Part 4 of my Lew Ashby story
Jun. 30th, 2011 11:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scarlettdreamSo this has been burning its way out of my psyche, and I guess it must be a fully fledged story now, I don't even have a title for it yet, so any suggestions would be graefully received.
It's about Lew Ashby and what happend when he didn't die.
It must be adult if only because Lew had a dirty mouth!!
The first part of the story and the disclaimer can be found here:
link to Part 1
Chapter 4: Thingz to do in Vancouver when you’re dead.
Lew was so tired of his realtor. He had looked at apartments and houses. He had looked at building plots and renovation projects, he had even on one ill-advised occasion looked at a fucking boat. It was starting to get to him.
The work for the Foundation was already under way. The big studio and gallery in Gas Town had been easy to find, Work had even started on the six regular houses in the more troubled neighbourhoods. The ass-hole architect who’d been hired to renovate them had even used the finger quote marks as he called them that. And Lew could only assume that the anti-depressants his therapist had prescribed must actually be doing some good because that could be the only reason the guy was still walking about with all of his “quote” fingers intact.
But his new cool, laid-back outlook was starting to slip at the prospect of spending the rest of his life living out of a suitcase in a hotel suite.
Lew, didn’t know what he wanted, though. That was the problem. But he’d look round a place, somewhere the realtor assured him was perfect, and he’d hear a re-run of Karen in his head, telling him he was disgusting, telling him he had something to hide, telling him that guys who lived in these kind of places were ass-holes. And that was a problem because maybe it was impossible for him to change everything about himself, but he had been hoping he might manage not to be that exact same guy any more.
Of course that impulse led to the whole looking at a boat fiasco. And while Lew might be willing to admit to the possibility of change in his life, to his Therapist if no one else, one thing was absolute. He was never going to be a guy who lived on a fucking boat.
So after another day spent looking at places he wasn’t willing to buy, Lew was slumped at the trendy but discrete bar of his hotel. It was the sort of place he’d avoid in LA. It didn’t have history. But one of the strategies his Therapist had suggested was not sitting in his room with a bottle getting shit-faced. Lew was pretty sure she wanted him to give up the booze altogether, but he just didn’t see that happening. He figured he’d given up the sex and the drugs and the rock and roll, if he didn’t still have cigarettes and coffee and booze he really might as well be dead.
He fiddled with his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes, ordered another shot of whiskey and gave in and thumbed the call icon under Hank’s name. Lew tried really hard not to call Moody every day, or even every week. The man had his own life to live and the Lew Ashby phase of Hank’s his life was over and done with and he was trying hard to be a responsible full-time father. He didn’t need Lew calling him up and reminding him of bad habits he’d probably managed to drop.
It was ironic, and how Lew hated irony, almost as much as he hated boats, but irony it was that for Lew, Hank had actually been the first good habit he’d picked up in over a decade. But calling, perhaps his only friend, burned, because he knew he should let Hank go. But his therapist, and her pills, and his new found ability to feel something other than high, he had apparently turned into a whiney little bitch, and he only had one person to talk to, Hank.
Lew took a sip of his fresh drink. Kind of sucked it through his teeth so it burned his gums and made the inside of his lips numb. It felt good and he decided he’d sit here and have several more until his whole mouth was numb and then he wouldn’t be able to speak to Moody and that would solve the problem. But he wasn’t quick enough because he heard, “This is Hank Moody’s phone, speak, mortal or forever be a fool.”
There was no way he’d hang up on Becca, so he answered, “Hi, sweetheart. Is Hank there?”
“A voice from beyond the grave. Oh, and never call me that again.”
Lew smiled, he missed that kid.
He could hear Moody coming to the phone, grumbling at his daughter like he was mad at her, but Lew had seen enough of them together to know it was all an act.
“So what disgusting thing did you call my daughter, Ashby? Do I have to go to Hollywood Forever spray more pithy epithets on that ridiculous statue of you in drag?”
“Hey go out and hire the biggest fucking SUV they got and you can run the fucker over, for all I care. At least that way you can tell yourself you gave some version of the great Lew Ashby a hummer.”
