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 04:01 pm
autumnkisses) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2018-12-16 04:01 pm
Entry tags:
"He struggles to signal, so says the weird beard."
Who: Autumn MacDonald and Brandon Blake (again)
What: Second Attempt
Where: Brandon's apartment, NYC
When: After this
No matter how much Autumn tried to put it out of her mind and tell herself Brandon’s private life was none of her business, she couldn’t shake the worry and concern for his welfare after leaving him passed out drunk and trashed a couple of nights ago.
She read the contract.
She read the contract ten times.
The more she read it, the more she was convinced Brandon had little to do with this entire process, besides the fact it was shackling his life and trying to keep him reined in. That made her so uncertain about it but if she didn’t do it, someone else would obviously have to, right? In fact, the more she stewed on it and couldn’t stop thinking about it, the more she was sure Brandon had no idea he was going to meet with her that night.
At first, she assumed he was just careless. Got too caught up in boozing and partying, forgot about their appointment. But the greeting she got from him when he got home, it was like he didn’t even realise she was going to be there in the first place. Was that what all this was about? His management were trying to keep him on a short leash, hence the necessity for a beard? If that was true, she knew she would be wanting to get drunk frequently if he was in her shoes. She was lucky, when her star was the brightest, she had an open and accepting management team, PR reps, and a Producer who was so open to giving their talent a platform to shine. Oh, how she had royally fucked all that up.
Nevertheless, all that was why she was back here, on Brandon’s doorstep ringing his buzzer after his doorman granted her entry to the building. Rationally, she knew he wasn’t dead. That shit would’ve been all over the media like herpes in a whorehouse. But she wasn’t convinced he was okay. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to do this thing. She needed more to work with. More about Brandon, about who he was, and what it was that she would be concealing as a beard. Maybe he had a secret gay lover, who knew? She just needed more of him as a human, less of him as a high profile celebrity.
She expected Russell the Butler to answer the door. Instead, she was left lingering out there for a long time, reluctant to let this drop. But just as she was about to give up and leave, assuming no one was home, the door opened and Brandon appeared looking so bad, she took a step back in surprise.
“What?” Brandon demanded hoarsely, shielding his eyes from the light streaming in from the door. Behind him, the apartment was in darkness and he was himself up on the door. “Shit, you again?”
Autumn was rapidly trying to decide if he was drunk/hungover again or still from the other night. His hair was a mess, he was unshaven, sickly pale, clothing rumpled as if he had been sleeping in it. She wanted to bitch back, but she held herself with at least an iota of decorum. “I just…” she began, trying to remember what she had rehearsed to say to him. All she wanted was to sit down with him and talk a bit. She wanted him to be sober, though. “I read the contract.”
Brandon peered at her, face scrunched against the glare way too bright for his eyes to handle. “Gold star. Bye.” He went to shut the door but she grabbed it, stopping him. “What?” he asked again, agitation dripping from his words. “Can you spit it out? I really gotta crash.”
Spit what out? Autumn completely forgot. She wasn’t expecting this but she probably should have anticipated it as a possibility. “I just want to know, have you had anything to do with this whole arrangement or are you just obligated to do whatever they say you have to? Did you even know I was coming the other night?”
The light got too much for Brandon and he stepped back into his apartment with a groan. “Why the hell are you talking so loudly?” he bitched, rubbing his forehead and trying to rake his messy hair down with his fingers. “Look, I’ve got a fucker of a headache. I can’t do this right now.”
Autumn stepped into his foyer, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “I’m not asking you to recite the friggin’ lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody in French. It’s a yes or no answer. Is this what it is for you? You spend your time off-camera partying and getting trashed but you don’t want anyone to out you in the process? Why do you want a beard? Just tell me!”
Brandon cringed when she raised her voice just a level or two but it was enough to make him feel like his head was exploding. He was about to bitch back. He was loaded with retorts about this whole bullshit situation and she was pushing all his buttons when he was feeling too shit to face it rationally. He didn’t even make it to the point of forming potential coherent comebacks. He had transferred from holding himself up on the door to the wall now.
“Just--” He hiccuped, cutting himself off mid-thought, which turned into a warning gag. He was about to continue but the words were taken over by a dry-heave and he took a few steps back. “--call my management. Make an appointment. I-- I’ve gotta go. Shut the door on your way out, it’ll lock itself.” He spun around and bolted up the hall and slammed himself inside a room about halfway along it.
Autumn followed him without thinking but as soon as she could hear him vomiting through the closed door, she just shook her head and sighed. She could take a hint and he wasn’t mincing words. He didn’t want to talk to her about any of it. He kept deflecting or dodging her questions. Granted, this time, she would let him have because it wasn’t like he was faking looking like shit or dry-heaving in the middle of a sentence. She was conflicted, but left nonetheless. The door did close and lock behind her when she pulled it closed and she stood there, staring at it with her thoughts warring in her head.
She knew she should walk away and forget the whole thing but this persistent niggle inside was making her wonder if Bradon needed help. If he did, could she offer it? Did he really want a beard or was he just being told he had to get one for the sake of preserving his brand, his reputation, the reputation of the highly successful TV show he was the star of? There were so many dots that needed to be connected but Brandon just wasn’t coming to the party. It was raining when she left the building. Fitting, really. She passed a trash can a few doors down and after some moments of conflicted hesitation as she stood there getting pour on, she pulled the hefty contract from her hand bag and chucked it into the trash. She wasn’t stupid, she knew when to call a lost cause a day. It was a shame because, despite the fact he was clearly indifferent when he was drunk and a bit of an infuriating jerk, she had been so sure she could help him out.
