Autumn Lucy MacDonald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
autumnkisses) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamlikenewyork2018-12-16 04:09 am
autumnkisses) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2018-12-16 04:09 am
Entry tags:
"Mr Mysterious, has got me so serious."
Who: Autumn MacDonald and Brandon Blake
What: A beard by any other name...
Where: Brandon Blake's NYC apartment
When: After this
Autumn cleared her throat and discreetly checked the time on her watch to see how long she had been sitting here. She downed the last mouthful of her third glass of cranberry and soda, the ice tinkling against the glass. Despite how stunning the room she was sitting in was, she was sure she could have gone and done her grocery shopping in her Ugg boots tonight and it still would have been a better offer than this bust was turning out to be.
“I’m sorry, Ms MacDonald. I’m sure Mr Blake won’t be too much longer. Can I get you another drink?”
Maybe that made it a harder pill to swallow. He had a freaking butler. Or a doorman. Or some type of hired help in a suit who would probably have been a fine catch if he had been thirty years younger. As distinguished as some older gentlemen could look when they aged, she wasn’t into the salt and pepper brigade. She had somewhat began to write off her love-life but not quite that much.
“No. Thank you. I--” She was about to say she really should just go, that it was clear Brandon Blake had either forgotten their meeting, stood her up, or changed his mind. The part that bugged her was his manager had called her that afternoon to confirm the appointment and now here she was sitting, like a dick with erectile dysfunction at an orgy, in an incredible apartment that was reminding her just how much of a wash-up she was. She had been sitting here almost two hours now, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt repeatedly. “Actually, do you have coffee? I’ll take a coffee.” Why the fuck, she had no idea.
“Very good, ma’am.”
And now she was a ‘ma’am’. Why did that make her sound so old and dried up? She looked around Brandon’s home again. His New York home. According to her sources when she did a little quick research on him the day before, this was where his main base was as his TV show shot mostly in New York with some studio-based stuff in LA. So, he also had an LA home, and a London home. Add to that a Hamptons beach house (of course) and a yacht he kept docked in Miami. He was younger than her and her bank balance probably had less than it cost him for this lamp beside her. It was all a sign of the difference a ‘big break’ in this business could make for you. And if you were lucky enough to get a big break that lasted five years and counting like Brandon’s TV show, with a following of millions, well, you could own a yacht you kept docked in Miami and pay a beard to hit your sexuality.
Having said that, this was a gorgeous apartment. It was a sprawling warehouse loft conversion in warm muted greys that had perfected the bachelor pad look brimming with leather, glass, chrome, polished floors and pops of bright colours to balance it all. There was a massive pool table in one corner with an accompanying dartboard, foosball table, jukebox and a wall TV probably bigger than the cinema screens in small towns. There were funky statement lights and another wall full of fairylights that looked like a waterfall. She was trying to find anything there that might give away what Brandon’s personality was like but beyond an eligible bachelor that liked reading (hello, entire wall bookcase), she had nothing.
She had almost even finish the perfect cup of coffee when the elevator across the room dinged and the steels doors swung open and Brandon Blake stepped out in all his glory. Skinny jeans, leather jacket, reactor boots, blue mirrored aviator sunglasses… and bottle of Jim Beam nursed under his arm.
“Hey, Russ-man, I’m home!” Brandon called out, pushing the sunglasses up onto his head as he rounded large wall water-feature with rainbow lights changing colours on a cycle beneath the stream. He absent-mindedly tossed his keys, wallet and a squashed packet of Marlboro onto his coffee table right in front of where Autumn was sitting. It was only when they landed that he noticed she was there. “Who the fuck are you?” He didn’t even sound shocked a stranger was sitting in his living room, nor was the question particularly demanding, as if this was an everyday occurence and he had a mild curiosity. Someone may even be mistaken into thinking it wasn’t his home.
Russell, his butler, cropped up from whatever dark corners butlers lurked in when no one was taking notice of what they were doing. It wasn’t as pretentious as it seemed. He worked a few hours in the evenings for the back-end of the week in case Brandon had any entertaining to do. “This is Ms. MacDonald, sir. You have an appointment with her this evening.”
Had, Autumn wanted to correct. She also had an urge to clarify to Russell the Butler that she wasn’t a prostitute because that was exactly how it sounded the way he introduced her. She stood and extended her hand to Brandon with a hopefully more polite and less forced smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Brandon twisted the cap off the Jim Beam and took a swig from the bottle. He looked at Autumn’s hand. “Huh,” he offered indifferently, looking at her hand. A few more moments ticked by where he shifted the bottle into his other hand and gave hers a cursory shake. “Cool.” The bottle was them back to his lips and he started to unbutton his shirt to loosen it from around his neck.
“Wait, hold on! I’m not a hooker,” Autumn protested quickly, holding her hands up.
Both Russell and Brandon gave her a blank, mildly bemused look. Russell didn’t say anything, he merely gave Brandon a slight nod and exited the room again. “Glad to hear it. Because you’re not my type. What was your name again?”
“Autumn.” Wasn’t this guy supposed to be a sweetheart? Autumn knew more than a few people had told her that and she had read many accounts online of how nice and charismatic was. This guy seemed like a bit of a jerk. Maybe this was Brandon Blake’s identical twin. She tried not to get irked that he didn’t seem to have a clue who she was, either from the pre-arranged appointment or being a fellow celebrity. At least, in recent history. “MacDonald. Are you… drunk?”
Brandon looked her over for a moment or two. “Not yet.” He held the bottle up in a toast and swallowed another mouthful. “You’re the first one to wear a watch. What do you drink?” He sauntered over to his bar near the pool table and set the bottle on the marble surface. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and slung it over the back of a bar stool.
