Misery

The following program contains material suited for a mature audience. If you are not over 18 you should be leaving now. Of course I can't control you and neither can anyone else really. This story in complete fiction. This story in no way speculates, indicates, or reports the sexuality, the behavior, or any relationship that anyone mentioned may have. And now for our feature presentation. Viewer Discretion is advised...

My web site is located at http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Atrium/2898.

Misery by: Chip Dyp (chipdyp@hotmail.com)

"I want you to behave yourself tonight. I don't want another incident like what happened at the Grammy party." My dad checked his tie in the mirror for the tenth time. I slapped his hands out of the way and straightened it for him.

"Then don't make me go, Dad. You know how much I hate these industry parties." I tilted my head and crossed my arms across my chest. "There. Now you can try to pick up some young starlet and she won't laugh at your tie."

My dad looked down at me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Son, you know why I want you to come to these parties. Maybe you'll realize that all rock stars aren't freaks. If you'd let me help you, you could be a rock star yourself."

"I don't want to be a rock star Dad. Record companies put out the same bland crap on every album and I'm not going to be part of that."

As I expected, my dad ignored the attack on his job and switched topics.

"You look very handsome tonight son. Maybe you'll meet someone at the party."

"I don't want to date anyone in the industry."

Dad smiled and shook his head. We walked out to the garage, me trailing 5 steps behind. He opened the garage door and hopped into the Lexus. He popped open the lock on my side of the car. He looked at me from his seat inside the car.

I saw him bow his head and frown. I sighed and slowly walked over to the car. I hated industry parties, but I hated disappointing Dad more. He smiled when I finally got into the car. I started to finger the necklace my mother had given me.

Dad backed the Lexus out of the garage, and put it into drive. As we drove out of our gated neighbourhood, I waved at the security guard in the office. He waved back at me and made a notation on his clipboard. The drive to the party took 45 minutes in the insane Los Angeles traffic. I hated LA with a passion. I couldn't wait for my opportunity to get out of the biggest shit hole in the universe.

My dad dropped the Lexus off at the front door of the mansion where the party was being held. One of the wanna be actors working as valets jumped into action when my father handed him the keys. I pulled the hair out of my eyes and looked over at my father. We hadn't even got into the party and already he was schmoozing with someone. I didn't want to stand around listening to them talk about the industry so I walked up to the front door where I was stopped by a big brain dead ox.

"Where do you think you're going?" The doorman put his hand out and stopped me from entering.

"Into the party," I said with just a touch of attitude.

"This party is by invitation only. I don't see you name on the list."

"Check under Sutherland." Dad had come up behind me, and he passed the doorman his invitation.

"My apologies sir." The guy on the door was quick to move out of the way, so we could enter.

I didn't say anything. I just walked into the house with Dad holding my elbow. I knew he didn't want me to wander too far. At least, not until he had introduced me to the company's latest star, or to the producers he'd been raving about me to.

When the president of the company made a beeline towards us with a black guy in shiny blue pants in tow, I knew I was going to meet the star that the company was currently fellating.

"So, who is he?" I asked, leaning close to stay quiet.

"That's Puff Daddy" Dad whispered back.

"He's the guy who's made millions stealing other people's work."

"Sampling is not stealing."

"Uh huh, so what you're saying is this guy has no talent other than appealing to the masses with music he has stolen from others."

"That's not what..." Dad stopped and turned towards the president of the record company and Puff Daddy. I looked away and tried to sneak into the background before my dad did the inevitable and introduced me.

"And I'd like to introduce you to my son Mitchel. Mitchel this is Sean Coombs and you know..."

"Yes we've met before." I turned to Puff Daddy and offered him my hand.

"Pleased to meet you."

Sean Coombs just looked at me with disdain. I just smiled and took my hand back. "So, Puffy, has the president here been fellating you? Oh wait, I'm sorry, I shouldn't use such big words. Has he been blowing you, or does he still have his mindless lackeys on their knees sucking your cock? I mean, the company has turned a major profit thanks to your outstanding ability to steal other's music and sell it as your own. You'd think that you'd deserve something other than the money that you're getting. But I guess people so rarely get what they deserve."

