Chapter Text
Oh, Love, the things I do for you. Your brother, and now don’t take offense to this, has to be the most annoying human being ever created. I’ve been surrounded by quite a few annoying people in my lifetime—spend at least five minutes in the elite breeding spot, better known as the Upper East Side, and you’d understand—but, you know, I get it. He’s your brother. Suppose to get to you fully… to fully gain your trust, I have to get in with he ‘Fam’. I can ‘roll’ with that, I guess.
Joe dragged his body along the Los Angeles streets, watching as Forty Quinn—better known as the biggest thorn in his side (figures it wouldn’t be Candace)—skipped happily, taking an endless stream of selfies. Apparently there was this film set only a few blocks away from Anavrin, and so of course Forty insisted that Joe cut his shift short and accompany him. Joe tried to skirt around the request, but a stern look from Love is all it took for him to give up.
“We’re here!”
Lord, finally, means we’re that much closer to getting this shit over with.
Forty begins to walk backwards so he can face Joe while he speaks. “Trust me, Sport, the plot is pure genius. It’s about this girl who got stranded in the Bermuda Triangle in the 1900s, or something, but some freak Ozone Layer rip in space and time sends her to the shores in LA, and then she becomes the first woman president of the United States.”
I’d rather throw myself in front of the nearest Bus as opposed to hearing what Forty Quinn considers to be “Pure Genius.”
Joe took a moment to silently admire the movie set (not that he had been saying much to begin with) hands behind his back. It was a rather hectic scene; gofers running around with Starbucks orders, paper cups practically on the verge of spilling over. Large boom mics, set pieces, wardrobe racks being moved by, what Joe assumes to be the crew. He’s never had anything against movies, on the contrary, only the wide pool of attention seeking leeches who happen to be involved in this field. Basically, a wide pool of Forty Quinn’s!
Nobody in this city pays an ounce of fucking attention to anyone but themselves and their business, so Forty and Joe were pretty much given freedom to roam around the set.
A lady with a bluetooth microphone attached to her ear, and a grey cardigan, walks up to Forty. “Excuse me, are you two allowed to be here?”
“It’s an open movie set, lady, not a fucking funeral.” Forty snaps at her, a fake smile painted across his face. Clearly he would stop at nothing to get his foot through the door. “Though, I suppose if this movie flops—which, let’s be honest, the chances are high—I guess it will be.”
The woman, who obviously had a ton on her plate, simply stormed away without giving a reply. Joe sends Forty a weird look, “I thought you said the plot was ‘pure genius’.”
“A lot of them are, William, doesn’t mean it’s gonna haul your ass straight to the Oscars; you have to have that spark! That, of course, is not my issue, I just need to get someone to listen to me for fucking once.”
Joe nods, not wanting to keep feeding the conversation (though, he knows that Forty will most likely continue on his own).
“Serena!” Joe heard from a distance, and—wow, that was already enough to trigger his fight or flight response. Some thing’s are too difficult to bury, and given all that Joe’s gone through—all that he’s done—he might just explode.
Haven’t heard that name in a long time. It’s probably just my stupid anxiety, though, Serena is a rather.. common name? Right? And sure, a Serena I once knew is involved in this field, but there has to be dozens of Serena’s in the film industry. I’m just not gonna think too much about it.
But Joe knew it was too good to be true the moment his eyes fell on the all-too-familiar blonde locks. Hair belonging to a woman he once loved, hair that belonged to one of his earlier obsessions. It was different then, he was different then. It was innocent, some would even say cute. At least that’s what Jenny and Rufus used to tell him, mercilessly teasing him. Joe—Dan—hasn’t seen her, or even thought about her, for years now. He might’ve heard one or two things about her work, but he never exactly paid attention to it. He changed his whole identity for a reason, he wasn’t going to be sucked back into a vortex of Upper East Side nonsense.
Her hair had always been something distinctive to the former It Girl, her gorgeous blonde mane. However, seeing her face was even worse for Dan. At first, everything came rushing back at a slow pace, until something in his brain tipped, and all of a sudden it was a waterfall of heartbreak, lost memories, and regrets.
Turns out, it is like the movies.
Joe finally regained some form of control over his own body, turning his head so that Serena couldn’t somehow spot him (he certainly does not miss Gossip Girl) he stops walking.
“You good?”
No, I’m not good, I’m the farthest from good.
“Um… yeah! Just feeling a little lightheaded… haven’t eaten much today.” Joe began to fidget with the buttons of his denim jacket, wanting nothing but to get out of the area. He might as well just pack his things and leave LA.
“No worries, Sport, there’s food right-“
A loud thump can be heard. A woman falls to the ground due to Forty abruptly bumping into her. Joe looks away. “Watch where you’re going, you pathetic plebeian!”
Oh, no. Not that voice.
“Ha, sorry about that.” Forty giggles, unfazed, helping her retrieve her belongings from the ground. “Hey, wait a second… you’re Blair Waldorf.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Listen, I have no time to be bombarded by press-“
“Oh, I’m not The Press,” Forty says through air quotes. “I just know you cause you married that Grimaldi Guy. Headlines say you were married for less time than Kim K!”
Blair’s face morphs into a disgusted—somehow more disgusted expression than before, and let out a loud ‘Ugh!’
She’s ready to walk away, tell Serena all about her awful first day in Los Angeles, stilettos angrily stabbing the ground beneath her. But she catches a glimpse of his face, and she knows.
“Humphrey?”
Are you fucking kidding me? Barely a look at my face and you knew it was me? Do you regularly search for my face in a crowd? No, fuck, I’m not going there.
“Waldorf!” Joe—Dan—replies nervously.
“Bass.” She corrects.
Ouch.
Blair is just as shocked as he is, and she’s trying just as hard to mask it, wanting to keep a front of indifference. “What are you, of all people, doing here?”
“You know, just..” Joe swallows hard. “Wandering. And you?”
Christ, this is so awkward.
“Well, Serena’s the producer. With Chuck away on business I decided to pay her a visit.”
Thank god, I think I would kill myself if I ran into Chuck Bass.
When Joe didn’t respond fast enough, Blair set off to catch up with Serena—the aggressiveness in her step toned down quite a bit.
Are you as shaken as I am, Blair? I know how good you can be at hiding your feelings, but I recall a time where I was the one you dropped your walls for. Times were so much simpler then. Sometimes I miss it, but it’s far too late to turn back now.
“Okay, how the hell do you two know each other, and, who’s Humphrey?” Forty interrupted Joe’s inner monologue.
“Bogart.” Forty stared, looking a bit perplexed. Joe easily lied, hoping he didn’t come off as nervous. “As in Humphrey Bogart. We both shared a love for Classic Hollywood cinema. Back in the day, a long time ago.”
“Wow, Sport, I knew you were a friggin’ legend, but damn!” Forty places a hand on his shoulder. “He hangs with royalty.”
“I mean, I’d hardly call her ‘royalty,’ some of her school uniform adaptations had more embellishment than her entire wedding look.” Joe muttered.
“You went to school with her?!”
I have to admit, Love, your brother can be smart. On occasion when two neurons bump into each other, and wham! A coherent thought. But I have a cover to uphold.
“No, Forty! I’ve just seen…” he inhales sharply. “Pictures on the internet.”