“Besides my already having my weight in cranberry and soda?” Autumn asked, following him over, her heels clicking on the spotless polished boards. If he wasn’t drunk - yet - he had to be high. He was just slightly unsteady on his feet and clearly forgot they even had an appointment arranged. She was too curious about him to get the shits and storm out, though. “Manhattan. If you can spare a few drops from your bottle, that is.”
Brandon, with the bottle to his lips again, gestured to the wall behind him like a game show hostess displaying the jackpot loot. Bottles of booze were slotted on fancy shelves like another feature wall. There was no shortage of bourbon. “I didn’t expect you to show,” he finally told her, quirking an eyebrow at her when he took a cocktail glass out from under the bar.
Autumn perched on the edge of the bar stool he had discarded his jacket to and shrugged. “I like not being predictable. I’m curious why you thought that, though. Or why you assumed I wouldn’t be on time.”
“Most actresses I know work on actress time or decide they only want to be the One, not the Plus One.” Brandon measured a couple of ounces of bourbon into the mixer, followed by an ounce of sweet vermouth. “From what I hear, you ticked both boxes. Or at least did when you were working on Broadway.”
Actress time, yet another side effect Diva Syndrome. When you thought the world revolved around you, you expected the world to stop until you arrived. If that was the preconceived notion he was coming into this with, it was no surprised he hadn’t even apologised to her for being well over two hours late. Were his pupils dilated or was it just the bachelor pad lighting? “Why do this if we’re all so incorrigible?”
Brandon snorted, amused, as he gave the cocktail a few shakes in the mixer and poured it out into the glass. He added a brandied cherry from a jar with a toothpick. “I guess that’s one word some might use to describe it.” He slid the drink over the bar to her and collected his bottle again, walking away with it to his lips. His cell phone started to ring and he fished it out of his jeans pocket to answer. “Yeah?”
Autumn watched his back - or ass, if she was behind honest with herself - as he moved away. He had completely ignored her question and seemed to have absolutely no interest in her being here. If this was any other situation, she could understand that, but it was his management who had approached her with the beard proposition. She hadn’t gone fishing for it. If they hadn’t, she wouldn’t have even thought she might find herself in a position like this one day. She sipped her drink, listening to his side of phone conversation.
“I can’t. I’m sick.”
“Can I help it if I’m a good-looking sick person?”
“A couple of hours, my ass. It’s never just a couple of hours. You let them loose with their fucking cell phones and I’ll be trapped there until after dark in selfie hell.”
“Ah-huh… right… mmhmm… preaching to the choir, bitch.”
“You said that last time and I got accosted so bad, I nearly broke a rib.”
“One weekend. Is that too much to ask?”
“Yeah, yeah… fucking hell... what time? That’s the fucking crack of dawn!”
“No, I’m not drinking. I won’t be hungover. Yeah, whatever. Fine. Have plenty of coffee waiting.”
“Yeah, cya.”
Brandon chucked his phone onto the sofa and went to the bookcase to a little lacquered box, lifting the lid and plucking a couple of joints out, slipping them into his pocket. “You’re still here?”
Autumn gave a sweep of her hand. “Did you ask me to leave?” She had almost laughed out loud when he blatantly lied about not drinking, yet was sucking down the bourbon like it was water in the desert.
“Would you go if I did?” Brandon challenged, flicking the box shut with a click. “Why did you leave Broadway? I know people who would literally cut off their nuts, dip them in gold and hand-deliver them to Caden if he would only put them in the chorus line. Justin’s one of the best singers of our time and you walked. All because your fairy tale turned into less Dirty Dancing and more Titanic.”
“That was more of a fact I turned into a cunt. I left because it went to my head and my relationship died because of it. Will you answer my questions now?” Autumn asked, starting to get exasperated. Why was she the one under the spotlight here?
Brandon went over and grabbed his smokes and lighter that he had thrown on the coffee table when he arrived. “Guess that depends on what you’re asking.” With his smokes, lighter and bottle he was still nursing, he walked the length of this floor to the large glass doors that led out to the landscaped backyard with a pool, one of the biggest selling points when he bought this place. He went outside and climbed up onto the brick wall, perching there to look out over the rooftops of nearby blocks. He lit up one of the joints and took a deep puff, chasing it with another swig from the bottle.
Autumn decided to persist a bit longer nonetheless and followed him because he didn’t tell her not to. How was he just chugging that bourbon straight? But it did fit the party boy reports she had gotten. “Sooo…” She went over to the wall, leaning back against it and looking up at him. The pungent scent of pot hit her. She didn’t care about it, she was used to it. She used to be around Justin all the time when he had to have it medicinally. This was much stronger than he had, though. “I was just one of many you auditioned for the role of My Big Fat Gay Beard?”
Brandon told her, ashing the joint over the wall. “You’re the first I’ve met. Sooo… you got lured to the glamorous temptation of Hollywood. Fame and fortune! Glitz and glamour! Being a big star with your name in lights!” He started to laugh, though it was nothing to do with being amused. Tears pricked his eyes he was soon laughing so much and he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You think I can get you a role on the show, or a leg-up into the business? Is that what it is? You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours? Y’all give me way too much credit.”
The first? Autumn was so sure he said before she was one of many prospective beards, but she couldn’t be sure now. It took her by surprise and she didn’t immediately catch that he was mocking her. “It lured you.”
“Did it ever…” Brandon heard a low rumble of thunder far in the distance with a little flash of lightning just visible in the direction he happened to be looking when it hit.