Hank laughed and said, “That is an attractive offer, but I’ll pass. So why are you calling? Did Dr Nazi make you cry like a baby again?”
“No, Dr Nancy is very pleased with my progress, motherfucker.”
“So, what gives? You moved onto that boat yet?”
“Fuck off and die, bitch!”
“Ouch, that bad?”
“Yeah… No…” Lew drank the rest of his whiskey and nudged the glass towards the bartender for a refill, and muttered. “I hate hotels.”
Hank was quiet for a minute then he said, “Maybe you should come back. You were kind enough to give me a place to stay when I needed it. I could return the favour.”
Lew was tempted. It would be good for him to have Hank and Becca around. But he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Even when he had been off his head on whatever drugs he could find to stick up his nose, he’d known that he wasn’t the kind of guy people with kids should hang out with. He was the kind of bad influence that even if he didn’t mean to, even if he was trying real hard not to, he’d fuck things up. But he knew he wasn’t doing well alone.
He sucked at being alone. It was half the reason he ended up with such a bad sex habit. He’d rather bring someone home, and he’d gotten pretty desperate sometimes and anyone was better than being alone. And it was no coincidence that there had always been people staying at his house, bands and friends of bands, hookers and artists, record company publicists, and for a brief period of time a writer who also turned out to be probably his best friend. Karen had been right. He had that big house for a reason, he was afraid of something, he’d always been afraid of being alone.
“Lew, you still there?” Hank’s voice broke through his introspection.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound like you’re doing so well. Maybe you should come back to LA and stay with us.”
It was hard to resist that offer. And Lew didn’t have much experience resisting anything, but he was sure if he went back he’d fuck up everyone’s life, including his own. And he had this feeling, like he’d had all those years ago when he’d driven to LA with Janie, all that hope, all that potential, even if it was tough right now, it felt like this was where he was meant to be. So he said, “No thanks, Moody. I’ll stay here.”
“Well don’t just sit in that bar all night drinking.”
“I won’t.”
“I think you might.”
Lew downed the rest of his drink then tapped the glass for another refill. As the bartender was pouring he grinned at him and said to Hank, “I hate this bar.”
“Okay.” Moody sounded kind of pissed, but he kept talking, “So you hate that bar and you hate that hotel, where would you rather be? What would you rather be doing right now?”
Lew took a sip of his fresh drink, grinned again and said, “And by doing you mean?”
Hank laughed, “You’re a fucking deviant, Ashby. By doing I mean what activity, other than fucking or watching other people fuck, or thinking about the next person you are going to fuck or remembering the last person you did fuck, would you rather be engaged in right now?”
“So other than anything related to fucking what would I rather be doing right now?”
“Yes!”
“And if I said five lines of coke that wouldn’t be your meaning either?”
“You got it, Lew. Maybe all those drugs didn’t totally fuck up your brain.”
And Lew had to admit it was a good question. What else did he miss? What had he liked about his life? “I miss cooking in my kitchen.”
“You miss cooking?” Hank sounded like he wanted to laugh but he held it and together and then he said, “Actually you were weird but surprisingly good in the kitchen now I think about it.” And then he must have put his hand over the phone because it was kind of muffled but Lew heard him shout, “Daughter!” There was an indistinct response and Lew recognised the sound of someone walking down stairs in a way that suggested they were pretty pissed off at the interruption. Then he heard Hank say, “Becca, sweetheart, please look up cooking in Vancouver.”
And she said, “Don’t ever call me that again, father.” Then, “Hmm.” And, “This one looks…”
And then Hank said “Really?” And Lew could hear him laughing before he continued, “Yes, that’s perfect.”
There was some talking, between them, but Lew couldn’t hear what they were saying, until Hank said, “Okay, Lew, we booked you in.”
“You booked me in what?”
TBC
It's about Lew Ashby and what happend when he didn't die.
It must be adult if only because Lew had a dirty mouth!!
The first part of the story and the disclaimer can be found here:
link to Part 1
Chapter 4: Thingz to do in Vancouver when you’re dead.