My dad turned white as the blood drained from his face. The president and Puff Daddy just stood there with their mouths drooping open as I continued. "Mind you, you should feel privileged to be in the music industry. It's one of the few places where mindless no-talent hacks like you can make a fairly good living. But I suppose I should let you gentlemen talk for a bit. Oh, by the way Puffy, I hate your latest album already, and I haven't even heard it."

I walked away from the three men and went out the patio doors to the pool area. I was disappointed in myself. I knew my dad was going to catch shit from the president and from 'Puffy'. Still, I knew he'd straighten things out.

I grabbed a glass of champagne from the table and looked over to a small crowd of people. In the middle was some blond busting out of her too-tight dress while a bunch of guys stood around, hanging on her every word. I grimaced and took a sip of the champagne.

For a moment, I debated going over to where the airhead was holding court and pretending that I was into girls like all of the other drooling guys. But there was really no point in engaging in that charade. My dad had found out that I was gay when he'd found one of my XY magazines on my desk. He was really good about it. He had hugged me and told me that it was all right. He gave me a very thorough safe sex speech and told me that I could always bring a boyfriend home. Nothing had changed. He still loved me, and still expected me to be a rock star.

Instead of listening to the airhead, I walked further out into the yard where there were fewer people. I was walking by a plant, when I saw this beautiful young guy sitting on a marble bench. He was looking out over downtown LA. I wanted to say hello, but I quickly dismissed that thought and turned back towards the party.

"Hello."

The voice came from behind me. I turned and looked at the young guy sitting on the bench. "Hello." I smiled. "Did you get tired of the party too?"

"Yeah. My dad dragged me here, even though I didn't want to come."

"I know how you feel. My dad dragged me here too."

"Why do parents seem to think that we should enjoy these parties?"

I walked closer and sat down beside the enchanting young man. "I don't know. The only people that come to these things are wannabe artists, record executives ready to blow anything that moves, and stars with egos bigger than all of California. And of course, people who don't want to be here."

"So what's your name?" The guy turned to look at me.

"Mitchel," I said as I offered my hand. "And you are?"

The guy furrowed his brow like I should know he was, and then grinned at me. "My name's Scott." Scott took my hand and shook it firmly. "Um, there's a path that goes around the yard. Did you want to go for a walk?"

"That's sound cool."

Scott stood and dusted his black slacks off. "So what do you do?"

"You mean, work-wise?"

"Yeah, work-wise."

"I'm a senior in high school. How about you?"

"I'm a senior too," Scott said. "Well, I would be except I'm home-schooled."

"Your parent's teach you?"

"Nah, me and my brothers have a tutor. It sucks."

I smiled and looked down into the valley. "So, are you into music or do you just come to these things because you're dad dragged you?"

"I play guitar."

"Cool, so do I." I turned and smiled at Scott. "So, what kind of music do you play?"

"Mainly rock. We used to play a little country but that was my dad's idea. What kind of music do you play?"

"Mainly classical. I'm not really into rock music. I just can't get into most of it. It's all bland and based on what the band looks like."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Record companies have destroyed most of the spirit and the soul of rock music. Now they pass off all this bland unoriginal crap as new or as hip-hop and they sell millions of records. If someone came out with an original album, with great guitar riffs they wouldn't get a record deal unless they looked good and were willing to dilute their music."

We walked along quietly, looking out at the view of the city. "So, besides music, what do you like?" I looked over at Scott's unblemished face.

"I don't know. I used to love travelling, but I've done so much of that lately, I'm getting sick of it. I just want to stay in one place for a while, and live something approaching a normal life."

"I don't know if I could ever get sick of travelling."

"Trust me, it's fun at the beginning but as it drags on, home looks better and better."

"I guess," I said. I stopped for a second as a police helicopter searchlight caught my eye. "So what else do you like?"

"I love to read. I devour books that I pick up while on the road. Some of the books the tutor makes us read aren't that bad, either."

