Bad Company

Chapter 1; Part I.

The California sun beamed down in Chad Dylan Cooper's convertible as he sped down the freeway on his way to work that morning. Condor Studios was only a short distance away from the Cooper mansion, making Chad's risky morning driving habits even more ludicrous. But what was the point in owning a $80,000 sports car if you didn't gun it to work every now and again? He was young and vibrant; it wasn't as if he were an ancient grandma on the way to church, or some middle-aged dude with a carload of screaming brats—he had places to do and people to go.

Wait, did he get that backwards?

It had been a long and crazy night followed by an early wake-up call. While Chad had usually saved his partying for the mornings he wasn't forced up at the crack of dawn, this was his last day at the studio before Mac Falls would go on hiatus. It wasn't as if he had to tape some crucial scene where he found out that the love of his life was actually his stepfather's long lost daughter. No, today they were re-shooting a few season finale scenes one of his less-talented co-workers had fudged up. He would pop in right quick, amaze the director, then be on his way to three blissful months alone in his multimillion dollar mansion.

Chad made it to work in record time. In disbelief that he had actually arrived five minutes early for once, Chad made sure to sit in his car for a bit before entering the building. After all, he didn't want everyone to get used to the idea of him arriving to the studio on time—then they would begin to expect this sort of behavior from him, and Chad was a firm believer in seeing how far he could push things.

He instantly noticed that So Random!'s very own Sonny Munroe had parked her car a few spaces behind his reserved spot as she exited her family sedan, balancing a drink holder full of lattes in her hands. He could see that she was struggling not to spill the warm drinks as she lugged a bag up over her shoulder. How sweet, Sonny had actually made herself late for work by doing a favor for her friends. Chad smiled as he shook his head at the girl, realizing that after several months of living in Hollywood, Sonny Munroe had still not allowed the business to change her—the trademark of a D-list celebrity.

Smirking as Sonny squeezed between his and the neighboring car, Chad's hand hovered over the horn. Now Chad Dylan Cooper did in fact have a conscience, and it was screaming at him right now to put his hands under his legs, pinning them to the seat beneath him to prevent them from what they were so badly wanting to do.

Unfortunately for Chad, his conscience never won.

Beep!

Sure enough, the sudden sound of the car horn was enough to make the brunette girl jump in surprise, throwing her lattes all over herself and Chad's car in the process. Chad laughed uncontrollably as he turned on his windshield wipers, streaking away the light brown liquid which he knew couldn't have been any hotter than lukewarm—not after being driven through the busy streets of Los Angeles at eight in the morning.

Sonny turned to him, her eyes burning with the most intense anger Chad had ever witnessed in his entire life. If looks could kill. Maybe he should've felt guilty for what he'd just done to Sonny, but then he reminded himself that this was the same girl who, only days ago, had accused him of having a cruel sense of humor—Ridiculous. No, she definitely got what she had coming.

II.

Sonny, completely appalled at what had just happened, dropped the foam cups to the ground and stormed angrily into the studio, her nice new clothes now covered in coffee stains. She would not give Chad the satisfaction of the daily argument the boy seemed to crave so badly these days. No, today she would be the bigger person and walk away.

"What took you so long? And where are our lattes?" Tawni asked her when she had arrived to the prop house, still soaked from her caffeinated shower. "Ugh, what happened to you?"

"Chad Dylan Cooper happened to me," Sonny replied in disgust.

Nico grimaced at her remark. "He's up to his usual antics again?"

"There is nothing usual about these antics, Nico," Sonny replied, collapsing to the couch as her friends ducked away from their sopping-wet co-star. "Chad has always been...not kind. But he has really taken it to the next level over the past few weeks! Seriously guys; I don't know what's going on with him anymore."

Tawni scrunched up her nose up in distaste. "Why are you complaining about Pooper! We'll all be on hiatus for the next three months. Don't waste your time worrying about him."

Sonny sighed. "I guess you're right, Tawni..."

"Uh, yeah," Tawni replied, looking up from studying her fingernails. "You need to be worrying about what outfits I should pack for my trip to Miami! Come on, start prioritizing, Sonny!"

Rolling her eyes at her blonde cast mate, Sonny retreated to her dressing room to change out of her now-ruined outfit. Tawni had a point; Chad wouldn't even be in her life for the next several weeks. Why on Earth would she waste her free time worrying about someone who only cared for himself?

And right then, Sonny Munroe vowed to take full advantage of the next three Chad-free months by enjoying the peace and quiet they would surely bring.

