hackthis_archive | RPS – No One Here Gets Out Alive

I told you art is the way to my heart.

resmin brought the art. Her summary was, "Go there, steal the mascot outfit, deny if caught. Go!" My brain took it from there.

Dedicated to

resmin and to

ethrosdemon, so she'll stop fucking harassing me about the pairing.

RPS/RPC (Real Person Crack)
Jake Gyllenhaal. George Clooney. Peter Saarsgaard. Maggie Gyllenhaal. With appearances by Ari Gold and Heath Ledger.

No One Here Gets Out Alive

When Jake Gyllenhaal met George Clooney, it was love at first sight.

Wait.

That's not technically true. Actually, that's not even moderately true in a rose-tinted glasses sort of way, either.

When Jake first met George Clooney it was more of a desperate, thank-you-God-for-sending-this-man-to-save-me sort of gratitude that, understandably, could've been mistaken for love.

In Jake's defense, this occurred during an luncheon with enough booze to give a small elephant alcohol poisoning, plus, as Jake learned later on, a lot of people reacted that way to George.

It was at the Oscar nominee luncheon that Jake got cornered by two executives who claimed to be from Logo, the gay cable network. How cable people had gotten inside the Oscar luncheon was anyone's guess, and they seemed more like paparazzi than suits, but Hollywood executives were notorious for making the C.I.A. look like amateurs.

At any rate, Jake was more concerned with the fact that they kept calling him Toothy Tile, and urging him to come out of the closet, than with how they'd crashed the luncheon.

"I'm not gay," he kept protesting, and the taller of the two men kept snickering. Mr Snicker was tall and pale, with a goatee, and he wore a purple cravat and wire-rim glasses. He reminded Jake of Dr Who on crack, and clearly shouldn't have been snickering at anyone without taking a good, long look in the mirror.

"Of course you're not gay, sweetie," the shorter executive said. He was dressed more conservatively, if a blood-red silk shirt and a leather jacket could be considered conservative. He looked like an extra from a Sci-Fi vampire movie. "You're sexually adventurous. We all are in this business."

"All we're saying, Jake -– baby -- is that a fine-looking boy like you shouldn't have to hide in the celluloid closet, and Logo would love to give you a forum to air your feelings on this matter," Mr Snicker said.

"I'm not gay." Jake didn't add on the I'm bi part.

"Repression is such an ugly word though," Mr Would Be Vampire crooned.

Jake looked around the room furtively for Heath, or Michelle, or Ang, or security -- anyone or anything that could save him from yet another conversation about his sexuality. If he wanted to fuck Kirsten Dunst that was his business. If he wanted to fuck Sophia Bush that was his business, too. If he used them both as beards to fuck a Z-List actor like Austin? Again, his business.

If it was someone else's business, it wouldn't have been called his business. "Look, guys, for the last time, I'm not gay, and -–"

"Jake! Buddy, I've been looking for you everywhere -–"

Mr Snicker and Mr Vampire's eyes widened comically at whomever was approaching, and Jake's head snapped around so fast, he worried he'd pulled something. Still, no one was more surprised than Jake when George Clooney descended upon their little tableau and slung an arm around Jake's neck. That was probably why Jake almost choked on his own tongue.

"Boys, you don't mind if I borrow Jake here, do you? We just have to take a few pictures, you know how the Oscar thing goes."

Mr Snicker and Mr Vampire just nodded dumbly as George led Jake away. "I –- I, uh, thanks." Jake said somewhat stupidly, following wherever George was leading.

George tugged a little harder to steer Jake towards the stands where people were crowding for the group picture. "Don't mention it," George grinned, letting his arm fall away from Jake's shoulders as they approached where the photographers were getting ready.

"Yeah, I know, I just, um, we don’t even really know each other," Jake interjected.

George just smirked. "That's never stopped anyone else."

"Yeah, I know," Jake whispered as they threaded through other nominees towards the bleachers. "It's just, that, uh -– I really liked Syriana.

George threw a blinding grin over his right shoulder, and Jake almost tripped over his own two feet.