“That’s not why I’m doing this. Or at least open to discussing doing it,” Autumn clarified, still nursing her cocktail. She had some pretty wild days of her own in the past but these days, she hardly ever drank and it was usually only when she was at a party. “I’ve hung up my acting hat. Which is what I told your manager. I thought the reason they approached me was because I was still in the business but it didn’t seem to be an issue. I’m moving into behind-the-scenes capacities. I figured it was time to cut my losses.”
Brandon balanced the bottle on the wall and jumped back down off it. He watched through a puff of smoke when he took another hit from the joint, inhaling deeply. He snatched up the bottle again, holding it up to her and downed another mouthful. He hiccuped when this mouthful didn’t go down as smoothly as the others. “A girl after my own heart!” He started to walk around the edge of the pool, a little tipsy on his feet now he was mixing the booze with pot. “Why not just ditch the biz all together?”
“Is that even possible?” Autumn countered, watching him. She fought the urge to follow him, ready to catch him if he fell.
“Touche. So, who are you going to sell this story to? TMZ? Just Jared? Brandon Blake shops for a Big Fat Gay Beard! Should get you a few thou without needing to blow anyone for a few perks,” Bradon shot back. He finished the joint and stubbed it out on the walk, flicking the butt away.
“Fuck you,” Autumn returned, shooting him a glare. “If that’s what you were expecting me to do, why agree to the meeting? Isn’t it awfully nice and cosy in the closet, enough to want to tuck a beard in around it to keep it nice and safe.”
Brandon sauntered up to her and took her into his arms. “Dance with me!” He dipped her, looking over her with a grin and then pulled her back up to start spinning around the pool with her in a waltz. With the booze and weed in his system, mixed with some pills he took earlier, he didn’t have the best balance. He tripped on her foot and when they fell, she managed to stay upright and he went sprawling on the grass on his back, bursting out laughing. “It’s a fucking hilarious word. ‘Beard’. Get a beard, it’s more dignified than being a flaming queer.”
Autumn offered him a hand up. “How much have you had to drink?” She had copped a faceful of alcohol breath when he had pulled her into the embrace. “Come on, I’m not going to be accused of giving The Brandon Blake a head injury or letting him smash up that pretty face so many fangirls and fanboys love to swoon over. Not exactly sure what the appeal is right now, though…”
“Not nearly enough.” Brandon took her hand and let her pull him up from the grass. A few spots of rain started to fall and he grinned, holding his palm up to catch some of them. He loved the rain. He didn’t know why but there was something sobering about being caught in it, something comforting in the pit-patters of it against a window when you were curled up inside. He pulled her close again, dark eyes searching her face but he wasn’t sure he needed or wanted answers. He started to twirl her around in a waltz again, this time slower so he could still see her face without the world spinning around him. “You wanna know a secret?”
“Not really. I don’t want to be accused again of blowing tabloid execs for a few bucks,” Autumn said wryly. The guy could dance, she gave him that. At least, he could dance in the classical sense. Maybe he sucked dancing in a nightclub but she was pretty sure there were few single gay guys who wouldn’t enjoy Brandon grinding with them on the dancefloor of a gay bar.
Brandon laughed, shaking his head, which caused him to stumble again. This time, he grabbed her more tightly around the waist to stop himself falling. “So cynical. Maybe the fact you weren’t putting out for The Powers That Be is the reason you didn’t get any breakout roles.”
That hit below the belt but Autumn didn’t get pissed and storm off. She was still dancing with him but narrowed her eyes at his comment. He was pushing her buttons, trying to get a rise out of her. Either that, or he just turned into a dick when he was drunk. The other option was that he was hinting here that he had put out to get roles. That was a little horrifying to think about but she didn’t want to make any assumptions like that. The sad reality was Hollywood was a cesspool for shit like that. Sexual harassment wasn’t the shocking event it should be, it was expected and condoned. “Or maybe I just have no talent.”
“Self-deprecation. I love it.” Brandon smirked with an accompanying snicker and he dipped her again. Only, this time instead of managing the move smoothly, as soon as he bent over with her held in his arms, his stomach lurched dangerously. It was a split-second decision to turn his head away and aim for the grass that narrowly avoided him forcefully vomiting all over her.
Autumn shrieked in horror and somehow managed a clever maneuver out of his arms and stumbled to her feet out of the firing line. She didn’t need anyone to tell her how narrowly escaped that plot twist. This was a designer dress and her shoes were Louboutins. It was an awkward change of pace, there was no doubt about that. But she felt bad for apparently contributing to his predicament. Having her there, meeting her, his heart didn’t seem to be in the arrangement. In fact, it seemed like he was trying to throw chance after chance at her to pull out and not want a bar of signing herself away in a bearding contract. She raked his loose hair out of his face and gave his back a bit of a rub as she stood there awkwardly with her nose scrunching wryly.
“Guess this isn’t a part of the contract you anticipated?” Brandon coughed out, putting the backs of his fingers up to his lips, trying to stop a few little aftershock heaves only to be hit with another epic round of puking.
* * *
Brandon was slumped on the last seat of his sprawling modular sofa. His shirt was unbuttoned and half hanging off him and his heavy discarded reactor boots were kicked off to the side of the coffee table. Just as Autumn was returning to deliver a wet face cloth and a glass of water with a couple of aspirin bubbling away inside, she saw him pop a couple of pills into his mouth and dry-swallow them and then went back to massaging his eye sockets with his index finger and thumb.