Lew was so tired of his realtor. He had looked at apartments and houses. He had looked at building plots and renovation projects, he had even on one ill-advised occasion looked at a fucking boat. It was starting to get to him.
The work for the Foundation was already under way. The big studio and gallery in Gas Town had been easy to find, Work had even started on the six regular houses in the more troubled neighbourhoods. The ass-hole architect who’d been hired to renovate them had even used the finger quote marks as he called them that. And Lew could only assume that the anti-depressants his therapist had prescribed must actually be doing some good because that could be the only reason the guy was still walking about with all of his “quote” fingers intact.
But his new cool, laid-back outlook was starting to slip at the prospect of spending the rest of his life living out of a suitcase in a hotel suite.
Lew, didn’t know what he wanted, though. That was the problem. But he’d look round a place, somewhere the realtor assured him was perfect, and he’d hear a re-run of Karen in his head, telling him he was disgusting, telling him he had something to hide, telling him that guys who lived in these kind of places were ass-holes. And that was a problem because maybe it was impossible for him to change everything about himself, but he had been hoping he might manage not to be that exact same guy any more.
Of course that impulse led to the whole looking at a boat fiasco. And while Lew might be willing to admit to the possibility of change in his life, to his Therapist if no one else, one thing was absolute. He was never going to be a guy who lived on a fucking boat.
So after another day spent looking at places he wasn’t willing to buy, Lew was slumped at the trendy but discrete bar of his hotel. It was the sort of place he’d avoid in LA. It didn’t have history. But one of the strategies his Therapist had suggested was not sitting in his room with a bottle getting shit-faced. Lew was pretty sure she wanted him to give up the booze altogether, but he just didn’t see that happening. He figured he’d given up the sex and the drugs and the rock and roll, if he didn’t still have cigarettes and coffee and booze he really might as well be dead.
He fiddled with his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes, ordered another shot of whiskey and gave in and thumbed the call icon under Hank’s name. Lew tried really hard not to call Moody every day, or even every week. The man had his own life to live and the Lew Ashby phase of Hank’s his life was over and done with and he was trying hard to be a responsible full-time father. He didn’t need Lew calling him up and reminding him of bad habits he’d probably managed to drop.
It was ironic, and how Lew hated irony, almost as much as he hated boats, but irony it was that for Lew, Hank had actually been the first good habit he’d picked up in over a decade. But calling, perhaps his only friend, burned, because he knew he should let Hank go. But his therapist, and her pills, and his new found ability to feel something other than high, he had apparently turned into a whiney little bitch, and he only had one person to talk to, Hank.
Lew took a sip of his fresh drink. Kind of sucked it through his teeth so it burned his gums and made the inside of his lips numb. It felt good and he decided he’d sit here and have several more until his whole mouth was numb and then he wouldn’t be able to speak to Moody and that would solve the problem. But he wasn’t quick enough because he heard, “This is Hank Moody’s phone, speak, mortal or forever be a fool.”
There was no way he’d hang up on Becca, so he answered, “Hi, sweetheart. Is Hank there?”
“A voice from beyond the grave. Oh, and never call me that again.”
Lew smiled, he missed that kid.
He could hear Moody coming to the phone, grumbling at his daughter like he was mad at her, but Lew had seen enough of them together to know it was all an act.
“So what disgusting thing did you call my daughter, Ashby? Do I have to go to Hollywood Forever spray more pithy epithets on that ridiculous statue of you in drag?”
“Hey go out and hire the biggest fucking SUV they got and you can run the fucker over, for all I care. At least that way you can tell yourself you gave some version of the great Lew Ashby a hummer.”
Hank laughed and said, “That is an attractive offer, but I’ll pass. So why are you calling? Did Dr Nazi make you cry like a baby again?”
“No, Dr Nancy is very pleased with my progress, motherfucker.”
“So, what gives? You moved onto that boat yet?”
“Fuck off and die, bitch!”
“Ouch, that bad?”
“Yeah… No…” Lew drank the rest of his whiskey and nudged the glass towards the bartender for a refill, and muttered. “I hate hotels.”
Hank was quiet for a minute then he said, “Maybe you should come back. You were kind enough to give me a place to stay when I needed it. I could return the favour.”
