That Guy

[Elimare]

The women left even before the last of the money was gone. Drugs, houses, ridiculous amounts of jewellery and expensive gadgets. All of it taken by the repo man. But the women left first - blonde and big breasted, typical Hollywood hangers on - they could smell the taint of failure from him - the washed up superstar, desperate for another chance at glory.

The drugs and alcohol had taken their toll, no agent wanted to touch him - a former child star full of promise who had fallen foul of the Hollywood scene and now, as an adult was nothing but a fat porker with a list of addictions that he continued to indulge.

He still got some royalties - a cheque every few months - but it wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

Of course he blamed other people for his current situation. His mother for pushing him into the industry. His agent who didn't push hard enough to get him a better deal - or indeed another role. He wanted something he could sink his teeth into. People just kept seeing him as that cute little guy from those movies. He'd auditioned for parts in 'Lock, Stock' and 'Hannibal' - small parts, but something he thought could have shown a different side to him - could have made his name again. But the directors didn't want him, his bloated appearance put them off.

'You're TOO fat' was the reaction. 'We need someone HUNGRY for it.'

Mostly he blamed Cromwell. In the dark of night, his thoughts focused on one person.

'That fucker got all the best lines.'

When he did fall asleep his dreams were of Cromwell. Cromwell spending money that should have been his, Cromwell receiving awards that should have been his, Cromwell getting the fame that should have been his.

He would wake, sweating from the nightmares. The only way to cope was to take a drink - then another. Eventually he would fall comatose into his filthy pit, sleeping well past daybreak.

Other nights he would avoid sleep altogether, heading into the heart of the city looking for something - anything - that would dull the pain. He found it often, snouting out the sleaziest bars in the city. Places that didn't give a shit who you were or what you'd done so long as your money was good.

One night he found himself stumbling down a back alley, the stench of stale beer permeating the narrow passage. An open door leading down, down into stygian depths and the promise of unknown vices.

Inside, two men at the bar. He avoided them, sitting in the darkest corner of the room. Tonight, he wanted to be alone. Hours passed, empty bottles replaced by full ones. At some stage he noted that the two men had stumbled closer to him - were trying to speak to him.

'Hey PIG!'

He ignored them.

'Hey you FAT PIG!' they continued, oblivious to the glint in his eye. 'You look familiar.'

He took another drink, slow and deliberate.

'Weren't you in that movie? That one with that other fella, the one with the face, that guy... Crimwall?' By now they were at his table pulling up chairs and sitting down.

'Cromwell' he corrected them.

'Yeah, that's him.' they smiled drunkenly.

'Cromwell. He was great in that movie' said one.

'He's great in all the movies he does.' slurred the other. 'He's that guy' they agreed.

'What are you doing now?' they asked him, knowing full well that he wasn't doing anything - if he was he wouldn't be hanging out in a place like this.

'Whatever happened to you? We thought the butchers probably got ya' they giggled.

He shifted uncomfortably, took another drink.

'Oh, we're hacking him off' said one.

'Cutting close to the bone are we?' said the other.

They were leering at him now, licking their lips. Eying him up, gauging his weight. He was drunk but knew the score, knew what they were doing. Babe sighed, it was always going to be this way for a Pig in the City.
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And this started off as something completely different until I got a bit bored and forced the ending. bah.

[TadMack]

Unexpected ending, certainly, and my fave line is, "We want someone hungry for it." I love the idea that lean=success.

Welcome to Hollywood.