432 Park Avenue

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  1. [​IMG]

    Park Avenue, on the upper east side of Manhattan, is the wealthiest neighborhood in New York City. Where the people at the top of the latter live, the upper crust, the ultra rich. Anyone who is anyone knows that Park Avenue is the address of the masters of the universe, the home of more billionaires than any other neighborhood in the United States. Yes, Park Avenue is the holy grail for a certain kind of new yorker. But Park Avenue is about more than money, it is about power and the American dream.

    Located on Park Avenue between 56th and 57th Streets, is 432 Park Avenue, the tallest residential skyscraper in New York -- the Western Hemisphere’s tallest residential tower is the most trendy and hottest address in all Manhattan. 432 Park’s larger-than-life presence and slender silhouette overlooking Central Park has garnered the attention of the rich and famous around the globe. Proving the age old adage that Park Avenue is and has always been the hub for the 1% of the 1%. Middle Eastern oil magnets, Chinese billionaires, Russian oligarchs, and even Latin American aristocracy purchased space in the cathedral to uber-wealth.

    To some people having a luxury address on Park Avenue means they are part of the UHNW class of individuals, for others it means they are in the game -- a game anyone can play if their pockets are deep enough.

    For the last six hours nine bulky build men carried marked boxes and exquisite contemporary furniture into 432 Park Avenue. A new tenant was moving in to the luxurious 96-story building, a woman no stranger to sophisticated charm and modernist living.

    The movers were almost finished, and quite impressed with the palladian proportioned space, but nothing else was more captivating than the exquisite panoramic view of the city landscape. 10’ x 10’ windows took in, all around, the entire city below, from the hudson to the east river, from the bronx to brooklyn, from central park to the atlantic ocean. Standing near one of the windows was a beautiful woman with wild gold locks, and a slender hourglass figure. One of the movers with papers in hand walked up to her, he cleared his throat to get her attention -- Joana looked so distant, so detached from where she stood the man felt like he was invading her space. After what felt like a long moment he finally tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Mrs. Townsend, we are finish here.”

    “Oh, yes, right…” Joana said, somewhat startled but more embarrassed than anything else. “...Let me get my purse.”

    Joana walked toward the kitchen’s monolithic bespoke marble island-counter where she had set-down the designer bag and pulled out a money purse. She grabbed a couple of Jackson', more than she originally had planned, and tip the mover. He asked her to sign the papers and handed back a receipt.

    “You have yourself a great day, Mrs. Townsend.” he said, before exiting the apartment. Joana closed the door behind them.

    She kept her ex-husband’s last name. It was a business decision. She was renowned as Jo Townsend, the art world’s tastemaker, a successful art dealer, with a respectable reputation in new york’s art dealing circles. She had published a 19-piece portfolio exploring the way artists were incorporating photography into their work, which literally put her on the map. She made the right connections in the art world, the right acquaintances in high society, had jetted around the world setting up curated booths at international art fairs, scouring far-flung studios and art schools for the next crop of talented artists, and made a great deal of money promoting and exhibiting the work of the artists she discovered. But most importantly she built a collection of art net worth over $30 million. Deep down she was not ready to give up the name that made her. She worked too hard to get where she was, and she was damn proud of herself.

    She took a moment to take it all in, the minimalist interior design inline with the views of new york, the classic oak herringbone wood flooring, the natural light coming in, and in her mind she imagined what it will look like when every small piece of art and decor was set in place. The phone chimed, caller ID revealed it was her son, Bo, she answered right away.

    “Bo! You have to come see this place. Where are you?”

    “I just got out of class--”

    “Then I shall see you soon--”

    Bo didn’t really want to see his mother, but he recognized the emotion in her voice, and it stir in him a sense of duty that only a son and mother can possess.

    “What’s the address again?” Bo asked, hailing a yellow cab with his free hand.

    #1 Mariposa, Apr 28, 2015
    Last edited: Apr 29, 2015
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  2. Sean McPherson leaned back in his office chair wearing his black and silver Armani suit with his feet crossed as he wore his Senato shoes that rested on his glass top desk. He also was wearing a blue tooth and talking with “Slasher” lead singer of the Thrash Metal Band Slaughtered Pigs. Granted this might seem a bit beneath some who expected Sean to represent only a certain clientele, but Slaughtered Pigs made over 65 million dollars last year. As long as they could pay the retainer Sean was more than willing to represent them and negotiate on their behalf. “Slasher”’s real first name was Eric Charles, but that didn’t fit the image, was calling to see if the band had a copyright infringement case against a family who’s 6 year old twins were videoed dancing to one of Slaughtered Pigs’ song and uploading it to You Tube.

