Thalia Grace (wasatree) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-08-25 21:29:00 |
|
|||
It was a weeknight and Thalia probably should be working on her art history paper, but she’d already done some reading earlier in the day, and she figured that was enough for actual homework. It was time to party a bit - because really, one night she was going to dream about being mauled by hellhounds and then getting turned into a tree, which may or may not result in her getting turned into a tree for real, and who the hell had time for homework when they were about to turn into a tree? So she headed off to a club with some friends, and then suddenly it was closing time, her friends were gone, and there was a really creepy guy trying to take her home. “Ugh no,” Thalia said, and latched onto a nearby guy who didn’t look so much like a skeeze. “Hey honey,” she chirped. “Let’s jet.” Because sadly, the best way to discourage unwanted attention from a guy was still another guy, rather than a kick to the balls. *** Sweat had caused Mike's overshirt to be stripped off, tied around his head under his hat to keep the salt from stinging his eyes; the music had stopped half an hour earlier, but he'd still been dancing to his own beat with a crowd which only began to disperse as the lights began to be overwhelming. Mike went out on his own a lot of nights. Sam had classwork and she wasn't as into the dancing scene as he was which wound up giving them some breathing room. He liked the idea she had her own time. Mike figured it was less likely she'd skip out on a commitment with him the way Brooke had since Sam had plenty of spare time all to herself. He made certain of that. "Sure thing, sugarplum, let me just grab my gear." Mike caught a glimpse of the suspicious character behind her as he ducked to grab his bag where it was stashed under a table. The girls who'd cleared it giggled at him, winking and waving as he made his way over to the unknown woman. He laced his fingers in hers -hand-holding was intimate in its way, but innocent on the whole- as he shrugged the duffle onto his other shoulder. She was pretty enough to worry about strange guys lurking at the close of the club; Mike was a good enough guy to make sure she had someone to walk her to a safe drop-off point. "Head for the garage. I got my truck there. I'll drop you wherever you want so you don't have to worry." He said it low enough for only her ears to hear. Mike didn't want to take any chances. ~*~ Although Thalia’s face had graced the pages of many a tabloid, she - as an extension of her mother - occupied a specialized enough niche that some people wouldn't be able to recognize her if they didn't pay attention to Hollywood gossip. She was glad the guy she'd randomly chosen as her savior either didn't recognize her from the rags or pretended not to; that tended to complicate things. Instead, he played the part of devoted boyfriend admirably, with just enough intimacy to make it believable but not enough to make it weird. She liked him already. As they headed for the garage, Thalia was reminded of that day two years ago, when she'd met Luke in a similar way. Then, she'd made him the unwilling accessory to a felony, by having him hide her from the security guard who'd been on her trail for shoplifting. She'd been so giddy with the illicit thrill of breaking the rules her way, rather than what the tabloids had attributed to her. She’d gotten past that phase, but she wasn't sure she'd gotten past Luke. Pushing him to the back of her mind, Thalia focused on the guy she'd recently commandeered into helping her. “It's like you've done this before,” she told him with a smile that might look adoring to someone looking in on them. “Either that, or you're secretly an axe murderer. I hope it's the first case.” *** "Done this before," Mike answered easily enough, his grin as genuine as he himself was while he led the way to the parking area, "I wind up playing Knight in Sweaty Armor for a lot of the club girls since I stay the latest and I'm taken." He figured it would put her mind more at ease if she knew he wasn't interested in anything more than getting her out of whatever jam she'd landed in. Her face looked familiar, but Mike never managed to keep up with the celebrity rags. With his business and his dancing, Mike didn't have enough free time to get involved in the scene the way he had when he'd been in Florida. Plus, celebrity was something entirely different in California much less in the OC. Releasing her hand, he gestured to his truck which was emblazoned on both sides with Mike Lane Custom Furnishing Art, "This is me. Feel free to climb on in the other side. I've been a chauffeur more than once, too." Mike unlocked the truck with his key fob. He tossed his bag into the back seat of the King Cab. The extra space allowed him to stow his dollies for moving smaller things which fit into the bed of the truck. Custom furnishings came in all sizes which was good for Mike. He could do most of his own deliveries without any help. Sometimes he couldn't