peg22 | Panto Crack 2008 - The Season Starts Early in England (Reply)

DS/PMG
RPF/S - oh, who can even tell these days . . .
Crack Yumminess - Because he won't stop flirting with TV Hosts and because he gets up early to watch him flirt with TV Hosts.

So, even though I swore off writing any fic/crack/transcripts until after the semester was over, those boys and their crackish behavior have brought me back to intercept a phone conversation between you know who and the one who's in trouble with you know who.

with the usual apology to Joni Mitchell . . .

Panto Crack 2008 – “Seriously?”

Paul’s phone is ringing as he walks out the studio door, looking for his driver. He smiles when he sees the number. He flips the phone open and launches the first volley:

You couldn’t let me get out of the studio?

You get her number?

Whose number?

Seriously? That’s how you’re gonna play this today?

I didn’t get her number. Nice legs, though.

Good morning to you, too. Fucker.

You’re up early. Or late?

You looked good. What’s with the couch?

Don’t ask me. Slippery. Where are you today?

L.A. – ex-wife shit. Slippery.

I thought we were meeting in London on Saturday – you going to be back?

Yeah, unless Melissa taps me again.

Do I dare ask?

God, I love your dirty mind. Etheridge. Melissa Etheridge. Wants me to show up at some rally. You know, carry a sign. Protest Prop 8. “Starsky wants to marry Hutch,” that kind of shit.

(silence)

Did you hear me?

I was trying to decide whether to have a stroke or a heart attack.

Calm down, I didn’t say I would do it. But the whole thing pisses me off. Everyone should have a right to fuck up their life on their own. Oh, fuck it. I probably won’t do it.

You will do it. It’s what you want.

Yeah, that’s me alright. I don’t have enough of that bullshit in my life to now take on you and all yours.

No, I mean the publicity . . . what do you mean, my bullshit?

Paulie, you gotta lotta bullshit. Plus with this mid-life thing you’re going through . . .

What mid-life thing?

The flirting, the beard, the diet . . .

It’s not a diet – I’m just working out.

Well, you look too good now.

Really?

Yes, you vain asshole – for an old guy, you look too good. Wanna get married?

You pay too much attention to-hang on . . . oh yes, I’m sure it’ll be here in a minute – thanks, though. Oh . . . well, thanks, yes, I’ve been working out – oh, sure. I know where it is. I have rehearsal till seven. Okay, sounds great. I’ll be there . . . Sorry, Davey –

Did you just make a date with that chick while you were on the phone with me?

She wants to go to dinner – I have to eat – figure it out.

Does she know I just asked you to marry me?

She doesn’t care. I was her favorite.

Told me that, too. They all tell me that – and speaking of your interview with those people – what’s with the “Oh, really, I heard Davey did that silly show . . .” That’s not what you said when I was tapping out a little symphony in that hotel in Rome . . . seems like you knew all about my conducting . . .

It’s TV, Davey, I’m not going to tell them anything. Especially about Rome.

So you didn’t answer me.

What?

Wanna get married?

We can’t – against the law.

Would you, though? Would Starsky marry Hutch?

I think they would’ve gotten married in Canada years ago, don’t you?

I would hope so. Those boys couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Well, I heard Hutch was pretty smitten.

Smitten? Hell, Starsky could barely keep it inside his pants.

That was wardrobe.

That was lust, my friend. Speaking of, when do I pick you up Saturday?

I don’t know – I’m not sure about rehearsals.

I could come there, you know – if you weren’t so goddamn paranoid.

I’m practical. I don’t want to show up and two days later, here you come. And you know Stephen will get wind of it and it’ll be like last year all over again.

Last year was . . . festive.

Yes, and as you pointed out, I’m a little too old for festive.

Shall we both wear tuxes?

Saturday?

At our wedding. I think we should both wear tuxes. White ones. Like Jackman.

Jackman?

Yeah, have you seen pictures of Jackman lately? In his new film? Fucking sexy. White tuxes for sure.

I love you, Davey. I really do. You ask me to marry you and then lust after Hugh Jackman in the same breath.

Yes, well, I ask you to marry me and you make a date with the chippy from the morning show.

We’re obviously made for each other.

Took you thirty years to figure that one out?

No, took me about three days of you feeling me up in that damn car.