Some things just weren’t meant to be.
LOG, COMPLETE
What: Second Attempt
Where: Brandon's apartment, NYC
When: After this
No matter how much Autumn tried to put it out of her mind and tell herself Brandon’s private life was none of her business, she couldn’t shake the worry and concern for his welfare after leaving him passed out drunk and trashed a couple of nights ago.
She read the contract.
She read the contract ten times.
The more she read it, the more she was convinced Brandon had little to do with this entire process, besides the fact it was shackling his life and trying to keep him reined in. That made her so uncertain about it but if she didn’t do it, someone else would obviously have to, right? In fact, the more she stewed on it and couldn’t stop thinking about it, the more she was sure Brandon had no idea he was going to meet with her that night.
At first, she assumed he was just careless. Got too caught up in boozing and partying, forgot about their appointment. But the greeting she got from him when he got home, it was like he didn’t even realise she was going to be there in the first place. Was that what all this was about? His management were trying to keep him on a short leash, hence the necessity for a beard? If that was true, she knew she would be wanting to get drunk frequently if he was in her shoes. She was lucky, when her star was the brightest, she had an open and accepting management team, PR reps, and a Producer who was so open to giving their talent a platform to shine. Oh, how she had royally fucked all that up.
Nevertheless, all that was why she was back here, on Brandon’s doorstep ringing his buzzer after his doorman granted her entry to the building. Rationally, she knew he wasn’t dead. That shit would’ve been all over the media like herpes in a whorehouse. But she wasn’t convinced he was okay. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to do this thing. She needed more to work with. More about Brandon, about who he was, and what it was that she would be concealing as a beard. Maybe he had a secret gay lover, who knew? She just needed more of him as a human, less of him as a high profile celebrity.
She expected Russell the Butler to answer the door. Instead, she was left lingering out there for a long time, reluctant to let this drop. But just as she was about to give up and leave, assuming no one was home, the door opened and Brandon appeared looking so bad, she took a step back in surprise.
“What?” Brandon demanded hoarsely, shielding his eyes from the light streaming in from the door. Behind him, the apartment was in darkness and he was himself up on the door. “Shit, you again?”
Autumn was rapidly trying to decide if he was drunk/hungover again or still from the other night. His hair was a mess, he was unshaven, sickly pale, clothing rumpled as if he had been sleeping in it. She wanted to bitch back, but she held herself with at least an iota of decorum. “I just…” she began, trying to remember what she had rehearsed to say to him. All she wanted was to sit down with him and talk a bit. She wanted him to be sober, though. “I read the contract.”
Brandon peered at her, face scrunched against the glare way too bright for his eyes to handle. “Gold star. Bye.” He went to shut the door but she grabbed it, stopping him. “What?” he asked again, agitation dripping from his words. “Can you spit it out? I really gotta crash.”
Spit what out? Autumn completely forgot. She wasn’t expecting this but she probably should have anticipated it as a possibility. “I just want to know, have you had anything to do with this whole arrangement or are you just obligated to do whatever they say you have to? Did you even know I was coming the other night?”
The light got too much for Brandon and he stepped back into his apartment with a groan. “Why the hell are you talking so loudly?” he bitched, rubbing his forehead and trying to rake his messy hair down with his fingers. “Look, I’ve got a fucker of a headache. I can’t do this right now.”
Autumn stepped into his foyer, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “I’m not asking you to recite the friggin’ lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody in French. It’s a yes or no answer. Is this what it is for you? You spend your time off-camera partying and getting trashed but you don’t want anyone to out you in the process? Why do you want a beard? Just tell me!”
Brandon cringed when she raised her voice just a level or two but it was enough to make him feel like his head was exploding. He was about to bitch back. He was loaded with retorts about this whole bullshit situation and she was pushing all his buttons when he was feeling too shit to face it rationally. He didn’t even make it to the point of forming potential coherent comebacks. He had transferred from holding himself up on the door to the wall now.
“Just--” He hiccuped, cutting himself off mid-thought, which turned into a warning gag. He was about to continue but the words were taken over by a dry-heave and he took a few steps back. “--call my management. Make an appointment. I-- I’ve gotta go. Shut the door on your way out, it’ll lock itself.” He spun around and bolted up the hall and slammed himself inside a room about halfway along it.
Autumn followed him without thinking but as soon as she could hear him vomiting through the closed door, she just shook her head and sighed. She could take a hint and he wasn’t mincing words. He didn’t want to talk to her about any of it. He kept deflecting or dodging her questions. Granted, this time, she would let him have because it wasn’t like he was faking looking like shit or dry-heaving in the middle of a sentence. She was conflicted, but left nonetheless. The door did close and lock behind her when she pulled it closed and she stood there, staring at it with her thoughts warring in her head.
She knew she should walk away and forget the whole thing but this persistent niggle inside was making her wonder if Bradon needed help. If he did, could she offer it? Did he really want a beard or was he just being told he had to get one for the sake of preserving his brand, his reputation, the reputation of the highly successful TV show he was the star of? There were so many dots that needed to be connected but Brandon just wasn’t coming to the party. It was raining when she left the building. Fitting, really. She passed a trash can a few doors down and after some moments of conflicted hesitation as she stood there getting pour on, she pulled the hefty contract from her hand bag and chucked it into the trash. She wasn’t stupid, she knew when to call a lost cause a day. It was a shame because, despite the fact he was clearly indifferent when he was drunk and a bit of an infuriating jerk, she had been so sure she could help him out.
Some things just weren’t meant to be.
LOG, COMPLETE