It's Bloody Cold (Pete & Jed)
Aug. 2nd, 2006 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stuntie_jedTrying to get the pre-vis done for both The Lovely Bones and Halo at the same time is messing with my head. But I asked for it and it’s time I moved on to more responsibility. I’ve spent the last two days in the pre-vis room with Christian, trying to work out the blocking for the murder. Pete said we’ve got to be tasteful about it and we both sorta stared at him, wondering when aliens took him over.
Christian’s been stomping because I won’t take my jumper off, but I’m so bloody cold all the time, I’ve got to bundle up. He mutters about casting a fat man in the part but I ignore him.
We just can’t seem to get the angle right and we’re both growling, so we agree to get some coffee.
I bust out of the door and nearly plow over the mad genius himself.
Pete: I'd hoped to take the afternoon off and spend some time alone, I've got a half dozen concepts in my head and they're all demanding to be fleshed out, well, so to speak. Some of them don't need flesh for their movie debut. But after the third cellphone call from Christian I know I've got to see what the hell's going on with Jed. It's not like him to be difficult, he's always brought more to his work than I've ever asked of him.
I'm walking toward the door when I'm broadsided by Christian and Jed coming out. I swear, I'm putting up a signal light out here, the hit and runs are getting ridiculous. "Hey, Jed! Slow it down. We need to talk. Christian, can you spare him?" Christian nods and gives me a relieved thumbs up. I roll my eyes at him and haul Jed off towards my car.
Jed: “You will not bloody well take me anywhere until you get me some fucking coffee.” I dig in, aware that I’m behaving the royal git, but fuck it all, I’m about to freeze to death here. You mutter something about knowing the perfect place for it and I let you tug on me.
I don’t say anything until we’re settled in your car, but I’m wondering why you want to natter. We’ve both been busy these last months, going in all different directions. I’ve gotten used to losing time and no one else has died that I know of, so I can live with being slightly cracked.
“What’re you up to this morning, Pete?”
Pete: "What am I up to? I'm up to my neck in difficult employees, it's looking like!" I throw the car into drive and head for the valley, steering with one hand and rubbing my face with the other. "So why is it that Christian can go months without a grunt, but today he's calling me constantly? And always with the same complaint? Jed, you know you can talk to me. Why're you driving him nuts?"
Jed “Christian whined to daddy, did he? Pussy.” I huddle into the car, wishing I’d thought to bring gloves. You give me a look and turn the heat up some. Don’t understand how you can run around in shorts in all weathers, but you’ve done less of that since you lost your insulation. I sneer mentally.
My thoughts are more bitchy than I like but I can’t seem to help myself. “Just need some fucking coffee. It’s so bloody cold.”
We drive in silence and the unhappiness settles over the car. You’re one of my oldest friends and my boss, I suppose I owe you. I sigh.
“It’s the blocking. You said to be discreet, but the fucking creep slices and dices the little girl. I don’t know what Christian thinks exactly, but I don’t see any way to do it without turning it into a splatter flick. Could we just have a fade-out?”
Pete: "No. Absolutely not. Any hack team can toss together a fade out, we're better than that! Look, let's pull a meeting this afternoon - you, me and Christian and we'll get the details worked out. I've got some ideas that should help." I pull into the parking lot of the Jungle Java Jive, the place is corny as hell and not my cup of tea, pardon the expression. But you want coffee, this is the closest place and I want to get you back on track and back to work.
We fall into a booth and get our orders in. You're looking miserable and a lot colder than the day dictates. "You all right, Jed? Coming down with the flu, maybe?
Jed: The idea of you putting your head to the problem is a relief and I nod. Truth told, the whole thing makes me uncomfortable, running that scene gives me the jib jabs and I’ve no fucking clue why it would. Just another role. But I’m glad I’m not the one who’ll have to get inside the freak’s head.
“I’m dandy. It’s just so fucking cold this winter, can’t seem to get warm.”
Our order comes and I wrap my hands around the mug gratefully. Real ceramic they have here, not your bloody styro.