He was an Oscar nominee; he was above all this. He didn't have to fanboy George Clooney, they were colleagues -- except that this was George Clooney, and everybody wanted George Clooney.

"Get a grip, Gyllenhaal," Jake muttered under his breath, trying to play it cool.

Jake was trying so hard that when George stopped short, Jake wound up running right into George's back, much to the amusement of everyone around them. It was only then that it occurred to him what he must look like -- dogging George Clooney's steps like a wayward puppy, and he stepped back under George's bemused grin.

"I uh, have to go see someone about something," Jake said suddenly.

George just cocked his head to the side and considered Jake curiously. "All right, I'll see you around -- and watch out for the suits, huh?"

Jake just nodded, back-peddling furiously, and bumping into people all the way. "You are so fucking stupid," he said to himself, before running directly into Heath and Michelle.

Heath took one look at his hangdog expression and rolled his eyes. "Who are you emoting over now, Jake?"

The first time Jake asked George out was after the Oscars, and while George didn't say 'no', he just didn't say 'yes' either. In Jake's defense, it probably wasn't the best timing ever.

George had just won an Oscar, and he was focusing on other things -- like the people kissing his ass -- and Jake had been sitting for three hours, knowing he wasn't going to win shit, because no one gave him enough credit for his acting. So, Jake's ass was sore, and Jake was sore, and all anybody wanted to talk about was kissing Heath -- like Jake hadn't been paid to do it in the first place.

Even Pete had asked him back when they'd just finished shooting Brokeback what kissing Heath Ledger was like, and Jake had thrown something at his head, because they were also pretty fresh off of Jarhead shooting, which had been a mess. He and Pete were still in that strange space where they were as close as ever, but didn't actually like each other very much.

The point being that Jake had asked, and George had grinned and done that head tilting thing that made Jake's eyes cross a little. George had even clapped Jake on the back and said, "It's been a long time since someone asked me out on a proper date you know -– that's really sweet."

And Jake didn't know that George hadn't been out on a date in a while, but he could guess, because people didn't seem to do much more than throw themselves at George's feet and drool on his shoes a lot. Jake included.

Of course, George had also said Jake was really sweet, and that was a letdown if ever there was one. Only Jake never heard it, because eight seconds later George was attacked by some crazy man in a chocolate brown suit who tried to pick George up and spin him around, even though George had three inches and 25 pounds on his attacker.

"Ari!" George's laugh was like bells, Christmas, and really good porn. "Ari -- Ari, put me down!"

"You know you love it -- stop bitching like your name was Jessica Alba!" Ari retorted even as he released George and stepped back. "I couldn't let my boy win an Oscar and me not be here to celebrate with him. Plus, I had to check and make sure Mr Clean's queer ass wasn't moving in on my territory."

"Mrs Ari let you out?" George asked with a grin.

Ari made a dismissive wave. "I snuck out that bitch like I was on house arrest," Ari said, and Jake narrowed his eyes as he realized that the person before him could only be George's agent -– his rather notoriously bad-tempered, foul-mouthed, and psychotic agent -– Ari Gold.

Jake watched George and Ari together for several seconds as Ari kissed ass, George laughed, and they both cooed over George's Oscar. Eventually though, Ari noticed Jake. "Ah, Mr Brokebitch, tough shit about your movie, but you know, keep sucking cock and you'll get somewhere eventually."

George covered his eyes with the hand not holding his Oscar and shook his head. "Jake, this is Ari, please excuse him."

And then George was gone, dragged somewhere by Satan himself, and Jake was left with no answer, little hope, and a great desire to see Ari Gold dead.

Over the next few weeks, Jake tried to make a point of being where George was likely to be found. This proved to be next to impossible since no one in Jake's circle knew anything about George Clooney's daily habits even though they could all recite Ocean's Eleven word for word.

"It's a good, fun film," Pete said one afternoon, loading his bong from his prone position on the sofa. Jake was in New York visiting his family, and staying with Maggie and Pete. "Never underestimate the crowd-pleaser."

Maggie just snorted from her place right beside him. "Right, Mr Kinsey, because you are just all about the box office."

Pete elbowed her in the side. "Sam said that Americans were too thick to understand Jarhead."

