for a tight squeeze.]

[Chances are if anyone did they're wasted enough to think it's two fellas and a bad trip rather than two love birds. Big arms go around Freddy.]

I needed that.

[Belief, intervening flappy hands and the whole damn deal.]

Take me home.

[Escorted by Christie.]

[He can be a superhero too, see? These flappy hands give firm pats to those thicker arms. Mr. White's not a small man, that's for sure, but even the hardest toughest guys need a little help sometimes, and Freddy certainly is little. Just don't ever call him that.]

I got a helmet with your name on it.

log post II

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