3-01: That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be

This is the first episode of eight at NAFF. It is written in present-tense to provide a sense of "happening before your eyes." Screenplay-ish, if you will. See you next Thursday.

Click HERE for the NEW VERSION of this episode

Big Booty Hoes
With his eyes clenched, mouth agape and barely breathing through his nose, Wade is close to a much-needed nut. He is sick of this self-loving shit, but it’s better than nothing. Since Noah started working on his “Big Fucking Deal” script two and a half months ago, sex has been the last thing on Noah’s mind. At first, Wade didn’t mind, he was being the supportive husband, but now this whole no sex thing was getting tired. Shit, he was able to work on his scripts, work at Alex’s clinic on the weekends, and tutor young writers on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. He was still horny. That shit never stopped, no matter how hectic his life became. Peeking from his left eye, he looks at his laptop. His abs tightens and his knees tremble. A delicious heat travels up his thighs, past his hips, spreading up to his chest. “Yeah, baby,” he whispers. Every muscle tenses; he is a few strokes away now. This is the part he loves, the way he challenges himself by trying to hold off for as long as he can. Make this shit last, he thinks. Using both hands, he pumps fast until his hands are a blur. “Oh, oh, uh.” He can’t hold out any longer—fuck that challenge—and throws his head back. “FUCK!”

“Wade! Again?”

Standing in the doorway of their new Silver Lake home’s Master Bedroom is a Burberry-clad Noah. Though at the point of no return, Wade manages to quickly slam his laptop close before shooting his load all over his hand, thighs, and stomach.
Rolling his eyes, Noah pulls his pink Burberry scarf from around his neck, marches into the bathroom, snatches a towel from the hook, and tosses it to Wade. “The coffee shop was too noisy to write, so I came back home.” Wade wipes cum from his body and the little that landed by his feet. “What were you watching on your laptop?”

“Nothing.” Wade sits up and checks the sheet for any other spots. Sighing hard, he stands up, stomping past Noah, and puts the towel in the hamper. “And don’t keep asking me either.”

“I’ll just see for myself.” Noah reaches for Wade’s laptop, but Wade sprints across the room and snatches the laptop before Noah can grab it. Noah plops himself down on the bed, on his back. He throws his legs in the air and takes off his Burberry rain boots and throws them in the middle of the floor, barely missing Wade’s shins. “Big Booty Hoes?” he asks.

“That’s it,” says Wade, slamming a still greasy fist on the dresser. “I’m not doing this, Noah. Not today. I’m going to the gym.” He quickly stuffs himself into a pair of jeans and a wife beater, and beats out the bedroom door, his laptop tucked underneath his arm. The door slams behind him. Noah throws a gold lame pillow at the door. “Yeah, real mature, Wade.”


The Arc
“Bitch, you’re late!” says Alex as Noah bounces into Basix Cafe.

“I know, Alex,” says Noah, taking a seat. “Wade and I got into it again.”

“About what this time?” asks Chance.

“I caught Wade masturbating to something on his laptop again.” Noah grabs a menu and start scanning it. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught him.”

“Uh-Oh!” the ARC says.

“What?” Noah says, peeking over the top of the menu.

“What is really the T, bitch?” asks Alex.

“The T is Noah isn’t handling his business in the bedroom,” says Ricky, texting trade on his Sidekick.

“Damn, y’all ain’t even been married a year and already Wade is choking the fuck out his chicken?” says Alex, rolling his neck.

Noah shrugs. “Alex, you know I’m working on my Big Fucking Deal script. I’m writing almost eight hours a day. Wade is just going to have to be patient with me. I barely have time to have lunch with you guys.”

“Wade ain’t trying to hear about no damn patience,” says Alex, snatching the menu from Noah’s hands.

Noah snatches the menu back from Alex. “Guys, can we order? I’m starving.” He motions for the waiter.


Lead Parasol Redux
“Eddie’s in a band,” says Chance. After lunch, and a quick stop at Ricky’s store, the guys are now sitting around Chance’s living room, drinking a bottle of pinot noir. Chance pours himself his third glass, gulps it in one go, and exhales audibly.