III.

"I guess this means good-bye, Portlyn," Mackenzie told his on-screen girlfriend, "For now at least,"

Portlyn looked away dramatically.

"When will you learn to love only one girl, Mackenzie?"

"When the love of one girl is enough to fill my ample heart," he told her solemnly, holding her hand until her fingers finally slipped from his grasp.

"That's a wrap, people," Chad's director announced as Chad popped his collar and the cast and crew of Mac Falls began to scatter. That's when his producer approached him, looking up momentarily from the clipboard in his hands that he had been busily scribbling away at moments ago. "Chad, a word?" he asked the young star in a serious tone.

With a frown, Chad approached his producer, Gary, apprehensively. Why was Gary delaying his downtime? The scene had been shot, and the season was complete; what more could the guy want from him?

"Stellar performance this season, Chad," his producer praised him, turning his attention back to his work as he spoke.

"Alright," Chad said with a shrug. "Stating the obvious. Now, what do you really want?"

Looking up with a glare, Gary slammed the clipboard down onto the podium in front of him. "How about I tell you what I don't want this time, Chad?" he said, his voice becoming angry. "I do not want a repeat of Christmas break. For some reason, every time we're on any type of hiatus, you take it as a free pass to act irresponsibly. But I'm telling you right now that you need to watch your behavior this time. If you trash anymore hotel rooms, so God help me..."

Chad's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't trashing it; I was merely redecorating...in a destructive way."

"Listen here, being on the number one 'tween drama puts you in the very public eye. Do you think parents will allow their 10 and 12-year-olds to continue watching the Falls if you're acting like a stupid frat boy? We're talking about the risk of losing viewers here, not to mention quite possibly your life-"

Chad rolled his eyes and began to walk away. He was not about to stand there while his producer flapped his gums away about something completely ridiculous—Chad knew he had complete control over his life, and he always had.

"Walk out now and I'm calling Mr. Condor immediately," Gary warned venomously.

Swearing, Chad finally stopped, not bothering to turn around to meet his producer's glare.

"Now I am giving you one warning and one warning only: No shenanigans this time, Cooper! Keep your act clean, or lose your job. It's your decision!" Gary sternly called out as Chad continued to walk away.

III.

It didn't take Chad very long to return home that night, squalling his tires in the Condor Studio parking lot until the retched smell of burning rubber filled the air. With a smirk, he tugged on a pair of designer sunglasses as he headed quickly for home—as quickly as one can move during rush hour, that is.

He'd put in a lot of hard work at the Falls, and now it was time for a celebration of the liquid variety. Upon entering the double doors of his extravagant home, Chad freed himself of the his Mac Falls confides, losing articles of clothing as he scaled the marble stairs to his father's study. Now standing only in his shorts, he quickly crouched down to study the various remaining alcohols that Dad Dylan Cooper had stored in his liquor cabinet:

He considered the scotch first. It was a drink for the most distinguished of men, but it also burnt his throat the entire way down. Pass.

Next he pulled out a bottle of coconut rum. Tasty, but too girly. Next.

Whiskey. It seemed like an obvious choice for someone wanting to get drunk, quick. Then again, he wasn't some strung-out musician looking for cheap thrills. That, and it might eventually effect his singing voice. CDC was much too classy for that.

He finally settled for a bottle of the finest Vodka money could buy. He didn't exactly have any of the obvious mixers most kept on hand, the grocery store cashier having turned him down when he tried to purchase some just last weekend when he failed to provide adequate identification. It was a bit ridiculous; after all, how would one get drunk on mixers alone?

Soon he was peering through his the giant stainless steel refrigerator in the kitchen, smiling when he found the carton of orange juice tucked away in the back. Before he knew it, Chad was kicking it in his indoor pool with a screwdriver in hand when his phone rang.

"CDC, what it do!"

"Are you partaking in your evening festivities already?" a voice wavered on the other side of the phone.

"Not wasting a single minute on my at-home vacation," Chad grinned, the alcohol's effects already pleasantly numbing each of his five senses. The burn in his stomach and the way his pool lounge seemed to drift so slowly across the water were both good indications that he was buzzing pretty good at this point.

"Seriously? You get invites to all of these hot Hollywood parties, and your kicking it by yourself?" his friend, Drake, asked in disbelief. "How do you plan on hooking up with any hotties when you're spending your time at home alone, drinking yourself silly? Pathetic."

