The Big Time Pt. 05

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Michael finds comfort with Katie Holmes and Alyssa Milano
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Part 5 of the 10 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 12/26/2002
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Chapter 5: The Relief

7:27 pm. Friday, May 30. Suite 9035. Hilton Hotel. Los Angeles, California.

Michael had been sitting in shock for the last two hours. He was stuck to his seat, in the same position he was in when Kirsten had walked out and left her ultimatum hanging in the air. "Tomorrow or never" she had said. Michael's brain was still trying to work through what had just happened to him. The first thought that had come to his mind was just how ridiculously stupid it was to tell Kirsten even a portion of the truth.

How could he possibly have thought that things would be all right if he told her the truth? That she would actually accept it? Even if she had gone around sleeping with as many men as Michael had slept with women, she still would have reacted the same way. If he had lied as many lies as needed to prevent Kirsten from learning the truth, she would have found out eventually, probably from Elisha or Eliza.

Finding out from one of her friends would have been an absolute disaster. Michael took small consolation in the fact that Elisha was not going to be the one that broke them up. He laughed to himself ruefully. Yeah, I'm glad that I'm the one responsible for this, he thought. He supposed common sense should have told him to keep his hands off of anyone but Kirsten. Where the hell was common sense when I needed it? he thought.

Any idiot would know that common sense had gone out the window at the same time his pants hit the floor. Michael leaned his head back and rubbed his neck. He was tired of thinking about what he had done. Michael picked up the television remote control and turned the set on. As usual, there was a whole lot of crap being broadcast on every channel. An Oprah commercial started playing. He suddenly found himself getting choked up.

"Jesus Christ!" Michael started wiping his eyes. "This is a first. This is fucking weird." He was trying to talk away the pain he was feeling, the fear that the closest he was ever going to get to Kirsten again was the glass of a television screen or the ink of a magazine. "Fucking Oprah."

After turning the television off he put the remote onto the table and walked over to the minibar. He opened it up and started pulling all the little bottles of alcohol out and tossing them onto the bed. If Michael was going to sit around kicking himself all night, he may as well dull the pain a little bit. Michael twisted open the bottle of scotch, held it to his lips and downed it.

He shook his head from side to side as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Michael tossed the bottle over his shoulder and picked up the next one. Two minutes later there were seven empty bottles on the carpet next to the bed. On top of the bed was Michael, lying down and staring at the ceiling.

After a few minutes he sat up. "Nope. Not enough." Michael got out of the bed and went to his bag. He fished out a fifty dollar bill and slipped it in his wallet. Then he headed down to the lobby and walked up to the information desk. "Any liquor stores around here?"

The elderly clerk looked up. "Yeah." He pulled a small map out of a slot and laid it on the counter. "There's a place right nearby, maybe a ten minute walk. It's right here." The clerk marked it on the map with a pen and gave Michael detailed directions.

"Great," said Michael as he took the map and began walking away.

"You sure a liquor store is what you need right now son?"

Michael stopped and turned around. "What's it to you?"

The clerk cocked his head a bit as he scrutinized Michael. "I've seen that look before."

"What look? I don't have a look."

"Trust me son, I know what I'm talking about."

"Shouldn't you be wondering whether I'm even old enough to drink?"

"I'm wondering what happened between you and your girl."

Michael looked at him in surprise. He walked back up to the counter. "Have you been spying on me? Huh?! Listening at my fucking door?!" he asked angrily.

The old man laughed. "Spying? Listening at your door? Son, I have trouble listening to the radio. But my eyes are still sharp as a tack, and they see something in you they saw in a mirror a long time ago." The clerk waved a woman away from the desk. "I'll tell you right now that whatever relief you think you're going to get is fool's gold."

"Yeah well, I'll be so plastered it won't matter if it's real or not. Thanks for the map." Michael turned and walked away. The old man watched him leave as he pulled a map out for the next patron.

The directions were impeccable; Michael got to the store in almost exactly ten minutes. The bell attached to the door rang as he walked in. He took a quick look around and grabbed a bottle of Smirnoff's.

"ID?" asked the cashier. Michael handed her his driver's license and the cash. "Okay then." She handed the ID back and rung up the purchase. "Have a nice night."