She wanted to comment on the pills but knew it wasn’t her place. He must be in some damn messed up place to be taking some other drug when he was all-but wiped out on booze and weed. But his private life was none of her business… yet. She hadn’t signed any contracts and she was seriously doubting whether it was a good idea if she did. She sat on the edge of the coffee table, glass in one hand, cloth in the other, proffering them up to him like she was presenting him an Emmy Award, which he was already the recipient of one (and a Golden Globe). The old Autumn would have been seething with jealousy about that.
Brandon looked at the offerings gingerly but mutely accepted both with gratitude. He wiped his face with the cloth and took the glass, downing it. “M’going to bed,” he decided and messily pulled himself up from the sofa. He did a kind of messy dressage-like side-step when he got upright, unsteady on his feet.
Autumn jumped up and grabbed him around the middle before he went crashing into his bookcase full of collectable trinkets, memorabilia, and decor accessories. Considering the size of it, she was sure it would have crushed him if he fell into it. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you. Just point the way to your bedroom and try not to vomit on me.”
“Stairs.” Brandon was much taller than she was but she wrangled him into an upright position with his arm draped around her shoulders. He was woozy and it felt like the room was spinning. He had to focus on getting one foot in front of the other. “Why the hell would you wanna bother with shit like this?”
Autumn didn’t know what ‘shit like this’ he was referring to. Maybe dealing with his pukey dizzy ass or maybe the bearding arrangement in general. She, too, was focusing on making sure he kept putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over. After throwing up a couple of times out the back, Brandon had messily stumbled his way back inside the house and attempted getting out of his damp shirt and kicked his boots off. Then he slumped on the sofa and seemed to pass out or fall asleep momentarily. He was awake again by the time she brought the aspirin and damp cloth back. She didn’t know if she should go and leave him like this or call Russell the Butler in for back-up but he seemed to have left. It was such a massive home to be alone in. Gorgeous, but it had to be lonely. Then again, she didn’t know anything about Brandon’s private life. Maybe he had room mates or a constant stream of visitors. The more time she spent with him, the more curious she got about him and situation. Was this sloshing back bourbon like it was milk a common theme or a one-off? Had he shown up already partially intoxicated or was the mere meeting with her enough to want to write himself off? The way he kept deflecting her, she was in no better position than before she arrived at his place. “I don’t know, maybe I need a new hobby.”
“Knitting ‘n baking off the list?” Brandon stopped walking right by his dining table that could comfortably sit ten guests. He splayed his hand on the surface, holding himself up and taking a few deep breaths to swallow back another wave of nausea being upright and moving hit him with. “Y’realise it’d get real messy if y’found a new boyfriend.”
Well, no. Autumn hadn’t really realised that or thought about it. Brandon had a point. “I’m not looking for one. Do you need help to the bathroom? This is way too nice a rug to get showered with vomit.” He looked awful, now she was studying him close-up. He was washed out, bags under his eyes, a little clammy and green around the gills. But even through the haze of booze smell and a lingering scent of vomit, she could make out the whiff of an expensive and sexy cologne. She loved guys who wore cologne. Not that he was on the market for her as anything beyond a beard. She wasn’t his type, she didn’t have a dick.
Brandon’s response was to just push away from the table and resume the dragging walk towards the stairs leading up to his bedroom. “Other jobs? Might… take up too much of your time.” He hiccuped and put his hand to his mouth. It was a close call but he battled through it, exhaled heavily and squeezing his eyes shut as he swayed through a dizzy spell.
Autumn shrugged, pulling at his arm draped over her shoulder to make sure he had a secure hold on her. Even if he was being a bit of a dick and was trashed, she cared about him and didn’t want him to hurt himself. “Flexible. And I have plenty of time. Are you going to be able to make it up these stairs? Here, hold onto the rail.” She took his other hand and planted it on the stair railing. Despite her worries, they got up the stairs to a landing she had noticed when she had been waiting for him. It was a large bedroom area with an attached bathroom. You could look over the rails and see the open-plan living area. It was modern and funky, she liked it. He had good taste. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl.”
Brandon started by sitting on the side of his bed but soon flopped onto his back with his legs hanging over the edge. “Contract’s on the kitchen counter...” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.
“You don’t have to worry. I’d never do anything to out you or fuck you over. I’ve got three brother. Two gay, one bi. Justin’s like a little brother to me, he’s gay too. I get it. I have some awareness of why you’re doing this and what you probably need out of it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be,” Autumn told him. She tucked her hair behind her ear, frowning as she analysed the mess he had gotten himself into here. “Is there anyone I can call to come over? I’m not not entirely convinced you won’t choke on your own vomit if I leave.”
Brandon just rolled over with his back to her, dragging one of his pillows half under his head. Good enough and about all the had the strength for. “Jus read the contract. Let y’self out,” he mumbled with a weak wave of his hand. A couple of moments later, he passed out, lightly snoring where his cheeks was mashed in against the edge of the pillow.
It was Autumn’s turn to sigh. She unbuttoned the last couple of buttons on his shirt that was damp from being caught in the rain while he was almost barfing up internal organs. She gently eased it off him and found a throw blanket draped over an armchair in the corner. She tucked it over him and left a glass of water and a trashcan she found in his en-suite by the bed for him. She found herself heavily conflicted and went back downstairs, seeking out the kitchen. It had been around the corner from his bookcase and was massive. It wasn’t possible to miss the contract, though. It was thick and heavy. She picked it up and fanned the pages. Part of her thought she should just leave it and walk away. He didn’t seem to want this, so why was he even bothering? Maybe someone else was controlling his actions. Management and PR most likely. Professional entertainment contracts could be messy on many levels, she had discovered during her studies.
