The Big Time Pt. 02

Standard Disclaimer:

You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...you know the rest.

This story may NOT be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use.

This work is complete fiction; celebs don't act like this in real life…probably.

Any copyrighted names, works, or whatever are products of their respective owners.

Constructive criticism is welcome and wanted. Please send any thoughts you may have.

Chapter 2: Homecoming

9:45 am. Monday, May 19, 2003.

Michael awoke to the heavy bass of his stereo, belting out "Move Bitch" by Ludacris. He rolled over and looked at his clock. Then he felt around with his arm to look for Rachael, but she wasn't in the bed. He pulled a pillow over his head and closed his eyes.

"MOVE bitch, get out the way, get out the way bitch, get out the way!" screamed Ludacris and his crew.

"Argh. Who the hell turned this shit on?" said Michael through the pillow.

"Hey, I just pushed play. That's your CD spinning in there," said a distinctly feminine voice.

"Can you please turn it off?" said Michael, his head still buried under a pillow.

"Nope, you gotta get up if you want it off." When she saw that he still wasn't moving, she climbed up onto the bed and stood over him. She then proceeded to jump up and down as high and as hard as she could. He finally pulled the pillow off his face and looked up at the tiny woman making so much trouble.

"The bitches want me to fuck - true true. Hold up wait up, shorty Oh wazzzupp, get my dick sucked, what are yoouu doin'?" Michael burst out laughing, as Rachael Leigh Cook rapped alongside Mystikal's verse in the song. Apparently she knew it by heart.

Michael was wide awake now from the commotion of Rachael's jumping and utter hilarity of listening to her sweet voice rapping and swearing like she was Dr. Dre. She jumped again and he moved quickly to sweep her legs out from under her and she came crashing down, laughing and giggling. He marveled at how two mornings in a row, a beautiful woman had ended up in his bed.

"You like rap?" asked Michael.

"Yep. Strange, huh?"

"Funny, actually. You don't seem like the type. Then again, I guess I didn't think you were the pussy eating, cock hungry, anal sex loving type either."

"Live and learn," she said. "Up for some breakfast?" When his eyes perked up, she sighed and said, "Not a Kirsten Dunst-type breakfast, god knows the girl can't cook. An RLC-type, like eggs and toast?"

"Sure, sounds great." Rachael popped up off the bed. "Oh well," he muttered under his breath. He got into his robe, switched the stereo off and moved off towards the kitchen. Thomas was already up and eating. Rachael was busy looking in the fridge. A bowl of fluffy, yellow scrambled eggs was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, along with some slightly burnt toast.

"Morning Tom," said Michael as he grabbed a piece of toast.

"Hey, this is the life isn't it?" said Tom. Michael nodded in agreement. "Woman! Where's my coffee!?"

Rachael looked over her shoulder and stared daggers into him. Tom looked back down at his plate and continued to eat his eggs.

"No orange juice? Or milk?" asked Rachael.

"There should be plenty of beer in there," said Tom.

Rachael stood up and looked at him. "You drink beer with eggs?"

"Tom drinks beer with cookies," said Michael, munching his last bit of toast.

"Ugh, that's disgusting."

"Don't knock it 'till you tried it," said Tom. Rachel filled a glass with tap water, served herself some eggs and sat down with the two men.

"After breakfast, someone has to give me a ride back to my hotel. I'm in desperate need of a long, hot shower," said Rachael with a sigh.

"I'll do it," said Michael and Tom in unison. "No, you won't. Yes I will!" they said, still in unison.

"It's my car!" said Tom.

"It's my gas!" countered Michael.

"Boys, boys, boys," said Rachael primly. "You can both take me back." In the background, X started barking.

"Hey, looks like you gotta take care of X. He sounds hungry," said Tom.

"Forget X, I'm taking her back," said Michael.

"I'm shocked Michael Torbin!" said Tom. "How dare you let your cute little dog starve while you go gallivanting around with some harlot!"

"Yeah, Mike, you're gonna leave your dog hungry just to give me a ride?" said Rachael. Then she looked at Tom. "HARLOT?! Maybe I'll walk!"

"Oh, I'm just joking, Rachael, but not about the dog. I took care of him last time, Mike, it's your turn. And because I like you, I won't have Rachael's bodyguard beat you up when you come back."

"Fine, I could use a jog anyway," said Michael. "I hope you two have fun." Michael put his plate in the sink, put his shoes on and left the house, X in tow.

"Aww, he could've come too," said Rachael. "I wouldn't have minded."

