Chapter Nine La La Land, dir. by Damien Chazelle #2
“I’m Harry Whitfield. Me and my friends here, some of the best people I’ve ever known, we were asked to come down to your
lovely city and perform here at Jackie’s. A club owned by one of my oldest and greatest friends in the world!”
More applause.
“Okay, okay. I won’t bore anyone with stories. You’re here to hear the music, and I’m dying to play it.” He smiles brilliantly,
raises his trumpet to his lips, and in a split second Harry and the rest of the band burst into song, the brass instruments
blaring through the club before they cut out again almost immediately, the bass player plucking his strings thoughtfully.
Eli’s eyes dare to glance toward Peter. Paying rapt attention to the band and their playing, he taps his fingers on the table
along with the improvised beat, as if he can see what they’re doing from a mile away. His smile brightens the dark room.
It’s in that moment that Eli realizes just how jealous he is of Peter. He thinks of the silent confidence that Peter walks
with, not even realizing it’s there. Eli thinks about the gym, how at home Peter seemed there, and Peter’s job, being a team
leader, someone that his company seems to appreciate. He thinks about how, just a few moments ago, Peter so easily chatted
with Jaz like the old friends they seem to be.
Without even realizing it, Peter has formed relationships, friendships. He’s built his own world that he’s allowed Eli to join.
And Eli’s realizing just how much he appreciates that.
Peter taking the time to show Eli his world.
The rest of the club might’ve come here for Harry, and make no mistake, his playing is nothing short of amazing.
But as far as Eli’s concerned, it might as well be Peter up there on that stage, just standing, smiling. Not doing anything
at all.
Because that’s all it would take for Peter to have the attention of the whole world.
***
For the next hour, the club is brought to life by the band and Harry, until he takes his final bow covered in a layer of sweat
that glows under the stage lights. The rest of the band members take their bows as well, and the applause only grows louder.
“Okay, okay, everyone. Thank you,” Harry says, taking the mic again. “We’re done for the night, but keep this energy up for
one of the greatest and most talented piano players I’ve had the privilege of knowing, my dear friend Sidra Carpenter!”
A woman walks up on stage. Harry gives her a soft kiss on each cheek before he takes her hand, raising it in the air. As she
starts to play, the focus is pulled away from her, but only because that’s what she’s intending: the club fills with the soft
sounds of piano meant to simply exist in the background rather than occupy the spotlight.
“So...” Peter leans forward, taking a pretzel from the bowl on the table. “What did you think?”
“Well, I have to say that I’m impressed. It was amazing to watch,” Eli admits, and he’s being honest—to watch the way the
players moved, how they lost themselves in each of their instruments, clearly friends and yet still competing with one another
to be the best player in a race that had no true winners or losers.
“Do you think I’ve converted you?” Peter asks. “Into a jazz lover?”
“Maybe. I’ll certainly take more recommendations.”
Peter smiles. “I’ll make you a list.”
“And now, we get to work.”
Peter seems confused. “What does that mean?”
“I mean”—Eli smiles—“I’m going to teach you how to flirt.”
In an instant, Peter is defensive. “I know how to flirt.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eli sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Flirt with me right now.”
Peter sits there for a moment. “Your... your sweater...”
Eli nods to keep him going.
“It’s nice.”
“Wow! I’m blushing, take my clothes off right now.”
Peter hides his face. “Okay, so I don’t know how to flirt.”
“It’s not that hard once you get the hang of things,” Eli tells him. “You just have to get comfortable.”
“Okay... so how do you flirt?”
“Well...” Eli has to think for a moment. It’s one of those things that he’s never given much thought to—explaining how you flirt. “You pretty much just have to find something that you like about a person, and be playful, loose. The most important
thing, besides respecting boundaries, is that you’re having fun.”
“What does that mean?”
Eli doesn’t even know how to answer that. You just know it when you see it. Like porn.
Then he gets an idea.
“Think of it like jazz.” Eli sits up straight in his seat.
“Like jazz?”
“You know how jazz musicians play loose, they go with the flow of what they’re playing, adapt to the other members of the
band to make something great?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s like that, being loose, going with the flow of the moment, responding to what other people around you are doing.”
Peter stares at him, smiling.
“What?”
“When did you learn so much about jazz?”
“I might’ve watched a video or two,” Eli says with an air of confidence. “Just trust yourself, you’ll know if you’ve gone
too far.”
“So, what does ‘going for it’ look like? How will I know?”