Noah looks up from his laptop. “Wow, Chance, that’s great.”

“No,” replies Chance, shaking his head, “they’re terrible. Really, really terrible. They’re calling themselves Lead Parasol Redux. "

“Chance, you said yourself Eddie loves making music when you guys first dated. He even played his guitar for you,” says Noah, before tucking his head back into his laptop.

“Let’s just say it wasn’t the guitar playing that kept me coming back. I wish this was music he was making. No, this is…this is something alien.”

“They can’t be that bad,” says Ricky, returning from the bathroom. He joins Noah on the sofa, reads a line a from Noah’s script and sticks his tongue out. “Can’t be as bad as what Noah is writing.”

“Shut up, Ricky,” Noah says, scooting away from him.

“They take classic poetry like Tennyson’s ‘All Things Will Die’ and make it auditory. “ Chance pours another glass of wine. “Oh, god, they practice every Saturday in the basement. For Christ sake, I grade papers to Lead Parasol Redux version of ‘I Sing the Body Electric.’”

“I don’t see the problem,” says Noah.

“The thing is I don’t want him to get hurt. Trust me, they are not good.”

Ricky pulls the pinot noir from Chance’s hands; it’s almost empty. Ricky swigs what is left. “Tell them they suck already. No need to turn into a drunk over it.”

“I know, right?” says Alex. “If Trey call himself making some shitty ass music, I’d let his ass know in a minute.”

“That’s easier said than done, Alex. Eddie says this is his dream. I can’t just go up him to him and say, ‘Eddie, your band sucks.’ I tried that once, and he slapped me.”

“SLAPPED?” says Noah, Ricky and Alex, in unison.

“Calm down. It was harmless.”

“Unh-Uh, bitch. When did this happen?” asks Alex.

Chance stands, takes the empty bottle from Ricky and heads for the kitchen. “At Martha’s Vineyard. But, look, we worked through that. Seriously. Alex, don’t make a big deal about this.”

Alex follows Chance to the kitchen. “Child, let me had seen that shit pop off…OOH!”

Noah gets up to join them, but Ricky stops him by grabbing his wrist. “Still can’t be alone with me?”


Ten Seconds
“10. 9. 8. 7,” counts Alex and Chance, standing behind the kitchen door. On the count of 1, they step back. The door swings open, and in walks Noah.

“Hey, I thought I’d join you guys.” Noah walks past Alex and Chance, and sits on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Umm-hmm,” says Alex, cutting a look to Chance. Chance raises an eyebrow and nods.

Ricky enters the kitchen, his brows furrowed and his jaw tight.
“I‘m jetting. I’m meeting this hot fuck tonight.” He smiles. “A thugged out chocolate brutha with an ass you can bounce a quarter off. Later.”

“Bitch, don’t forget we’re taking Brandon to see a movie tomorr…” Alex calls after Ricky. Before Alex finishes, Chance’s front door slams. Alex smacks his lips, and waves his hand at the kitchen door.

“Ooh, I think it’s so cool you two are playing Big Gay Brother to Brandon,” says Noah.

“You mean I’m playing Big Gay Brother to Brandon, ‘cause that hoeish bitch done canceled more shows than NBC.”

“And you say he’s so good with Oje, right?”

“Yes he is, Noah. He’s over my house almost every day, but I don’t mind because I know exactly how it feels to be a gay teen with nobody giving one shit if you live or die.”

“Alex, you’re like a surrogate mother.”

Alex leans on the counter, resting his chin on his knuckles. “So many young ones come into the clinic, positive, and they are so destructive when they think no one gives a damn about them. It’s like they believe that if no one gives a damn about them why give a damn about themselves. I ain’t tryin’ to have that happen on my watch.” Alex pats his hand on the island counter. “I always say, you can’t save everybody, but you can save somebody.”

Chance pats Alex on his back. “You’re great.”

“Ain’t I though? Watch out, Mother Theresa.”