She rolled the document up and tucked it into her handbag to head out of the apartment. The least she could do was give it a read to see if it gave her an iota of clarity over this whole thing that Brandon seemed reluctant to supply.
LOG, COMPLETE
What: A beard by any other name...
Where: Brandon Blake's NYC apartment
When: After this
Autumn cleared her throat and discreetly checked the time on her watch to see how long she had been sitting here. She downed the last mouthful of her third glass of cranberry and soda, the ice tinkling against the glass. Despite how stunning the room she was sitting in was, she was sure she could have gone and done her grocery shopping in her Ugg boots tonight and it still would have been a better offer than this bust was turning out to be.
“I’m sorry, Ms MacDonald. I’m sure Mr Blake won’t be too much longer. Can I get you another drink?”
Maybe that made it a harder pill to swallow. He had a freaking butler. Or a doorman. Or some type of hired help in a suit who would probably have been a fine catch if he had been thirty years younger. As distinguished as some older gentlemen could look when they aged, she wasn’t into the salt and pepper brigade. She had somewhat began to write off her love-life but not quite that much.
“No. Thank you. I--” She was about to say she really should just go, that it was clear Brandon Blake had either forgotten their meeting, stood her up, or changed his mind. The part that bugged her was his manager had called her that afternoon to confirm the appointment and now here she was sitting, like a dick with erectile dysfunction at an orgy, in an incredible apartment that was reminding her just how much of a wash-up she was. She had been sitting here almost two hours now, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt repeatedly. “Actually, do you have coffee? I’ll take a coffee.” Why the fuck, she had no idea.
“Very good, ma’am.”
And now she was a ‘ma’am’. Why did that make her sound so old and dried up? She looked around Brandon’s home again. His New York home. According to her sources when she did a little quick research on him the day before, this was where his main base was as his TV show shot mostly in New York with some studio-based stuff in LA. So, he also had an LA home, and a London home. Add to that a Hamptons beach house (of course) and a yacht he kept docked in Miami. He was younger than her and her bank balance probably had less than it cost him for this lamp beside her. It was all a sign of the difference a ‘big break’ in this business could make for you. And if you were lucky enough to get a big break that lasted five years and counting like Brandon’s TV show, with a following of millions, well, you could own a yacht you kept docked in Miami and pay a beard to hit your sexuality.
Having said that, this was a gorgeous apartment. It was a sprawling warehouse loft conversion in warm muted greys that had perfected the bachelor pad look brimming with leather, glass, chrome, polished floors and pops of bright colours to balance it all. There was a massive pool table in one corner with an accompanying dartboard, foosball table, jukebox and a wall TV probably bigger than the cinema screens in small towns. There were funky statement lights and another wall full of fairylights that looked like a waterfall. She was trying to find anything there that might give away what Brandon’s personality was like but beyond an eligible bachelor that liked reading (hello, entire wall bookcase), she had nothing.
She had almost even finish the perfect cup of coffee when the elevator across the room dinged and the steels doors swung open and Brandon Blake stepped out in all his glory. Skinny jeans, leather jacket, reactor boots, blue mirrored aviator sunglasses… and bottle of Jim Beam nursed under his arm.
“Hey, Russ-man, I’m home!” Brandon called out, pushing the sunglasses up onto his head as he rounded large wall water-feature with rainbow lights changing colours on a cycle beneath the stream. He absent-mindedly tossed his keys, wallet and a squashed packet of Marlboro onto his coffee table right in front of where Autumn was sitting. It was only when they landed that he noticed she was there. “Who the fuck are you?” He didn’t even sound shocked a stranger was sitting in his living room, nor was the question particularly demanding, as if this was an everyday occurence and he had a mild curiosity. Someone may even be mistaken into thinking it wasn’t his home.
Russell, his butler, cropped up from whatever dark corners butlers lurked in when no one was taking notice of what they were doing. It wasn’t as pretentious as it seemed. He worked a few hours in the evenings for the back-end of the week in case Brandon had any entertaining to do. “This is Ms. MacDonald, sir. You have an appointment with her this evening.”
Had, Autumn wanted to correct. She also had an urge to clarify to Russell the Butler that she wasn’t a prostitute because that was exactly how it sounded the way he introduced her. She stood and extended her hand to Brandon with a hopefully more polite and less forced smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Brandon twisted the cap off the Jim Beam and took a swig from the bottle. He looked at Autumn’s hand. “Huh,” he offered indifferently, looking at her hand. A few more moments ticked by where he shifted the bottle into his other hand and gave hers a cursory shake. “Cool.” The bottle was them back to his lips and he started to unbutton his shirt to loosen it from around his neck.
“Wait, hold on! I’m not a hooker,” Autumn protested quickly, holding her hands up.
Both Russell and Brandon gave her a blank, mildly bemused look. Russell didn’t say anything, he merely gave Brandon a slight nod and exited the room again. “Glad to hear it. Because you’re not my type. What was your name again?”
“Autumn.” Wasn’t this guy supposed to be a sweetheart? Autumn knew more than a few people had told her that and she had read many accounts online of how nice and charismatic was. This guy seemed like a bit of a jerk. Maybe this was Brandon Blake’s identical twin. She tried not to get irked that he didn’t seem to have a clue who she was, either from the pre-arranged appointment or being a fellow celebrity. At least, in recent history. “MacDonald. Are you… drunk?”
Brandon looked her over for a moment or two. “Not yet.” He held the bottle up in a toast and swallowed another mouthful. “You’re the first one to wear a watch. What do you drink?” He sauntered over to his bar near the pool table and set the bottle on the marble surface. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and slung it over the back of a bar stool.
