TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (4/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: The morning after (Orli's POV)
FEEDBACK: Do you remember the taste of feedback, Mr. Frodo? Well,
I do – and I love it! Give it to me, please!
WARNINGS: Angst
DISCLAIMER: I made this all up in my crazy little head. It's
FICTION!
ARCHIVE: I'd be honored, just let me know where it's going
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A permanent thank you to my darling Lostiawen for her
support, beta skills, and insanity
DATE WRITTEN: February 17th, 2003
Holy shit. Did I really sleep until almost eleven? If the
clock next to our bed is right, then I guess that I did. Well, when
you consider all of last night's excitement, activity, and wonderful sex,
perhaps it shouldn't be a shock that I slept late.
With a happy sigh, I run my hand over the chest of the beautiful man
who's still asleep next to me on the mattress. I place my lips to
his cheek and start kissing him gently until his eyes slowly open.
"Hey there," I say, continuing my kisses.
"Orli . . ."
"Good morning, Vig."
"What time is it?" His voice is all rough from sleep, just like
I love it.
"About eleven. Why, do you have plans?"
He grins. "I was thinking about making you breakfast. Do
you want omelettes or pancakes?"
That's all he needs to say. In a flash, I'm out of bed and stumbling
to pull on some clothes. "Can I have both?"
"Of course you can," he chuckles, rising at a somewhat slower pace.
"Okay, here's what I want in my omelette," I tell him once we get to
the kitchen. Rifling through the fridge, I hand him a tomato, a green
pepper, an onion, and cheese. "Ooh, and I need jalapenos, too!"
"No problem. And pancakes, too?" Viggo asks.
"Can I have chocolate-chip pancakes?" I beg, giving him my best loving-boyfriend
smile.
"With whipped cream?"
"Um, yeah. Do you mind making all that?"
"Not at all. It's a special morning," he says with a smile.
I watch as he deftly whips up a gourmet breakfast for two, looking
even yummier than the meal itself in only his boxers, and soon we're seated
at the table with omelettes, pancakes, and orange juice. It's only
once in a while that Viggo indulges me with a special breakfast like this,
and he can be sure that I'll show my gratitude later in a variety of physical
ways. For now, I make sure that he knows how delicious every bite
is by complimenting him until he laughingly tells me to just be quiet and
eat.
"I'm really amazed that we were able to sleep this late," Viggo remarks
as he sips his juice.
"Why? Last night's exertions were enough to tire out even the
heartiest hunks," I tease.
"No, that's not what I mean," he laughs. "I'm more surprised
that our phone hasn't been ringing constantly. You'd think that everyone
we know would be calling us today."
"They very well may be. But you forget that we turned the ringer
off on the phone last night so that there would be no, um, coital interruptions."
"Right. I *did* forget about that," he admits.
"Once we're done eating, we might as well turn the ringer back on,"
I suggest.
"And check the messages," Viggo adds.
"God, I can only imagine the 47,000 messages that we must have."
I grin as I shovel another bite of pancakes with whipped cream into my
mouth. "There's probably a long, tearful one from my mum telling
us how proud she is of us, but that I really *must* get a haircut."
"Don't listen to her. You look perfect just the way you are,"
my boyfriend tells me with a wink.
"I know that *you* think so. But my mum wouldn't be my mum if
she weren't always finding some fault with my hair and clothes. You
can only imagine the row that ensued when she found out I had a mohawk,"
I laugh, recalling how she shrieked over the phone. "She's not really
controlling, she just thinks I should look 'respectable.'"
"But you're not respectable," he points out.
"Damn, why do you have to ruin my illusions?" I grumble good-naturedly.
"Sorry, love." Of course, Viggo doesn't look sorry at all.
We finish our pancakes and omelettes, contentedly eating the delicious
feast that Viggo was so kind to whip up. When we're through cleaning
up the breakfast table, Viggo turns to me with a smile. "So, should
we check the answering machine?"
