back at the doorstep

chapter 2

 

 

He was right in the middle of a fantastic little dream concerning a bowl of grapes and a dusky-skinned female massaging his leg back into its former state when Elijah was shocked back into the land of the eight-hour ass-ache.

"Man, you're still a comatose sleeper," said Sean. His cheeks formed two bright apples, bracketing his grin.

Elijah winced. "I hate sleeping on planes," he said, rubbing his throbbing leg. "First-class, my ass. It'll be first class when the seats can recline into double-sized orthopaedic beds."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Viggo shook his head. "You two are pitiful. I'm at least a dozen years older than either of you and I feel just fine."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in." Reluctantly, Elijah got to his feet.

"I'll get your bags for you, Mr. Wood," said the flight attendant in a chirpy British accent. She sounded like a soap commercial. "Did you have a pleasant flight?"

"Great," Elijah lied.

She handed him the wheeled carry-on and even snapped up the handle. "Wonderful! I hope you'll fly British Air again."

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

Knowing that eight hours of relative immobility was not good for Elijah, Sean watched him make his way out the plane, ready to offer his help. But the younger man was stubborn; he forced his legs to take on an all but limpless gait. No doubt he was grinding his teeth to nubs.

"Hope OB can find us in this mess," Viggo commented.

Imagine a small parking lot divided into small corridors. Build a wall and a ceiling to surround it and put the only one exit. Then cram it to three times its capacity and turn around the signs so that no one can even begin to understand them. That was London-Heathrow Airport.

It was a microcosm of London, really. People of all shapes, colours, and sizes, speaking in two dozen different languages all in high volume rushing through an equally anxious mob with massive Samsonites leaving crushed toes and bad tempers in their wake. Fluorescent lights obnoxiously advertising resting areas, newspapers, cafes, bathrooms, restaurants, car rentals, claims areas, play rooms, every legal service conceivable. And the emotions! There was crying and laughing and anger and tears and surprise (good and bad) and sometimes all of the above within the space of five minutes. There were children screaming as they played tag, fathers chasing after the children, women quite amorously saying their good-byes to their significant others and here and there, a person in an isolated two-foot square of calm, either lost, confused, or too scared to move.

"Is that him there?" asked Sean.

Elijah craned his neck. "Where?"

"How many Brits do you know who like to hold up 'Welcome to Middle-Earth' signs in the middle of the airport?"

His arms spread wide enough to embrace everyone coming out of first class, Orlando jogged out of the waiting area and snatched the closest hobbit tightly. Unfortunately for Sean A., he was the closest hobbit. His nose squashed into Orlando's nubby blue sweater.

"Astin, you manky git!" The younger man smooched Sean's head loudly. "Regained that hobbit physique, I see."

"Shut up, you prissy elf." But Sean returned the embrace.

"Orlando." Viggo caught him up in an old-fashioned arm-clasp before hauling him in for a bout of back-slapping.

"Made any women faint lately?" Orlando coughed out after the he got his air back.

"More than you." Viggo handed him a package wrapped in brown paper. "That's for Mira, not you. Don't even think of opening it."

Orlando threw his head back, laughing. "And you, Elwood?" He transferred the rather bulky present under his elbow free up one arm. "Come and give us a kiss, yeah?"

With a wry grin, Elijah said, "I may be divorced, OB, but I'm not desperate."

"I'm hurt... in excruciating pain, I tell you. Shut up and come here."

If there was one thing that Elijah missed about Orlando, it was the fact that he was so touchy-feely. He was as straight as the next guy but still, no one hugged like OB did. It was like being hugged by someone who thought you were the best thing since sliced bread, all textured warmth and charged comfort.

"Everyone's here already," Orlando was saying as he manoeuvred through the crowds to the parking lot. "We're meeting in Ian's place for some dinner. We can decide who's staying where there."

"Great," Sean said. "That stuff in the plane was strictly for people who had no tastebuds. I missed the good old days when food was actually made of plants and animals instead of grown in a lab."

Elijah grinned. "Food's still food, you've just gotten old."

Sean punched his shoulder thus beginning a fight that lasted until Orlando pulled into Ian's quiet street. It was just far enough from central London to be liveable but close enough that all its amenities were close by. All the windows in the house threw welcoming beams of light. The bright red door opened even before the last of the guests alighted from the car.

