Title: Bad Moon Rising

Author: Tinnean

Fandom: The Big Chill

Pairing: Sam/Michael, Sam/Richard

Rating: PG-13

Feedback email: Tinneantoo@aol.com

Date: 1/2001

Series/Sequel: This is Part 5 in The Connection series, and
follows It's the Same Old Song

Disclaimer: They still belong to Lawrence Kasdan, and I'm *still*
just filling in all the blanks.

Summary: Michael dips his poison pen once again

Warning: m/m innuendo, all innuendo! spoilers for the movie

Note: I'm taking literary license with Army Archerd's column. I
have no clue what paper it appeared in, but the LA Times sounded
good.

*****

Bad Moon Rising
Part 1/1

After graduation, Sam Weber left Michigan so fast they couldn't
see him for the dust. He was headed for sunny LA, land of palm
trees, surfer babes, and endless sun!

And movie stars!

And he was determined that he was going to be one!

But in spite of all that sun, Hollywood was a cold, cold town.
Sam got a couple of bit parts, which lead to nothing, did a
little stunt work.

He ran the gamut of the usual actor-out-of-work jobs: he waited
tables, parked cars, performed at conventions.

His money was running low, and he was on the verge of agreeing to
perform in a soft-core porn flick, when his luck finally took a
turn.

A second unit director he had worked under remembered him when a
call went out for an athletic young man to double for an actor on
a new, testosterone-filled TV show, full of fast cars and girls
in mini skirts. And stunts. Lots and lots of stunts.

Sam got the job. And the male lead liked his looks so much, that
he encouraged the writers to come up with a small part for him.

Soon Sam was working steadily, both on the set and off. And that
actor taught him more about himself, and what he liked, than all
of the girls he had dated in college and in high school, before.

But he was fickle and flighty, and knew that someone as young and
good looking as Sam would soon become competition. So he cut him
loose and went on to greener pastures.

Sam wasn't alone for long. Soon he was seen escorting any number
of lovely ladies, to the Grammies, to the Emmys, to the Academy
Awards.

Life was fan-fucking-tastic, and Sam was determined to enjoy it
to the very last drop.

But although he had more women then he knew what to do with,
he was now aware of a side of himself he had never known was
there, and he started to feel the pressing need for something
else.

So he went looking for it, and he found it, not in Robin, the
woman who became his wife, but in someone surprisingly different,
someone visiting the west coast on business, and not at all his
style.

****

The show was in its third season. His character was now the
star's best friend and he was on camera almost every day.

His picture was in Sixteen and Tiger Beat. There was even a
mention in Army Archerd's column.

That's what started the whole thing, those two lines in the LA
Times. Two days later, he got a call from an old college friend
who needed a favor.

"Sam, hi. It's Michael. From Michigan."

"I know who you are, Michael." Sam also knew that Michael now
worked for People Magazine. As much as he wanted to slam down the
receiver, he was certain it wouldn't be beneficial to his career.
"How have you been?"

"Good, good. Listen, I saw that item in Army's column. Great
career op!"

"Op?"

"Opportunity! And now People wants to do a story on you!"

"That's great, Michael. Um, so...is someone coming out here to do
it, or do they want me to come to New York?"

"Sam, Sam, *we* come to *you*! I'll be out on Friday. Where can I
meet you?"

"I know a little place off Rodeo Drive. Let me give you the
address." He waited while Michael hunted up a paper and pen, then
rattled off the name and street of the trendy little spot that
was promising to become the next Elaine's.

"Great, Sam. My plane comes in around four, I'll get settled at
my hotel and meet you there around eight. Sound good?" He didn't
give Sam a chance to answer. "Fine. Thanks, Sam. I'll see you
then."

The line went dead, and Sam looked at it unhappily. What had he
gotten himself into?

He got a dial tone and phoned his agent.

"Jimbo..."

"Sammy, bubballa! I was just about to call you! People wants to
do an article on you. They're sending someone out for the
weekend. Be *very* nice to him, bubby! Look, I'd love to chat, but
I've got Robert Redford on line 2 and I have to run. Ciao, Sammy.
You're such a *cute* boy!"