“Speaking of watch,” Chance says, “Noah, you never told us what Wade was watching on his laptop.”

Noah taps his fingers on the counter, bites his lower lip, hesitates for a second, then starts. “I think he…”

“Spit it out, gir,” says Alex.

“I think…okay, I think he was watching straight porn.”

After a brief pause, Alex says, “Child, please.” He gives Noah a light shove.

“Why on earth would you think that?” asks Chance.

“It’s just I can’t shake the feeling that Wade isn’t completely over that part of himself.”

Alex sits in the stool next to Noah. He grabs Noah by the shoulders and turns him to face him. “Noah, Wade dated another MAN after y’all broke up. Don’t you think he would’ve gone back to the orange roughy if he was still straight?”

“Alex is right,” says Chance, sitting in the stool opposite his friends. “What you need to do is make sure he wasn’t looking at another guy on the Internet.”

“Ooh, bitch, you better nip it, zip it, and skip it before it get out of hand. You know me and Trey had that little issue with the Internet. Had my black ass online showing off the Devil’s Food and er’thang.”

Chance and Noah gasps.

Alex stands up. “What?” Turning around and patting his ass he says, “You know a bitch got cakes.”

Noah cell phones rings. He checks the number. It’s Brandy. “Guys, this is Brandy. I’ll take it in the living room.”

Alex scrunches up his face, turns and faces Chance, and says, “Fuck all that. What I wanna know is why them two bitches can’t be in a room alone for more than ten seconds. If I didn’t know better, I’d say something is definitely the T.”

“Definitely.”

That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be
“My father sits at night with no lights on
His cigarette glows in the dark.
The living room is still;
I walk by, no remark.”

Noah sits on the living room floor, in the dark, typing on his laptop. He hears Wade’s keys opening the front door. He shuts down his Final Draft and closes his laptop. Wade comes in, pauses in front of him for a second, then walks past him without saying a word. He jumps when the bedroom door slams shut. He takes a centering breath, opens his laptop and starts up Final Draft again.

“I tiptoe past the master bedroom where
My mother reads her magazines.
I hear her call sweet dreams,
But I forgot how to dream.”

Relaxing in his home office, reading the New Yorker, Chance cringes at the jarring sound of Eddie tuning his guitar just outside his door. Eddie then joins the rest of Lead Parasol Redux in the basement. A few moments later, the band kicks into a sonic butchering of Edgar Allen Poe’s “Dreams.” As the terrible music pumps through the vents, Chance bites his knuckles to keep from screaming. Before he even realizes it, he is screaming.

"My friends from college they're all married now;
They have their houses and their lawns.
They have their silent noons,
Tearful nights, angry dawns."

Ricky has his thugged out chocolate brutha bent over the arm of his chocolate brown sofa, thrusting away into his ass. He is losing his hard-on. He’s afraid to close his eyes because he doesn’t want to see the face that looks back at him. He thrusts harder and harder until the thug pushes him away. “Man, this ain’t working,” says the brutha, grabbing his clothes off the floor. “Call me when you can hang.”

Ricky collapses on the sofa, breathing hard. He punches a baby blue colored pillow. He imagines it has cornrows.

“You say that we can keep our love alive
Babe - all I know is what I see
The couples cling and claw
And drown in love's debris.
You say we'll soar like two birds through the clouds,
But soon you'll cage me on your shelf -
I'll never learn to be just me first
By myself.”

After his shower, Wade goes into the guest bedroom, locking the door behind him. He can still hear Noah up, typing. He pulls the sheets back and climb on the bed. He situates his laptop, then reaches under the bed and grabs a bottle of lotion. He turns the lights off and slips under the covers.

"Well O.K., it's time we moved in together
And raised a family of our own, you and me -
Well, that's the way I've always heard it should be,
You want to marry me, we'll marry,
We'll marry."

- (noahsarcfanfiction [at] gmail [dot] com)


Lyrics used in this work belong to Carly Simon, and are used without permission. Removal by request will be honored immediately.