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31_days2005-09-14 12:45 am
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-14 12:45 am
[Sept. 14] [James Bond] Liberace Called, He Wants His Shirt Back
Title: Liberace Called, He Wants His Shirt Back
Day/Theme: Sept. 14 - On friendship
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond, Felix Leiter
Rating: PG-13 for language
"Let me tell you something, James."
It was never good when Felix began a sentence that way.
"These Hollywood assholes, you know what's wrong with them?" Shaking his beer stein like a maraca, he managed to slosh a fair amount onto the table.
Bond harumphed, drawing his martini-filled wineglass closer to himself and further from Felix's dramatic gestures. "Other than the fact that they're completely insane?"
"Well, yeah." He took another gulp of his Heineken. "They have no real friends."
"So? Hardly anybody does, nowadays. Just a bunch of yes-men or a clique or some other godawful social pitfall."
"Listen. If I looked like a total ass in this shirt, wouldn't you tell me? Wouldn't you be like, 'oy, Felix, you great bloody prat! Liberace called, he wants his shirt back! Go home and change!'" All this was delivered in a truly awful Dick Van Dyke cockney drawl, which made Bond wince.
"I do not sound like that," he said, haughtily, lifting his head just a little. "And I'm not sure I understand your point, anyway."
"My point is, everybody is in AWE of these guys. Do you walk up to Tom Cruise and tell him Liberace wants his shirt back?"
Bond opened his mouth to speak, but Felix cut him off.
"Yeah, yeah, you would. You'd say that to Nelson Mandela, because you're a crazy sonofabitch. I'm talking about the general population, the great ball-less masses. The only people who see Tom Cruise every day are Katie Holmes, who's been in love with him since she was five, and his manager, who's paid by the hour. He doesn't have any friends. Nobody to tell him he's an ass, and that he needs to stop jumping all over furniture like a goddamn monkey."
"I'm still not following," said Bond, shaking his head. "What's your point? That Katie Holmes doesn't have the balls to tell Tom Cruise he's queer? I can't even begin to unravel all the bizarre levels of that one."
Felix rubbed his eyes for a moment. "Friends," he said, raising his head back up, "real friends, they'll tell you when you screw up. You can't get a real friend in Hollywood. It's all money and politics and sleeping with producers. On one side you've got everybody telling you you're God, and Katie Holmes under your desk, and then on the other side you've got failed journalists taking pictures of you naked and complaining bitterly about your success. Nobody's got pure motives. Y'see?"
Bond contemplated the window. "All right, but I'm not sure I can buy it just yet. Nobody in Hollywood's got real friends? Somewhere there's an actor saying that spies never have real friends. You can't possibly know that."
"Well, the big stars sure don't." Felix swirled the beer; another splash hit the table. "I dunno about you, but I wouldn't trade friends for Katie Holmes under my desk. Scrawny little simpering thing."
"God, no. And to top it off she's got Prince Charles' ears." He took a sip of his drink. "Looks a bit like Peter Pan, now that I think of it."
"So, there you go!" Felix smiled triumphantly. "We're both glad we're not Tom Cruise."
"I'll drink to that."
They did.
"Oh, Felix," said Bond, a minute later.
"Yeah?"
He pulled out his mobile phone.
"I just got a voicemail from Liberace."
Day/Theme: Sept. 14 - On friendship
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond, Felix Leiter
Rating: PG-13 for language
"Let me tell you something, James."
It was never good when Felix began a sentence that way.
"These Hollywood assholes, you know what's wrong with them?" Shaking his beer stein like a maraca, he managed to slosh a fair amount onto the table.
Bond harumphed, drawing his martini-filled wineglass closer to himself and further from Felix's dramatic gestures. "Other than the fact that they're completely insane?"
"Well, yeah." He took another gulp of his Heineken. "They have no real friends."
"So? Hardly anybody does, nowadays. Just a bunch of yes-men or a clique or some other godawful social pitfall."
"Listen. If I looked like a total ass in this shirt, wouldn't you tell me? Wouldn't you be like, 'oy, Felix, you great bloody prat! Liberace called, he wants his shirt back! Go home and change!'" All this was delivered in a truly awful Dick Van Dyke cockney drawl, which made Bond wince.
"I do not sound like that," he said, haughtily, lifting his head just a little. "And I'm not sure I understand your point, anyway."
"My point is, everybody is in AWE of these guys. Do you walk up to Tom Cruise and tell him Liberace wants his shirt back?"
Bond opened his mouth to speak, but Felix cut him off.
"Yeah, yeah, you would. You'd say that to Nelson Mandela, because you're a crazy sonofabitch. I'm talking about the general population, the great ball-less masses. The only people who see Tom Cruise every day are Katie Holmes, who's been in love with him since she was five, and his manager, who's paid by the hour. He doesn't have any friends. Nobody to tell him he's an ass, and that he needs to stop jumping all over furniture like a goddamn monkey."
"I'm still not following," said Bond, shaking his head. "What's your point? That Katie Holmes doesn't have the balls to tell Tom Cruise he's queer? I can't even begin to unravel all the bizarre levels of that one."
Felix rubbed his eyes for a moment. "Friends," he said, raising his head back up, "real friends, they'll tell you when you screw up. You can't get a real friend in Hollywood. It's all money and politics and sleeping with producers. On one side you've got everybody telling you you're God, and Katie Holmes under your desk, and then on the other side you've got failed journalists taking pictures of you naked and complaining bitterly about your success. Nobody's got pure motives. Y'see?"
Bond contemplated the window. "All right, but I'm not sure I can buy it just yet. Nobody in Hollywood's got real friends? Somewhere there's an actor saying that spies never have real friends. You can't possibly know that."
"Well, the big stars sure don't." Felix swirled the beer; another splash hit the table. "I dunno about you, but I wouldn't trade friends for Katie Holmes under my desk. Scrawny little simpering thing."
"God, no. And to top it off she's got Prince Charles' ears." He took a sip of his drink. "Looks a bit like Peter Pan, now that I think of it."
"So, there you go!" Felix smiled triumphantly. "We're both glad we're not Tom Cruise."
"I'll drink to that."
They did.
"Oh, Felix," said Bond, a minute later.
"Yeah?"
He pulled out his mobile phone.
"I just got a voicemail from Liberace."