Smooth

By Viridian5

7/26/00

RATING: R (language); Billy/Joe. If m/m interaction bothers you, pass on by.

SUMMARY: Billy's smooth, and Joe wants to rough him up a bit.

DISTRIBUTION: Ten Buck Fucks. Anywhere else too, as long as you ask me first.

DISCLAIMERS: The band members in _Hard Core Logo_ belong to Ed Festus, much as they might wish otherwise. Terminal City Pictures, Shadow Shows, Michael Turner, Bruce McDonald, and Noel S. Baker also have a marker on these folks. (My, but the Hard Cores' asses are owned by many, many people.) Needless to say, I am none of the above. No infringement intended, and Ed Festus makes all the money off anything the Hard Cores are involved with anyway, not them and me.

NOTES: I could have been doing *work* at work, but this is much more fun than calling Texas for tuition costs.

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"Smooth"
By Viridian5
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"...jamming with Trevor. You know him," Billy says a few tables away, talking about how he got the fucking Jennifur gig, and the cunt interviewing him gets all chipper as she says yeah. It looks
like he doesn't know I'm this close, in listening distance, but that's because he's focused totally on that fucking reporter. Like she deserves to be the center of his universe for even a few minutes.
That's my place, honey.

Fuck, Billy's good at schmoozing, even better than he used to be. He just needs one sentence to make her feel like she's a part of some kind of scene instead of the talentless leech she is. Writing
shit about the people who can actually create something, and it usually is shit since her type hates us for what they don't have. But he's smiling and flirting and *focusing* like she means something.

Yeah, Tiffany, you know Trevor, and Earl is *sick*, nudge nudge. But you're so in the know that *you* know Earl really can't handle his habit and that's how I got into Jennifur, as his replacement. See, you belong here with us. We like you. Now write something real nice about me. And ask as many Jennifur questions as you want while Joe's not here.

You have the talents of a high-priced whore, Billiam. Which I guess is a good thing for you since you may sell your ass, but you never sell it cheap.

If I didn't have principles or the courage of my fucking convictions, if I wanted what most people considered success, I'd use the shit out of you, Bill. I'd still be angry and rebellious and full of contempt for the world in public because the kiddies eat that up, but I'd privately send my secret weapon over to the record execs and press. You'd have them eating out of your hand. Schmoozing, smoothing things over, making deals, kissing up, selling our asses at the highest price, and they would love you. Hell, if I sent you out right after a good performance, when you're beaming and glowing and all that shit, they'd be shoving money down your waistband.

And I would have dominion over the music world.

It's a good thing for the world I'm not the kind of cunt who would do that.

Instead, I'm standing here watching you smile and flirt and gab up your other gig with this bitch. Gabbing up Jennifur. It's not even a real band, just a bunch of musicians some exec designed into a group after researching the market. Jennifur's a fucking science project, and you want to go back to it when you're done with me and Hard Core Logo. Back to your El-Lay Fantasyland, where people like it when you do your "everything to everyone" act. Hollywood just made you into even more of a polished bastard than you used to be.

Shit wouldn't stick to you, would it, Bill?

You probably think you're perfectly blank and smooth now, all your rough edges filed off. Fucking Teflon. You probably think you'd slip through the fingers of anyone who tried to grab and keep you.

Silly Billy. You're just forcing me to claw you.

It's time to break up your little love fest.