Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

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
- 2
- 3
- 4
*~*~*~*~*
CHAPTER THREE: FAYE
New Brunswick, New Jersey

Thursday, April 3, 2003
“Faye, love. I’m in New York.”
Is it bad when you’re heart stops? I mean, I know we all know the expression. But what if it actually ceases to beat for a good four seconds? Does that mean you were technically dead for four seconds? It’s going again now but I was worried for a minute. I thought I had literally had a stroke. Great and now I’m mute. I can’t speak. Sid and Kat are looking at me with their eye’s bulging- a mixture of disbelief that Orlando Bloom actually called me and urgency at my inability to talk.
“Hello?”
Speak bitch! Speak! “Hi.” That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.
“You alright, love? You sound like you weren’t expecting to hear from me.”
That’s the understatement of my life. “Um, no I really wasn’t,” I answer. I have no idea how my voice recovered but I’d like to thank the little gnome that was sawing my vocal cords in half for knocking that shit off. What? Some people get frogs in their throat; I get gnomes. Fuck off.
I take a drag from my cigarette and begin to walk away from Sid and Kat. They’d come to see me during my break at Starbucks… and for free coffee. Kat’s little outburst when she grabbed my cell phone had scared many of the caffeine-addled customers enjoying the beautiful weather at the lovely sidewalk section of our superb New Brunswick Starbucks, (Come to Starbucks Where We “Develop enthusiastically satisfied customers all of the time”.) Anyway, I think one of them complained because Mr. Pete (yes this man likes to make us call him Mr. Pete) is eyeing me from inside as if to say, take your cracked-out friends away from my patronage.
“Well, I can’t say I blame you.” His voice slides over me and I’m about to melt into a little Faye-flavored puddle right here on George Street. Maybe Mr. Pete can run a special today on Faye Frappacinos. Ew. My own imagery is starting to freak me out- that can’t be good. “I really didn’t think that I’d be calling, myself, but I was in the area, so…”
I wait for him to finish his thought, even though I know he’s probably done. I notice Kit and Sid are now following me and I’m ready to break out into a full run to get away from them, but somehow I don’t see that as being conducive to talking to Orlando. I am talking to Orlando. Holy shit.
“So are you just calling to check up on me, Mr. Bloom or is there something I can do for you?” More specifically, is there something I can do to you. I don’t know what mysterious resource of confidence I’m drawing on, but all of a sudden, I can talk to him. I actually sound normal, even a little saucy if I do say so myself. I know what he’s calling for and damn if it doesn’t make me feel a little less pathetic than I’ve been feeling of late.
“Well, I’m in town until tomorrow night and I was wondering if you wanted to meet me in the city for a drink tonight. Ya know, catch up.”
Catch up. Ha. I know what that means. I find myself smiling and Kat and Sid are practically on top of me by this point. I shoo them away and give them the most intimidating look I can muster considering that my insides were bubbling over in excitement. “Um, well, I did have plans with the girls tonight,” I say with an evil grin and Kat doesn’t hesitate to punch me in the arm- hard. Bitch. “But I’m sure they won’t mind,” I finish, rubbing my arm, my face telling Kat plainly that she’ll pay for that one when I’m off the phone with the international superstar who’s gonna fuck my brains out tonight.
“Great. I’m staying at the Plaza. Would it be easier for you to meet me there… or… uh, what am I saying?” Whoa. Didn’t see that one coming. Did the smooth charmer I met in Texas just trip over his words? Is the façade falling, Mr. British Accent Man? Are you a mere mortal like the rest of us?
“Why don’t you give me directions to your place, I can come and get you.”
He must have sensed that I was mentally calling him on his slip because it sounds like he purposely made his voice huskier than it was a moment ago and I’m once again convinced the man is a god. “Are you serious? I mean, I’m all the way down in New Brunswick; it’s a bit of a hike. I can just as easily take a train in. It’s really no-”
“A train? No don’t be silly Faye. Just tell me how to get you. I can leave right now-”
“Now?” No, no, no, no, no. Even if it is a forty-five minute drive, there is no way, I can be ready in- shit. I’m still working aren’t I? “I’m actually at work right now so-“
“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think.”