    Sean nodded as Eric railed against the family and when he finally stopped Sean replied, “According to the letter of the law Eric, I mean Slasher, you got a clear cut case.”

    Eric replied, “Oh yeah. How much you figure on Sean? How many millions? I’m all about the art, but I don’t do it for free.”

    Sean picked up a Nerf basketball and began tossing it in the air as he said, “I agree you should be compensated for your art. You’re looking at maybe 2-3 million, and I suggest you hold onto that money as much as you can.

    Eric asked, “Why?”

    Sean uncrossed his feet and walked over to the glass that separated his office from his Secretary Katy Gallado. He tapped lightly on the glass and made a drinking motion. She mouthed “water?” Sean gave her a thumbs up as she went to get him a bottle of water.

    Sean walked over to his window and looked out over the city from his office at One WTC. He said, “Simple Slasher. Your band made a mint last year, and you all pride yourself as being against the system in a lot of ways. Now you’re going after a middle class family in Wisconsin over a video. They aren’t making a dime off of this, and chances are likely they’re gonna be forgotten about in six weeks.”

    Katy tapped lightly on the glass door. Sean turned and motioned to her to come and as Eric replied, “Look Sean the point is that they are gaining notoriety over this and sooner or later the money is gonna start coming off of this. We just want our cut.”

    Sean took the water from Katy and mouthed to her, “Thank you.” Sean listened as Eric went on a rant to which then Sean pulled out a pad of paper and wrote on it. Showing it to Katy the note read, “Kill me now!” Katy stifled a laugh when she saw what Sean wrote as she walked back to her desk.

    Sean shook his head dropping the pad on the desk. When Eric finally stopped Sean said walking back to the window, “Look Slasher. You could file this suit and win, but you will look like the very same money grubbing snobs you all rail against in your songs. Not to mention the media backlash you will take will be huge. The tour you’re getting to go out on…” Sean shook his head and said, “I see a lot of empty stadiums, or a lot of protests at a lot of shows, and don’t even think of going to Wisconsin. Besides your contract is up and the label and I have begun preliminary discussions on a five record deal. They are in a very vulnerable position right now. You go through with this the tables will turn.”

    Eric asked, “How good of a deal?”

    Sean opened his water bottle and took a couple of swigs. He put the cap back on and said, “Slasher the way it looks like it’s gonna go when this deal is done I can see me mounting it on the wall, and if I could find a virgin in your fan base I would sacrifice them to it.”

    Sean wasn’t exaggerating this deal was well over 100 million dollars, and the label was desperate to keep the band. Sean let what he said sink in and he could feel Eric leaning towards not filing the suit, but Sean knew he needed one last push and he knew how to do it.

    Sean said very slowly, “Eric if you go through with this law suit I will not be the one filing it. I will refund your retainer, and our business partnership will be over. You can then get another lawyer, and then I will represent the family for free. I will file enough paper work and do enough media work that when this thing finally sees the inside of a court room you and your band will be lucky if you’re judging talent shows on VH-1.”

    Eric let out a deep sigh and Sean knew he had won. Sean said, ‘Release a statement though your PR people saying you all think it’s very funny and cute and all that. Maybe send them a couple of autographs and just move along Slasher.”

    Eric replied, “Thanks Sean. Talk to you later man.”

    Sean smirked and said, “Keep on rockin’ Slasher.” Sean hung up and set his blue tooth on his desk as he paced slowly around his office looking up at the ceiling. Sean played cut throat and he could’ve crucified the family in court, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with Eric and his band at this time. Katy walked back into his office and said, “Sounds like that was a lot of fun.”

    Sean shook his head and said, “Yeah about as much fun as getting a tax audit and a prostate exam in the same day. I think after this contract Katy I might drop them as clients. They’re starting to become more trouble than their worth.”

    Katy smiled and asked, “Oh who will make all the charming innuendos and how will I survive without the leering stares?”

    Sean said, “I’ll hire two construction workers to come by a couple times a week and make the comments and stares during their lunch hour.”