"Most Americans are too thick to elect the right people to office too, but you don't see them admitting it, do you?" Maggie shot back.

Pete groaned around his hit and handed her the bong. "Fucking liberals," he said, smoke wafting out of his mouth.

They all laughed.

"Seriously, guys, help me out here." Jake sat down on the coffee table facing Pete and Maggie.

Pete's gaze was level and supremely glazed, Maggie exhaled a huge cloud of smoke in silence. Jake took the proffered bong from his sister. "How do I get George Clooney to go out with me?" he asked.

"You do not ask dumb questions while holding the bong," Pete said, pulling the hardware out of Jake's hands. "That fucks up the rotation -- but when you figure out the answer to your question, let me know, and I'll try it on Matt Damon."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "God, how you two ever get laid is beyond me."

Pete exhaled his hit and rested his head on Maggie's shoulder. "Never underestimate a pity fuck," he said sagely. Jake snorted.

Maggie smacked Pete in the nose with the back of her hand. "Look, baby brother, I love you more than life, but you do know that George Clooney is a little bit out of your league, right?"

Pete snickered. "Yeah, I was thinking that too."

"Oh, you two are a lot of help," Jake said snatching the bong from Pete and stomping off. Okay, he was bit old to stomp, so instead he stalked -– right into the kitchen to help himself to a bowl of Cap'n Crunch.

"Hey, come back with the weed!" Pete called.

"No!" Jake hollered back, forgetting about the cereal and firing up the bong.

"Pete's sorry for insinuating that you're not good enough for George Clooney," Maggie called.

"You're the one who said it!" Jake retorted around his hit.

There was a long stretch of silence from the living room, and then Maggie spoke up. "If I agree to call Julia and ask her about George, will you bring the bong back?"

Jake's mouth answered before his brain had even processed Maggie question. "YES!"

Looking back on it later, Jake could see that this was where things started to go really wrong. Until this point, he'd just sort of had a crush, so he could've just done what the rest of L.A. did, and called his agent and asked to be "hooked up" -- but Mia would've freaked out about the Clooney thing, and Jake just wanted to pretend like everything was normal for once.

He just wanted to ask out a guy he liked, and pretend that this wasn't months of supermarket tabloid fodder in the making.

However, there were degrees of normal since Jake was trying to get in George Clooney's pants, and anytime Maggie had to call on Julia Roberts for intel there was bound to be trouble.

Still, Maggie's conversation with Julia did confirm a couple things for Jake:

a) George was definitely single,

b) It was at least possible that George did swing Jake's way, but no one was willing to confirm or deny this, and

c) George appreciated a good joke. He was famous for them. He'd fucked over half the world's paparazzi with the Brad and Angelina not-wedding, which meant he liked big gestures.

So Jake opted to go for the big gesture.

And this was about where the arrests started.

George loved basketball. Everyone who knew George knew that George loved basketball. All anybody on his sets ever talked about was how he brought his own hoops and would play with whomever happened to be around whenever possible. All of Hollywood trumpeted the fact that George Clooney was a regular guy, who just happened to be really famous, and really hot, and drive a $130,000 Smart Car. But who couldn't relate to that?

What Jake needed was the sort of sentiment that said he was a practical joker, who was really regular too, and it had to have something to do with basketball. Which was how Jake wound up bribing the assistant manager of the Florida Gators basketball team to let him borrow the mascot uniform.

Okay, the whole process was a lot more involved than that, but to make a really long story short, Michelle's girlfriend, Busy Phillips, had a cousin who went to school at University of Florida. Apparently, she was really into Brokeback Mountain, and so when Jake called Heath to get some prank ideas, the cousin was visiting Busy, and Busy had brought her by. And then they put her on the phone with Jake, and in between her shouting "OH MY GAWD!" and 'I LOVED YOU IN DONNIE DARKO!" and "THE GAY SEX WAS REALLY HOT, BUT THE LIGHTING WAS BAD!" they'd sort of made a plan.

The cousin of Busy Phillips had pretty much agreed to give Jake her first born, which was all well and good, and if George wanted kids they could talk -- but Jake really only needed the uniform for 24 hours. 48 hours tops.