"I do a fair bit of reading myself. Mostly new stuff, but some of the classics aren't that bad."

"Do you have a favourite?"

"Anything by Poe. I like dark stories. How about you?"

"Mmmm, well, I like Douglas Coupland. Generation X and Microserfs are phenomenal novels. Polaroids from the Dead wasn't too bad either."

"I read Generation X for English, but I haven't read the other two. I'll have to check them out."

"Well, if you liked Generation X, you'll like those other two," Scott said.

"Cool" I said. "So what do you want to do when you graduate?"

"I don't know" Scott said. "I don't think I'm going to have much of a chance to choose what I want to do."

"Why not?"

"Ah, my dad's got my career and my life all planned out. He doesn't take kindly to most of my ideas."

"Why don't you tell him to take a hike?"

"Well, I love him and he's right most of the time," Scott said. "What about you? What do you want to do when you graduate?"

"I don't know. My dad would like me to go into the music industry, but I don't want to sell out."

"Yeah, but you could make some money and then take off and do what you want."

"Yeah, I could, but then I'd be 'Former Rocker Mitchel Sutherland'."

"I guess." Scott sat down just off the path on a hill covered with grass. I stood behind him for a second, looking up at the clear sky. "Mitchel, can I ask you a question?"

"Only if I can ask you a question," I said. I sat beside him on the grass.

"Okay, you first," Scott said. He threw a rock into the valley.

"All right." I paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to best ask this. "Look, I'm probably going to sound like a complete idiot, but are you a singer, or in a band or something?"

Scott looked at me with a bemused grin on his face. "You honestly don't know?"

"Nope."

"Me and my brothers make up the Moffats."

"I'm sorry," I said. I shook my head. I felt kinda bad not knowing who Scott was. "I've never heard of you guys."

"That's all right. You know who the Backstreet Boys are?"

"Yeah, I have a fairly good idea who they are," I said grinning.

"Okay, we are a boy band just like them, except we play our own instruments and write our own songs."

"Ah, so you are aimed at the teen female and gay male audience."

"Yeah, the record company nixes anything that might be a little difficult for all the screaming girls. As for the gay male audience, I don't think we consciously target them."

"But you still have gay fans."

"Yeah, I guess."

I thought about asking Scott how that made him feel, but I decided not to bother. I mean, it would either come out sounding like I was gay or homophobic, neither of which I wanted.

"So, what was your question?"

"This is going to sound really weird, but, um, do you have a girlfriend?"

"No, never had one either. Well, that's not exactly true. When I was eleven, there was this girl who was in love with me. I kinda liked her, but it wasn't love."

"Oh," Scott said. He looked down and studied a rock on the path.

"Why, are you having girl problems?"

Scott looked up in surprise and then smiled as he turned his attention back to the rock. "Nah, I've never had a girlfriend either."

"Oh." I pulled my legs up to my chest and hugged them tight. "So, um, how long are you in town for?"

"I think it's for three weeks. We have to do a video shoot, and then we start a three-month tour. At least, I think that's the plan, anyway."

"Oh, um would you like to do something tomorrow night?"

"Like what?" Scott looked over at me.

"Well, there's this underage club that's pretty cool, you know if you like to dance, and stuff like that."

"That's sounds cool. Do you go there often?"

"I've gone three, no wait, four times. I've gone four times. I just found out about it a couple of months ago."

"It sounds like fun. I'll have to ask my dad before I leave. Um, is this like a..." Scott was interrupted by a loud voice coming from behind a bush.

"Hey fuckhead, Dad's been looking for you. He's pissed."

"Leave me alone, Clint. I'm talking to someone."

"Yeah, but it's the wrong person," Clint said. "Dad wants you to talk to one of the corporate VPs, not some kid."

"Look, Clint, go tell Dad I'll be right there."

"Fine. You better hustle, or he'll kick your ass."

We watched as Clint walked back up the path towards the house. "I'm sorry about that," Scott said. "My brothers can be assholes sometimes."

"How old is Clint?"