    Katy nodded and said, “That could work. A higher class of sexism thanks Sean.”

    Sean winked at Katy and said, “I’m there for you.” They both chuckled as the phone rang. Katy answered the phone, “Sean McPherson’s office.”

    Katy smiled a bit more as Sean took a couple more swigs of his water bottle and said, “HI Diana.” This caught Sean’s attention as he looked at Katy with his eyes widening and a large smile. Katy said, “Yes he’s here I’ll let him know.” Katy put the phone on hold as Sean walked over.

    Sean finished his water and threw the bottle away. He ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened his tie as Katy said, “Relax she can’t see you.” Sean nodded and said, “Oh yeah right.” Katy shook her head as she left the office.

    Sean answered, “Hello gorgeous one.

    Diana chuckled and replied, “Hi sweetheart. How is your day shaping up?”

    Sean said, “Not too bad got a deposition I need to sit in on and a lunch with a studio to finalize a deal for a producer looking at a new franchise. How are you?

    Diana replied, “I got home about 30 minutes after you left and got a nap.”

    Sean said, “What are you doing home already? You were supposed to be in Dallas for a week.

    Diana replied, “Finished everything up in a two day marathon session. I am home for at least 4 days.”

    Sean smiled and said, “Great. Listen if I can rearrange my schedule do you think…

    Diana interrupted, “I’ve been gone for almost three weeks what do you think?”

    Sean replied, “I love you and I am moving Heaven and Earth as we speak.”

    Sean hung up the phone and pressed a button on the phone base. Katy came into the office carrying a folder and Sean said, “Hey I was wondering if it was possible…”

    Katy dropped the folder on the desk and said, “I called the studio, and they just faxed the contract over. The deposition is still on in one hour. Play your cards right you should be home in time for lunch.”

    Sean smiled at Katy and said, “Next week I’ll make sure there are three construction workers in here instead of two.”

    Katy chucked as she left and Sean quickly scanned over the previous sticking points of the contract and everything looked in order. It was merely a matter of dotting I’s and crossing T’s and he didn’t see anything that gave him cause for concern. The studio honored their end of the deal on this, and Sean was satisfied as he signed off on it quickly.

    Sean grabbed his black jacket and brief case as he popped on his sunglasses. He walked outside to Katy’s desk and said, “Thank you for getting the contract. Fax this onto Jerry tell him it’s done and then take care of any last minute details. You get done with that set the voice mail up and take the rest of the day off.”

    Katy smiled and said, “Have a nice one Sean.”

    Sean returned the smile as he was moving with all deliberate speed down the hall to the elevator. With a smile that would stay with him throughout the entire deposition.
    #2 MST3K 4ever, Apr 29, 2015
    Last edited: Apr 29, 2015
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  3. [​IMG]
    Johnathan James Chandler
    In the Chandler home at 432 Park Avenue, there was a stark difference in decoration when entering each bedroom. One was traditionally decorated with Persian rugs and satin sheets and landscape paintings. Another was much more modern with vibrant colors and photographs hanging on the walls. Yet another room had an ambiance of rebellion. Clothes were strewn about, and the colors were inexplicably dark with the occasional neon color. The final room was plain all by itself, almost as if no one was living in the room at all.

    The rest of the penthouse could only be described as a combination of these tastes--traditional, modern, plain, and outlandish. Some may think it impossible for such things to meld together into a perfect-looking atmosphere, but it did. This was the Chandler home.

    In the traditionally-decorated bedroom, an old man with a stubborn furrow in his brow lay in the bed. At 82, he rarely found the strength to walk, but he still refused to use a wheelchair. In his mind, it was a fate worse than death to be confined to such a contraption. The man was none other than Johnathan James Chandler--the founder and retired CEO of the infamous Chandler Group.

    Even in his old age and poor health, his mind never stopped working. In fact, some would dare say it was sharper than it ever had been. His son preferred to think otherwise merely because the old man gave him so much grief about the company. Could he not go a day without his father's complaints and insults? Probably not.

    The old man coughed in a series of violent fits, alerting the attention of a beautiful young nurse named Rachel. She rushed to the man's side, taking every sort precaution in case he had a stroke. When the coughing was done, she told him to try to rest, though she knew this was a futile request.

    "No, bring me today's paper and the most recent balance sheet for the company," the old man demanded. Rachel pursed her lips, debating whether she should insist that he rest. The two stared at each other for several moments. Johnathan couldn't help but feel some admiration for Rachel, for she was about as stubborn as he was. Unfortunately for her, he was the one paying for her services. And it was a very generous pay at that.

    With a sigh, she left the room for several minutes before returning with a long and complicated packet of paper that was no doubt the balance sheet he had requested, as well as the day's newspaper. He thanked her with a wave of his hand, and she was gone.

    Johnathan's intelligent eyes perceived every hidden detail of the information in his hands. His lips curled in discontent. He would have to have a serious business discussion with Ernest the minute he returned home. This simply would not do.

    "I'm home, Grandpa!" a voice called out from the depths of the penthouse. The old man sighed, moving the papers to the side as he awaited his grandson's presence. Every afternoon the two would talk about generally uninteresting topics. Well, they were at least uninteresting to him. But although many would not believe it, he valued family. In the very least, he valued his grandchildren. After all, he wasn't responsible for their well-being. Therefore, he had no responsibility to reprimand them, at least in his mind. His only responsibility was to wish them luck in life.

    Daniel entered, a boyish smile on his expression. "Good afternoon!" he exclaimed, giving his grandfather a rather unexpected hug. He was in a surprisingly good mood that day due to a most wonderful occurrence in one of his classes. Just as he opened his mouth to tell all about it, a crash resounded from the kitchen.

    That could only mean one thing: Mariela was drunk again.
    #3 Kimberlyn, Apr 29, 2015
    Last edited: May 17, 2015
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  4. The phone rang while Aziza was in the middle of typing a seven page long paper. Secretly of course. Noel thought she was a paralegal, satisfied with her rank and pay. But no, once he had turned his back, she had applied to an online New York college was working towards getting her degree in Law. Noel had gone out to buy some brain enhancing toy for Kamilah, so Aziza had gotten free time to do her paper. Until the phone rang that is. She debated ignoring it, but Noel would wonder why, because he thought she loved talking on the phone, and she couldn't have him sniffing around thinking something was wrong.

    "Hello!" Aziza chirped into the phone, a huge fake smile on her face. She had to sound happy and bubbly to everyone or they would know something was up.

    "Hey little Z." A harsh and bitter voice cooed over the phone, and Aziza's smile dropped to the floor and shattered on the ground. No. This couldn't be happening. How did she even--"How did you get this number?" Aziza demanded.


    "You've got your connections, and I got mine."

    "What do you want, mama?"

    "I hear you got yo'self married to a--what y'all young'uns call 'em? An o-r-e-o. Black on the outside but white as the devil on the inside. Now why you with a thing like that, Aziza? I know he ain't yo' type."

    Aziza chuckled coldly. "And how do you know my type? Oh that's right, because anytime I ever brought a guy home you jumped on them as soon as possible. You fucking ped." She snarled into the phone and Kamilah who was playing with some weird logic puzzle Noel had gotten her turned around quickly to stare at her in surprise. Aziza narrowed her eyes at the child. She knew the girl didn't understand a word of what she was saying but she hated when she just stared at her like that. It was creepy.

    "Ped? No, child. The proper terminology is cougar." Her mother laughed, and fell into a bout of coughing fits.

    "No the proper terminology is pedophile. I would know I'm a--

    "Paralegal. That's right, I heard 'bout it. You ain't even a lawyer. After all that time you spent runnin round the house sayin 'When I'm a lawyer' this and 'When I'm a lawyer' that. You ain't even that! You just a paralegal who decided to jump on some rich boy's dic--

    "What do you want, Mama!" Aziza barked into the phone and even though some of the penthouses were soundproof, she didn't want to raise her voice that loudly.

    "I need you to do me a favor."

    Aziza scoffed, and readied to slam the phone back on its receiver. "A favor? Why in the hell should I do anything for you?"

    "Because I'm your mama, and I took care of you. I fed you, clothed you, and wiped yo' dirty ass. You owe me." Her mother snarled and Aziza seethed with rage.

    "Owe you? If you were any kind of mama, you would know that kids aren't supposed to owe their parents th--

    "Oh boo hoo hoo, cry me a damn river. Now listen up little Z, and listen real good. I gave birth to you. I raised you. And I know you. That yin yang bougie boy ain't yo type. I know yo type, cause yo type if my type. Now unless you want me to come up to that shiny little penthouse of yours and tell your pretty rich boy all about yo' type, you better do what I say."