Khamûl: This is the creator of whom he had been told. If it were not full day, the darkness inside him would try to conquer the power he sensed, for it was a strength unlike any he had ever known. His master could do nothing new, but this man was a maker and that intrigued him.
Pete: Weird. We don't exactly have glaciers oozing down the Hutt Valley, it's not that cold a winter. And the indoor sets are what indoor sets always are: roasting hot from lights and equipment. I can't figure you lately. Something's gone off but I can't get a handle on what.
"Hey. You're one of my most valuable employees and beside that, a damn good friend. I know you've had a rough time of it, what with the divorce and moving and that suicide down on that other shoot. If you need some time off, just say so. Sure it'll bog things down but that's just the way it goes sometimes. I don't want you snapping on me!"
Jed: I shake my head quickly, don’t need a bloody vacation. “The divorce is about done and everything else . . . shit happens. I’ll not snap.”
I tap my fingers against each other, trying to warm them. “Christian says it messes up his storyboards to have me in the jumper, but I can’t seem to ever get warm. And I’ve already been to a doc, gave me every test known to man.” I head off your suggestion before you get going, and leave out the bit about the other “experts” I’ve been to.
You have become a battleground. I shiver, wondering again what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but I’m not in the mood to terrorise the biddy by going back to her to find out.
Pete: I can tell you're not being stubborn for stubborn's sake. But I've got to keep the project on schedule, and either you can work, or you can't. I sip my coffee and rub my eyes, trying to think how to keep the situation from getting any worse. "Maybe you just need a little more meat on your bones, mate. I mean, christ, if you turn sideways and stick your tongue out, you look like a goddamn zipper."
Well, that attempt at levity went over like a lead balrog. "Okay, let's see how this works. Go talk to Carol in wardrobe. She's got all your measurements, and we should still have some lightweight insulating material around. Have her whip you up a sleeveless vest and some longjohns. Maybe that'll help you get by until this problem gets figured out."
Jed When did I turn into a charity case who needs such special treatment? I sigh, wearily running my hand over my face. I am a fucking charity case, might admit it.
“All right. Thank you, Pete, that’s kind.”
I know I’m screwing up, and not just myself, there’s lots riding on how well I can do this job. Lots of money, lots of other people’s jobs. Your reputation. I can’t afford to be such a fuck up.
“Any ideas on who you’re casting in the parts? Might be easier to do it with the actors themselves.”
Pete: "Oh, I've got all sorts of ideas. Susie Salmon needs to be just the right sort of girl. Innocent. Completely. Wide eyed, transparent, angelic, saavy, eloquent, with a sharp, sweet voice that cuts you to the marrow." I snort and pick up my coffee, swishing it round hard in the cup. "Tell me who that is. Better yet, tell Fran. She's vetoed everyone I've mentioned so far. I don't know if it's mental sabotage or if we're really just not in tune with each other these days." I take a gulp, draining my mug and set it down a little too hard on the tabletop. "Divorcing a spouse but staying on as a working partner can be a nice little slice of mayhem, Jed, and I don't recommend it."
Jed: I nod, understanding how bloody hard it must be when the partnership is fucking up. “Don’t know how you managed it in the first place. Couldn’t have worked with that bint, Glory, dodgy as she is.”
I trace a finger around the rim of my cup, thinking, wondering. Fuck it. Might as well ask. And you can call me a fuckwit if you like. “Pete . . . you and Fran . . . you were solid . . . what happened?”
My own blunder is common knowledge around your happy band, but those of us what knows the line were blown out by the news of your split.
Pete: That question's come up a couple of times around the workshop, and I've been giving out short, neutral responses. Growing apart, changing interests, stuff like that. The sort of answer you give when you really don't want to talk about it.
