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Better Days	By : fitzsns Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 2553 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
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CHAPTER TEN: ORLANDO
Somewhere over the Atlantic

Sunday, April 6, 2003
I really hate flying. It’s okay though, because I’m pretty sure it hates me right back. It’s a cold war at the moment and I’m not about to escalate the conflict. I need flying more than it needs me.
You know what else I hate? The Internet. Well, it’s hate based on fear. There’s just something about the concept of the Internet that rubs me the wrong way. And yet, there it is sitting right in my lap. I told Faye I would acquire a secondary means of communicating with her and I am nothing if not a man of my word. No matter how crazy those words are… I stick to them. It’s a personal guarantee.
As a result, when I got back to LA Friday afternoon, I got myself a laptop. Well I didn’t personally do it; that would have been just silly. I got my buddy, Patrick- who I met through Elijah and does stuff with computers professionally (don’t ask me what), to do it for me.
I told my friend, Patrick, that I just wanted to be able email. He then proceeded to ask me questions that involved stringing words (that I once thought I knew the meanings of) into sentences that may as well have been in [insert moldy dead language here]. I told him again, just email. Then he spoke slower, using smaller words that I still couldn’t understand. Then he laughed at me.
Yesterday morning, he came by with my shiny new lap top and spent the next five hours trying to explain to me how I turn it on and get to the email thing. Then he wrote down directions. Then he drew a picture. Then I got it. I don’t consider myself a stupid person. That’s the other reason I hate computers. They make me feel dumb.
I called Faye last night to tell her the saga of the quest for email and she laughed at me too. Long and hard she laughed. I got up and made a sandwich, picked up the phone again and she was still laughing. I guess it doesn’t really matter that I’m going to be celibate for the next few months because after this exercise in deflating my hard-won ego, I don’t think I’ll be able to get it up for a while.
Which brings me to the present.
Faye,
From your reaction last night, I have to believe that you thought this email would never come. But I have my trusty visual aid (that Patrick kindly drew in crayon to make sure the bright colors would catch my eye) and I am confident that when I’m done typing (and I hate typing) and I hit that send button, this will, in fact, somehow find it’s way to you.
Now, you may be wondering about the email address I picked for myself. You see, as it turns out, every variation on my name (which mathematically speaking is staggering) is already taken unless I wanted to add about fifteen digits to the tail end of it, which I thought was a bit excessive. So while helping me set this thing up, Patrick made an interesting suggestion. We pulled out the ol’ dictionary, opened to a random page and pointed to a random word. Okay so, it wasn’t the first word that I pointed at. But I didn’t think “matricide” was appropriate. I don’t think my mother would appreciate it either. Besides, “hyperbole” is a great, underrated word (ironically enough).
Just so you know, the numbers attached to it are my birthday. Pat’s idea. Apparently “hyperbole” is popular as well.
So, in about two hours I’ll be landing- hopefully gently and without incident- in merry old England. Then it’s two days to see my mum and my sister Sam. I told you about Sam, right? 5’10”. Brown hair. Nose, permanently stuck in my love life. I’ve been mulling over- quite carefully- exactly what to tell her about you and I. It’s not you- I think if she met you, she’d try to steal you for herself… if she were a lesbian. It’s just that once she gets the slightest hint that there’s a girl in my life, she’ll pounce, like a pit bull or a Doberman. Please, if that meeting ever does take place, don’t tell her I once compared her to vicious breeds of canine. That’s gotten me in trouble before.
After, what I’m sure will be an eventful couple of days on the home front, I’m off to Malta. Now, if you told me a few years ago that I’d be one day using the phrase “I’m off to Malta”, I would have nodded and smiled… and thought you a barking lunatic. What a surreal turn my life has taken. But, that’s a long philosophical tirade for another time- probably when I’m drunk. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but alcohol is a great way to ply information from me. The tricky part is getting me to stop talking about what I lucky bastard I am in order to get the desired information.
Alright, so I’ll be sure to give you a call before I leave England and I’m sure there will be more emailing going on in between but for now I think I’ve reached my typing limit. I’ll try to build up my endurance for next time.