Eli leans in closer. “You could be direct, say ‘Your ass looks so juicy I’m dying to take a bite.’”
Peter almost chokes on his own spit.
“But that could delve into the territory of harassment if you’re not careful.”
“Okay, good. Yeah. Thank you.”
“It’s all very natural,” Eli explains further. “Just be lighthearted, don’t overthink it.”
“Right, because I’m so good at that.”
“Well, maybe a drink would loosen you up?”
Peter perks up. “Really?”
Eli taps on the table, motioning for Peter to follow him as he gets up. “What’s your poison?” he asks once they’re at the
bar, grateful that it’s slow enough that they can easily find seats.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t drink often?”
Peter shakes his head. “Not since college. It wasn’t pretty.”
“You, not pretty? I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh... uh...” Peter’s ears turn red again, and Eli’s realizing just how cute that is.
“See, that’s what flirting should sound like. Natural, a part of the conversation. Almost like you’re slipping in a compliment.” Eli peers over the bifold menu, trying not to react to the prices. “I don’t think I’ll bother asking them what’s on draft. What about whiskey? Do you like that?”
“Don’t know.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” Eli smiles, waving down the bartender to order a whiskey sour. “So, is there anyone
here who strikes your fancy?”
“Umm...” Peter spins around on the black leather stool. “I don’t really know.”
“What do you mean?” Eli asks. “There’s no one here that you think is cute?”
“Well...” Peter’s eyes find Eli’s before he averts his gaze again, peering further down the bar. Eli glances over his shoulder.
There are a few people that Peter could be looking at, but he has to figure it’s the silver-daddy-looking gentleman, dressed
in a deep gray button-up with the sleeves rolled to show off his strong-looking arms.
It dawns on Eli that he hasn’t even considered what Peter’s type might be. He went out with Eli, so he has to figure that
bony little twinks who could be blown over by a stiff breeze are somewhere on Peter’s radar.
But Peter also has that bigger kind of beefy twunk vibe to him, so maybe he’s into stronger-looking guys as well?
“Him?” Eli turns back to Peter, nodding at the man.
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I mean, he’s handsome. Yeah.”
Eli sneaks another look; the scruff that runs across the man’s jawline paints a kind of maturity that even Eli has to admit
is sexy. In fact, if he wasn’t so focused on Peter, Eli might’ve asked the man for his number himself, if only for a quick
one-night stand.
The bartender leaves Eli his drink, and Eli pulls the cherry speared on the toothpick free before he passes it to Peter. “Here, take a few sips, it’ll help loosen you up.”
“Okay...” Peter puts his lips to the glass, downing half the drink in a single gulp. Peter’s face twists as he swallows,
shaking his head. “Oh, ugh. I don’t like that.”
“That’s because you chugged that thing. You sip whiskey, Peter.” Eli takes the drink back, stealing his own taste. “Now, get over there and flirt your anxious little heart
out.”
“How?”
“Pretend that he wants you. That’s all you need.”
Peter swallows, standing at Eli’s urging and walking slowly over to the older man at the other end of the bar, almost as if
he’s approaching a wild animal.
Bless his heart , Eli thinks as he goes back to the drink, trying to make it not so obvious that he’s watching this unfurl.
The man smiles as Peter approaches, and Peter stands there awkwardly, looking for a place to fit into the conversation the
guy was already having. Eli sees Peter jump in and say something to the man. At least, he tries; there’s visible cringing.
As the seconds drag along like hours, Peter begins to relax. His shoulders become less stern, his posture unravels, and he
actually makes the other man laugh, leaning on the counter, subtly flexing his muscles.
Eli chuckles to himself. He’s better at this than I expected. He watches, wishing that he could read lips so he knew what was going on, but sitting back will just have to do. Peter seems
fine, maybe even great. The man laughs again, and there’s a strong hand placed on Peter’s shoulder, and Eli bites at his bottom
lip. He wants to say he looks on with pride, but that’s not what he’s feeling, no... not with the way Peter looks at the
older gentleman, his smile disappearing into adorable dimples.
No, pride isn’t what he feels.
Is it... No, it couldn’t be.
I’m not jealous , he reassures himself. What do I have to be jealous about?
He has to remember that he’s here for Peter, not for himself. Sure, there are the articles, but tonight is about Peter, and
Peter only.
Then something odd happens. Peter stumbles, catching himself on the man he’s been talking to.
It’s not in an “I tripped” flirty kind of way. But more in an “I’m so drunk I can’t stand up straight” kind of way. Eli braces