Up yours, bad mood! Up yours, writer’s block! I combat you both with nearly 1k words of PURE SILLINESS AND FLUFF! YAR!
This will eventually go up in my Ao3 catch all file, but for now....here! An apology for being so whiny lately!
“So, what did you think?” Guy asked, leaning back against the car’s upholstery. The two of them were on their way back to Hancock park, having just watched a premier of “The Gambler”. Thomas had gotten in, free of comment, on the grounds of having been in it.
Thomas didn’t know much about cars, but he could tell that this was a nice one, and not just because it was owned by a movie star. He particularly liked that there was glass between the front seats and the back, allowing a bit more privacy for conversation. Not, of course, that the chauffeur was going to go blabbing to the papers about his employer’s relationship with his new dresser, not if he knew what was good for him, or because the conversation was overly incriminating. It wasn’t. Still, it was nice to have one less thing to worry about. “I liked it,” Thomas admitted. “It was nice to see it all put together like that, rather than in bits and pieces, all out of order. When you were all filming, it was difficult to imagine how it would turn out. How it could turn out at all.”
Guy smiled. “There are practical reasons for the shooting scenes out of order, believe it or not, but I know what you mean. It’s sort of like hearing a group of musicians, each rehearsing their individual part of a concerto or something. It sounds strange, but then you put them together and it all makes sense.”
“I’ve never had that experience,” Thomas admitted, “but it sounds about right.”
“Well, since listening to the orchestra before the film starts up is going to be a thing of the past, I’ll just have to introduce you to some of my friends who play.”
Thomas grinned, pretty certain that he was blushing in the darkness, at least a little. ‘Meeting Guy’s friends’ had been something they talked about on multiple occasions, and had actually happened for the first time that night in limited, very public capacity, but a large part of him still couldn’t believe the other man actually wanted him to meet them. “I’d like that.”
“What did you think of the dinner scene?” Guy asked, his smile taking on a mischievous twist.
“I…” Thomas started, then stopped, his face twisting in on itself uncertainly. “I’m not certain, really. That is, you and Miss Dalgleish did a fine job, that can’t be argued. And for a bunch of people with no experience at all, who didn’t so much as gasp or say anything, well. I suppose the rest of us didn’t do too badly.”
Guy laughed. “That means you’ve done as well as any of people who make a living at it! Or Myrna and I, before sound for that matter.”
“I suppose…” Thomas muttered. There was silence for a moment, then he burst out. “I’m sorry, but all I could think about when we were watching it was how it had been when we were filming and I suddenly had Miss Dalgleish right on top of me! And her hands were on me and if I’d looked down I’d have been staring right at...well, never mind that!” By this point Guy was laughing uproariously, although not unkindly. Thomas continued, “And really, of all the men in the room, why did that have to happen to me?”
“The rest of them were all married, weren’t they?” Guy countered between guffaws. “Or at least spoken for. You think they’d have felt any less out of sorts having Myrna collapse on them in front of their wives?” He paused and then added, with that playfully ironic undertone that Thomas swore would be his undoing some day, “Can you imagine what Mr. Carson would have done?”
It took five full minutes for Thomas to stop laughing enough to gasp out, “He’d have died! He’d have had a heart attack and we’d have had to bury him along with old Lady Grantham!”
“And then Mrs. Hughes would have been a widow,” Guy pointed out, still grinning from ear to ear like an expatriated Cheshire cat. “We wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“Alright, you win!” Thomas’s ribs were starting to ache. “I still felt ridiculous at the time, though, and watching it, all that came back. And while we’re on the subject, why did only Andy and I have the silly period hair pieces and side burns? Heaven knows Molesley could have used one to help cover that bald head.”
“He’s not completely bald, don’t be mean!” Guy laughed, swatting Thomas lightly on the knee. More seriously he added, “That was meant to be a style for the young, desirable men. The older ones didn’t have to keep up appearances. Didn’t you think I was dashing, with my side burns?”
“Not bad,” Thomas admitted, still grinning. “Like you better without them, though.”
“That’s a relief. I’d hate to have to grow them out again.”
By the time they got home, Thomas was certain he’d pulled at least five muscles.