"Why not?" I amble over to the small silver machine that sits
on the counter between the phone and the refrigerator. After quickly
turning the phone's ringer back on, I press the 'play' button on the answering
machine and brace myself for the onslaught of messages.
"You have thirty-one new messages," the computerized voice calmly informs
us.
"Thirty-one?" Viggo laughs. "I think that's a record."
"This should definitely be fun," I say smilingly, getting out paper
and a pen in case I need to write down anyone's phone numbers to return
their calls.
The messages are lovely. There's one from Sam, who sounds so
excited as she congratulates us for coming out. Then there are messages
from both of Viggo's brothers, who affectionately tease us about how sharp
we look on the red carpet. Both Viggo's mum and my own sound suspiciously
teary as they tell us how happy they are that we've reached this special
point in our lives, which causes *me* to get a bit emotional.
And Henry is practically shouting his exultation and pride when his
message is played, bringing that look of unmistakable paternal love to
Viggo's eyes. "You go, guys!" Henry cries, his voice complemented
by the sound of Exene's light laughter in the background. "You're
Out! You rock!"
"Okay, I think it's safe to say that Henry's happy with what happened
last night," I chuckle.
"I think so," Viggo says.
After a number of messages from various family members and friends,
we're at message number nineteen when a familiar voice comes over the machine's
speaker. "Orlando? It's Robin. What were you thinking?
I know that you were planning to come out, but did you have to prance around
like that? You were kissing another man on national television!
And at the after-party, you were all over him! One of my friends
was there and she said you couldn't keep your hands off of him. This
isn't what people want to see from–"
I quickly reach out and press the 'delete' button, putting an end to
her tirade. Viggo puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I sigh
heavily as the messages roll on. The joy has just been sucked out
of my morning. That woman can't even let me come out in peace.
"Don't worry about her." Viggo's comforting voice makes me relax
somewhat. "She's an annoying bitch, and she freaks out at the drop
of a hat."
"Yeah," I say glumly. "Let's just listen to the rest of the messages."
"What really matters is that our friends and family support us, not
that Robin is baring her teeth."
"You're right," I tell him, although my words sound a bit unconvincing.
We're almost at the end of the long message marathon, when we reach
message number twenty-eight and Robin's voice pipes out of the machine
again. "Orlando! I've called your cell phone five times since
last night and you haven't called me back yet. You really need to
call me! Do you realize what a bomb you two dropped last night?!
It's all people are talking about. My phone hasn't stopped ringing,
and you need to stop ignoring me and live up to your responsibilities as
a movie star–"
"Oh, fuck you," Viggo mutters, erasing the message.
"That wasn't directed at you," I inform him miserably.
"It doesn't matter," he says as the messages continue. "Nobody
talks to you like that and gets away with it."
"I can protect myself against Robin."
"She makes your life Hell, Orli. I don't know why you put up
with her." He's not being accusatory, just questioning why I'm staying
in an arrangement that's not making me happy. The truth is that I
don't know.
"Let's not talk about Robin now," I plead.
Sensing how stressed I'm getting, he nods and gives me a warm smile.
We finish listening to the remaining messages, and I have to feel a little
comforted when I hear Lij's somewhat rambling but very heartfelt message
telling us again how happy he is for us. Viggo's right: our friends
and family *are* what matters in all of this. We're fortunate to
have such an amazing group of people behind us right now.
"Hey . . . are you with me?" Viggo asks gently when the tape has finally
stopped playing.
"Yeah, sorry. Guess that my mind just wandered off there for
a second. I was thinking about how terrific our support system is,"
I tell him. "We have to call each and every person back so we can
thank them."
"Definitely. They have to know how much their support means to
us." Viggo pauses for a moment. "Um, what are you going to
do about Robin?"
"I'm going to ignore her."
"You're not going to call her back?" He seems a bit surprised
by my decision.
"Why should I? It sounds like she's out for blood, and I don't
really feel like being a sacrifice. Especially not when just last
night we were celebrating so many things."
"Sounds like a wise choice." A handsome smile comes across his
face, warming me right down to my toes. "So, who should we call back
first?"