"I bet you wouldn't. But you're all mine today," said Tom with a wicked smile.

***

Bethesda, Maryland.

Joseph awoke with a start. Wrinkled papers were stuck to his face and a puddle of drool was slowly soaking into his monthly planner. He was in his den at home, sitting in an expensive leather chair and still wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing since last week. He rubbed his eyes and groaned, he figured he'd be used to sleeping while sitting by now. The lamp on his desk was burning brightly, hurting his eyes. He slapped the switch off and put his head back down, barely avoiding the drool.

The scent of bacon wafted into the small room. Joseph's stomach rumbled and he lifted his tired head. "Mmm. Thank God for Rosa," he said. Joseph dragged himself out of the room and down the long hallway towards the kitchen.

The Torbin's lived in an elegant, Victorian style mansion, in absolute pristine condition. Constructed in 1893 on a 40 acre lot, the impressive home had passed through the hands of some of the most prominent citizens in Maryland's history. In 1984, when Joseph was first appointed the head of Lockheed's R&D division, he used his substantial signing bonus to purchase the house. Joseph, his wife Sharon and son Michael moved into the house in April of that year.

Lockheed was very generous to their top employees. As such, Joseph accumulated large amounts of liquid funds. Being a science nerd type, he really had no idea what to do with all of it. Fortunately, Sharon was quite the shrewd investor, and turned his salary into millions in stocks and bonds. She controlled the money in the relationship.

Having finally made it all the way to the kitchen, Joseph saw his wife sitting at the kitchen counter, munching her breakfast and reading the Wall Street Journal. She had aged gracefully at 45, keeping the wrinkles and fat at bay with science and exercise. Her hair was still as ebony as it was when she was young. Joseph looked around the kitchen, noticing that the only food was on her plate.

"Rosa didn't cook anything for me?" he asked.

"I gave her the day off. She needed a long weekend," said Sharon without looking up.

"So who cooked that?" he asked, pointing at her plate.

Sharon looked at him like he was an idiot and went back to reading her paper.

"Oh. Well thanks a LOT for cooking some for me too," he said sarcastically. He thought he saw a hint of a grin on her face. Joseph went to the pantry and got some cereal. He poured himself a bowl and sat at the kitchen table, facing away from Sharon and staring out the window.

"Find a job yet?" Sharon asked.

"No," said Joseph through gritted teeth. "It's not like I need one."

"Have you forgotten that our son is attending a very expensive private school?" she said.

Joseph dropped his spoon on the table and stood up. "We've got millions put away and you're worried about the $100,000 it's taking to put him through school?!"

"If you hadn't been so incompetent and lost tho-" Joseph quickly walked over to her and ripped the paper from her hands.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I did not lose that data!"

"Fine, Joe, fine," she said, completely unfazed by his anger. "Regardless, you still lost your job, and we lack a substantial income."

"SUBSTANTIAL? We could live in Beverly Hills on the interest from our investments alone!"

Sharon picked up her paper and began reading again. "I'm not going to argue with you, Joe. And please take a shower, you don't smell very good."

Joseph's lifelong resolve to never hit a woman was being severely tested. He clenched his fists and walked out of the room. Sharon turned to the next page in her paper.

10:33 am. Chicago, Illinois.

Michael trudged back up the front steps of his house, dripping with sweat from the blazing sun. He opened the door and X ran inside and immediately went to his water bowl. The house was quiet; Tom and Rachael had already left. Michael chugged down a couple glasses of water and then showered. A few minutes later the phone rang.

"Hello?" he said.

"Mike! How are you?" said a bright and sunny voice.

"Hi Kirsten. I'm good. You?" he asked. X padded into the room, pushing his food bowl in with his nose. With his thirst satiated, X was now demanding food.

"Fine. We've been in the air for a few hours now." She sounded annoyed.

"Is something wrong?" Michael waved X away, but he just sat there, whining.

"Not really, I just don't like crowded planes."

"You're in coach?" asked Michael, a little surprised.

"No, first class, but still. Hey, is that X? Tell him I said hello."

"X, Kirsten says hello. (bark)" X continued to whine, and Michael got up to feed him. "Fine, X. I'll get your food." Michael went into the kitchen and pulled out a half-empty bag of dog food. "X, bring your bowl back here."

"What's going on?"

"Just feeding X."

"Oh." There was an uncomfortable pause.

"What's wrong?" asked Michael.

"Nothing. Just looking over the script for Chicago Style Romance. There is some really bad dialogue in here."