afford to get a helper for an install when he'd hired one to help with the build. It all came down to profit margins really. "It's none of my business, but you do look familiar. I can't say I know you so if you don't want to give me a name? You don't have to. I get that. I just wonder if dodging stalkers is something you do regularly or if this is my lucky night to play at being a hero?" ~*~ That he so readily and cheerfully announced his relationship was indeed a relief. Thalia always knew that in these instances where she grabbed someone to rescue her, it could very well be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fryer. She usually had a pretty good instinct for good people versus sleezes, though, and she had a good feeling about this one. She noted the decal and the stuff in the back as she climbed in; probably his day job. It was unsurprising: these days, knights in shining armour really didn’t make much money. “Thalia,” she replied, seeing no need to lie. If he really wanted to find out who she was, it was a pretty easy thing to do. “You might’ve seen me in OK Magazine or In Touch. I haven’t actually done anything to be in a magazine, but that doesn’t seem to stop anybody from making up stories about my life.” She spoke nonchalantly, but behind it was a hint of bitterness. She really hadn’t done anything to deserve the kind of notoriety she had been saddled with, and it was honestly pretty exhausting. *** Mike nodded without replying as he made sure she was buckled up before pulling out of the parking garage. He'd had all the windows in his truck tinted as dark as legally possible to preserve anything sensitive he was carrying in the cab. The heat in Cali also made it a lot more reasonable to drive with tinted windows. Best of all? Thalia wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting a lucky shot of her being driven off in a craftsman's truck. Her name sounded familiar, but Mike couldn't place it. He really didn't know her as an individual. Mike did know her as a concept. "I was a hype man in Florida. Tampa and then Miami. I know how The Scene works. You don't have to do anything to be interesting if you're a part of The Scene. You get into it by choice or just right place wrong time?" Sometimes accidental fame happened. Mike had seen the literal definition of notoriety in his time. Fame was a curious beast. Most people who dreamed about becoming famous had no idea what fame really meant. Reality was something Mike knew better than most because he had to know reality. There wasn't any fame fairy who was going to come around to pay his bills for him or ensure he got his dreams to come true without hard work. "It doesn't really matter. I'm just making conversation while you decide where you want to be dropped off." ~*~ Thalia named an intersection that was close to the place she was staying at. This guy may seem decent, but she didn’t like to give out her address to people she didn’t know. “My mom’s Lorelai Grace,” she said simply. That was a name that ought to ring a bell: Lorelai Grace had been the It Girl of television about twenty years ago. Time and alcohol had taken away her grace and beauty, but her name still resonated. Plus, there was that scandal with the very married senator… “But if you want to make conversation,” she added because she wasn’t really interested in rehashing that old scandal, “tell me about furnishing art, Mike. Is it Mike, or did you just borrow his truck?” *** "I do remember Lorelai Grace and no, I'm Mike Lane himself," Mike chuckled, "I don't think anyone would want to borrow my truck because it comes with the work, too." Women tended to prefer talking about themselves. Mike loved listening to women talk so it worked out well for him in most cases. He imagined someone who was a child of a star might have gotten tired of being the center of attention all the time. That Thalia was interested in hearing about his mundane life was its own kind of interesting. Novel, really, since Mike wasn't sure he had friends who were interested in hearing him talk about his work any more than he already did. Which was a lot. Mike had worked hard to get to where he was with his work. He was proud of the products he put out and the pieces he crafted. Each one of his items was unique with no identical replica ever to be reproduced; Mike considered all his pieces as valuable for their individuality alone. They were a lot like people to him, especially since he spent more time in his workshop than he did with people. "I make custom furniture with a focus on individualism, expression of identity, and the use of found components. I use a lot of driftwood from the beach. Glass from broken bottles. Pieces from wrecks. I like to see the beauty in everything, even tragedy. My work is functional because it's designed to fit into your life while expressing something about you at the same time. That's my goal anyway. I think a person's home is the most intimate expression of themselves. It should be an extension of yourself. I want my work to make you feel as if