Chapter Text
He wasn't keen on staying longer at the ceremony than he had to, taking heavy swallows from his glass. What was the point, when Joey would be claiming the award, Sammy's name not even a credit on the record. He scoffed, watching the guests and performers flock around Joey, as if he'd been the man on the piano that evening. Stupid rich people that he didn't even know, or care to know. Their applause, at least, had softened the blow of his name not even being on the award for his own damn song. He needed another drink. The decanter stopped at his table and he nearly took the bottle from the boy, tipping it and filling his glass near to the brim. Wine needed to breathe, they said. Breathe this, he thought bitterly, and drank deeply.
"Just the man I was looking for! Have you enjoyed yourself this evening?" Joey strode over, leaning down at the table. Sammy crinkled his nose, the lead not lost on him.
"You brought me out tonight to play for people?"
"Well of course! It's your passion isn't it? And everyone adores 'Hymn for a Devil', it's a gift to be able to share it tonight!"
Sammy fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"Do correct me, but I don't think these people are interested in the music." He waved to the room with a flick of his wrist. Joey gave a boisterous laugh and clapped his shoulder.
"Sammy, you're thinking too small. Look at the bigger scheme of things. These people know the name of the studio, they're gonna look out for more songs in our toons. They're gonna see your name on the record and say, that's Sammy Lawrence! And they're the ones with the money! The real music connoisseurs, they're gonna see the money backing up your work. You see where this is all headed? These little cartoon ditties are your steps to making it big-time!"
Wow. That was a whole lot of air that probably could have been used to fill a tire. Or play a pipe organ. Anything, Sammy thought, than fuel that five minute bullshit rant he had to sit through just now. Obviously, he didn't say that out loud. Rather, he gave a sleepy blink, and a noncommittal "mm-hm'' that the man probably couldn't hear over the noise and chatter of the other guests. Joey gave him a toothy grin and continued—good grief, he continued.
"Come on now, Sammy, loosen up. A drink to our success!—" Sammy saw movement out the corner of his eye, and found Joey pushing his abandoned wine glass closer to him. He hadn't realized he even set it down. "—and to days yet to come." Joey lifted his own glass. Sammy gave a resigned sigh through his nose, but to be polite clinked their glasses together. They drank, and the wine was dark, thick, and sour.
Sometime after midnight, or maybe before, they left the ceremony, the encore performances over and packed up, busboys and valets scurrying around to situate everyone while the guests made their final arrangements: contacts and contracts, etc. Sammy, meanwhile, cleaved to Joey's arm like a vice. Distantly he heard the man's voice, but he couldn't make out the words or who he was talking to. The world was spinning around him, floor and wall melding and spiraling while a hundred voices jumbled together in his mind. He thought he might throw up right there. Vaguely he felt his arm around someone, something, and that was the last thing he knew.
When he woke up Sammy was lying down in the backseat of a limo, dinner jacket draped over him. He tried to sit up only for his ears to ring like someone fired a gun next to him. A hand pushed his head back down, running through his hair, and he noticed his head was flush against someone's leg.
"Go back to sleep Sammy. You had a bit too much wine there. I'm gonna take you home, alright?"
He just barely processed it was Joey's voice and heard the words, "sleep", "wine", and "home". Those three things sounded nice, and that gagging feeling was starting to come back, so he closed his eyes and drifted off.
The limo ride was the last thing Sammy remembered when he woke up to warm sheets the next morning. He groaned and burrowed deeper into them before realizing they weren't his. First of all they smelled like mothballs, at which he sneezed into the pillow. Secondly, there was a paper taped to his forehead, crinkling rather annoyingly. Peeling the note away, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
Sammy, you were pretty out of it last night after the ceremony. Brought you to my place rather than trying to get into your apartment in the early morning. Try not to get so drunk next time, yeah? Had to run for groceries. Feel free to make a tea or what have you. -Joey
Figures. Asshole couldn't be bothered to drive to the other side of town so he just took him home. The taxi fare would be abysmal, so he was looking at an unpleasant walk today. He hefted his body from the bed (bed? unusually charitable of him), limping in discomfort through the other man's apartment. A persistent pain radiated through his body, particularly through his back and legs. Served him right for sleeping in the limo he supposed, though heaven only knew how many stairs Joey knocked his legs on dragging him up here. Quickly, he ransacked the bathroom for a pain reliever, buttoned his shirt and adjusted his clothing to appear presentable, assured he had his keys still, and left the apartment. Heaven help him, this was going to be a walk.