"What took ye sae long then?" Billy yelled, his arms thrown wide open. "We've almost done talking about ye behind yuir backs! Mira's a great source of dirt for ye, OB, me old cock."

"Naff off, Billy!" Orlando gave him an enthusiastic hug. "Come on in, guys, before you all freeze. No, you can leave all that there; it's a pretty safe neighbourhood."

They entered the venerable actor's home. There was a tingling in Elijah's stomach, as if Ian really was a wizard and he'd performed some sort of spell to make the past twenty years fade away. Even faces that should have been greyer and more wrinkled looked as fresh as the first day on the New Zealand set.

Sean Bean barrelled through first sporting a neatly trimmed beard with a smart grey streak through the chin and wife number four on his arm. This one actually managed to keep him hanging on for seven anniversaries so far. Over in the buffet table, John was in deep conversation with Ian. They looked up momentarily to greet the newcomers then went right back to something about politics. Dominic and his wife, who were chatting with Ian's partner, Nick, in the corner by the kitchen, split off to say hello. Billy was, of course, still boyish, still charming, and still sporting an infectious grin that probably aided the rejuvenating quality of the party.

"Oi, everyone!" " He waved his hands above his head even though the volume inside the room wasn't that deafening. "The Yanks are here! Hide the good stuff!"

There was a dull roar and all of a sudden, the Brits rushed them. Elijah had a brief, nonsensical image of a pack of starving bears descending upon a particularly fat salmon before he was completely enveloped in embraces, back-smacks, and general good-wishes. When it was all over, his coat and bag of presents had disappeared along with his countrymen.

"Damn," Elijah murmured, trying to get his breath back.

Billy slung an arm around him and squeezed briefly. "Aye, quite the party, eh? Jill'll be sorry she couldn't stay.” He leaned his head back, a querulous expression on his face. "Actually, I think it's better for your health that she didn't."

Elijah ducked his head down. "She's miffed?"

"And how."

"Sorry, man, I just--"

But by that time, Billy waved away the excuse. "Never ye mind. She made an early night of it with the wee ones but this time tomorrow, ye'll have enough pictures an' home videos tae make up for all of it, eh?"

"I'd like that."

"Not after watchin' seven hours of it, ye won't." They were slowly making winding their way to the buffet table. "So, ye bugger, how do ye feel about--" Billy suddenly jerked his head to the left. "Mira! Ye've been hidin' out again."

Elijah following the Scot's line of sight... and was knocked into speechlessness.

The last time he saw Mira Bloom, she proudly told him that she could make her own sandwiches for lunch at the big school. And now... now...

"Hello, Lijah-Hood." Mira grinned shyly, her hands in her pockets, her head tilted to one side. That head-tilt was her only recognisable feature within Elijah's memory.

"Mira?" Trying to resist the urge to rub his eyes or pinch himself, Elijah took a step back, letting his mind catch up with the reality that his eyes were sensing. "Maid Mira-Mar?"

She laughed, nodding crazily. "You look like you've just swallowed a frog."

"Good God, it feels like someone's just shoved one down my throat. Come here, sweetheart!"

With a whoop more fitting for the seven-year-old he'd left, Mira jumped into his arms. Elijah was still reeling. She was... well, she was all grown up, shorter than he by three or four inches, but definitely no longer a little girl. Her hair was tied back, brushing his hands when they grasped her shoulders. He broke off the embrace to give her another look over. In a brown sweater and faded jeans, she should have looked like a slob but somehow, Mira managed to make it look... well, not regal but definitely not slobbish.

"I recognise your eyes and your hair but the rest of you..." Elijah whistled. "So how many bodies has your dad buried in the backyard?"

Mira's brows crinkled downward. "Bodies?"

"The bodies of the guys he's had to beat to death to keep them away from you."

She groaned. "No bodies yet," said Mira, rolling her eyes. "And if you saw any of the boys in my school you'd understand why." She hooked her arm through his, dragging him along as she spoke. "You know Papa was absolutely keen on your coming. He kept talking about all the stuff you used to do: surfing, clubbing, minding me."

Elijah had to laugh at that. "I didn't mind you that often. I was too scared."

"Of what? Dropping me?"

He shook his head. "Naw, of falling in love with you too much and stealing you away." He yanked on a lock of brilliant gold hair that had come loose of her ponytail. "You had this weird thing with your eyes; made all the guys drool when they looked into it."