*****
"I miss you, too," Viggo says to his mum, clutching the cordless phone
tightly with a grin on his face. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?
Yeah. I love you very much, Mom. Bye." He hangs up and
drops the phone onto the couch cushion next to him.
"Your mum is so adorable," I tell him. We just spent almost thirty
minutes talking to her, both of us listening to her tell us how thrilled
she is that we've taken this monumental step in our lives. Now I
know where Viggo gets his tendency to ramble from.
"Yeah, she's a pretty terrific woman," he agrees.
The phone rings suddenly, the first time that it's done so after we've
turned the ringer back on. "I guess we're still popular," I remark.
"It would appear so. Do you want me to get it?" Viggo asks.
"Be my guest."
He picks up the phone on the third ring. "Hello? . . . Yes, this
is Viggo." A twisted grimace crosses his face, making my brow furrow
with concern. "Hello, Robin."
Fuck. My heart drops into my stomach. Why does that woman
have to *harass* me like this? Honestly, calling me at home three
times? She knows that she's supposed to call me on my mobile phone
– that's an agreement that we've had for a long time. And now poor
Viggo has to deal with her. I try to gesture for him to give me the
phone, but it's too late.
"Listen, Orlando doesn't really feel like speaking to you right now,"
Viggo curtly informs Robin, his eyes glancing up to meet mine for a silent
show of support. I immediately get up and cross the room so I can
sit down next to him on the couch; he uses his free hand to reach over
and stroke my knee. "Well, that's his decision," he says into the
phone. "He doesn't want to talk to you right now, and there's not
much I can do about it."
Since I'm now sitting so close to Viggo, I can actually hear Robin's
response filtered through the receiver. "Fine, then I'll talk to
you," she says to Viggo.
"What do you want to talk to *me* about?" Viggo looks genuinely
puzzled, and I don't blame him. This is the first time he's ever
spoken to Robin, and I can't imagine what she would have to converse with
him about.
"Perhaps why you felt the need to thrust your tongue into my client's
mouth in front of millions of television viewers!" she snaps. "Do
you know how much that one kiss could hurt Orlando's career? And
you initiated it!"
"Your client happens to be my partner," Viggo says, obviously trying
to keep his emotions in check. "And I don't think I have anything
to explain on that front. Anybody who has an ounce of common sense
could understand why I did that – because we love each other and we're
*not* hiding it anymore."
"Well, if you love him, then you should have thought about the impact
of that kiss on his image. Just because you won an award isn't an
excuse for you to wreck all of the hard work that I've done building his
career!" I shake my head in disbelief. She's really going off
the deep end right now.
"You haven't built his career!" Viggo exclaims. "He did that
himself. It's *his* talent, *his* dedication, and *his* passion that's
got him this far, not your fucked-up concept of how to sell a gifted young
actor as nothing more than a piece of meat." Go, Viggo!
"Oh, and your strategy of public displays of affection is going to
make him look better? Now he just looks likes the gayest man–"
That's too much. "Give me the phone," I tell Viggo, my voice
low and angry. He nods and hands it over; when I hold it to my ear,
Robin is still continuing her rant, unaware that she's no longer talking
to Viggo.
". . . and did you even think about Orlando's fans?"
"Robin, listen to me," I say firmly.
There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Orlando?"
"Yes."
"Hi! How are you, sweetheart?" I can't believe she has
the audacity to go from chewing out Viggo to her standard sugar-coated
treatment of me. I was planning to be polite to her when we spoke,
but I simply can't do it.
"What were you doing just now?" I demand. "Is it your job to
verbally abuse my boyfriend like that?"
"Orlando, calm down. I'm simply trying to look out for your best
interests." I scoff in disbelief. "It's true. We have
a lot of damage control to do."
"What are you talking about? You knew that I was going to come
out."
"I didn't know that you were going to behave like you did last night."
"Robin, I behaved in a perfectly acceptable manner. I don't know
what you're so upset about."