He keeps cutting me off. That’s kind of annoying. “No, don’t worry about it. I get off around 6.”
“Okay, so what time should I leave to get there buy 7:30ish?”
Does anyone else think this is all too weird for words? I mean really. My fuck-buddy from Spring Break (celebrity fuck-buddy at that) calls me up little more than a week later and is willing to drive to New Brunswick from the city just to see me for one more night? This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming. I fell asleep at the espresso machine again. “Um, you’d have to leave around a quarter to seven,” I tell him, realizing that I have wringing the bottom of my apron in a death grip. Great, it’s now a wrinkled mess. Mr. Pete won’t be pleased. “Are you sure you want to come all the way out here? I mean-”
“Absolutely. It’s fine. I wouldn’t want you to brave public transportation on my account.”
Does he think this interrupting me shit is okay? Whatever. “Okay, if you insist.” I give him the simple directions to New Brunswick and tell him to call my cell when he gets here and I’ll talk him to my house. It’s really an easy to get to New Brunswick from New York but this city is a bit of a maze. I’ve had many people get lost trying to get to my new apartment.
“Alright, love. I’ll see you then,” he says. Does he know his voice is the auditory manifestation of hot sex? Does he know this about himself?
“Bye, Orli.”
I look over at Sid and Kat and their bodies are all tensed up, waiting for me hit the “end” button so they can scream. I hit it, and they do. God damn, I’m deaf.
“Oh god,” Kat says, calming herself as much as she can, which isn’t a whole lot. “You’re, like, his fricking girlfriend, Faye.”
Whoa. No. Not so much. “No, no,” I tell her shaking my head adamantly. “I’m so not his girlfriend. He’s just in New York for the night. That was a booty call if I’ve heard one.”
Sid, ever the queen of clear headedness, has clearly come down from her “happy for me” high. “Are you okay with that, Faye? I mean you’ve never really been one for the casual sex. I couldn’t believe you let it go as far as you did in South Padre and you were miserable the whole plane ride home. You sure you wanna do this again?”
Damn her. “I was miserable because Kat’s little epileptic fit with her cell phone gave me the headache of my fucking life, Sid,” I say, not willing to let her rain on my parade.
“Sorry kid, I don’t buy that for a minute. The three seconds we saw you the day after you’re first night with Prince Charming, you were glowing.”
“A couple good orgasms will do that to a girl,” I tell her defiantly. There was and is no emotion involved with Orlando and me. Emotion-free Faye. That’s me.
“Bullshit, Faye. This is me, you’re talking to. I hadn’t seen you that happy since-”
She cuts herself off abruptly and I know exactly what she was about to say. “Since when, Sid? Go on, say it.”
“Since Danny,” she says sympathetically and I want to tell her to save her fucking pity for someone who’ll appreciate it.
“I have to go back to work.” I walk back towards the Starbucks and ignore their calls for me to come back.
“Miss McKenna!”
I grimace as I hear Mr. Pete’s page. He only calls me Miss McKenna when I’m about to get a lecture. He’s like a fucking mother. Mamma Pete. “What’s up Mr. Pete?” I give him my best Eddie Haskle grin as I approach the counter.
“Faye, I know you’ll understand when I say that we, here at Starbucks, are a family and as such we need to respect each other. Am I right?”
You’re a psycho, Mr. Pete. “Absolutely, Mr. Pete.”
“Good. So I expect that we won’t see anymore scenes like that one outside, right?”
I’d like to rip off my own foot so I have something to throw at you, Mr. Pete. “Yes, sir, Mr. Pete. I’m sorry for that.”
“That’s a good girl. Now why don’t you take over for Joy? She’s up for a break.”
Because Joy is a bitch, Mr. Pete. “I’m on it, Mr. Pete.”