He let his breath out and hung up the phone. Well, at least the
interview was legitimate. He'd just have to stay alert and watch
what he said around Michael.

Sam remembered what the tall journalism student had done to Alex,
the leader of their group of friends: Michael had taken his words
and splashed them all over the front page of their college
newspaper, until the other man had no choice but to renounce the
Rutledge fellowship he had striven for his entire school
career.

The last Sam had heard, Alex, that brilliant scientific student,
was working in construction, covering pipes with deadly asbestos
insulation. Before that he had worked in sales at Sears. And
before that he served as chaplain's clerk for his hitch in the
army, stationed in Fort Bragg.

According to Harold, who kept closest contact with their best
friend, Alex was already making noises about moving on.

Sam sighed. All that talent, all that knowledge, and it was going
to waste! *Damn* Michael for being a self-serving, interfering son
of a bitch!

****

Michael was waiting at the bar at Ariadne's, the trendy new spot
Sam had recommended, when the actor came striding in. Michael
noticed how the women's eyes followed him, caressing his lean
frame, and he scowled.

No one liked him. Well, Annie, his girlfriend, did, but that
didn't count. She *had* to like him; they were a couple! But
forming friendships wasn't as easy for him as it was for the
others in their group, and he bitterly resented Sam's fame,
Harold's business acumen, Nick's glib manner.

As for Alex...all he wanted from Alex was his body, but the
fair-haired wonderboy was out of his reach, as always.

Michael had been there when Alex tried to impress Harold by
denigrating the fellowship he was about to be awarded. But Harold
was oblivious, so wrapped up in his affair with...Sarah? Michael
wasn't too sure of that. All he knew was that that particular
friend missed the invitation that Alex issued him.

Following Alex out of the library and into the soft spring
evening, Michael grabbed his arm. "Ha doesn't care that you want
him, Alex, but *I* do! I want you! Come back with me to my room!
I'll love you like you've never been loved before!"

"Oh, thanks, Michael. I appreciate the offer but I've...got a
headache. Some other time, maybe. All right?"

Michael had given him his usual, insouciant grin at the brush
off, but when Alex turned away, the journalism student's face
darkened with anger. And he went back to his room alone and sat
at his typewriter, his fingers flying over the keys, as he turned
out an article that was guaranteed to lose Alex the fellowship.

****

The two college friends sat in the restaurant and talked over
drinks and dinner. They spoke of old times and old friends, and
Sam kept careful watch on his tongue, determined to give the
other man nothing to use against him.

"So," Michael finally said, shutting off his tape recorder and
summoning the check. "It's been good to see you again, Sam. It's
still early. Can I drop you anywhere?"

"No, that's quite all right, Michael. I need to get home and run
my lines with Robin."

"Robin? Oh, yes, your ... wife."

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "Why do you say *my wife* in that
tone of voice?"

"What tone of voice?" he asked innocently.

"C'mon, Michael, this is *me* you're talking to. I've known you
since before college!"

Michael looked up at his friend through his eyelashes. "Oh, I
just heard that she was getting a little...restless...?"

*Shit*! How had that news reached the east coast? Sam and Robin
had been trying to work out their differences for the sake of their
little girl. "Michael, don't you *dare*..."

Michael smiled, satisfied at having the information confirmed. "I
wouldn't dream of breaching a confidence, Sam." That didn't mean
he wouldn't pass on the information to someone who would. He
thrust out his hand, waiting patiently until the other man took
it. "Ciao, Sam the Sham!"

He turned on his heel and strode out of the restaurant, mentally
rubbing his hands together. If this didn't get him his own
byline, he didn't know what would.

And the fact that he would get this promotion on the body of an
old friend didn't matter a tinker's dam to him.

That fucking bunch all owed him, anyway!

****

Sam chewed on his lip restlessly, looking after the tall,
dark-haired man. He sensed the presence at his back.

"Problems, babe?"

"Oh, God, Richard, I hope not!"

~End~