Based on the scene from the movie where the boys are at a press conference, and Chazz admits that he did once say Jimmy was like "a robot on the ice," etc. Title is a line from the song "Stupid Girls", by Pink. Rated PG-13.
Paparazzi Girl
Jimmy had never really gotten the hang of the Internet.
His dad was rich, so that wasn't the issue; it was just that he was sheltered. "Bad publicity leads to bad performances," Darren MacElroy had told him once after confiscating a Tiger Beat magazine with Jimmy's face plastered on the cover. His dad was never really affectionate, but he taught him several important things about Business and Life, about cleanliness, about the merits of dedication and hard work and, most of all, about not getting bogged down in criticism, unless it was from him or Coach. Jimmy had always found that a little hypocritical, but over the years, and after several failed attempts to peek at newspaper articles about skating or interviews with his competitors - Darren was also very strict about what type of press junctions Jimmy attended - he simply learned to turn a blind eye to the media.
Being on his own was unexpected and terrifying at times, but he quickly grew used to being able to do things for himself. His job was crappy and the place he was barely able to afford even crappier, but Jimmy was able to keep an eye on the skating world that had left him behind through every would-be competitor that walked through the doors of the ski-and-skate shop. The clientele here were at least moderately knowledgeable of skating stats, of blades and properly Zambonied ice, and even though names like Jimmy MacElroy and Chazz Michael Michaels began losing their household status even more quickly than it had been rewarded, a small piece of Jimmy held on, even if nobody knew it.
The best thing about his job was the small corner store across the street that he frequented. Every day he would trudge through the Colorado snow, and purchase a turkey sandwich, a bottle of his favorite raspberry tea, and the daily local newspaper. More than anything, he enjoyed the editorials, the opinions, probably more than he would have were he allowed to read the newspaper regularly for the first twenty-six years of his life.
He couldn't afford a computer, but when he and Chazz moved into Coach's cabin, there was a single laptop in the den that his skating partner monopolized right away. Knowing some of the unsavory things he did about Chazz Michael Michaels, he knew better than to come up behind him unannounced, for fear of stumbling on Chazz oogling porn or the like. Still, he couldn't help but be curious when he saw Chazz perusing a Web site with his own face centered in the middle of the screen. "Why are you looking up information on yourself?" Jimmy asked.
Chazz turned away from the laptop momentarily, and blinked a couple of times. "Just Googling myself," he shrugged. "I do it every once in a while to see if there's any new dirt."
Jimmy's brow furrowed. "Dirt?"
"Gossip. Rumors. Good shit. I like to hear what the competition has to say." He pointed at the screen. "See, this site has a messageboard for fans to go and talk about their favorite skaters. 'Chazz is sooooo hot'," Chazz quoted in a breathy exaggeratedly girlish voice. "'I would let him practice some moves on me anytime'. How sweet."
Jimmy shuddered. "It sounds creepy."
Chazz smirked. "I'm sure your groupies aren't much better. 'Oh, Jimmy, I loved you in that peacock outfit!'" he squealed in falsetto. "'I want to pluck out every one of your tail feathers and plaster my walls with them!'"
Jimmy shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I uh, my dad didn't really let me look at any of that stuff."
Chazz made an exaggerated wincing face. He knew any issues concerning MacElroy Senior were a touchy subject to Jimmy. The guy had fucked the kid up pretty badly by abandoning him, and for want of keeping the, albeit, tentative peace in their partnership, he always tried not to say anything too critical. Instead, he shot Jimmy a grin. "Let's have a look now, then, shall we?"
"Um, that's okay, I really don't think -" Jimmy trailed off, watching Chazz type his name into a small white box. A moment later, several hundred links popped up, sporting titles like, 'Jmmy MacElroy's skating stats' and 'Jimmy MacElroy merchandise on sale now!' and 'Jimmy MacElroy naked XXX HOTT!' "What? That never happened, ever!" Jimmy protested furiously. He jumped at Chazz's hand, poised on the mouse. "I'm sure whatever it is, it's depraved."
Chazz snorted. "Probably that Hector kid's behind it."
"Oh, God." Jimmy covered his mouth in horror.
"It'd be easy enough to Photoshop your head onto somebody else's body," Chazz continued, unabated. "Maybe that's what he did. And then he like, blew it up and put it on his ceiling and jerks off to it every night."
"Chazz, geez!" Jimmy cut in. "Enough, okay." He resisted asking what a Photoshop was, for want of never hearing the word "Hector" and his own naked flesh discussed in the same sentence ever again.
Chazz snickered but continued browsing silently. Eventually, he came across some auctions for Team Jimmy memorabilia. He whistled at the prices. "I should sell some of your old gym socks on here. I'd make a killing."
Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Can I have a turn, please?" he asked. Chazz vacated the seat. Not having an e-mail account set up or really any intended destinations, Jimmy continued surfing the results of Chazz's 'Jimmy MacElroy' search. "You talked about me in an interview with Skating World Monthly?" he asked.
Chazz, already laid out on the worn loveseat adjacent from the computer desk, yawned briefly. "Maybe," he said. "I give a lot of interviews. They all want to talk to The Chazz," he boasted.
Jimmy squinted at the screen, reading aloud. "'Completely uninspired ... flat ... even being serviced by a hooker would not be enough to keep me awake to watch one of Jimmy MacElroy's performances in its entirety.'" Jimmy looked down at his lap and swallowed. "Do you really hate me that much?" he asked quietly.
Chazz shifted into a sitting position. "Jimmy, c'mon, man. It was ... I just ... I'm sorry, okay."
"That doesn't answer my question," Jimmy said blandly.
Chazz stood up, clapping him on the shoulder. "At the time, I meant it, okay. You were competition, Jimmy! Besides, fans eat up all that rivalry shit. You wouldn't believe how much tail I got afterwards."
"I'm glad you benefited from it," Jimmy said acerbically.
Chazz sighed. "Look. If it helps at all ... I don't feel that way now."
Jimmy looked up. "Really?"
"Of course not. We're a team. Team Michaels & MacElroy! A force to be reckoned with."
"I think it should be Team MacElroy & Michaels," Jimmy retorted.
Chazz snorted. "You know the chick's name goes last."
"Whatever, lard-butt," Jimmy glowered.
Chazz raised an eyebrow. "Lard-butt, huh?"
Jimmy smirked brattily. "Yeah. Lard-butt. You're fat, and, and you use horse shampoo, and you have a stupid ... face," he finished. "See? Now we're even."
Chazz chuckled, but there was no animosity in it. "Yeah, I guess we are, kid." There was a brief, amiable silence shared between them. "So I was thinking," Chazz finally said. "Lots of other people have probably seen those fake photos of you. Maybe we should -"
"No," Jimmy said firmly.
"Just to see if they're well-"
"No."
"You can even compare size and muscle mass and stu-"
"NO!"
"Okay, okay. No naked pictures." Chazz put his hands up in a peace offering. "No photos featuring Jimmy's naughty bits." Exasperated, Jimmy rolled his eyes and strode out of the room. "No nudie-pictures of the Little MacElroy ..." Chazz trailed off as he hit the 'back' button, then clicked the link to "Oooh, me likey," he murmured, gazing at the lurid title page photo. "Not even any tan lines. Hello, new desktop image."