"Okay," said Michael, a little unsure of what to say.

"Soooo, did Rachael stay over last night?"

Uh oh thought Michael. "Um. Yeah, she stayed with Tom for the night. I guess she was too tired to go back to her hotel," said Michael, hoping his bald-faced lie would pass through undetected.

"Hmm, weird."

"Why's that?"

"I imagine she had her choice between the two of you, and I'm surprised she picked Tom."

"Tom really isn't that bad a guy. Honestly."

"Maybe." She didn't sound too convinced of anything Michael was saying.

"So, do you know when the movie guys are going to look for potential Chicago style boyfriends?" he asked, changing the subject.

She giggled. "The 'casting director' will 'audition' actors in a couple of weeks. You better get your butt in the gym. It'll really help your chances. My vote doesn't really count for much."

Michael walked out of the kitchen where X was noisily eating. "Kirsten, I'm not interested in auditioning or becoming an actor. I just want to spend time with you."

"I wanna see you too, Mike. Look, it doesn't matter if you're not any good at it. Our people here will just have to turn you into a pretty boy. I'm sure you can think of a few famous yet talent less actors making the rounds in Hollywood today."

"Yeah, I can. And tell me, WHY would I wanna be one of those guys?"

"Because those guys are famous and make lots of money. Plus, if you get the part, we'll get to spend a LOT of time together."

Michael hadn't considered the fact that he would be paid for the movie. A starring role in a movie with Kirsten Dunst would probably be worth a lot of money. And if the month it took to film the movie was as much fun as the weekend had been…

"Okay. I'll do the audition. Just promise me that they won't laugh me off the stage."

"You'll do it!? Great, I'll get my agency to set everything up. And they won't laugh at you. Unless you're really, really bad. But you won't be, I'm sure."

"Yeah, right. So, assuming I get the part, do I get a trailer?" asked Michael.

She laughed. "Yes, Mike, we get trailers."

"Soundproofed?"

"Um, I'll have to check on that, but hopefully we'll have some first hand experience with that in July," she said slyly. There were some voices in the background. "Guess we're starting to land. I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Have a safe landing."

"Don't jinx me," she said as she hung up.

4:45 pm. Sunday, May 25. Bethesda, Maryland.

"Mom! Dad! I'm home!" shouted Michael as he was standing in the foyer of his house. There was a slight echo.

"Ah, Michael, it is good to see you again."

"Hi, John. Are my parents here?" John was the longtime family butler.

"Your mother is on the golf course, and your father is, ahem, indisposed."

Michael sighed. "I thought I asked you to get rid of all the liquor in the house."

"It's a big house, sir. And I can't stop your father from getting into a car and buying gallons of cheap swill when I'm not around."

"Right. Well, I'll bring my things up to my room later. I'm going to talk to my Dad," said Michael as he walked towards the den.

"I can take care that for you, sir," said John.

"No. I'll do it. Just leave them where they are."

Michael immediately went towards the den, his father's favorite hideaway. He opened the door to see his father just the way he's been for the last year; face flat on the desk and a half empty plastic bottle of cheap vodka next to his head. Michael walked over and lifted his father's head up by the hair. He was completely out cold. Michael put his father's head back down and left the room.

Michael just couldn't understand why his father had fallen apart so badly. He lost his job, fired for incompetence. What did that matter though? Michael's parents have all the money that two people could ever need. There were a dozen cars in the garage, vacation homes in Venice and Nice, and a full service staff working at the house. Michael's parents have the one thing that 99% of people sweat blood their entire lives for, and they weren't happy.

He grabbed some of his suitcases and trudged his way up the grand staircase. He kicked open the door to his room and dragged his stuff inside. The room was a bit untidy. Michael never let any of the staff touch anything in his room. He set up his laptop on the desk and immediately checked his email. The people who represented Kirsten, the Shooting Star Talent Agency, had phoned him last week, and were supposed to send him some preliminary information.

"Hmm," thought Michael. The audition was going to be on Wednesday. This didn't leave much time for Michael to spend at home. "Good. I don't want to be around when that grade report gets here anyway."

He reached back and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. After a careful examination of its contents, he groaned and closed it. He tossed it onto his desk and went digging around in the box in his closet. Michael pulled a small tin case from the bottom, and opened it. A six month old joint and a small wad of cash were sitting inside. He flipped through the bills and counted fifty-three dollars. That cash plus the twenty dollars in his wallet wouldn't be nearly enough for a plane ticket to LA with three days advance notice.