Michael took the bag. "I will now." He almost jogged back to the hotel. As he was walking through the lobby the information clerk again watched him go by, more specifically he watched the brown paper bag in Michael's hand go by. He shook his head in pity.

Michael entered his room and put the bottle on the table. He went into the bathroom and grabbed a plastic cup. After unscrewing the cap and tossing it onto the table he poured himself a double of vodka. He looked out over the Los Angeles skyline. "Cheers."

12:17 am. Saturday, May 31. Torbin Estate. Bethesda, Maryland.

Joseph was still speeding around the mansion on his Segway, knocking side tables and lamps over like a rambunctious two year old. He had already covered the entire first floor of the mansion; every hallway and every room had provided a new obstacle course for him to conquer. The Segway, however, had rendered them all child's play. He rode back into the foyer of the house and stepped off his machine.

Since it was already dark outside, Joseph could not cruise around his lawns. So he looked for the next natural place to ride in; namely, the second floor of his house. He switched the Segway off and pocketed the key. Despite the lavishness of the home, there was no elevator and the eighty three pound wonder could not climb stairs.

Joseph dragged the machine over to the stairs and struggled to lift it up. Realizing just how out of shape he was, he resorted to dragging it up the stairs step by bumpy step. By the time he reached the top, his face was red with exertion and sweat. He leaned against the railing to catch his breath. After a few seconds he leaned down to inspect the Segway to make sure nothing was broken. While he was down there, Sharon popped her head out of the bedroom door.

"Ohhhh no! You are NOT riding that thing around up here!"

"Jesus Sharon. I can ride my Segway wherever I want to," said Joseph. He turned and looked at her. She was wearing a red silk robe.

"No you can't. You've already nicked three tables AND left scuff marks all over the wood floors! I'm not going to let you mess this house up the same way you've messed everything ELSE up in your life!" shouted Sharon.

"Please be more melodramatic. I think it'll really help."

"Shut up Joe, I'm not being dramatic!"

"That's right. You're being MELO-dramatic. As in exaggeratedly emotional or sentimental; histrionic? Understand?" said Joseph condescendingly.

Sharon narrowed her eyes. "I know what it means. Do you know what castration means? Because that's what's going to happen if you ride that stupid little machine around the second floor of my house."

"Grow up Sharon. Why don't you call me fatty fatty fat fat while you're at it? I mean Jesus you're FORTY FIVE years old." Joseph put his key back into the Segway and twisted it.

Sharon stepped in front of the Segway defiantly. "YOU are NOT riding this up here," she said through gritted teeth.

Joseph leaned back and rolled away from her with a smug smile on his face. "What was that? I didn't hear you." He spun around and sped off down the hall.

"Goddamn you Joe." She turned and went back into her bedroom quietly.

9:15 am. Suite 9035. Hilton Hotel. Los Angeles, California.

The phone in Michael's room began ringing loudly and he woke with a start. He wiped the drool off of his cheek and looked at the clock on the side table. His head was throbbing with pain and he groaned. Michael rolled off the bed. "Ow!" grunted Michael as he stepped on an empty bottle and rolled his ankle. He limped out of the bedroom, squinting his eyes to the impossibly bright sunlight flooding the room. Nothing quite like a good hangover.

The phone continued ringing loudly. Michael answered it. "Hello?" said a female voice.

"Kirsten?" said Michael expectantly.

"Do I sound like a blue eyed blonde bimbette?"

"Uh."

"NO, I don't!"

Michael thought for a moment. "Rose?"

"You deserve a prize."

"It's nine in the morning on a Saturday, you're awake?" He rubbed his eyes.

"Haven't slept yet."

"Right. I should have thought of that," said Michael as he closed the curtains. "So what's going on?"

"Nothing actually, that's why I'm calling. I'm in your part of town and I was wondering if I could crash at your place."

Michael scrunched his eyes closed. This is exactly what got him into trouble in the first place. But he was not going to leave a friend hanging. "Sure, no problem."

"Great. Knock knock." Michael looked up suddenly as someone banged on his door.

Michael put the phone done and peered through the peephole. Rose was standing there; hand on hip holding a small purse and tapping her foot impatiently. She was wearing a baby doll t-shirt that was two sizes too small for her and hot pink short shorts. Michael could not help staring at her. She banged on the door again, rattling Michael's nose. He opened it.