Busy's cousin said this was fine, but that Jake would have to come to Florida to get it.

And that was about when the police got involved.

Jake had no idea that Florida took their basketball so seriously. He'd thought they were known for their football. Who knew that they put GPS trackers on mascot uniforms?

Who knew that Busy's cousin would tell her entire sorority that Jake was coming down to pick up the uniform?

It was very hard to "borrow" a mascot uniform when your every step was dogged by 30 hormonally-charged women.

It was even harder when the fucking zipper broke on said uniform and you couldn’t get out of it.

That was Jake's story and his lawyer had advised him to stick with it.

Epilogue

Apparently being caught stealing a mascot uniform from a Top Tier sports program was the sort of thing you could dine out on for weeks. Months even.

At least this was what Pete and Maggie insisted on when they flew out from New York to visit -– baby-sit -- Jake, who was on house arrest by his agent and his lawyer. And although Pete pointed out that being on house arrest with his dogs and plenty of weed was really a lot like vacation, Jake wasn't terribly impressed.

To make matters worse, Mia had him so locked down that he couldn't even go out and stalk George anymore. So, when he answered the phone at 3:18 on a Monday afternoon and the caller sounded a lot like George, Jake wasn't feeling terribly tolerant. His exact words were, "PETE! QUIT FUCKING AROUND ON THE PHONE!"

But then Pete had walked from somewhere in the house, through the kitchen, and into the backyard, and Jake had actually had to sit down in the middle of the kitchen.

George's voice was tinny until Jake actually managed to figure out how the phone worked again. "Jake? Jake –- damnit, Lloyd must've gotten the wrong number."

Jake said something that might've been a lot like, "Yurrrr."

George made a snickering noise. "Okay, well, if this is Jake Gyllenhaal of the great mascot stealing fame, could you just give me a hint, like I don’t know, telling me why you didn't let me help you plan your scam?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Jake blurted out.

George made a 'hmm'ing noise.

"You were giving me the run around," Jake said blindly, "I needed to get your attention."

"Most people just break into my villa in Lake Como you know."

Jake made a dismissive noise. "Grand gestures. I like grand gestures."

"Grand gestures, huh?"

"Yeah, I was thinking that when I get off of house arrest I'm going to camp out on your front lawn."

George laughed. "House arrest, huh?"

"Yeah, the whole arrest thing put my agent in a bad mood."

George made another 'hmm'ing noise. "I guess it’s a good thing I came to you then, isn't it?"

Jake scrambled to his feet and looked around wildly. "You came to me where?"

"In a dream," George mocked. "So are you going to open the door and let me in? Ari gave me a lot of shit about getting your contact info, so don’t make me good back without something to show for it."

Jake didn't run to the door, he just walked fast. Really fast.

"If I had known I had to get arrested to get your attention, I wouldn't have bothered with the whole gay cowboy thing in the first place," Jake said by way of greeting.

George just leaned against the doorframe and looked Jake up and fown. "But then I never would've gotten to see you in your 70's porn star moustache, and where would've been the fun in that?"

-end-

Author Notes:

For those who like this sort of trivia, Mr Clean AKA Bryan Lourd AKA George's Oscar date while Ari was on lockdown is Carrie Fisher's baby daddy, except he left her for another man. True story. Ask

chicklet_girl

Also, Busy Phillips is Michelle Williams' BFF, godmother to Matilda, and apparently you know, she acts too. Thanks to

fox1013 for intel.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Dionne Farris '11th Hour'/ Prince 'Controversy'

Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

fox1013.livejournal.com

Jake! And George! And ARRESTS! And, you know, other happy stuff, but Busy and Michelle! BUSY AND MICHELLE! Eee! You brought in Busy and Michelle!

*bouncing ecstatically*

I mean, whole fic = good and awesome and fabulous. Busy/Michelle = elevate to GREATNESS.

*adds to Busy/Michelle-related Memories and fangirls ENDLESSLY*

From:

Educated Black Person, Esq., A.A., B.A., MBA, Ph.D., RN, NAACP, AAA

RPS – No One Here Gets Out Alive

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags