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Beatrice and her fantastical ideas. Butterscotch did as he’d done, blamed Ibsen and cursed at the maid. Bojack had did as his mother told, grabbed the suitcases she’d packed for him, loaded them in the trunk of her car, and sat in the front seat. He had tried to crawl in the backseat to rest, it was 2 in the morning and he’d just had practice a couple hours prior, but Beatrice had chastised him.
“I am not your cab driver, sit up front right now.” Voice stern and scary as ever. So Bojack slumped in the front seat while his mother drove to god knows where. He didn’t dare question her for fear of her wrath. She’d maybe push him out the car and he’d be lucky if she remembered to throw his suitcases along with him. The radio played music from the 50s, it told Bojack to sleep. And he did.
Beatrice didn’t wake him, not much use. He wasn’t pleasant conversation, not that she could converse with anyone at the moment. She looked in her rear view mirror, the house and Steiner St out of sight. Deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth, something her mom had taught her once upon a time. She couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking, best she could do was grip her hands to the steering wheel as hard as she could.
The 101 was quiet this time of night. Or morning, however one may look at it. Bojack would come in and out of consciousness, staying awake for no longer than 5 minutes at a time. His mother, meanwhile, reached down for another cigarette, hands still shaky. She thinks rather than nerves it’s the multiple cups of coffee she’d drank just an hour previous making her hands do the, oh how did her mother put it? The wiggly doozle in 3/4th time. An odd woman, her mother was.
By 8am the Horseman’s, Suagrman’s now they suppose, arrived at their destination. Los Angeles, the city of angels, the city Beatrice put all of her hope into. Lord knows her son couldn’t hold that title.
The car parked outside of an apartment building. Beatrice wasn’t dumb, she’d took as much money as she could out of the bank without it looking suspicious, once her father got news of this she’d be cut off. She had enough for 2 months rent and food. She’d need to find a job soon and enroll Bojack into school. She looked over to her son, still sleeping in the passenger’s seat. The same mixture of feelings settled in the deep of her stomach just as they always did when her eyes laid upon her child.
She almost left him behind.
But she could nearly smell the smoke, feel the flames, watched as his face melted and he reached out for her; begging, pleading with her to take him away from this disaster.
She’s a mother, after all. They bring their children with them, through thick and thin.
Theatre played the biggest role in Bojack’s life. His mother thought television and movies compared quite awfully to the prestige of theatre. And Bojack excelled, a wonderful actor to most, never good enough for his mother. Truly, Bojack liked the comedic roles, nearly jumping for joy when he’d been casted as Bottom in his school’s production of Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“You’re playing an ass and a fool,” Beatrice said after taking a long drag off her cigarette, “It’s nothing to be proud of.” Bojack deflated a bit.
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell it to somebody who cares, go do your homework. My son can’t be a disappointment and a failure.”
So Bojack tried out for serious roles after that, but he’d still occasionally be casted as the comedic relief. He played the part well, better than most kids in his grade.
“You have the perfect comedic timing.” His high school director had told him. Bojack had thanked him with a smile, later writing it down in his diary. His secret diary that nobody knew about, not that he had much of anyone to tell. Still, he’d been a senior and being outed as having a diary at that age would’ve been humiliating.
He didn’t know it, but his mother found it once. Opened to a page that had spots of dried tears, some writing smudged. Handwriting hasty, lines shaky, words detailing how he felt about his mother decorated by teenage angst.
She is vile and cruel. How can a mother treat her son this way? I work hard everyday for her and all I have ever been met with is her evil words. How I wished she’d die… I can’t mean that. At least dad’s not here. God the stuff she put up with.
She stopped reading at that point. She placed the book where she had found it and walked out of his room and into her own, where she stayed the rest of the day and stared at the wall near all night.
She went out and bought tissues the next day and made Bojack his favorite breakfast. She also bought more alcohol. A good memory suppressant.
Performing in every school play in high school had made Bojack invincible to bullying. Or so he’d like to think. He never did take criticism well, but that perfect comedic timing helped stray off the bullies harassment. When Bojack left home at 18 he’d been enrolled at UCLA and by 21 he was performing shitty standup in a hole-in-the-wall bar near the motel he could barely afford. He wasn’t in the best mood that night, recently rejected from an audition, sleep deprived, and dealing with his mother’s rage upon finding out he’d dropped out, so when the heckler from his set approached him at the bar he said
“Get cancer, jerkwad.”
Herb Kazzaz, the jerkwad, was in fact not a jerkwad. In fact, Bojack and him got along quite well. So much so that when Bojack mentioned he’d been staying at a motel, Herb offered his and his girlfriend's apartment.
“I couldn’t possibly do that, especially after telling you to get cancer.”
“Nevermind that, rent goes up every day, this is honestly more for me than for you.”
“Shouldn’t you ask your girlfriend?” Bojack knew he should be grateful, but this felt much too intruding.
“Oh Charlotte will love you, may even leave you for me.” Herb winked and Bojack felt his heart stop and his stomach fluttered. Maybe it dropped. Whatever the feeling Bojack wasn’t familiar and he didn’t plan to explore any further.
Oh but it lingered. For 2 years whenever his best friend would look at him a certain way, rest a hand on his arm, or shoulder, sometimes draped an arm around his waist when he’d had too much to drink, it made Bojack’s stomach flip like Mary Lou Retton. Add Herb’s infectious smile and laugh and he’s earned the gold.
“Graveyard shift should be illegal.” Bojack yawned mid sentence, words barely understandable.
“You were offered the morning shift before schedules were set, BJ, you dug your own grave.” Herb slipped on his jacket as a breeze started up.
“Oh and wake up at 6 in the morning? No thank you.” Bojack shivered and rubbed his hands on his arm. His teeth chattered. Herb moved closer.