“Besides my already having my weight in cranberry and soda?” Autumn asked, following him over, her heels clicking on the spotless polished boards. If he wasn’t drunk - yet - he had to be high. He was just slightly unsteady on his feet and clearly forgot they even had an appointment arranged. She was too curious about him to get the shits and storm out, though. “Manhattan. If you can spare a few drops from your bottle, that is.”
Brandon, with the bottle to his lips again, gestured to the wall behind him like a game show hostess displaying the jackpot loot. Bottles of booze were slotted on fancy shelves like another feature wall. There was no shortage of bourbon. “I didn’t expect you to show,” he finally told her, quirking an eyebrow at her when he took a cocktail glass out from under the bar.
Autumn perched on the edge of the bar stool he had discarded his jacket to and shrugged. “I like not being predictable. I’m curious why you thought that, though. Or why you assumed I wouldn’t be on time.”
“Most actresses I know work on actress time or decide they only want to be the One, not the Plus One.” Brandon measured a couple of ounces of bourbon into the mixer, followed by an ounce of sweet vermouth. “From what I hear, you ticked both boxes. Or at least did when you were working on Broadway.”
Actress time, yet another side effect Diva Syndrome. When you thought the world revolved around you, you expected the world to stop until you arrived. If that was the preconceived notion he was coming into this with, it was no surprised he hadn’t even apologised to her for being well over two hours late. Were his pupils dilated or was it just the bachelor pad lighting? “Why do this if we’re all so incorrigible?”
Brandon snorted, amused, as he gave the cocktail a few shakes in the mixer and poured it out into the glass. He added a brandied cherry from a jar with a toothpick. “I guess that’s one word some might use to describe it.” He slid the drink over the bar to her and collected his bottle again, walking away with it to his lips. His cell phone started to ring and he fished it out of his jeans pocket to answer. “Yeah?”
Autumn watched his back - or ass, if she was behind honest with herself - as he moved away. He had completely ignored her question and seemed to have absolutely no interest in her being here. If this was any other situation, she could understand that, but it was his management who had approached her with the beard proposition. She hadn’t gone fishing for it. If they hadn’t, she wouldn’t have even thought she might find herself in a position like this one day. She sipped her drink, listening to his side of phone conversation.
“I can’t. I’m sick.”
“Can I help it if I’m a good-looking sick person?”
“A couple of hours, my ass. It’s never just a couple of hours. You let them loose with their fucking cell phones and I’ll be trapped there until after dark in selfie hell.”
“Ah-huh… right… mmhmm… preaching to the choir, bitch.”
“You said that last time and I got accosted so bad, I nearly broke a rib.”
“One weekend. Is that too much to ask?”
“Yeah, yeah… fucking hell... what time? That’s the fucking crack of dawn!”
“No, I’m not drinking. I won’t be hungover. Yeah, whatever. Fine. Have plenty of coffee waiting.”
“Yeah, cya.”
Brandon chucked his phone onto the sofa and went to the bookcase to a little lacquered box, lifting the lid and plucking a couple of joints out, slipping them into his pocket. “You’re still here?”
Autumn gave a sweep of her hand. “Did you ask me to leave?” She had almost laughed out loud when he blatantly lied about not drinking, yet was sucking down the bourbon like it was water in the desert.
“Would you go if I did?” Brandon challenged, flicking the box shut with a click. “Why did you leave Broadway? I know people who would literally cut off their nuts, dip them in gold and hand-deliver them to Caden if he would only put them in the chorus line. Justin’s one of the best singers of our time and you walked. All because your fairy tale turned into less Dirty Dancing and more Titanic.”
“That was more of a fact I turned into a cunt. I left because it went to my head and my relationship died because of it. Will you answer my questions now?” Autumn asked, starting to get exasperated. Why was she the one under the spotlight here?
Brandon went over and grabbed his smokes and lighter that he had thrown on the coffee table when he arrived. “Guess that depends on what you’re asking.” With his smokes, lighter and bottle he was still nursing, he walked the length of this floor to the large glass doors that led out to the landscaped backyard with a pool, one of the biggest selling points when he bought this place. He went outside and climbed up onto the brick wall, perching there to look out over the rooftops of nearby blocks. He lit up one of the joints and took a deep puff, chasing it with another swig from the bottle.
Autumn decided to persist a bit longer nonetheless and followed him because he didn’t tell her not to. How was he just chugging that bourbon straight? But it did fit the party boy reports she had gotten. “Sooo…” She went over to the wall, leaning back against it and looking up at him. The pungent scent of pot hit her. She didn’t care about it, she was used to it. She used to be around Justin all the time when he had to have it medicinally. This was much stronger than he had, though. “I was just one of many you auditioned for the role of My Big Fat Gay Beard?”
Brandon told her, ashing the joint over the wall. “You’re the first I’ve met. Sooo… you got lured to the glamorous temptation of Hollywood. Fame and fortune! Glitz and glamour! Being a big star with your name in lights!” He started to laugh, though it was nothing to do with being amused. Tears pricked his eyes he was soon laughing so much and he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You think I can get you a role on the show, or a leg-up into the business? Is that what it is? You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours? Y’all give me way too much credit.”
The first? Autumn was so sure he said before she was one of many prospective beards, but she couldn’t be sure now. It took her by surprise and she didn’t immediately catch that he was mocking her. “It lured you.”
“Did it ever…” Brandon heard a low rumble of thunder far in the distance with a little flash of lightning just visible in the direction he happened to be looking when it hit.