"Hi," said Michael as he stepped to the side and Rose strode into the room.

"What took you so long to open the door?"

"Um, sorry," said Michael.

"You better be," said Rose as she turned around and looked at Michael. "You look hung over."

"How astute, Rose," said Michael, slightly annoyed. "The maid hasn't come by yet, so the bed is still kind of a mess."

"Whatever." Rose walked into the bedroom. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who had fun last night." She picked up the empty bottle of vodka. "You like vodka? Yuck."

"The room's all yours," said Michael as he walked into the room and began picking up the empty bottles.

Rose sat down on the bed and leaned back, supporting herself on her hands. "You know what's great for a hangover?"

The tone in her voice was unmistakable. Michael stood up with an armful of bottles, his back to Rose. "What?" he asked cautiously. He heard a zipper coming undone.

"A long, hot shower," said Rose.

"Oh yeah, after a long night of partying who wouldn't want to take a shower? There's plenty of fresh towels and stuff," said Michael quickly. "Feel free to use the bathroom." He walked out of the bedroom as fast as he could, dropping bottles all the way.

"You know, I meant for you," called out Rose. She appeared in the doorframe, the zipper on the side of her shorts undone. "Although I am feeling a little bit…dirty. Want to scrub my back?"

Michael took a deep breath. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but, uh, I don't think I'd be much good for…that kind of thing right now."

"What kind of thing? Making sure my body gets all nice and clean?" Rose sauntered forward. "No hangover is that bad Mike." Her hands reached around his waist and moved dangerously close to his manhood.

Michael gasped and jumped forward out of her grasp, dropping the bottles to the floor. "Rose really I'm sorry, but I can't."

She looked at him disbelievingly. "You're joking right?"

Michael looked down at the floor and scratched his head. "Yeah, uh, I don't imagine that this has ever happened to you before."

"You're damn right this has never happened to me before!" Rose put her hands on her hips. "Are you gay?"

"No, I'm not gay. I think you know that. This isn't because of you, believe me. Things have just gotten a little rough." Michael hoped she wouldn't pry any further into his affairs. But that wild red hair was quickly sapping his resistance.

"Nothing is better for the blues than-"

"Aspirin. That is a great idea. I think I'll go get some," interrupted Michael.

Rose narrowed her eyes. "Hmph." She walked into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Michael sighed and began picking up the bottles again. "I just turned down Rose McGowan. I must be fucking crazy." After tossing the bottles into the trash he left the room and went down to the lobby.

"Hey!" said the clerk just as Michael was heading out the front door.

Michael stopped and looked at the old man. "What do you want?"

The clerk tossed Michael a bottle of Advil. "Figured you might need that."

He stepped back from the front door and let it close. "I can afford my own headache medicine." Michael looked down at the clerk's nametag. "Mr. Soen."

"I imagine that the sun is making your eyes burn and your head pound right now. You'd be better off not going outside," said Mr. Soen.

"I'm not about to take drugs from someone I don't even know." Michael tossed the bottle back to Mr. Soen. "You don't have to tell me where the pharmacy is, I saw it when I went out last night." With that, Michael turned and walked out the door.

***

Torbin Estate. Bethesda, Maryland.

"You're making me dizzy Joe."

"Lunch ready yet Rosa?" asked Joseph.

"It would be if you would stop riding circles around me in that crazy contraption," said Rosa as Joe rode around the kitchen in his Segway, hugging the walls. She switched the stove off and drained the ravioli she was cooking. Rosa took a small bowl out of the cupboard and plopped the pasta into it. "Do you wanna put your own sauce?"

"Ooh, yeah!" Joseph sped up to her and grabbed the bowl. While standing on the Segway he ladled the marinara sauce onto the ravioli. He leaned forward a bit and the Segway moved from under him and he spilled the sauce all over the counter. "Oops," he said sheepishly.

Rosa pulled some paper towel out of the dispenser. "Even my KIDS could do that without making a mess. Shoo. Go eat."

Joseph rode over to the kitchen table and stepped off the Segway. "You make the best ravioli in the world Rosa," said Joseph as he chewed a chunk of the fresh pasta.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," scolded Rosa as she dried her hands.

"Sorry," said Joseph, still chewing.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Where is that wife of yours? Her food is getting cold."