that's what you're getting when you buy a piece from me. I have a gallery where I sell premade pieces now, but most of my work really is custom ordered." ~*~ Thalia actually didn't mind talking about herself, but only with people she knew and trusted. Which wasn't a lot. With strangers, she preferred to ask questions. Like Mike, she'd discovered people liked to talk about themselves, which deflected attention from her. Like this case, for instance. Once Mike started talking, she wasn't sure if she would've been able to stop him. The topic was interesting, at least, and his passion was for his work, rather than himself. “Huh,” Thalia said thoughtfully. She thought of her own condo, which was a mishmash of designer and retro. “So how do you decide what to make for someone? Because I'm sure you've encountered the people who ask for one thing but really want something entirely different.” *** Her question was a good one. Mike had been asked before by clients how he knew what to make for them when he presented them something which wasn't exactly what they'd described. College hadn't been in the cards for him so he couldn't say he was pulling on a wealth of knowledge about the human psyche from classes where they discussed Freud or Pavlov. Mike had learned about people the old-fashioned way: interacting with them. "I told you I worked The Scene before. It's easy to learn about people when you don't eat if you can't give them what they want without them telling you what they want." Mike paused as he came to a stop sign, looking around to make sure they hadn't been followed. Everything seemed clear to him. Thalia should be able to make her escape without any problems as soon as he got to the address she'd given him. They weren't too far from it now; he hoped she wasn't having him drop her too far from home so she'd be safe the rest of the way. Mike hated thinking about anyone in trouble much less a woman. "I guess you could call it intuition or just that I'm highly observant. You're welcome to come by my studio if you want to check out what I do. It's open to the public and I promise not to upsell you. I do alright without harassing people into becoming clients." ~*~ “I will,” Thalia said, and she meant it. Mike’s passion for his job was obvious, and in this place, real, genuine passion was hard to come by. He’d gotten her interested in furniture, of all things, just from the way he talked about his work. And really, her place could probably use some character other than “I have no time to decorate.” “You have a card or anything?” She wasn’t sure if she’d remember his name the next day - not because she was drunk, but because there was so much other stuff going on. “I have a roommate moving in and I figure I should make the place look a little nicer.” She looked out the window, recognizing the landmarks he was pulling past. Yep, they were getting close to the drop-off. From there, she could quickly get home - hopefully without getting accosted by any paps. *** Pulling over to where he'd agreed to take her, Mike reached over her to open the glove compartment. He took out a business card from the holder in it to give to her. It had his new gallery address along with his business number. It was technically his cell phone number, but no one else needed to know that outside of his immediate friend-base. Appearances were everything in their world after all and no one wanted to think their craftsman was poor. "Here," Mike handed her the card, "That's my number and the gallery address along with my hours when I'm in the gallery myself. I will warn you I'm not a decorator though. I'm a craftsman. So if you want someone to help you match your drapes to your new bedroom set? I might not be the guy to ask on that one. I can build you a bedroom set to make all your fantasies come true if that's what you're interested in." They were relatively alone where he'd pulled over. The street was well-lit and not in a rough neighborhood at all. Mike wasn't worried Thalia was in any danger. He just hoped she didn't have a long walk ahead of her or she had someone waiting out of sight with a vehicle to pick her up before some lookie-loo came along to get some quick snapshots of a Hollywood baby out after dark on her own. "Looks like you'll be safe from here. You want me to stick around to see you get to where you're going?" Mike was fine with leaving if that was what she wanted. He just felt obligated to ask because he didn't like leaving a woman alone after dark even in a good neighborhood. ~*~ “Nah, I’m good,” Thalia said, smiling at him as she took the card. Yep, a good guy, this one. Drove her all the way to where she asked without one creepy remark or even a side look. Nice to know there were still guys like him out in the world; it was too easy to get jaded in hers. “You’re a good guy, Mike Lane,” she told him as she opened the truck door. “You go and tell your girl that.” A quick look around didn’t reveal any stalkers, so she fully hopped out. Before she closed the door, she tossed him a salute. “See you around.” |