Chad laughed loudly into the phone, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose and relaxing into his chase lounge. "These are the same parties who do not serve minors, might I remind you. If you wanna go and have yourself a nice ginger ale while you compare purity rings with Joe Jonas, then by all means..."

"And if you want to spend your vacation living like a hermit, then by all means," Drake retorted. "Personally, some sort of female companionship and a wild night at an exclusive club sounds much more promising. Besides, haven't you had enough booze to take you through the night?"

Chad rolled his eyes, leaning forward. "I tell you what, you be my designated driver, and I'll get us both into the hottest club in the city. I can probably talk one someone into serving me anyways. You, however, will have to spend the evening completely dry. If I get a DUI, there goes my career."

"Whatever. Get dressed and have some coffee or something to sober you up a bit. I'll be there in a couple of hours, and if you dare puke in my car-"

"Won't happen. CDC can hold his alcohol."

"That's what you said last time."

But instead of heading to the kitchen to put some coffee on, Chad found himself pouring another drink, this time with a little less orange juice and a lot more vodka. Thankfully, he found the alcohol to be a lot less abrasive to his throat now that it's desirable side-effects had begun to kick in. Almost two and a half hours—and a few shots of tequila—later, a loud car horn sounded from the circle drive in front of the Cooper residence.

Drake laid on the horn of his car impatiently.

Pulling on a clean shirt, Chad bolted down the stairs, missing the last two steps and falling face first onto the floor. Still a bit unsteady on his feet, Chad took one more drink from the bottle he held in his hand before hiding it in the potted plant beside the door. 'Better to ditch this than to be caught with it later,' he reminded himself, thinking back to the warning Gary had given him earlier that day. Chad knew he was completely smashed now, but his ego would never let him believe it was something he wasn't capable of handling. He had once given an impromptu interview to a paparazzo waiting outside of a restaurant when he was completely drunk, and it had gone seemingly unnoticed by his fans. This, he could handle.

"Took you long enough, princess," Drake told him, putting the car into gear and kicking up a cloud of dust as he high-tailed it out of the driveway.

"Well, you might get away with looking like a chump, but someone who's on television every week has to make himself look somewhat presentable," he reminded Drake. "You don't get this great-looking wishing about it; perfection takes time-"

His words were swiftly cut off as Drake swerved to the other lane, practically throwing Chad from his seat in the process. "Hey, slow it down, hot rod. Let's make it there in one piece," Chad warned.

Drake merely laughed, blowing a red light as the car sped up.

"I think I'd drive better drunk than you do sober," Chad said with a grimace, realizing how crazy this was, even in his drunken state. "Why don't you slow down before we get pulled over?"

Belching in reply, Drake rolled his eyes as he leaned over to pull a metal flask out from where it was tucked behind his belt before taking a long swig from it.

"You're drinking!" Chad exclaimed. "You're supposed to be my designated driver...and you're drinking in the car! Shit, are you drunk already?"

Drake merely smiled in reply.

Chad shook his head. "Pull over," Chad demanded, leaning over and attempting to take the wheel from his hands—something he normally would've known wasn't such a good idea considering his current state of inebriation. "Pull the hell over! You're gonna get me in trouble, you idiot!"

Drake met Chad's pleas with an elbow to the gut, and Chad doubled over in pain. "I have this under control, now settle down before you do make me wreck!"

"This is insane! I want out of here!" Chad exclaimed, sorely rubbing his abdomen.

"Whatcha gonna do, superstar? Tuck n' roll?" the boy asked him, cackling madly.

"It'd be a better idea than staying in this car with you," Chad retorted, realizing Drake had no intention of pulling over until they arrived at the club.

"I've done this plenty times before. I'm in complete control."

Chad hoped Drake knew what he was talking about. He should have expected this from the boy—Chad lived irresponsibly, but Drake lived downright dangerously. He should have known that Drake would pull something like this, and now he was screwed. He would have to wait it out and hope they made it to their destination safely. Then he could snag Drake's keys from him and call them a cab back to his place.

Unfortunately, the opportunity never came. As the car rounded a sharp curve halfway there, Drake struggled with the steering wheel as the car skidded off the road and out of control. Chad could see the line of trees in their path, and he knew they were dead. The last thing he remembered was the sound of the windshield crunching in front of him and the squeal of twisting metal. Chad could feel the car crushing around him and the agonizing pain of the bone in his leg snapping.

Then everything went dark.

To be continued...