"Clint, Bob, and Dave are all 16. They're triplets."

"Wow," I smiled. "And your parents survived having three kids at once?"

"Yeah," Scott said quietly as he stood. He offered me his hand and then dusted himself off. "I guess I should go talk to this VP. I hope he's not too creepy."

I giggled as I dusted myself off. "There are some creepy ones here."

"Did you want to come meet my Dad? I'll ask him if I can go to that club."

"Sure." We walked back towards the party. I watched as Clint walked up to a middle aged man who was talking to my father. I grinned to myself. Clint was going to be in for a surprise.

As we approached my father, my dad turned and smiled at me. "Dad, I'd like you to meet Scott Moffat. We were just talking out back in the yard. Scott this is my father, Chris Sutherland. He's Executive VP of the west coast operations at Capitol Records."

"Hello, Mr. Sutherland," Scott said. He extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Clint glared at me when I threw him a smug glance. Mr. Moffat seemed to be pleased that his son had made friends with the son of one of the VPs at the record label. His other two brothers were portraits of disinterest as Scott continued talking with my father.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Clint." I smiled at him. "We didn't get a chance to talk earlier when you came to get your brother."

"No, we didn't," Clint said. He extended his hand because it was the polite thing to do. "My brother seemed to be monopolizing your time."

"Your brother is quite interesting."

Clint didn't say anything else. He turned instead to listen in on the three-way conversation my dad was having with Scott and his dad. It was something about a touring schedule or some other industry nonsense, which I really didn't care for. Scott also appeared to be losing interest as our fathers tried to hammer out some of the fine details. When I saw Sean Coombs walk out onto the patio, I excused myself and walked up to him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Coombs. I want to apologize for my outburst earlier. It was uncalled for. You are a talented man, and I'm sure that your second record will outsell your first by quite a large margin."

"Yeah, whatever kid. The president told me what the score was. Why don't you run along and play."

"Of course, I simply wanted to let you know how sorry I was. Good evening." I turned and walked away from 'Puffy' trying not to puke all over myself after fellating him. His ego was at peace, knowing that his tormentor was sorry. I wasn't really sorry, of course. I had simply said I was sorry to make things easier for my dad.

As I walked to the bar, Scott caught up with me from behind and tapped me on the shoulder. "So what was that about? Do you know Puff Daddy, or what?"

"Nah. Earlier this evening I deflated his ego a little so I decided I should apologize. I don't want to make my dad's job any harder than it has to be."

"You're a good guy," Scott said as he threw his arm around my shoulder. "Um, is that invitation to that underage club still open?"

"Definitely," I said, smiling.

"Is tomorrow okay for you?"

"Yeah, tomorrow would be great. Where are you staying and I'll swing by and pick you up tomorrow at, say 8 pm."

"I'm staying at the Four Seasons-Beverly Hills, room 704. Um, I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"Till tomorrow."

I watched Scott join his brothers who seemed to just ignore him. He walked slowly behind them and his father, his head bowed. I sighed aloud and was startled when my dad sidled up beside me.

"Ah, l'amour." My Dad had a huge grin on his face. "So is Scott gay, or have you fallen for a straight boy?"

"Dad," I exclaimed just a little too loudly. Several people looked over and then returned their attention to their drinks and their conversations. "Dad, I wouldn't tell you if he was. It's not my business to out anyone," I said in a harsh whisper.

"All right, all right," Dad whispered back. "So you and Scott are going to The Warehouse tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, he seems like a really great guy." I was trying to hide my enthusiasm. It didn't work. My dad smiled knowingly and took my elbow.

"I want you to come meet this producer. He's doing some incredible things for the label."

I tried not to groan and my dad showed me off to producer after producer. For a change, he introduced me to someone who I found very interesting. There was a producer who was working with classical artists. We talked for about an hour, while my dad continued making the rounds. Eventually, the party started breaking up. My dad was never one to stay late at these things. After collecting me, we went outside to retrieve the car. My dad didn't bother asking me if I had had a good time. He knew that the only bright spot to the evening was meeting Scott.

Continued.