“I think you just can’t work without me.”
“That’s not true.” Boajck’s face flushed, he would’ve blamed it on the cold if Herb had mentioned anything. He hadn’t, because he knew how Bojack would have answered. It’s always the cold or the heat or Herb’s ‘just seeing what he wants to see’. Instead, Herb pressed against his friend.
“Work would be dreadful without me.”
“I’d much prefer it.” Bojack snickered as Herb scoffed in mock offense. At some point their arms interlocked, and as they talked Bojack subconsciously reached to meet where Herb’s hand rested on his arm. For warmth, is what Bojack would’ve said. Herb didn’t mention it.
The day Charlotte left Bojack couldn’t stop thinking about her stupid tar pit metaphor. Or her comment about if he’d met her before Herb had. He wished he could say he’d have asked her out. But deep down he knows that’s not true. A coward? If only it was that easy.
But the tar pit, that’s what he’d decided to focus on.
“Herb?”
“BJ?”
Bojack fiddled with his hands.
“If I do get my big break-”
“ When you get your big break.” Herb said in a corrective tone, Bojack rolled his eyes.
“Ok semantics aside, my big break happens, I get rich and famous. Do you think fame will ruin me?” Bojack asked with hesitance. Herb put down the dish he was washing and looked him in the eyes. He felt like looking away, like being acknowledged by Herb in that moment crushed him with the weight of the world.
“Bojack Suagrman, you decide that for yourself. But in my opinion, no you will not. I think I know you well enough that I can say that with confidence.”
Bojack smiled at Herb.
“Thank you.”
“Any time BJ.”
There was a silence as Herb went back to doing dishes. Bojack chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Herb?”
“Yes?”
“Am I a coward?” Herb dropped the dishes in his hand.
“What the hell makes you think that? Is your mom getting on your case again because I swear-”
“No it’s not my mom, just something someone told me a while ago,” He thought it better to not say it was Charlotte, she was still their friend after all, “I’ve just been thinking about it lately.”
“I don’t think you're a coward at all. It takes some amount of guts to get up on a stage and bomb like you did at your first set.”
“I was not that bad.” Bojack defended himself.
“I have seen worse, I’ll grant you that,” Herb wiped off his hands and sat next to Bojack, “Seriously BJ, you put yourself out there and go for your dreams. You’re no coward.” Bojack doesn’t think he’s ever been talked to in such a gentle, loving tone before. It’s enough to overwhelm him, so he just nods and walks to his room, curling in on himself once he’s laid on the bed.
It happened suddenly, no warning, no thought. The view of LA from Griffith Observatory wasn’t even a thing to pay attention to in Bojack’s mind. Instead, he focused on the weight of the telescope in his hand and the taste of the cheap chapstick he’d watched Herb put on earlier. Thoughts raced through his mind in a split second. God they’re in public, he shouldn’t be doing this and he shouldn’t be enjoying it.
But what’s deep down anyway? Bojack let the moment last a little longer, but he pulled away before Herb. He hugged the telescope to his chest. If Herb’s face was any indication, Bojack was red as a rose. They’d raced home to talk and kiss and do much more.
A secret relationship wasn’t too hard to keep. Their chemistry in interviews made perfect sense; the show runner and the main actor are best friends who live together, the two were expected to act like an old married couple.
“It doesn’t make sense.” Bojack reread the line.
“It’s just another joke you don’t understand.” Herb said, offhandedly marking a section of the script.
“I understand it, it just isn’t funny.” Bojack looked up.
“Well good thing you’re not the one saying it.” Herb said, leaning across the table, closer to Bojack’s face.
“You always give me the funny lines.” Bojack said with a certain fondness, reserved only for the man in front of him.
“Only because you’re an incredible actor.” Herb smirked and Bojack closed the distance between them. He’d never tire of kissing Herb, even if his beard made his face itch.
“I love you.” Bojack spoke after they’d parted. Herb could still feel his breath on his lips.
“I love you, too, BJ.”
Life was good for a while, but as the show gained popularity the more pressure was put on the two. Soon, Herb would start coming home late and Bojack would pick up drinking. That’s when the fights had started. When Bojack drank he argued. Rather than joking, he started to criticize the scripts, insulting Herb’s choice of words, acting better than him. Herb wasn’t completely innocent, he’d started to resent Bojack if he was being honest with himself. The star of his show, and it felt like he was taking over.
So they fought.
Until one night Bojack slammed the door and left. Stayed at a hotel for a few weeks. They were civil on set but it was clear something was off. Bojack picked up day drinking, often watching the news or some mindless show to get his mind off things. Today, the news anchor instead reported on Herb’s public act of indecency with another man. Bojack felt his stomach drop. No, not the usual stomach feeling he felt with Herb, this was like a pit of anxiety and nerves. He clicked off the TV, and laid on the bed. A nap was all he needed.
When Herb was released from jail Bojack went to their old apartment. Herb’s apartment now.
“I miss you.” Bojack said right as Herb opened the door. He’d made a point not to drink today, to actually tidy himself up.
“BJ…”
“Herb, please, I just need to let you know that I care about you. More than I have ever cared about anyone in my entire life and more than I have ever been cared for, if not only by you. I’m sorry I hurt you, I should’ve done better.” There was a pause as they looked at each other, Bojack pleading with his eyes, Herb looking… tired. But then he smiles that contagious smile.
“You’re forgiven, Bojack. I just don’t know if you want to be seen here. Or with me at all.” His smile dropped. Bojack took a breath in through his nose and out his mouth, one of the only helpful things his mom had taught him. He took Herb’s hand.
“If fame means losing you then I’m a washed up sitcom actor for the rest of my life.” And Herb smiled again.
“Always brave, aren’t you BJ?”