    Aziza's heart hammered in her chest. How the hell did her mother know so much about her new life and where she even lived? She wouldn't have put it past her greedy bitch of a mother to hire a private investigator to follow her around just so she could have a hold on Aziza's life.

    "What is it that you want, mama." Aziza murmured, defeated for the moment.

    "Your brother just got outta prison and as soon as he stepped off the damn bus, one of his baby mama's came up in here talkin' bout how she can't deal with his daughter no more. The girl is a bitch in the making and annoying as hell. The daughter, not the mother, though she a heifer too. Anyhow, I need you to take this girl off my hands, because she getting in the way of her daddy's new life and I don't have time to be raisin' another child. Your brother just got a nice new job the other day, but with that girl runnin' round and having him wrapped around his finger, he'll never amount to nothin'."

    Aziza snorted. "So in other words you want me to take care of the girl so the only one who has their hands in Bobby's bank is you?"

    Her mother chuckled. "See, only someone who's just like me could think like that. Pick her up from the station in an hour, she's on her way. She'll be wearing some butt ugly outfit that makes her look like a tramp, so you won't miss her. Plus she got them big ass Dumbo ears like yo brother." And with that the call ended and Aziza let out an enraged scream before she launched the phone at the wall and shattered into a million pieces. Kamilah let out a shrill scream and began to cry. Aziza rushed over and picked the girl up but Kamilah wasn't having it and began to kick and push away from her. "Shh! Shh! Would you be quiet!" Aziza hissed, but that just made her daughter cry harder. Aziza deposited the girl on the couch and hurried to kitchen were she grabbed several freshly baked cookies and returned to her daughter. Kamilah's cries lessened when she spotted the pastries. Aziza grinned, and waved one cookie lazily in front of her daughter's face. "Mommy will give you a cookie if you stop those tears. You want a cookie, Kami?" She cooed and Kamilah sniffled before ceasing her whimpering. Aziza handed the girl the cookie and sat down next to her.

    They stayed like that for about thirty minutes before Noel returned, but by then Kamilah had finished all the cookies and Aziza had removed any evidence that a one year old had devoured six gooey chocolate chip cookies. Aziza knew if Noel ever found out he would be pissed. He only allowed Kamilah one bakery good a week and the rest of the time had her eat fruit because he didn't want her to get diabetes.

    "Hey, hon." Noel mumured as he entered with a large box that read 'Baby Brain Booster'. Aziza resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was always buying Kamilah stuff like that and then spending hours just watching her 'explore' her new 'toys'.

    "Hey babe, so, listen. I know you like hearing things in advance, but this literally just happened like ten minutes ago. You see, my brother called to tell me he had to go overseas for his job but because of the nature of his work, he can't take his daughter and he asked me if I could keep her for a little bit and I said yes. You're not mad are you? I'm super sorry, I didn't discuss it with you first." Aziza twirled her hair between her fingertips and gave Noel a pouty lipped look.

    "Well...It's not like we don't have any space. And it'll be nice to Kamilah to have an older sister figure for a little while." Her husband responded, with a tiny smile and Aziza resisted he urge to grin.

    "Oh yay!" She exclaimed and gave Noel a quick hug before rushing to the door. "I'll go pick her up now! Be back in, um, like thirty?" But before he could respond she rushed out the door. When she got to her car, Aziza slammed her hands against the steering wheel before pulling out of the parking garage and heading to the station.

    She hated her mother. She hated her! She wished she would just cough up her damn heart one day! Aziza had worked so hard to get to this point and here was her mama, ruining her life and forcing her to take care of some little heifer! Aziza pulled up to a meter and dropped a few coins in before beginning to survey the area. How the hell was she supposed to spot one girl out of all of these people? A lot of people had big ass Dumbo ears and a lot of New York girls dressed like sluts. Finding--

    "Aunt Aziza?" Aziza whirled around to face a girl no more than fifteen years old, dressed like she was on the runway...Or getting ready to grind against a pole. Eight inch stripper heels, shiny bronze lipstick, about a million necklaces and bracelets, Aziza felt like she was staring at a walking Macy's. And those ears...This was definitely her brother's kid.