Michael briefly thought of asking Kirsten to get him a ticket. He filed that idea as an absolute last resort. "No way am I going to let money rear its ugly head on this relationship just yet," said Michael to himself. He shut the door to his room as he examined the joint. Nobody was around in the house except for the staff. He checked his watch; 4:57 pm. Michael decided that this was as good a time as any to see if his weed was still good. He picked the lighter out of the tin and reclined on his bed as he lit up.

5:13 pm.

"Yep, still goooooooood," said Michael as he flicked the tip of the joint into the garbage. He laid his head back as he marveled at all the wonderful feelings running through his body. Then another, less pleasant feeling began working its way through his system. His bladder was speaking to him. Michael rolled out of bed and into his bathroom. He unzipped and let the flow go.

The light on the phone on the wall next to the toilet began to flash. Michael vaguely remembered how fucking stupid it was to have a phone in a bathroom. But his mother just had to do what she thought rich people did. He picked up anyway.

"Hello?" he said.

"Who is this?"

"This is Michael Torbin, world's greatest sex machine. And you are?"

"This is your mother, Michael James Torbin! How dare you speak to me that way!"

Michael groaned. "Sorry mother, I'm just a little tired."

"ARE YOU SMOKING MARIJUANA AGAIN?!" she yelled.

"No, mother."

"And what is that noise?!"

"It was your idea to put phones in the bathrooms."

"Stop it! That's disgusting!"

"I'm almost done…There. Finished," said Michael as he flushed the toilet. "What do you need?"

"Tell Rosa to prepare dinner for three by 7:00."

"Wasn't she going to make dinner for the three of us anyway?" asked Michael.

"Oh. Make that five then. And if you're going to answer the phone in the bathroom, stop whatever you're doing before you pickup. Also, wear a suit, the black one that I like." Before Michael could ask who the two guests would be, his mother hung up. Michael hit the intercom to tell Rosa the number of plates she had to prepare.

7:00 pm.

Michael was standing on the balcony, overlooking the foyer of the house. He was leaning over the railing, watching the front door. He usually wasn't this eager to see his mother, but he was curious about her guests. John was standing outside the house on the porch, keeping an eye on the long driveway. Michael's father was still passed out in the den.

The front door swung open and his mother strolled in, followed by quite an astonishing pair of guests. Michael immediately straightened up and adjusted his tie. This could be a very interesting night.

"I just can't stand that par 5. If there's one thing about that course that needs to be fixed, it's that hole," said his mother.

"Oh, that hole is just fine," said one blonde.

"This coming from the one person who got a par on it," said the other blonde.

"Well, of course." The woman looked around. "Wow. Look at this place Shannon, it's amazing! Sharon, what a great place!"

"Thanks, Tracy." Sharon stepped over to one of her employees.

Shannon walked into the middle of the massive foyer, and looked around. John was standing at attention, smiling politely at her. Sharon was speaking to a woman in a chef's hat, and Tracy was admiring a statue of a Greek god in the corner. Shannon's eyes traced a path along the staircase until they fell upon a dark figure standing on the balcony, watching them. He was young and looked just a little nervous.

"Hello up there," she said. Sharon and Tracy both looked up at Michael.

"Ah Michael, it's good to see you. Come on down here. Let me introduce you to my friends," said Sharon. Michael tried not to run down the steps. "Ladies, this is my son Michael. Michael, this is Shannon and Tracy Tweed."

Michael shook hands with the two blonde beauties. "Wow. It's great to meet you both. I'm a big fan."

"Oh really?" said Shannon.

"Michael!" said Sharon sternly.

"Oh no, it's okay Sharon. I love meeting my fans."

"How do you know he's not MY fan?" asked Tracy.

"Oh please. There's only one queen of the B-movie here, and she's the tallest one in the room."

"Actually, I believe I'm the tallest one in the room," said Michael. Shannon moved next to Michael and measured herself.

"Okay, fine," she said. "But only by a few inches." Shannon stepped away and looked Michael up and down. "I feel underdressed."

That's a surprise, thought Michael, halfway smiling to himself. Shannon was wearing light clothing, shorts and a canary yellow polo shirt that was just baggy enough to muffle the size of her breasts. A white visor was sitting on top of her head, her blond locks tied back in a ponytail. The years had been kind to Shannon; she was still a gorgeous woman. She was the kind that just got better and better as the years marched by. Tracy was dressed very similarly, except with a light blue shirt. She and Shannon bore a strong resemblance to each other, although Michael gave Shannon the edge.