"Oh, you silly." Mira smacked his arm. "I did no such thing."

"You did too. Those eyes of yours should be considered a lethal weapon, sweetheart."

"I've heard the same about you." They made their selections from the buffet. "How long are you staying for?"

Shrugging, Elijah said, "I'm not really sure. I'm between projects right now; no bands to produce, no scripts I'm really interested in, not even a dog waiting at home."

"Brilliant!" Mira clapped. "Oh, Papa will be utterly over the moon."

"Why?" asked Elijah around a mouthful of cheesepuff.

"Don't you remember what I just said a few minutes ago?" At his blank look, she explained, "Papa's been wanting to catch up with you. If you could just stay over for a bit longer than the rest, he'd just die of ecstasy."

A short chuckle burst forth from Elijah. "And you want that?"

"Of course." Her smile widened into a Machiavellian grin. "He's got a life insurance policy like you wouldn't believe."

"Mira, my beloved." Orlando cocked an eyebrow at his daughter. "May I remind you that despite the fact that you are now an adult in the eyes of the law and work for your money, you still live in my house and eat my food. I'd watch what I say if I were you. And isn't it too early for you to be drinking port?"

"Papa, my beloved, you know that I'd never, ever, ever do anything to harm the only man in my life." Mira wrapped her arms around his waist, batting her big sapphire eyes up at him. "And it's only a teeny, tiny, miniscule bit of port."

The scene made Elijah grin. Even after all these years, Mira still knew how to yank her old man's chain. It was not surprising that Orlando flushed, kissed the top of his daughter's head, and blatantly forgot the port.

"That was good," Elijah said in a stage-whisper.

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean," replied Mira, her pert nose in the air.

"Yeah, yeah, pull the other leg. It plays RhadaSquat."

"You like RhadaSquat?" Interest made Mira soften her pose.

"'Like' does not begin to describe my feelings for RhadaSquat," vowed Elijah, a hand to his chest.

"Which songs?"

"Well, I've always liked their second album the best. It was such an eclectic fusion."

"I know!" Mira clapped, excitedly warming to one of her favourite subjects. "As soon as I heard the intro to 'Down by Majorca,' I just froze. I couldn't bloody move for the rest of the song."

"And I bet as soon as it ended, you ran for the record shop."

"I did."

Elijah laughed. "So did I. I was so frustrated when they didn't have it, not even the best import places around SoCal. I had to wait a whole damned week before the order came in."

"Ugh, I'd've downloaded it." Mira looked around furtively. "But you didn't hear that from me."

Elijah zipped up his lips and threw away the key. "So you're a music buff, too, huh?"

"It's all Dom's fault," Mira confessed. "He'd come in at least once a month lugging in bags and bags of CDs. I got addicted at an early age."

"Remind me to check out your collection."

"Aye, aye, cap'n." Mira saluted smartly. She took a sip of the port. "Ahh... now I know what all the fuss is about. This is lovely."

"I'd've thought Orli would be pretty lax on the alcohol."

Mira grinned over the lip of the tumbler. "He doesn't mind if I drink at home. I could be three sheets to the wind as long as I keep it in the basement. The minute I step out, you'd think I was either an alcoholic, a maniac, a nympho or all of the above. Top you up?" She started towards the bar.

"Ah, no, thanks. I'll stick to my juice. Better for my jetlag." Elijah jiggled the ice cubes in his glass. "It's probably fear of karma. He knows all the shit he did when he was your age."

"Undoubtedly," said Mira dryly. "Compared to what I've heard of his wild days, I'm practically a nun."

"Did you hear about--" Just then, Dom came around, his arm landing heavily on Elijah's shoulders.

"How do you feel about opening up a new Bag End, eh, Frodo?" When his friend only blinked in confusion, Dom elaborated, "OB said he'd let us all stay at his place; a temporary hobbit hole for the weekend."

Elijah thought briefly of the hotel room at the London Regency where he was guaranteed fresh towels, hot coffee, and a physiotherapist every morning. His brain switched some twenty-odd years down memory lane to a smallish apartment where he had to do all the house-keeping himself.

"Sounds like fun."

"Brilliant." Clapping Elijah's back, Dom pushed him towards the richly appointed bar. "Did you ever swing around to one of my restaurants? There's this drink one of my bartenders made up that I want you to try."

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