"I'm *upset* about you hanging off of Viggo like some love-struck boy,
hugging and kissing him every chance you got at the after-party, and letting
him French kiss you in front of an international television audience!
Don't you care at all about your career?"
I grit my teeth, trying to rein in a swell of anger. "Of course
I care about my career. But I have my priorities straight: family
comes first, and Viggo is the most important person in the world to me."
I place my hand on top of his, and he smiles reassuringly.
"That's wonderful Orlando, and I'm so happy for you, but you need to
tone it down a little bit."
"That's bollocks!" I explode. "I thought you were supposed to
support me!"
"It's a bit difficult to do that when there's a picture of you and
Viggo on the front page of the 'Los Angeles Times'!"
"Are you serious?" I squeak. Holy fuck, we're on the front page
of a major newspaper? My brain freezes, unable to comprehend why
our personal lives have been suddenly deemed headline material by the media.
"Yes. So what I'm saying is that you have to lower the intensity.
When you go to events with Viggo from now on, don't appear quite so . .
. gay."
"What the hell?!" Yes, I just shouted. Viggo looks at me
with alarm, and it's lucky that none of the pets are around to be startled.
I'm so angry right now that it's difficult for me to compose my next sentence.
"What does that even *mean*?"
"Just don't be so affectionate with him," she tells me, apparently
unfazed by my outburst. "Scale back the hugs and kisses. Don't
look like you're super-glued to him."
"Robin, you're being–"
"I mean it," she says. "When you two go to the Oscars in a month,
there can't be any public displays of affection like there were last night.
I don't care how proud of him you might be if he wins any future awards
– I don't want you to be all over him again. In fact, maybe you should
just skip the Oscars."
I jump up from the couch. "What, are you crazy?! I couldn't
skip it even if I wanted to, which I don't!"
"But it's going to make you look so gay," she complains again.
"Well, you know what? I *am* gay. And you've known that
for as long as you've worked for me. If who I am is going to be a
problem for you–"
"Sweetie, it's only a problem if you refuse to downplay your relationship
with Viggo. You two need to scale back your behavior in public in
order to leave your image intact."
Something inside me snaps. "Forget it!" I shout. "Do you
really think that we worked this hard and waited all this time to come
out just so *you* could tell us that we have to shove ourselves back in
the closet?"
"That's not what I'm saying."
"Yes, it bloody well is! You want me to play your little game
of being the perfect Hollywood boy of the month, but that's not what I
am. And I'm not going to change myself or the most important relationship
in my life just to suit *your* purposes! This is *my* life, understood?
I've had enough of your meddling in it."
"What does that mean?"
I take a deep breath. "It means that I don't think we should
work together anymore."
"You're firing me?!"
"Yes, I suppose you could say that. I'm not happy with how you're
doing your job and the ramifications it's had on my personal life, so–"
"Spare me the speech, Orlando," she sighs. "I know when I'm being
fired."
There's an awkward silence for a moment. "Listen, um, thanks
for everything you did that helped me. I mean it. You did a
lot to get my face out there for casting directors, and I appreciate that
so much."
"It was my pleasure. Good luck with everything."
"Yeah, thanks. Bye."
"Goodbye."
I hang up the phone and place it down on the coffee table with a slight
sigh of relief. "You fired Robin?" Viggo's voice makes me jump
a bit.
"Um, yeah. I sacked her."
"Wow." The shock is evident on his face. "How do you feel
about that?"
"A little bit nervous about who will represent me next," I say truthfully.
"But mainly I just feel relieved and free."
He nods. "Can I be honest?"
"Of course." I sit down next to him again, smiling as his comfortingly
rough hand skims over my cheek.
"I'm so glad that you're not going to let her be involved with your
career or life anymore."
"Yeah, well I finally stood up for myself. I'm not going to let
her yell at both of us for being who we are. I can't believe the
nerve she had to yell at *you*!"
"Don't worry about it, Orli," he says. "Let's just move on."
"I like the sound of that. The Robin Era is over." We both
laugh. "But . . . she did mention something that you should know
about."
