DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly fan-FICTION, in no way represents true accounts and is by no means intended to harm or disrespect the persons depicted. I do not- nor do I wish to imply- that I know Mr. Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This is true as well of all other celebrities mentioned throughout the story.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: I owe a tremendous debt to the creator of 'Jake's Merry Band of Men', George66, who lit a spark that set fire to my imagination. His encouragement and support of this sequel was invaluable.
*
PROLOGUE
December, 2008...
The celebrities were busy "rubbing elbows" as they called while the other guests tried to sneak their way into the conversations of the rich and famous. It was Carrie Fisher's annual Christmas party and she'd invited a vast assortment of A, B, and even D-listers along with the occasional common folk. Among the A-lister's was bright young star Jake Gyllenhaal, dressed in a suffocating black tuxedo and trying his best to enjoy himself. All he had to do was put in a little face time, shake some hands, mingle a little and than he could be on his way. Reese was currently on her way back from visiting her parents in Tennessee and he wanted to get back to the house before she arrived.
'Fa la la la la... La la la la
Deck the halls... With boughs of holly... Fa la la la la'
The old Christmas music, that had initially been quite pleasant sounding, was now verging on downright irritating. Jake scratched his finely trimmed beard; he was well groomed for the occasion—although his dark brown hair was longer, rather shaggier, than usual due his latest role in up-coming The Prince of Persia epic. While he'd become used to wearing hats in public, tonight he'd managed to slick it back well enough so that it complemented his thick brows and blue eyes. Gripping his glass of crystal champagne Jake spotted a cluster of somewhat-familiar studio heads laughing around a small serving table. He took a deep breath and walked over.
"Gyllenhaal," one of the men exclaimed, "Merry Christmas!" They all exchanged more or less warm greetings. It wasn't Jake's favorite crowd but it beat floating around the crowded great room aimlessly. As the three older men began to resume their conversation, Jake smiled politely to mask familiar feelings of desperation. He quickly reminded himself to think like an anthropologist. I'm not one of them. I can still work in Hollywood and not be one of them. The three men began to resume their conversation; "So Melissa and I have decided to go the Hybrid route from now on. Plus, don't we all have to set an example for the little people."
This was Karl Bronx, studio boss of Screen Gems and very into "setting examples" for other people. Jake secretly despised the man and found it hard to look his wife in the eye.
"Hybrids? Those space-ship looking contraptions?" inquired Jonathan Dish, the eldest of the three, and head of the 20th Century Fox back lot. "I just don't understand the fuss. Since when did our city become the spokesperson for environmental protection?"
Only since people started to take notice of global warming, Jake thought, wishing he had the guts to say it out loud. Jonathan was one of those off-putting corporate sharks, a tall, elaborately made-up man who dressed for a different generation— yet still drove a slick jaguar— and often looked down upon the far left. No matter how many hints Jake dropped to the contrary, Dish refused to believe that, where it really counted, the majority of "his" town actually consisted of bleeding heart liberals. Every encounter Jake had with the man left him determined to set the semi-coddler straight, and every time he chickened out. Jake hated how pompously the man sounded while judging others as if didn't regularly hire hookers to piss on him while he called them Master; an industry rumor that Jake found both amusing and surprisingly plausible.
"Well, because we're expected to spread the wealth. And you know, 'take steps to preserve the environment for future generations,'" Karl answered sarcastically. "If we don't Greenfarm will be all over our asses."
Uh, that's be Greenpeace, Jake thought impatiently. Why was it that these so called-liberal, California environmental-conscious elites couldn't even remember the names of such critical organizations as GreenPeace, GLAAD, the ACLU... hell, even PETA.
"Or Al Gore," chuckled Paramount producer Mark White. A big, raspy-voiced man who often alluded to drinking to much wine the night before, and thus was one of Jake's favorites at these kind of social events. Sometimes, if no one else was around— and always being mindful of the paparazzi— the two of them would sneak a cigarette outback, trading puffs like teenagers and making subversive comments about the utter shallowness of their industry. However, when in the company of men like Jonathan Dish and Karl Bronx, Mark would immediately turn back into one of them. "I just give monthly donations," he said with a shrug.
Of course you do, Jake thought sadly. There was no easier way to avoid risking your liberal credentials then just writing out a check for some small charity and not even thinking twice about it. People who actually cared did more; like get involved, spread awareness and yes, donate or raise some money— especially considering the state of the economy.
"What about you, Gyllenhaal?" It took Jake a moment to realize that Mark was talking to him. "Huh, sorry?"
"Charity, fundraising...?" Mark asked while refilling his wine glass. Jake glanced down at his own drink before boldly looking up across the table at Karl and Jonathan. "Well, I was part of that toys-for-tots fundraiser, it being the holidays and all."
"Oh yes, of course. How wonderful. My wife contributed to that too you know," Karl said happily. Meanwhile Jonathan's face remained unimpressed.
"And, well, I've done some volunteer work for Greenpeace, GLAAD, and stuff at the hospital," Jake continued, "but it's been rather difficult lately what with commuting back and forth to Europe for shooting."
All the men's faces looked genuinely impressed... with the exception of Jonathan, of course, whose expression had gone from skeptical to shocked to resentful all within a few seconds. "Well isn't that sweet," he responded with an undercurrent of sarcasm before looking back at the two older men, "Gentlemen, would you excuse me, I have some mingling to attend to."
Jake sighed inwardly as he watched the man go; marveling at how much the industry's reputation could improve if it weren't for men like Jonathan Dish.
"So, Jake..." Karl began while reaching across the table to snatch up a napkin full of shrimp, "GLAAD. Now that's for the homeless kids, right?"
'Fa la la la la... La la la la
Deck the halls... With boughs of holly... Fa la la la la'
Having had his share of conversing with politically moderate, middle-aged studio sharks, Jake eventually managed to pry himself away and disappear into a sea of mostly half-drunk Los Angelinos. Pushing his way carefully through, exchanging a few nods, waves and "Hey-good-to-see-you-Merry-Christmases'", Jake glanced around for a less crowded place to take a breather. Yet everywhere he turned he found a cluster of people either chatting, half-dancing to the endless Christmas tunes blaring from the candy-cane decorated speakers or staring drunkenly up at the ceiling's diamond chandelier. Eventually, he spotted a pair of couches near the staircase that led up to Carrie Fisher's "strictly-off-limits" upstairs bedroom. The couches were jet-black leather and only one was currently being occupied by... Jake stepped closer; Debra DeWitt. He breathed a sigh of relief. Debra was new in tinsel-town, her jaw-dropping appearance having helped secure her a supporting role on a new ABC sitcom. She and Jake had originally met at a fundraiser hosted by Jennifer Aniston where Jake had instantly taken to her refreshingly sweet, unjaded personality.
"Debra?" he asked, sitting down on the opposite coach. The actress, barley twenty-four with long brunette hair glanced up from the cellular device in her lap.
"Jake!" she beamed. They exchanged a hug over the glass coffee table dividing the two couches. "Merry Christmas! I didn't know you were coming to this."