Yours,

Orlando
PS Do write back. I’d hate to think I subjected myself to this for nothing!

That’s pretty good right? Hopefully it’ll make her smile- I love that smile. I just wish I could be there to see it. I hate that this is probably the worst timing imaginable for this to have happened, but everything considered, I think it may work out. It may suck that I won’t be able to see her for a while but on the other hand, it gives us chance to get to know each other without all those pesky distractions… like her legs, and her lips, and her… okay, I’m just going to stop there. I’m trying to get away from the whole “being a sick bastard” thing.
All in all, I’m feeling pretty good about all this. I think by the time Faye and I went our separate ways on Friday, I had her feeling pretty good about all this, too. She was a little resistant and who could blame her. That might make a lesser man feel a bit wary about getting involved with Faye, but I am not a lesser man. I am confident that she’s moving on and I want to be the guy she moves on to. I am that guy, thank you very much. If it is at all possible that this can work, I’m going to do everything I can to see that it does- and you wanna know why?
I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Trite? Yes. Sappy? Unbelievably so. But it is also true. I’ve had some great relationships with some great girls. I may have even been in love before. But there has been a spark that I have been looking for and Faye has it. I have it when I’m with her. I don’t know if it’s love. Not yet, anyway. I’m not really a believer in love at first site and have always been skeptical of people who say they’re in love after only a few days. I don’t think it happens like that. But I’m pretty sure that this, what’s happening to Faye and I, is how it begins. I’m okay with that.
And, trust me, it feels a hell of a lot better than thinking your going insane. Although… I suppose going insane and falling in love are kind of the same thing. There’s something to ponder.
<><><><><><><>
Canterbury, England

Sunday, April 6, 2003
It feels good to be on solid ground again. After our so-called "touch down", an old lady sitting across from me asked the steward, if we landed or got shot down. I was wondering something similar. I hate flying, but I guess it’s the landing part that’s the real problem. It’s all about how you get back down to the ground and what is a “landing” but a controlled mid-air collision with a planet?
Thankfully that is all behind me… until the day after tomorrow when I have to do it all over again. You’d think someone who travels as much as I do would get used to it. You’d think that someone who has actually jumped out of a perfectly good airplane would be less nervous staying in one. I never claimed I wasn’t complex.
But enough of that. I’m home.
The great thing about coming home when you have a life as crazed as mine is that wonderful feeling of normality that rushes over you. There’s no one around; no one waiting to take my picture as I get out of the car or begging for my autograph. The only lights are the lights that are on in my house and I can hear my mum and sister laughing in the kitchen from the street. When I get to the door I can smell that my mother has been baking for me today- treacle tarts, if I’m not mistaken. Heaven thy name is Sonia Bloom.
“Hello!!” I call out as I lumber in with my luggage.
“Orlando!” I hear my mother call from the kitchen. She appears before me with a broad smile and I drop my bags to pull her into a hug. I haven’t seen her in months and lets face it- sometimes a boy just needs his mum.
“You’re too thin.”
“Yes, mum.” Some things are universal and a mother’s obsession with the eating habits of their children is one of them.
Samantha is there behind her when mum is done trying to count my ribs through my t-shirt. We hug and when she pulls back she kinda cocks her head at me like she sees something written on my face. I hate when she does that. Before she has a chance to comment, mum ushers me into the kitchen telling me to leave the bags for later. I’m totally all right with that.
One round of “what have you been up to?”, two airplane anecdotes and three treacle tarts later, Sam hoists herself up to sit on the counter, evil grin in place, and says, “So… who’s the girl?”
There is no possible way she could know that there is a girl. There’s been no press since South Padre- you know I kept an eye on that. And if anyone had spotted us in New York, my publicist would have been completely up my ass by now. Samantha has always fancied herself an Orlando-specific psychic but I have never bought that and I never will. There is no possible way she knows about Faye from looking at my face. There just isn’t.
“What girl?”
