This fic has the Tinseltown characters, which are owned by Henson Alternative and was on Logo. Either you like that abandoned show or you don't. However, given current events, I thought it may be worth revisiting. In the Comeback King Saga, I reveal that Bobby and Samson got married. Bobby was ecstatic. However …
END OF WARNING
The Caucasian teenaged boy with short mousey brown hair stood in the long white limo, letting the warm summer breeze sweep his emotions away.
"Sieda giù nell'automobile!" the limo driver shouted.
The teen sat down and frowned. "What did you say? I couldn't hear you."
The limo driver growled, "I said, sit down in the car." He wiped some ketchup off of his brown goatee and chomped on a hamburger. "Christ, Foster – it's not your fault, you know."
Foster crossed his arms and leaned back against the dark gray seat. "I never said it was, Arturo," he shot back. "I just don't see why I gotta go see her anyway. It's not like she wants me."
Arturo shrugged. "It's just until things get worked out." Poor kid, he thought to himself. Arturo, a Hungarian-Italian, was used to being a valued employee one moment and an "evil immigrant" the next. He caught on pretty fast that American love was extremely fickle. However, it seemed wrong to drag a poor kid into adult problems. "I thought you liked her."
Foster shrugged. "New York's really not my thing. Why can't I stay in California?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.
Arturo sighed. "If she really hated you, why would she let you hang out in her place?"
Foster rolled his eyes. "She's practically a grandmother. Forty-eight? What do I have in common with her?"
"About twenty-three chromosomes, if I recall," Arturo joked.
"You know what I mean," Foster grumbled. He bit his lip, his fingers trembling slightly. His voice quieted. "Out of every conceivable reason for this to happen, this is the one that's the most confusing." His life had never been "normal", even by Californian standards. However, this newest change in the winds seemed so perplexing. What was their problem, anyway?
Arturo smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "Well, what's wrong with New York?"
Foster shrugged. "I dunno. Broadway's just some dumping ground for actors afraid of money."
Arturo laughed, slapping the steering wheel. "I can see who you've been talking to, right, Foster? Bobby can't get over that bad date in the seventies when a famous starship captain rejected him." He chuckled. "And that maiale diva just gets on his nerves. He thinks he can out-act her any day, anywhere."
Foster cracked a small smile.
Arturo noticed. He adjusted his amber sunglasses and shrugged. "Hey, don't worry, Foster. Samson's not gonna put up with this. You'll be back home in no time, okay?"
Foster stepped off the plane, listening to his iPod Nano, preferring to stare out the windows rather than look for her.
"Foster?" a middle-aged female voice asked cautiously.
Foster turned around and saw a tall athletic middle-aged woman with graying dark hair. She wore a tight red T-shirt and faded jean shorts. Foster's eyes widened. "What are you wearing?"
The woman smiled and flicked her hair. "Do you like it? I didn't want to pick you up in a business suit. I want us to have fun."
Foster cringed. "You're like, ready for Social Security," he told her warily. "You're not gonna try to act half your age or something, are you?"
The woman rolled her eyes. Suddenly she snapped her fingers. "I knew I forgot something … I so totally should have remembered to bring my cane to the airport."
Foster sighed, avoiding her eyes. "Whatever." He started walking towards the exit. "Let's just get this over with, Mom."
She stopped him, turning him around. "You can call me Jenny, if you want. I want to be your friend."
"Not my mother?" Foster retorted bitterly.
Jenny frowned. "You have parents. Of course I like it when you call me Mom, but I also understand there are some issues you need to deal with."
He shoved her away. "Yeah … did the Dr. Feel thing already, Mom. I'm hungry." He started to walk away, but noticed she stood where she was. He stopped, sighing in exasperation. "For God's sake, Mom – I'm happy to see you too. Can we go now?"
Bobby Vegan minimized the solitaire window on his PDA and clicked on the GPS chip he implanted in Foster's tote bag. He was in Manhattan. The five-foot-tall overweight pig smiled briefly before frowning, his eyes squinting.
Oh … they would pay for this.
Samson Knight tapped his three-fingered hoof on the table, reading some tabloids. Well, trying to read them. Ever since Foster left the house, things had been frustratingly … quiet. The strapping bull sat in the chair, bare-chested, with his Armani suit slacks on. Bobby hadn't been home for days. He didn't even see Foster off.
Still, he realized Bobby must be taking this worse than he thought. If only he would answer his stupid phone.