I don't know much about this writing business. If it's something I will continue to do or will never do again, but I have been dabbling a bit with a side character I fell in love with in Overkill.
Chuck King made me laugh. He made me smile with all his blustering rock star ways and I knew there was much more to Chuck than the face he presented. A friend caught on to this side of him as well and fueled my idea to give Chuck a story. I think there is so much more to Chuck than even Chuck knows and it would take one hell of human being to pull that out of this adorable boy. That person? His name is Jules and Jules is simply made for Chuck. Though their meet cute is a bit wacky due to poor Chuck and his love of body shots, these two are a pair that are never far from my mind.
The Right Mistake is the story of Chuck and Jules, set in Los Angeles and all the fun parts of the surrounding cities and landmarks that I love; the view from Mullholland, the trails through Griffith park, the trashy gorgeousness of the Sunset Strip and the hipster shops/cafes of Atwater Village. And of course, there will be music.
Jules - a Landscape Architect who has a thing for wearing women's clothing, lunching with old friends and dancing in clubs.
Chuck - well Chuck is still Chuck, he is just learning he may need to recheck where he falls on the Kinsey scale after meeting Jules.
I have clusters of notes and half written scenes about these two and though I don't know when and if I will write more, I thought I would share a very rough/unedited bit of their story.
This is the morning after they "meet" and Chuck realizes the Jules from last night, isn't the same Jules this morning.
Chuck King awoke to the smell of coffee. He rubbed his eyes and sat up as the soft material of the sheet that covered his half naked body slid down his chest and pooled his lap. He had no idea where he was. What the fuck happened last night?
Chuck took in his surroundings; he was on the most comfortable and luxurious bed he’d ever been on. He placed his hands on the bed beside his hips and bounced lightly on the firm mattress. The sheets were a soft blue and the duvet was patterned with Fleur De Lis woven together in gold and silver hues. He ran his hand over the duvet feeling the rise and fall of the patterns under his calloused fingertips.
He wasn’t in a hotel that much he knew. The room looked lived in. It wasn’t messy like he kept his apartment, there were personal items everywhere. Chuck looked to his left at the small table next to the bed. On top sat a hardback copy of Leaves of Grass and an eye glass case sat next to the book of collected poetry. A tall glass half full of water was next to a lamp in the shape of a butterfly with color wings that looked like they were made of glass. What were those lamps called again?
Chuck snapped his fingers and mumbled. “Tiffany lamps.” He thought to himself whomever lived in this room had class. More class than Chuck could hope to have in this lifetime.
The walls were a shade of grey and looked touchable. A pattern resembling limestone covered each wall, it had to be wall paper, and not the cheesy type from the 70’s, this stuff was elegant. Chuck pushed the covers off his legs, glanced down and breathed a sigh of relief that he was still wearing his boxers… not naked after all. He rolled to the edge of the bed and stood on shaky legs as the room started to spin and sat down slowly, learning forward to put his head between his knees. What the hell did he drink last night? Drank this morning? What time was it anyway?
Chuck pushed up and steadied himself as he walked around the bed and noticed his jeans balled up under a chair in the corner of the room. He grabbed the wrinkled denim and pulled them on. Where the rest of his clothes were was a mystery but at least he had his junk covered. He turned to get a better look and feel of the room and the person who belonged in it. He wanted to be nosy but checked his curiosity and let the smell of coffee lead him away.
He walked down the short hallway that opened to a kitchen. The white walls of the kitchen were clean of fingerprint smudges or splashes of condiments from spilled plates of food by drunken friends that graced the walls of his own apartment. The appliances were stainless steel but not gaudy in the modern way and the light pouring through the picture window over the sink made his fingers itch for his camera, to simply capture the light to prove it existed. This place was clean, bright, inviting and as he took in more of the kitchen, he noticed there was a guy sitting at the large center table.
“Um…hi?” Chuck hesitated with his greeting. The man sitting at the table had a seductive power that oozed off of him as he sat crossed legged in a silk black robe reading the newspaper with a cup of coffee in front of him.
The man looked up and Chuck found himself pinned by the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. How could that color be so vibrant across the room? The man looked Chuck over from head to toe, taking in his half-dressed and wrinkled state.
The man nodded, “Good morning, Charles.” He motioned to the table which Chuck failed to notice had an empty mug sitting in front of an empty chair with a box of pastries set in the middle. “You must be hungry. Help yourself.”
Chuck’s stomach turned at the sight of food in front of him. He thought he was hung over until food was brought up and Chuck realized he was still drunk. Nice job, King.
“Thanks but I think I will just have coffee for now.” He walked to the table and pulled the chair to take a seat and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Um… do I know you?”
“You don’t remember us meeting?”
“Sorry, but no. I think I did too many body shots last night.”
“Mmm. I believe you did.”
“I came home with you?”
“You did, Charles.”
“I… um, you know my name, but I don't know yours?”
“My name is Jules.”
Chuck racked his brain trying to remember where he heard that name before. Bits and pieces of the night were flooding his memory as he sipped the liquid gold the regular folk called coffee.
“Do you have a sister?” Chuck looked at Jules; his dark blond hair was styled like he was a movie star from the 50’s. Like the actor, Rock Hudson, his mother used to fawn over in all those movies with Doris Day. Jules had crystal blue eyes that should have made you cold when they turned on you yet each time Chuck made eye contact with Jules, he felt warm all over. It was a strange feeling.
“Yes, I do. Though she is much younger and not here.” Jules smiled as he answered.
“Oh. Okay.” Chuck fumbled over his words. This was weird. Why would he go home with this guy? Was he that drunk last night?
Chuck sipped his coffee and fought to find memories of the night before. He remembered the show at the Whisky. He remembered Declan and Tate making out on stage then the band getting their new record contract with a handshake and smile. He remembered partying at the club, doing body shots of the hot chicks lying on the bar and he remembered the long blond hair on the dance floor and…
Chuck sat fast in his chair, hot coffee spilling over the sides of his mug and landing on his bare thighs.
“Holy Shit.” Chuck whispered.
Jules laughed. A deep and rich laugh that Chuck would only describe as musical.
Chuck looked across the table wide eyed at Jules as he folded the newspaper he’d been reading and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of him and his eyes firmly set on Chuck.
Jules cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow, “About last night...”