And I suddenly realize how she’s been able to do it all these years. She plays a hunch and then feeds off my reaction- which is always obvious because I can’t lie- let alone “play it cool”- for shit.
She laughs at me. Have I mentioned how disconcerting it’s been this past week to have everyone I meet just laugh in my face for one reason or another? No scratch that. There’s only been one reason. If it hasn’t been Faye doing the laughing, it’s been people laughing at me because of her. I’m going to have to sort out how I feel about that later.
“Alright Orli, you may as well just spill your guts. You know you’re going to tell me in the end anyway.”
“She’s right,” my mum laughs, sipping her tea, looking entirely too nonchalant. Yeah right, she just wants the details too.
“Alright, her name is Faye-”
“I knew it!”
Samantha’s worst side is her triumphant side.
My mother looks surprised now, like she didn’t quite believe there was one specific girl in my life. There really hasn’t been since Elizabeth and that ended almost a year and a half ago. I think she really thought that Elizabeth and I would get married. I never really thought that. “And this wasn’t the first thing you mentioned when you walked through the door?”
“Sorry mum, I was distracted by your examination of my emaciated body.”
“Smart ass.”
“Stop stalling,” Samantha demands, pinching my arm to make sure she has my full attention. “Her name is Faye… and…”
I heave a long suffering sigh, still trying to decide exactly what to say. They’ll want to know how I met her, how serious it is, what she’s like. The trick is to seem like I’m addressing all those things without giving information I don’t really want my mother to know. “Her name is Faye McKenna. No, she’s not in the business. She’s a college student I met in Texas when I was there doing a P.R. thing. She goes to school in New Jersey, close to New York City. We spent a few days together in Texas and when I was in New York for couple days last week, I went to see her again. Yes, I really like her but it’s nothing serious yet. She’s graduating next month and I’m going to be in Greece for a while so we’re just going to talk and get to know each other and see where it all ends up.”
That about covers it, yeah? What else could they possibly want to know?
“What was going on in Texas?”
“What’s she going to do after she graduates?”
“Did you meet any of her family?”
“You really think you can start a relationship with an ocean between you?”
“So she’s essentially going to be a pen-pal?”
“How serious is ‘nothing serious’?”
“Can I have her phone number?”
Was it wishful thinking that led me to believe that this wouldn’t turn into an interrogation comparable to a press conference in Cannes? Or was it just stupidity?
<><><><><><><>
I feel like a just went ten rounds with a guy who wasn’t nearly as malnourished as me. I decided immediately after extricating myself from the kitchen (with what was left of my pride and testosterone) that I needed a drink. There was only one man to call. I’ve known Mark Bower since we were kids. He’s one of the few life-long friends I’ve managed to hold on to rather than alienate.
After calling Mark up and arranging to head over to his place (rather than going to the pub and getting swamped) I dig through one of my suitcases for a change of clothes that doesn’t smell like I just spent six hours on an airplane, sweating. No need to unpack anything since I’m leaving on Tuesday. When I look up, I jump slightly, startled to see Sam standing in my doorway with that same suspicious look she got when I hugged her earlier. “I’m gonna put a bell on you one of these days.”
She just smirks and flashes an obscene gesture before coming in and taking a seat at my desk.
“I’m headed over to Mark’s later on if your interested,” I tell her, trying to head off whatever questions she forgot to ask before or didn’t want to mention in front of my mother.
“I’ll pass. It is actually Sunday and some people do actually have things to do on Monday mornings.”
“Yes, I forgot. You only get sloshed on Saturday nights at sleezy London meet-markets and can’t make an exception for your baby brother who you haven’t seen in months.” Guilt is cool when I’m the one wielding it.
“Well, you know Orli- just cus you’ve met your dream girl doesn’t mean that the rest of can stop looking for our perfect mate.”
I almost tell her that every dream I’ve had for the past two weeks has had Faye in a featured role and so, yes, she is, in fact, my dream girl… But I really don’t want to add fuel to the fire. “Yeah, I’m sure that being surrounded by drunken wankers will make it a lot easier to spot Prince Charming’s armor gleaming in the light of the mirror ball.”