You're Jed though, and I'll admit that I think of you as one of my closest friends. I'll try for a little more, here. "It's odd. I swear, the weirdest part is coming to work and seeing what she's wearing. Yeah, okay, that needs explaining. I spent so many years seeing her get ready for work, helping zip up the backs of things, latching necklaces, giving my lame-ass male opinion of outfits – and never once saying that anything made her butt look fat, and I'm proud of that… anyway. To get my first glimpse of the outfit of the day after we're at work, it feels like a big chunk of life got pulled away."
I sigh and shake my head. "Which it did. My fault though. Don't ever go thinking it's not. I've gotten too weird to live with these past couple of years. Not that I ever was exactly standard issue in the first place. Jed, don't tell people this stuff, please? I go missing for hours on end in the middle of the night, I hoarde pencils, I cook soup obsessively and I'm scared to pieces of small closets. Don't tell me to see a shrink – I know why it all goes on, and so does Fran. I can cope with it all, mostly, but she couldn't."
Jed: I stare at you. That’s the most fucked up list of behaviors I’ve ever heard tell. But . . . they’re fucking trivia. Fran objects to a man cooking for her. That’s hard to feature. And closets . . . lots of people have claustrobia. Hoarding pencils, that’s a new one, but still, how fucking bad can that be to cause a woman to leave you?
“You mean you go walkabout in the middle of the night? I knew you didn’t sleep much in the middle of a project, but I thought it’s cause of all the hats. That might piss a spinner off, but the rest is just crap, don’t understand her hiking it cause of that.”
Pete: "Yeah... walkabout. Guess that's a close enough description, mate." It's not as if I can tell you it's really someone else going walkabout in my body. A frail old man, hobbling around Wellington in the dead of night. Christ. At least he's started using taxis, as my credit card will attest.
"When you put everything together - the long hours, the hard work, the acting like a nut at home, I can't blame her at all. We used to be rather looney on the same levels, but when one person's slid further off their rocker than the other, it's hard to keep a sense of humor about it." How can I tell you and not tell you, too? "I know this sounds flippant, but it's not. If Fran had the same quirks I do, we'd probably find a way to stay together. But she's just too damn normal to make it work anymore."
Jed: I shake my head, still not getting it. “Fucking hard world, for that, mate.”
You’ve been open with me, more’n I expected, seeing you’re the big man and all now. But we go back a ways in this life and that’s a fair go.
My hands can’t rest, so I clench them around my cup, tell you about the thing I dread, but I’ve gotten used to, sad thing, that. “We’ve all got our oddness. Me, for instance, I lose time sometimes. First I’m here, then I’m someplace else.”
Pete: I'm glad to get the topic off of me, but this one's not much better. "Literally someplace else? What's going on, Jed? I know life's been tough on you lately… er, don't take this wrong, but are you drinking a lot? Real easy to lose time when you're pissed." I don't think you'd be likely to hop in a car drunk, though, and I'm hoping that's not what's going on. "Has anyone else been with you when it happens? Maybe they can tell you what you're getting up to."
Jed: I squirm uncomfortably. All the people who've tried to help me with this . . . I gave up somehow ever feeling normal again. But I nod. "Yeah, blackouts, like from drinking. Thought is was that at first, so I quite the grog. But it didn't do much. Still happens."
Bloody hell, I can't tell you what's happened to me during the episodes, most of the time I'm at my shed when I come back. Except for the one thing with the estate agent. And I'm still afraid of what might have happened to her, and my brain winces away from thinking about it.
Pete: He's such a good stuntie, and always seems to know what I'm looking for on a project. I'd been so grateful for the performances he put in, playing Orcs and black riders. Holy fucking shit. I thought it was bad enough when Lawrence shifted, now we've got a new slice of fresh hell to deal with and he doesn't have a clue what's going on! I'm surprised my voice doesn't come out in a squeak, but I manage to keep it calm. "You've seen doctors, right? I'm betting they can't diagnose you very well." I'm done with my coffee, I don't think I could swallow a mouthful right now, anyway. "Tell you what. Do you want to come stay at my place for a week or so? We could tie some bells round your neck while you sleep, or something clever to wake me if you get up. And maybe we can figure this thing out."