Lew was tempted. It would be good for him to have Hank and Becca around. But he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Even when he had been off his head on whatever drugs he could find to stick up his nose, he’d known that he wasn’t the kind of guy people with kids should hang out with. He was the kind of bad influence that even if he didn’t mean to, even if he was trying real hard not to, he’d fuck things up. But he knew he wasn’t doing well alone.
He sucked at being alone. It was half the reason he ended up with such a bad sex habit. He’d rather bring someone home, and he’d gotten pretty desperate sometimes and anyone was better than being alone. And it was no coincidence that there had always been people staying at his house, bands and friends of bands, hookers and artists, record company publicists, and for a brief period of time a writer who also turned out to be probably his best friend. Karen had been right. He had that big house for a reason, he was afraid of something, he’d always been afraid of being alone.
“Lew, you still there?” Hank’s voice broke through his introspection.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound like you’re doing so well. Maybe you should come back to LA and stay with us.”
It was hard to resist that offer. And Lew didn’t have much experience resisting anything, but he was sure if he went back he’d fuck up everyone’s life, including his own. And he had this feeling, like he’d had all those years ago when he’d driven to LA with Janie, all that hope, all that potential, even if it was tough right now, it felt like this was where he was meant to be. So he said, “No thanks, Moody. I’ll stay here.”
“Well don’t just sit in that bar all night drinking.”
“I won’t.”
“I think you might.”
Lew downed the rest of his drink then tapped the glass for another refill. As the bartender was pouring he grinned at him and said to Hank, “I hate this bar.”
“Okay.” Moody sounded kind of pissed, but he kept talking, “So you hate that bar and you hate that hotel, where would you rather be? What would you rather be doing right now?”
Lew took a sip of his fresh drink, grinned again and said, “And by doing you mean?”
Hank laughed, “You’re a fucking deviant, Ashby. By doing I mean what activity, other than fucking or watching other people fuck, or thinking about the next person you are going to fuck or remembering the last person you did fuck, would you rather be engaged in right now?”
“So other than anything related to fucking what would I rather be doing right now?”
“Yes!”
“And if I said five lines of coke that wouldn’t be your meaning either?”
“You got it, Lew. Maybe all those drugs didn’t totally fuck up your brain.”
And Lew had to admit it was a good question. What else did he miss? What had he liked about his life? “I miss cooking in my kitchen.”
“You miss cooking?” Hank sounded like he wanted to laugh but he held it and together and then he said, “Actually you were weird but surprisingly good in the kitchen now I think about it.” And then he must have put his hand over the phone because it was kind of muffled but Lew heard him shout, “Daughter!” There was an indistinct response and Lew recognised the sound of someone walking down stairs in a way that suggested they were pretty pissed off at the interruption. Then he heard Hank say, “Becca, sweetheart, please look up cooking in Vancouver.”
And she said, “Don’t ever call me that again, father.” Then, “Hmm.” And, “This one looks…”
And then Hank said “Really?” And Lew could hear him laughing before he continued, “Yes, that’s perfect.”
There was some talking, between them, but Lew couldn’t hear what they were saying, until Hank said, “Okay, Lew, we booked you in.”
“You booked me in what?”
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-30 11:29 pm (UTC)YAY, I'm so glad you're continuing this. Can't wait to see what happens next!!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-30 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-01 03:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-01 08:56 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked it though
no subject
Date: 2011-07-01 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-01 09:53 pm (UTC)I am forever writing and then deleting things he's said in this series, because I find I'm just writing him as provocative and shocking, and forgeting the depth that was definitley there in the show. To channel Lew, it's fucking hard work sometimes
but it was one of the main things that made me want to write something with Lew Ashby in it, because to me the way he knows just what a monster he is, and the way he he regrets it, even though he can't seem to change, that makes me adore the idea of writing him so much. I love that you are enjoying this though, seeing as your stories were the absolute inspiration for this.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-08 03:30 am (UTC)Hoping for more! Or is there more but I missed the link?
no subject
Date: 2013-08-10 04:18 am (UTC)