    Turning on her heel quickly Aziza began to stride towards her car, snapping her fingers at the girl to follow her. "Hurry up and get in the car I have things to do."

    Despite being in such high heels the girl kept up with her pace. "Where--" The girl began but Aziza cut her of f with a wave of her hand.

    "First things first. Don't talk about our old neighborhood in front of my husband or my daughter. Second if he asks, tell my husband that your father is an embedded reporter--

    "What's an embedded reporter--

    "Third, don't use colloquialisms or swears in front of my husband or daughter.


    "And fourth, what in the world is your name?"

    The girl remained silent, simply staring at Aziza.

    "Well?" Aziza demanded.

    "Oh, am I allowed to speak now?" The girl drawled sarcastically. "My name is Zainab Shakira Owen--

    Aziza snorted and rolled her eyes. "God, of course it is. But from now on introduce yourself as Zainab Garrison. We'll get your name changed later. Now we're here. But before we go inside, remember what I said and if you fuck up, you're ass will be on the street." Aziza growled leaning into Zainab's personal space. The girl in question, smirked.

    "No, I won't. Because if you kick me out, grandma's going to tell your husband that you're a gold digging slut."

    Aziza just slammed the door and stormed all the way to the elevator, with Zainab prancing along behind her with the biggest smile on her face.

    #4 Cosmic Penguin, Apr 29, 2015
    Last edited: May 2, 2015
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  5. ♦The Westwoods♦


    Barry "Big Boss"Barry was in his office, at his studio. He was looking over some new talent. Westwood Records was booming with future superstars. He had just signed this new girl group, "The Forgotten Ones", they were going to be the next Destiny's Child. He was listening to their single "Drop Love", it was hot. It had an R&B-Rock flavor to it. Barry was loving it.
    "Aye! Jimmy, you here this right!? These girls got something here." Barry started to smirk at his long time best friend/business partner Jimmy Jones. Not Jim Jones, but Jimmy Jones. They have been business partners for years and friends for longer. Jimmy came over to Barry. "Big Boss! We're gonna make millions off of these girls!" Barry looked at Jimmy. "We?" Jimmy eyed Barry. "Nah, I'm just playin." "You better be." They went back to listening to the song.
    While finessing the sound of the song, Barry got a text from his daughter, Narayah. She wanted everyone to meet her at 432 Park Avenue. Barry didn't know what was going on. 432 Park Avenue, everyone knew about that place. It wasn't anything like The Westwood Building, but it was cozy for some people. Barry text his daughter back. "I'll be there in a few." He placed his phone back in his pocket. He went back to listening to the song.

    NikolettNikolett, the mother of The Westwood Music & Acting Dynasty was in her big California King Size Bed. She was luxuriating. The perks of being an actress, you didn't have a regular 9 to 5 job. You could wake up whenever you wanted and however you wanted. Nikolett woke up in a white Mink Fur Coat. Only she would wear a 100 Million Dollar coat to bed. "I love my life. I wouldn't change it for the world." She sighed, happily smiling to herself. Her husband was off at the studio, signing new talents and making more money. Yippee! Her kids, they were up to something. Nikolett could do whatever she wanted right now...but all she wanted was to be with her family.
    She placed on her diamond encrusted slippers and walked to the elevator in The Westwood Building. She strutted down the hallway. It was good to have a whole building to yourself...sometimes. Nikolett walked into her son Camryne's room/house. He was out doing God knows what. Nikolett always knew that Camryne wasn't like his siblings, she knew that she would have to take care of him more then the others. She sat on his bed, just thinking over things.
    She started to remember when he was a baby, he had long hair since then. Just curly and long, like a lion. She walked out of the room, looking back for a second and then walking to her room/house. "I need some friends, or something. I might just go mad by myself." An actress who was tired of her own company? Now that's scary.
    Just in time, Nikolett got a call from her daughter. "Mommy, can you PLEASE come meet me and the rest of the family at 432 Park Avenue? I have something to tell everyone." Nikolett smiled and cleared her throat. "Of course, Precious. I'll be there in a bit." She took the phone from her ear, when Narayah started to screech on the other end.

