Chapter Text
He should be dead.
The thought occurs to Logan frequently. Daily, in fact. Every time he squints against the lights set into his mirror in the morning, he briefly wonders how many times he came close to being yet another Hollywood insider found dead in his bed. Floating face down in his pool or stiff and cold on the stairs. Head split and contents spilling like pomegranate while his car smoked and smoldered around a pole.
There were times he was shockingly okay with those possible outcomes.
Yet another morning finds him flinching at the glare of his vanity lights. The rays bright and stabbing, they slice through the darkness of early morn. His Smart Mirror indicates he has at least a handful of unread text messages as well as one email. "Hey, Iris," Logan grumbles, "read me my unread texts."
A delay follows while the computer sequences his command and processes the information. Okay. Iris chirps. Another pause before she reads, From Lyric. Sent at 5:32am. Hey bro. Good luck with your meeting today. Call me so we can get lunch after. My turn.
Logan runs ice water from his faucet and splashes palmful after palmful into his face. The cold soothes the sting in his eyes. "Iris, reply to Lyric." He waits for the little electronic beep. Then, speaking clearly and with enunciation, says, "yeah, it will be fine. See you later. Iris, send."
The rest of his messages are basic. Some sent late in the night by the production crew in London and another from his PR guy, Eckles. Logan washes up and shaves despite not needing to. A freshly cleaned and pressed suit awaits him in his closet and he moves and dresses carefully. Shirtless, he frowns at the scar that drags a silver line from his left collar bone to right under his right peck. It stands out even against the pallor of his skin then disappears behind the undershirt. He buries it deeper under silk.
Downstairs, his nerves prevent him from eating breakfast. He paces the tiled floor of his foyer and responds to more messages and emails. Brief pauses to allow himself the time to watch trending cat videos to calm himself.
College was merely a suggestion.
And Logan famously disregards those.
Dad was working on expanding the company's reach into television programming. Scripted stuff as opposed to their typical fare of unscripted, reality-based offerings. A handful of well-received, if under-marketed, films on the Indie circuit positioned Reese Productions favorably to companies with IPs preparing to hit cable and streaming. Logan's job was to fetch coffees and dig through the marketing research. Open communication channels and keep the actual decision makers informed.
But Logan famously disregards orders.
It was the beginning of a new movie trend. The start of the superhero craze that saw new films from competing studios released at a feverish pace. Darlings already rising in popularity amongst the crowds. He turned to social media for real-time information. The crusty, Boomer way of dragging months of data is too slow for the modern world. By the time they would be pitching ideas, they are too stale to put to production. Logan selected two secondary heroes from competing franchises. Their supporting roles in blockbuster films created the pre-awareness needed to get an audience curious. Open storylines would give writers much needed wiggle room to satisfy the masses while staying familiar to the nerds who care.
The company landed its first mini-series; Snow Globe. Following the lesser known hero, Verglas between the second and ensemble films in the Marvelous franchise. Edgy, witty, cutting.
And Logan celebrated by snorkeling through a winter wonderland of his own. Every week after each episode premier fuzzier and fuzzier than the last. Parties longer, sloppier, and more destructive each time. Lyric said he was like a man on fire. Dad tried to discreetly remove him from the circle that was supplying him the coke. Unfortunately, young and connected and successful in Hollywood meant that new "friends" were as inexhaustible as dust in space.
Old friends, however...
Like stars.
Lola pulls her car up to the curb and unlocks the passenger door. "Oh, you look nice today."
"As opposed to every other day," he scoffs, jokingly. Her ac is blasting frigidly cold air. Tinted windows shading them from the already intense light of a bright summer morning.
"I'm used to you looking like shit," she shrugs. "Seatbelt, please."
"Yeah, yeah. You're lucky my license is suspended."
"The whole state is lucky," Lola teases. "How much time is left, anyway?"
He thinks for a moment. "Rich coming from someone who failed their first and second driving test. A little under five months."
"Almost free."
"Almost," Logan concurs.
They both live in The Hills. Close to their work and- even better- closer to the people who they network with. Their circles, whether in front of or behind the camera, overlap. There is a lot of interconnectedness in the industry. "How's your Flavor of The Month?"
"Rory? He's fine. Probably." Lola is cautious as she pulls out of his driveway and onto the street. "I'd hardly call him a flavor, though. We just hooked up a few times. I think he's back in Australia on a shoot or something."
Logan hums thoughtfully. "Huh, I thought that'd last longer."
"An overestimation," she laughs, "but that's common among you guys. I knew he had to be gone before the month was over."
He laughs too. "Fine, fine. I've never had that problem, but I pity those who do."
"Doesn't alcohol, you know," she raises her index finger and immediately collapses it, "like that?"
"That's what the blow was for." Logan replies, "you need an upper to counteract your downer if you want to play with the socialites."
Lola grimaces. "Oof. Yeah, not for me. I'm happy with a few mimosas here and there."
There is little traffic on their way to the studio lots. A couple squad cars sit parked on the curb outside a new club and the sidewalk itself a mess of strewn debris and clothing items. "That's because you're not an addict, Martinez. I am."
"Not anymore though, right?" Her tone is hopeful. "I mean, what step are you on now?"
"The ninth."
"Which is?"
Logan hesitates before answering. She is going to think the same thing he did when he first heard it in rehab. The same thought he's had sporadically in the months since. It's in his dreams most nights.
He sighs. "Making Amends."