Jed: I wonder how you knew the docs couldn't find it out. Most people would think like I did that I'm brain damaged. Not that anyone can tell though, although Glory has her own opinions about that.
Your offer is tempting . . . it might be good to have someone there with me to make sure I don't get into any trouble. But on the other hand, I'm a grown lad, and I don't want something bad to happen to you. And I don't see how you could figure out something that none of the experts could. Evil.
"You're a good friend, Pete. Thanks for the offer, mate, but I think I'll muddle on."
Pete: "Well, don't muddle too far, all right? You call me if it happens again. I've got a bit of a clue what it's like, and since Fran left, I'm sort of muddling through on my own, too. Hell, you'd almost be doing me a favor by staying over. Anyway, give it some thought."
Our cups are empty, and I'm not sure how to pull any more details out of you. Odds are you don't know anything more than you've already told me. Odds are you're shifting, and you haven't a clue what that's all about. It's on my shoulders to clue you in, but this doesn't feel like the time or the place. Damn, it's frustrating.
"So, you warmed up enough yet to get back to work? I meant it when I said we'd get you some quilted outfits. Whatever you need, Jed, you just ask."
Jed: I'd be in your lap hugging you if we were that type of blokes. You've settled me down, and reassured me that I’m not losing my job and I feel heaps better about the shit now.
"Thanks again, mate. The insulation should help. Must be gettin' old, the cold's so settled in my bones. Can't shake it this winter."
I'll give you everything I've got. I've known that about you for years, that you're a man to inspire others . . . to do their best, to absolute loyalty to you, to faith in your vision.
Pete: I can see the relief in your eyes, and it makes me feel even worse. Damn it, I'm sure I know what's going on with you but I'm just not good to talk about it. I need to get home, get calmed out, maybe call Dave or Cate or someone, anyone who's got a cool head on their shoulders about the whole scene and has taken others through to understanding.
Damn it! Jed's just a regular guy who's always taken on every chore I've thrown at him. He does the gruntwork, he plays the roles no one writes about later in the tabloids. He helps hold the projects up and in the end they all work out because of people like him. And then the stars scamper off to claim all the glory.
It's just not fair. Not from any angle. Jed doesn't deserve this.
Christian’s been stomping because I won’t take my jumper off, but I’m so bloody cold all the time, I’ve got to bundle up. He mutters about casting a fat man in the part but I ignore him.
We just can’t seem to get the angle right and we’re both growling, so we agree to get some coffee.
I bust out of the door and nearly plow over the mad genius himself.
Pete: I'd hoped to take the afternoon off and spend some time alone, I've got a half dozen concepts in my head and they're all demanding to be fleshed out, well, so to speak. Some of them don't need flesh for their movie debut. But after the third cellphone call from Christian I know I've got to see what the hell's going on with Jed. It's not like him to be difficult, he's always brought more to his work than I've ever asked of him.
I'm walking toward the door when I'm broadsided by Christian and Jed coming out. I swear, I'm putting up a signal light out here, the hit and runs are getting ridiculous. "Hey, Jed! Slow it down. We need to talk. Christian, can you spare him?" Christian nods and gives me a relieved thumbs up. I roll my eyes at him and haul Jed off towards my car.
Jed: “You will not bloody well take me anywhere until you get me some fucking coffee.” I dig in, aware that I’m behaving the royal git, but fuck it all, I’m about to freeze to death here. You mutter something about knowing the perfect place for it and I let you tug on me.
I don’t say anything until we’re settled in your car, but I’m wondering why you want to natter. We’ve both been busy these last months, going in all different directions. I’ve gotten used to losing time and no one else has died that I know of, so I can live with being slightly cracked.
“What’re you up to this morning, Pete?”
Pete: "What am I up to? I'm up to my neck in difficult employees, it's looking like!" I throw the car into drive and head for the valley, steering with one hand and rubbing my face with the other. "So why is it that Christian can go months without a grunt, but today he's calling me constantly? And always with the same complaint? Jed, you know you can talk to me. Why're you driving him nuts?"