“And I’m sure it was a real ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ moment when you spotted Miss Faye through throngs of debauched spring breakers.”
Huh. I’m gonna let her have that one. Not because I acknowledge her point but because she successfully turned my tease around on me while using an obscure “South Pacific” reference… and I respect that.
“So you really like this girl?”
“Sam,” I groan, really not wanting to get into this again. I swear, I feel blood coming out of my ears. “I just spent the better part of an hour getting grilled downstairs. Do we really have to do this again?”
“Hey,” she says, holding her hands up, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not exactly sure what you mean by that but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I reply, sitting down on the end of my bed like a good pupil.
“Orli, I just hope, for this girl’s sake, that this isn’t just a phase of some kind.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? My look must say it all because she rushes to explain herself.
“It’s just that you’re a man who lives in a fishbowl. You’ve been dating within that fishbowl. I hope that this isn’t just you deciding you’re sick of the other fishes in the bowl.”
“Of course I’m sick of the other fishes in the bowl. We all look the same, eat the same fish food, hang out by the same sunken treasure chests… do I have to use the fish thing?”
“It’s just an analogy.”
I have been thinking about this stuff. Really, I have. Although, I have to admit that while I was aware of the possibility of being watched and/or photographed, the fact that Faye wasn’t all that aware of my existence before we met made the whole celebrity thing a backburner kind of issue- both in Texas and New York. “What I’m saying is, I’m sure that part of the attraction is that she’s not part of that world. She has different priorities and points of view. She’s got a personality instead of an ‘image’. Of course, that makes her all the more attractive.”
“Did a lot of talking, did ya?” Samantha smirks like she’s got me pegged. So what if we spent a good chunk of time in bed? We spoke enough for me to know that she has a thought in her head that doesn’t have to do with how she looks or whether or she was seen at the right club. I’m still not sure where she’s taking this.
“Why don’t you just say what you’re trying to say, Sam,” I snap. “The suspense is killing me.”
“What I’m saying is- what if you and she talk all the time and get to know each other really well and you find that she’s the girl for you and she thinks you’re the guy for her. Then you really see what it means for you two to have different priorities and different points of view. ‘Cus in the end either she’s going to get thrown into the fishbowl or you’re going to be looking at each other through the glass. I don’t think you’re going to jump the lip any time soon.”
“Can you please stop with the fucking fish analogy?” I am not happy with Sam right now. I know all this already. But you know what? I don’t think it has to be that way. Sure, if we end up being together in the long run she’ll get her picture taken, her name will be in the magazines. But let’s face facts. There are enough pressures in relationships without the added shit that comes with being in a two celebrity couple. I truly believe that even if two celebrities meet and truly love and compliment each other, the media will- more often than not- turn them into a duel-publicity machine that exists only to promote their own celebrity. There are exceptions to the rule, of course. But really, let’s not kid ourselves.
Plus, this whole ride could stop for me at any minute. Why would I want to choose someone to be with based on their belonging to a class of people whose members can so easily be booted to curb? Despite evidence to the contrary, I’m not a fool and I am very well aware that where I am in my career is based only on my marketability. I may get to point where I develop as an actor and can make my own choices based on my craft alone but if my name stops selling before I get to that point all this could go away. I don’t want to make decisions about the people I let into my life based on my fame. If Faye and I get the point where it would even make a difference and it turns out that she can’t deal the bullshit that comes with celebrity- I won’t blame her for it. But that will be then.
I pretty much say all that aloud and get progressively more worked up as I do. Then Sam looks at me for a moment and I don’t know if she’s just absorbing or waiting for me to cool down before she sends another thundercloud over my parade.
“Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever gotten that worked up over a girl before and she’s not even here. She’s really gotten under your skin.”
I have to laugh at that one. I run a hand over my face, hanging my head for a moment before looking back up at my overprotective, chronically inquisitive big sister. “Tell me about it.”
- 13
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- 15
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Better Days