“That’s not why I’m doing this. Or at least open to discussing doing it,” Autumn clarified, still nursing her cocktail. She had some pretty wild days of her own in the past but these days, she hardly ever drank and it was usually only when she was at a party. “I’ve hung up my acting hat. Which is what I told your manager. I thought the reason they approached me was because I was still in the business but it didn’t seem to be an issue. I’m moving into behind-the-scenes capacities. I figured it was time to cut my losses.”
Brandon balanced the bottle on the wall and jumped back down off it. He watched through a puff of smoke when he took another hit from the joint, inhaling deeply. He snatched up the bottle again, holding it up to her and downed another mouthful. He hiccuped when this mouthful didn’t go down as smoothly as the others. “A girl after my own heart!” He started to walk around the edge of the pool, a little tipsy on his feet now he was mixing the booze with pot. “Why not just ditch the biz all together?”
“Is that even possible?” Autumn countered, watching him. She fought the urge to follow him, ready to catch him if he fell.
“Touche. So, who are you going to sell this story to? TMZ? Just Jared? Brandon Blake shops for a Big Fat Gay Beard! Should get you a few thou without needing to blow anyone for a few perks,” Bradon shot back. He finished the joint and stubbed it out on the walk, flicking the butt away.
“Fuck you,” Autumn returned, shooting him a glare. “If that’s what you were expecting me to do, why agree to the meeting? Isn’t it awfully nice and cosy in the closet, enough to want to tuck a beard in around it to keep it nice and safe.”
Brandon sauntered up to her and took her into his arms. “Dance with me!” He dipped her, looking over her with a grin and then pulled her back up to start spinning around the pool with her in a waltz. With the booze and weed in his system, mixed with some pills he took earlier, he didn’t have the best balance. He tripped on her foot and when they fell, she managed to stay upright and he went sprawling on the grass on his back, bursting out laughing. “It’s a fucking hilarious word. ‘Beard’. Get a beard, it’s more dignified than being a flaming queer.”
Autumn offered him a hand up. “How much have you had to drink?” She had copped a faceful of alcohol breath when he had pulled her into the embrace. “Come on, I’m not going to be accused of giving The Brandon Blake a head injury or letting him smash up that pretty face so many fangirls and fanboys love to swoon over. Not exactly sure what the appeal is right now, though…”
“Not nearly enough.” Brandon took her hand and let her pull him up from the grass. A few spots of rain started to fall and he grinned, holding his palm up to catch some of them. He loved the rain. He didn’t know why but there was something sobering about being caught in it, something comforting in the pit-patters of it against a window when you were curled up inside. He pulled her close again, dark eyes searching her face but he wasn’t sure he needed or wanted answers. He started to twirl her around in a waltz again, this time slower so he could still see her face without the world spinning around him. “You wanna know a secret?”
“Not really. I don’t want to be accused again of blowing tabloid execs for a few bucks,” Autumn said wryly. The guy could dance, she gave him that. At least, he could dance in the classical sense. Maybe he sucked dancing in a nightclub but she was pretty sure there were few single gay guys who wouldn’t enjoy Brandon grinding with them on the dancefloor of a gay bar.
Brandon laughed, shaking his head, which caused him to stumble again. This time, he grabbed her more tightly around the waist to stop himself falling. “So cynical. Maybe the fact you weren’t putting out for The Powers That Be is the reason you didn’t get any breakout roles.”
That hit below the belt but Autumn didn’t get pissed and storm off. She was still dancing with him but narrowed her eyes at his comment. He was pushing her buttons, trying to get a rise out of her. Either that, or he just turned into a dick when he was drunk. The other option was that he was hinting here that he had put out to get roles. That was a little horrifying to think about but she didn’t want to make any assumptions like that. The sad reality was Hollywood was a cesspool for shit like that. Sexual harassment wasn’t the shocking event it should be, it was expected and condoned. “Or maybe I just have no talent.”
“Self-deprecation. I love it.” Brandon smirked with an accompanying snicker and he dipped her again. Only, this time instead of managing the move smoothly, as soon as he bent over with her held in his arms, his stomach lurched dangerously. It was a split-second decision to turn his head away and aim for the grass that narrowly avoided him forcefully vomiting all over her.
Autumn shrieked in horror and somehow managed a clever maneuver out of his arms and stumbled to her feet out of the firing line. She didn’t need anyone to tell her how narrowly escaped that plot twist. This was a designer dress and her shoes were Louboutins. It was an awkward change of pace, there was no doubt about that. But she felt bad for apparently contributing to his predicament. Having her there, meeting her, his heart didn’t seem to be in the arrangement. In fact, it seemed like he was trying to throw chance after chance at her to pull out and not want a bar of signing herself away in a bearding contract. She raked his loose hair out of his face and gave his back a bit of a rub as she stood there awkwardly with her nose scrunching wryly.
“Guess this isn’t a part of the contract you anticipated?” Brandon coughed out, putting the backs of his fingers up to his lips, trying to stop a few little aftershock heaves only to be hit with another epic round of puking.
Brandon was slumped on the last seat of his sprawling modular sofa. His shirt was unbuttoned and half hanging off him and his heavy discarded reactor boots were kicked off to the side of the coffee table. Just as Autumn was returning to deliver a wet face cloth and a glass of water with a couple of aspirin bubbling away inside, she saw him pop a couple of pills into his mouth and dry-swallow them and then went back to massaging his eye sockets with his index finger and thumb.
She wanted to comment on the pills but knew it wasn’t her place. He must be in some damn messed up place to be taking some other drug when he was all-but wiped out on booze and weed. But his private life was none of her business… yet. She hadn’t signed any contracts and she was seriously doubting whether it was a good idea if she did. She sat on the edge of the coffee table, glass in one hand, cloth in the other, proffering them up to him like she was presenting him an Emmy Award, which he was already the recipient of one (and a Golden Globe). The old Autumn would have been seething with jealousy about that.