"Oh? What's that?"
I bite my lip nervously, trying to figure out how best to tell Viggo
about the newspaper photo. "Apparently, we're on the front page of
the 'L.A. Times.'"
Viggo's jaw drops in a manner that would be comical if this were a
movie instead of real life. "The front page? But we're not
that famous!"
"Uh, I guess we are now . . ."
"Jesus Christ." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Well,
I get the paper delivered every day. I might as well grab it from
outside and check out our newfound notoriety."
"Are you sure?" I ask nervously.
"Yeah."
Viggo stands up and goes to the front door, and I wait on the couch
as he retrieves the newspaper. Trying to keep my bouncy, twitchy
energy under control right now is absolutely impossible. My fingers
drum on my knee while my foot taps on the floor, and at the same time I'm
biting my lip again. When Viggo returns to the couch with the paper,
flopping down next to me, I feel like I'm one huge ball of nerves.
"Let me see. What does the picture look like?" I demand.
"It's down at the bottom," he says, placing the paper between us.
There's a series of photographs from last night, showcasing five of
the different winners – Pete, Charlize Theron, Sarah Jessica Parker, Bill
Murray . . . and Viggo and me standing happily on the red carpet.
Peering in closely, I take a deep breath and read the caption out loud.
"It was a big night for 'Lord of the Rings' stars Viggo Mortensen and Orlando
Bloom, who came out and revealed that they were in a long-term relationship
just hours before Mortensen won the award for Best Dramatic Actor."
"That's not so bad," Viggo shrugs. "And it's a nice picture.
You look gorgeous, as usual."
"You look pretty snappy yourself," I reply, blushing slightly.
We scan the article where it begins on the front page, then open up
the paper to where it continues. That's when my eyes widen at the
sight of a large photo of the moment after Viggo won the Golden Globe –
the moment when he kissed me and I enthusiastically responded. Apparently,
our liplock was worth spilling ink over. No wonder Robin nearly had
a heart attack.
"I like this picture better," Viggo comments, breaking the ice with
a slight smile.
I can't help but laugh. "It's certainly an eye-opener.
I can't believe they put it in the paper."
"At least our kiss is captured for posterity now."
"That's true." The phone rings again, and I eagerly answer it.
"Hello?"
"Orli? Turn on the telly."
"Uh . . . Dom? Hi to you, too."
"Seriously, mate," Dom says. "Turn it on. Put it on CNN."
"Okay. And I'm doing this why?"
"Orlando!"
"Bugger off! I'm doing it!" I laugh as I grab the remote and
flip on the telly (although Viggo has to tell me how to find CNN).
"What's so important about . . . oh."
I answer my own question as the image of Viggo and me on the red carpet
flashes across the screen. There are a few clips from our separate
careers – from 'G.I. Jane', 'A Perfect Murder', and 'Pirates of the Caribbean'
– followed by a montage of 'Lord of the Rings' clips with our scenes together.
Finally, there are a number of clips that they somehow dug up from our
premieres, where Viggo and I are hugging each other, and the recent ones
where we're kissing each other on the cheek.
"Orli? Are you there?" Dom's voice breaks through the fog
in my head as I watch the telly.
"Yeah. Can I call you back?"
"Sure. Say hi to Viggo, okay?"
"Of course."
Hanging up the phone, I watch in slack-jawed silence as they roll the
clip at Cannes where I kiss Viggo and call him 'human scum.' Well,
that's just perfect. Wheel out the one clip that nearly ruined my
life. Looking over at Viggo, I can see the tension on his face.
"Vig?" I tentatively slip my hand into his.
"It's not that bad," he assures me, meeting my gaze and managing to
give me a genuine smile.
"You think?"
"Don't worry, love. We'll be the flavor of the week because of
this, then whatever spotlight is on us will disappear." I nod, half-believing
him. But then another clip plays – this one of the now-famous kiss
from last night – and I realize something:
My life will never be the same.
Heart
and Shoulder Part 5
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Viggorli
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