Jed “Christian whined to daddy, did he? Pussy.” I huddle into the car, wishing I’d thought to bring gloves. You give me a look and turn the heat up some. Don’t understand how you can run around in shorts in all weathers, but you’ve done less of that since you lost your insulation. I sneer mentally.
My thoughts are more bitchy than I like but I can’t seem to help myself. “Just need some fucking coffee. It’s so bloody cold.”
We drive in silence and the unhappiness settles over the car. You’re one of my oldest friends and my boss, I suppose I owe you. I sigh.
“It’s the blocking. You said to be discreet, but the fucking creep slices and dices the little girl. I don’t know what Christian thinks exactly, but I don’t see any way to do it without turning it into a splatter flick. Could we just have a fade-out?”
Pete: "No. Absolutely not. Any hack team can toss together a fade out, we're better than that! Look, let's pull a meeting this afternoon - you, me and Christian and we'll get the details worked out. I've got some ideas that should help." I pull into the parking lot of the Jungle Java Jive, the place is corny as hell and not my cup of tea, pardon the expression. But you want coffee, this is the closest place and I want to get you back on track and back to work.
We fall into a booth and get our orders in. You're looking miserable and a lot colder than the day dictates. "You all right, Jed? Coming down with the flu, maybe?
Jed: The idea of you putting your head to the problem is a relief and I nod. Truth told, the whole thing makes me uncomfortable, running that scene gives me the jib jabs and I’ve no fucking clue why it would. Just another role. But I’m glad I’m not the one who’ll have to get inside the freak’s head.
“I’m dandy. It’s just so fucking cold this winter, can’t seem to get warm.”
Our order comes and I wrap my hands around the mug gratefully. Real ceramic they have here, not your bloody styro.
Khamûl: This is the creator of whom he had been told. If it were not full day, the darkness inside him would try to conquer the power he sensed, for it was a strength unlike any he had ever known. His master could do nothing new, but this man was a maker and that intrigued him.
Pete: Weird. We don't exactly have glaciers oozing down the Hutt Valley, it's not that cold a winter. And the indoor sets are what indoor sets always are: roasting hot from lights and equipment. I can't figure you lately. Something's gone off but I can't get a handle on what.
"Hey. You're one of my most valuable employees and beside that, a damn good friend. I know you've had a rough time of it, what with the divorce and moving and that suicide down on that other shoot. If you need some time off, just say so. Sure it'll bog things down but that's just the way it goes sometimes. I don't want you snapping on me!"
Jed: I shake my head quickly, don’t need a bloody vacation. “The divorce is about done and everything else . . . shit happens. I’ll not snap.”
I tap my fingers against each other, trying to warm them. “Christian says it messes up his storyboards to have me in the jumper, but I can’t seem to ever get warm. And I’ve already been to a doc, gave me every test known to man.” I head off your suggestion before you get going, and leave out the bit about the other “experts” I’ve been to.
You have become a battleground. I shiver, wondering again what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but I’m not in the mood to terrorise the biddy by going back to her to find out.
Pete: I can tell you're not being stubborn for stubborn's sake. But I've got to keep the project on schedule, and either you can work, or you can't. I sip my coffee and rub my eyes, trying to think how to keep the situation from getting any worse. "Maybe you just need a little more meat on your bones, mate. I mean, christ, if you turn sideways and stick your tongue out, you look like a goddamn zipper."
Well, that attempt at levity went over like a lead balrog. "Okay, let's see how this works. Go talk to Carol in wardrobe. She's got all your measurements, and we should still have some lightweight insulating material around. Have her whip you up a sleeveless vest and some longjohns. Maybe that'll help you get by until this problem gets figured out."
Jed When did I turn into a charity case who needs such special treatment? I sigh, wearily running my hand over my face. I am a fucking charity case, might admit it.
“All right. Thank you, Pete, that’s kind.”
I know I’m screwing up, and not just myself, there’s lots riding on how well I can do this job. Lots of money, lots of other people’s jobs. Your reputation. I can’t afford to be such a fuck up.
“Any ideas on who you’re casting in the parts? Might be easier to do it with the actors themselves.”
Pete: "Oh, I've got all sorts of ideas. Susie Salmon needs to be just the right sort of girl. Innocent. Completely. Wide eyed, transparent, angelic, saavy, eloquent, with a sharp, sweet voice that cuts you to the marrow." I snort and pick up my coffee, swishing it round hard in the cup. "Tell me who that is. Better yet, tell Fran. She's vetoed everyone I've mentioned so far. I don't know if it's mental sabotage or if we're really just not in tune with each other these days." I take a gulp, draining my mug and set it down a little too hard on the tabletop. "Divorcing a spouse but staying on as a working partner can be a nice little slice of mayhem, Jed, and I don't recommend it."
Jed: I nod, understanding how bloody hard it must be when the partnership is fucking up. “Don’t know how you managed it in the first place. Couldn’t have worked with that bint, Glory, dodgy as she is.”
I trace a finger around the rim of my cup, thinking, wondering. Fuck it. Might as well ask. And you can call me a fuckwit if you like. “Pete . . . you and Fran . . . you were solid . . . what happened?”
My own blunder is common knowledge around your happy band, but those of us what knows the line were blown out by the news of your split.
Pete: That question's come up a couple of times around the workshop, and I've been giving out short, neutral responses. Growing apart, changing interests, stuff like that. The sort of answer you give when you really don't want to talk about it.
You're Jed though, and I'll admit that I think of you as one of my closest friends. I'll try for a little more, here. "It's odd. I swear, the weirdest part is coming to work and seeing what she's wearing. Yeah, okay, that needs explaining. I spent so many years seeing her get ready for work, helping zip up the backs of things, latching necklaces, giving my lame-ass male opinion of outfits – and never once saying that anything made her butt look fat, and I'm proud of that… anyway. To get my first glimpse of the outfit of the day after we're at work, it feels like a big chunk of life got pulled away."
I sigh and shake my head. "Which it did. My fault though. Don't ever go thinking it's not. I've gotten too weird to live with these past couple of years. Not that I ever was exactly standard issue in the first place. Jed, don't tell people this stuff, please? I go missing for hours on end in the middle of the night, I hoarde pencils, I cook soup obsessively and I'm scared to pieces of small closets. Don't tell me to see a shrink – I know why it all goes on, and so does Fran. I can cope with it all, mostly, but she couldn't."
Jed: I stare at you. That’s the most fucked up list of behaviors I’ve ever heard tell. But . . . they’re fucking trivia. Fran objects to a man cooking for her. That’s hard to feature. And closets . . . lots of people have claustrobia. Hoarding pencils, that’s a new one, but still, how fucking bad can that be to cause a woman to leave you?
“You mean you go walkabout in the middle of the night? I knew you didn’t sleep much in the middle of a project, but I thought it’s cause of all the hats. That might piss a spinner off, but the rest is just crap, don’t understand her hiking it cause of that.”
Pete: "Yeah... walkabout. Guess that's a close enough description, mate." It's not as if I can tell you it's really someone else going walkabout in my body. A frail old man, hobbling around Wellington in the dead of night. Christ. At least he's started using taxis, as my credit card will attest.
"When you put everything together - the long hours, the hard work, the acting like a nut at home, I can't blame her at all. We used to be rather looney on the same levels, but when one person's slid further off their rocker than the other, it's hard to keep a sense of humor about it." How can I tell you and not tell you, too? "I know this sounds flippant, but it's not. If Fran had the same quirks I do, we'd probably find a way to stay together. But she's just too damn normal to make it work anymore."
Jed: I shake my head, still not getting it. “Fucking hard world, for that, mate.”
You’ve been open with me, more’n I expected, seeing you’re the big man and all now. But we go back a ways in this life and that’s a fair go.