Brandon looked at the offerings gingerly but mutely accepted both with gratitude. He wiped his face with the cloth and took the glass, downing it. “M’going to bed,” he decided and messily pulled himself up from the sofa. He did a kind of messy dressage-like side-step when he got upright, unsteady on his feet.
Autumn jumped up and grabbed him around the middle before he went crashing into his bookcase full of collectable trinkets, memorabilia, and decor accessories. Considering the size of it, she was sure it would have crushed him if he fell into it. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you. Just point the way to your bedroom and try not to vomit on me.”
“Stairs.” Brandon was much taller than she was but she wrangled him into an upright position with his arm draped around her shoulders. He was woozy and it felt like the room was spinning. He had to focus on getting one foot in front of the other. “Why the hell would you wanna bother with shit like this?”
Autumn didn’t know what ‘shit like this’ he was referring to. Maybe dealing with his pukey dizzy ass or maybe the bearding arrangement in general. She, too, was focusing on making sure he kept putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over. After throwing up a couple of times out the back, Brandon had messily stumbled his way back inside the house and attempted getting out of his damp shirt and kicked his boots off. Then he slumped on the sofa and seemed to pass out or fall asleep momentarily. He was awake again by the time she brought the aspirin and damp cloth back. She didn’t know if she should go and leave him like this or call Russell the Butler in for back-up but he seemed to have left. It was such a massive home to be alone in. Gorgeous, but it had to be lonely. Then again, she didn’t know anything about Brandon’s private life. Maybe he had room mates or a constant stream of visitors. The more time she spent with him, the more curious she got about him and situation. Was this sloshing back bourbon like it was milk a common theme or a one-off? Had he shown up already partially intoxicated or was the mere meeting with her enough to want to write himself off? The way he kept deflecting her, she was in no better position than before she arrived at his place. “I don’t know, maybe I need a new hobby.”
“Knitting ‘n baking off the list?” Brandon stopped walking right by his dining table that could comfortably sit ten guests. He splayed his hand on the surface, holding himself up and taking a few deep breaths to swallow back another wave of nausea being upright and moving hit him with. “Y’realise it’d get real messy if y’found a new boyfriend.”
Well, no. Autumn hadn’t really realised that or thought about it. Brandon had a point. “I’m not looking for one. Do you need help to the bathroom? This is way too nice a rug to get showered with vomit.” He looked awful, now she was studying him close-up. He was washed out, bags under his eyes, a little clammy and green around the gills. But even through the haze of booze smell and a lingering scent of vomit, she could make out the whiff of an expensive and sexy cologne. She loved guys who wore cologne. Not that he was on the market for her as anything beyond a beard. She wasn’t his type, she didn’t have a dick.
Brandon’s response was to just push away from the table and resume the dragging walk towards the stairs leading up to his bedroom. “Other jobs? Might… take up too much of your time.” He hiccuped and put his hand to his mouth. It was a close call but he battled through it, exhaled heavily and squeezing his eyes shut as he swayed through a dizzy spell.
Autumn shrugged, pulling at his arm draped over her shoulder to make sure he had a secure hold on her. Even if he was being a bit of a dick and was trashed, she cared about him and didn’t want him to hurt himself. “Flexible. And I have plenty of time. Are you going to be able to make it up these stairs? Here, hold onto the rail.” She took his other hand and planted it on the stair railing. Despite her worries, they got up the stairs to a landing she had noticed when she had been waiting for him. It was a large bedroom area with an attached bathroom. You could look over the rails and see the open-plan living area. It was modern and funky, she liked it. He had good taste. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl.”
Brandon started by sitting on the side of his bed but soon flopped onto his back with his legs hanging over the edge. “Contract’s on the kitchen counter...” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.
“You don’t have to worry. I’d never do anything to out you or fuck you over. I’ve got three brother. Two gay, one bi. Justin’s like a little brother to me, he’s gay too. I get it. I have some awareness of why you’re doing this and what you probably need out of it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be,” Autumn told him. She tucked her hair behind her ear, frowning as she analysed the mess he had gotten himself into here. “Is there anyone I can call to come over? I’m not not entirely convinced you won’t choke on your own vomit if I leave.”
Brandon just rolled over with his back to her, dragging one of his pillows half under his head. Good enough and about all the had the strength for. “Jus read the contract. Let y’self out,” he mumbled with a weak wave of his hand. A couple of moments later, he passed out, lightly snoring where his cheeks was mashed in against the edge of the pillow.
It was Autumn’s turn to sigh. She unbuttoned the last couple of buttons on his shirt that was damp from being caught in the rain while he was almost barfing up internal organs. She gently eased it off him and found a throw blanket draped over an armchair in the corner. She tucked it over him and left a glass of water and a trashcan she found in his en-suite by the bed for him. She found herself heavily conflicted and went back downstairs, seeking out the kitchen. It had been around the corner from his bookcase and was massive. It wasn’t possible to miss the contract, though. It was thick and heavy. She picked it up and fanned the pages. Part of her thought she should just leave it and walk away. He didn’t seem to want this, so why was he even bothering? Maybe someone else was controlling his actions. Management and PR most likely. Professional entertainment contracts could be messy on many levels, she had discovered during her studies.
She rolled the document up and tucked it into her handbag to head out of the apartment. The least she could do was give it a read to see if it gave her an iota of clarity over this whole thing that Brandon seemed reluctant to supply.
LOG, COMPLETE