*~*~*~*~*
I have successfully scrubbed the coffee grime from my body. It took some doing but I’m good to go. I sit down on my couch and rake a comb through my damp hair, using the remote to flip on the stereo. I bypass the Sarah McLachlan for the radio, hoping for something a little more appropriate. Ah Sheryl Crow. Yes, Sheryl. A change would do me good.
I’ve just finished de-tangling my insubordinate hair and now for the clothes. What to wear, what to wear? My mind drifts to my token little black dress. No, can’t wear that. The last time I wore that was dinner with… Fuck. Ugh, serious thoughts creeping in. Go away! Shit. What if this just makes things worse? I was just starting to get back to my normal routine- class, work, hating Danny with an all-consuming passion. What if I let Orli sweep me into that dreamland where everything is okay again and then I have to come back here, to this depressing little hole in the wall tomorrow? I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t think I can let him make me forget just to remember again. It hurt too bad the first time.
It takes me .3 seconds to redirect the angst that has quickly turned to anger on Orlando. Who does this prick think he is, waltzing back into my life? He doesn’t know the first thing about me. Well, other than every single erogenous zone on my body. But other than that, he knows dick about my life. How can he just swoop in and throw my life into turmoil for an easy lay? That’s all I am to that fucking prick. I’m just a piece of ass. How can I encourage that kind of misogynistic behavior?
Okay, in all fairness, that’s all he’d be to me too. I mean, if we’re both on the same page then it can’t be all that bad, right? Right. Of course. I can do this. I can have one more great night with Mr. Bloom and then get on with my life.
Convinced for the moment, I crank up the radio which has shifted to Good Charlotte- Lifestyles of the Rich and the Famous, excellent- and move into my bedroom to see if I can find something decent to wear. Oh, I know. The purple strappy dress Sid got me for my birthday last month. Oh baby. Yes, that’s the one. It’s material just clings in all the right places but in others it’s just flowy enough to be casual. That and my black fitted jacket… ooo… hair up, yeah. This boy doesn’t know who he’s messing with.
A half hour later, I’m finally pleased with my appearance. Make-up- pretty but light. Hair- up but a little messy. Dress- casual but sexy. Shoes- shit! Shoes! I’m about to dive head first into my closet when my cell phone rings. Fuuuuck. I snatch it up from its place on my dresser. “Hello?”
“Hey Faye, we just got off the Turnpike. Interesting ride.”
I laugh. Yeah, the Jersey Turnpike can be a bitch. Wait, we? “We?”
“Yeah, me and the driver.”
Driver? “Driver?”
“Yeah, I’ve just gotten used to this other-side-of-the-road thing, but I’m not crazy enough to brave New York traffic and after this experience, I know I’m damn well not crazy enough to drive the Jersey Turnpike.”
“I see,” I laugh, distracted though, as I am on my knees, sifting through my shoes. I’m going to have to fucking change, aren’t I? “Where are you now?”
“Um, how about a give you to Dennis. Rather than me playing middle man, here,” he says. I feel myself getting disappointed that I won’t be hearing his voice for another fifteen minutes or so and quickly tell myself that I’m being ri-fucking-diculous.
“Yeah, that’d be easiest.”
I talk “Dennis” to route 18 and then through the side streets of New Brunswick- managing to find an appropriate pair of pretty heels at the same time. Before I know it, I hear a beep outside. “That you Dennis?” I ask, knowing full well that it is, seeing as I heard it both outside my building and over the phone.
“Yes, Miss.”
“Okay, I’ll be down in a minute.” My body is humming in anticipation. I grab my jacket and adjust the strap on one of my shoes. One more quick check in the mirror and I’m out of my room. I cross the living room to turn off the radio when all of a sudden the wind is knocked out of me.
”This next one is going out to Danny in NJ from his girl in the city- go on girl.”
“Hi, this is Jenna from Brooklyn and I’d like to dedicate Christina Aguilera’s Beautiful to my baby, Danny. I love you!”
I flip off the stereo with much more force than needed. It wasn’t even the right Danny. What the fuck is wrong with me? Even the fucking name hits me like a ton of bricks. Familiar thoughts creep into my head before I can stop them. How did I get here? What did I do wrong?
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Better Days