"I don't know. I don't think her palette can truly appreciate the particulars of this delicacy."

"Oh I believe her palette is quite a bit more refined than yours, Mr. Blue Ribbon Beer and Chef Boyardee." Joseph put his fork down. Rosa looked over at him. "Oh Joe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Nah, it's nothing," said Joseph, staring at his food.

Rosa threw the dishtowel over her shoulder. "I'm sure you can find some other job where you can eat canned spaghetti during those late nights."

"Yeah maybe." Joseph put his elbow on the table and held his chin up with the heel of his hand. "As good as this is, Rosa, I really think I could go for some cold spaghetti and meatballs."

"Last time I checked we didn't have that stuff anymore. I could go out and get some for you," offered Rosa.

"No no, I'll get it. It'll give me a chance to ride my Segway around outside. Thanks for lunch," said Joseph. He left the room on his machine.

Rosa went to the table and picked up the still steaming bowl of ravioli. She picked out the half eaten chunk and threw it away just as Sharon entered the kitchen. "Afternoon Rosa. Ah, you already have everything prepared?" Sharon picked up Joseph's bowl of pasta.

"Of course, madam. I was just about to tell you that lunch was ready," said Rosa.

Sharon nodded as she left the kitchen.

9:35 am. Hilton Hotel. Los Angeles, California.

When Michael returned to the hotel Mr. Soen was busy helping a touristy looking family. He quickly walked by to avoid anymore intrusions into his business by the clerk. After the elevator ride Michael entered his room and filled a plastic cup with water. He downed four Tylenols before flopping back into the sofa chair and closing his eyes.

He counted the spikes of pain in his head as he sat there. The number was disturbingly high by the time the painkillers started to kick in. Michael coughed. Now his head felt numb instead of painful. This was not a step up. He looked over at the bathroom. "A shower would be nice right now."

Michael walked over to the bedroom door and opened it a crack. He peered through the small opening and looked at the bed. Rose was sprawled on top of the sheets completely nude, breathing softly. Her clothes were in a pile on the floor. Once again he regretted his decision to turn her down. Michael quietly pushed the door open further and snuck inside. He went over to the closet and grabbed some clothes from his duffel bag. Then he tried leaving the room but Rose's body just begged to be admired. One arm was at her side and the other was draped across her trim stomach. Her large, round breasts shifted ever so slightly with each breath she took.

He stared for a few seconds until she shifted onto her side, shaking him out of his stupor. Michael left the room and went into the bathroom. He turned the shower on and hopped inside. The room steamed up as Michael quickly went through his usual routine. Once he was done with the actual process of getting clean, he leaned against the ceramic tiles of the wall and relaxed.

The sound of the shower drowned out the slight creak of the bathroom door opening and closing. Even the metallic slide of the shower rings went unheard by Michael's ears.

"Hey Miiiiike," said Rose.

Michael slipped and landed flat on his ass in the tub. "Rose! Jesus you scared the shit outta me! I thought you were asleep."

"Woke up," said Rose. She stepped into the tub.

"Wha-, what are you doing?" asked Michael, looking up at Rose. She leaned her head back and let the water soak her hair. Then she turned around and let the hot water spray her body, her ass swaying sexily. Michael sat unmoving, watching her pale skin gain a reddish hue from the water. Rose faced him again.

She ran her hand through her hair and pulled it to the back of her head. A drop of water trickled down her nose and around her lips. It slid down her neck between her perfectly rounded breasts to her trimmed bush. "Uh, I guess I'm done with the shower, you can use it," he said dumbly. Even through the haze of his retreating hangover his cock was still very functional and had no interest in leaving a shower with a dripping wet Rose in it.

"See? I told you a hot shower would feel good." Rose picked up a bar of soap. "Now you're not leaving until every inch of my body is sparkling clean."

Michael swallowed hard. If he tried to leave the shower, he did not think that Rose would physically bar him from doing that. The question was whether he actually wanted to do that. He pulled himself to his feet. "Rose, I'll level with you. Remember the last time you were here?"

Rose began rubbing the soap between her palms, building up a lather. "Yeah."

Michael watched her hands slide back and forth. "Remember the call with Kirsten Dunst? Yeah well, um, I'm sort of involved with her. No, not sort of, I am. Well, maybe not, depends on what happens today. But it's just-"