My hands can’t rest, so I clench them around my cup, tell you about the thing I dread, but I’ve gotten used to, sad thing, that. “We’ve all got our oddness. Me, for instance, I lose time sometimes. First I’m here, then I’m someplace else.”
Pete: I'm glad to get the topic off of me, but this one's not much better. "Literally someplace else? What's going on, Jed? I know life's been tough on you lately… er, don't take this wrong, but are you drinking a lot? Real easy to lose time when you're pissed." I don't think you'd be likely to hop in a car drunk, though, and I'm hoping that's not what's going on. "Has anyone else been with you when it happens? Maybe they can tell you what you're getting up to."
Jed: I squirm uncomfortably. All the people who've tried to help me with this . . . I gave up somehow ever feeling normal again. But I nod. "Yeah, blackouts, like from drinking. Thought is was that at first, so I quite the grog. But it didn't do much. Still happens."
Bloody hell, I can't tell you what's happened to me during the episodes, most of the time I'm at my shed when I come back. Except for the one thing with the estate agent. And I'm still afraid of what might have happened to her, and my brain winces away from thinking about it.
Pete: He's such a good stuntie, and always seems to know what I'm looking for on a project. I'd been so grateful for the performances he put in, playing Orcs and black riders. Holy fucking shit. I thought it was bad enough when Lawrence shifted, now we've got a new slice of fresh hell to deal with and he doesn't have a clue what's going on! I'm surprised my voice doesn't come out in a squeak, but I manage to keep it calm. "You've seen doctors, right? I'm betting they can't diagnose you very well." I'm done with my coffee, I don't think I could swallow a mouthful right now, anyway. "Tell you what. Do you want to come stay at my place for a week or so? We could tie some bells round your neck while you sleep, or something clever to wake me if you get up. And maybe we can figure this thing out."
Jed: I wonder how you knew the docs couldn't find it out. Most people would think like I did that I'm brain damaged. Not that anyone can tell though, although Glory has her own opinions about that.
Your offer is tempting . . . it might be good to have someone there with me to make sure I don't get into any trouble. But on the other hand, I'm a grown lad, and I don't want something bad to happen to you. And I don't see how you could figure out something that none of the experts could. Evil.
"You're a good friend, Pete. Thanks for the offer, mate, but I think I'll muddle on."
Pete: "Well, don't muddle too far, all right? You call me if it happens again. I've got a bit of a clue what it's like, and since Fran left, I'm sort of muddling through on my own, too. Hell, you'd almost be doing me a favor by staying over. Anyway, give it some thought."
Our cups are empty, and I'm not sure how to pull any more details out of you. Odds are you don't know anything more than you've already told me. Odds are you're shifting, and you haven't a clue what that's all about. It's on my shoulders to clue you in, but this doesn't feel like the time or the place. Damn, it's frustrating.
"So, you warmed up enough yet to get back to work? I meant it when I said we'd get you some quilted outfits. Whatever you need, Jed, you just ask."
Jed: I'd be in your lap hugging you if we were that type of blokes. You've settled me down, and reassured me that I’m not losing my job and I feel heaps better about the shit now.
"Thanks again, mate. The insulation should help. Must be gettin' old, the cold's so settled in my bones. Can't shake it this winter."
I'll give you everything I've got. I've known that about you for years, that you're a man to inspire others . . . to do their best, to absolute loyalty to you, to faith in your vision.
Pete: I can see the relief in your eyes, and it makes me feel even worse. Damn it, I'm sure I know what's going on with you but I'm just not good to talk about it. I need to get home, get calmed out, maybe call Dave or Cate or someone, anyone who's got a cool head on their shoulders about the whole scene and has taken others through to understanding.
Damn it! Jed's just a regular guy who's always taken on every chore I've thrown at him. He does the gruntwork, he plays the roles no one writes about later in the tabloids. He helps hold the projects up and in the end they all work out because of people like him. And then the stars scamper off to claim all the glory.
It's just not fair. Not from any angle. Jed doesn't deserve this.