    Kariono"I'm baddest that you've ever seen! I better then you'll ever be! Don't ever try to face me!" Kariono or O NO! was in his friend's studio. He was shooting out lyrics, nonstop. This was his time to shine, he would come up with the baddest rap ever. His father would have to sign him after this. If he didn't, Kariono would have to find someone else. His boy, Trigga had a studio in his condo. Kariono would practice there, so he could surprise his pops when he showed him his mad skills.
    "Yo K! That was fire! You killed it. Keep busting out lyrics like that...man! Your dad will have to sign you." Trigga was brimming with a big smile. Kariono came out of the booth, smirking. "Yeah, I told you I'm the best there ever was, my boy!" Kariono dapped up Trigga, laughing. "Nah, but seriously if my dad doesn't sign me, I'm just going to have to find someone who will." Trigga shook his head. "Damn, man. Yo that shit is crazy." Kariono shook his head.
    Narayah was signed before him, which just made Kariono mad. She was good, that was his sister so of course she was going to be good, but if anyone should have been signed it should have been him. The Golden Child gets it again. Speaking of The Golden Child, Kariono read the text she sent him. "I might make it." He text her back. A few seconds later she text back. "You betta." He smirked. "Yo, let's get back to this." Kariono got back into the booth, spitting bars

    NarayahThe Golden Child, Narayah was in her tinted window Cadillac. She was listening her music. Narayah was a perfectionist, every off key she hit in the song she wrote it down in her song book. Making sure to remember what she did wrong. While in the back of the Cadillac, she was thinking about the offer the TV Producers gave to her. They wanted her family to star in their own Reality TV Show. At first Narayah didn't like the idea, but then she thought it over. It would be a great way to gain some new fans. She also negotiated that they would be filming from somewhere else. Her father would never let the cameras in The Westwood Building. Narayah had still not told her family about the offer.
    Which is why she has been texting and calling them. She wanted them all the meet her at 432 Park Avenue. Her father, mother, and older brother already got back to her. She hadn't heard from her younger siblings yet. Camryne was at a photo shoot and Pandora...oh yeah! She was in school. Narayah giggled. She had forgot about that. Well, Pandora would show up of course, Camryne he was another story.
    When Camryne came out as being Gay, Narayah, her mother, and her siblings embraced him. No matter what he liked, did, or was, they were still family. To bad her father didn't think that way. Narayah still remembers watching her father beat Camryne almost to death. Kariono and Pandora were fast asleep when it happened, but Narayah saw the whole thing. In fear of getting her father's wrath, Narayah had kept quiet about the whole thing.
    "Finally, we made it!" Narayah hopped out of the car, with her driver/bodyguard accompanying her. She walked up towards 432 Park Avenue. She took her Gucci shades off. "Wow this place is beautiful. Isn't it, Chance?" Chance, her bodyguard just shrugged. "Come on, let's go in." Narayah got into the building. The place was even prettier on the inside. "Wait till my mother sees it. She might get jealous." Narayah made her way to the condo, that the reality show would be filmed in...hopefully.

    Camryne"I love it! Yes Camryne, Yes! Just like that! Stay like that! Your beautiful Camryne, your a God Camryne!" The photographer, Christiano Grufesio was taking shots of Camryne for the Urban Gods & Goddesses Magazine. Camryne was going to be on the cover. His first time being on the cover of any magazine. He was excited and nervous. His face would be the first thing everyone would see when they picked up the magazine. "Camryne, I think we have the shot." The photographer sat down the camera. "Your gorgeous Darling!"
    Camryne looked at the 40 year old man, Christiano loved to flirt with Camryne. If only he was older or Christiano was younger. Camryne placed his long curly hair into a tight bun. He went to change into his normal clothes. The other models came around him, clapping and cheering him on. They were smiling at him, one guy in particular was eyeing Camryne down. Camryne winked at him, the guy smirked and walked off. The modeling world was full of beautiful people and Camryne was one of them.
    Getting his stuff, he noticed a text from his big sister Narayah. "Really?" Camryne wasn't up for some family "get together" especially if his abusive father was there. He text her back. "I can't make it." Not even a second later, she text back. "Please! It's important! :(" Camryne hated when Narayah begged him.
    Camryne was a teddy bear when it came to his siblings, even Kariono sometimes. "Fine! You owe me!" He text her. She text back. "Okay! I'll buy you some red bottoms!" He smirked. "So funny."

    PandoraPandora was in her last class of the day. She was at her private school, it was the school for the kids of the rich and famous. It was suppose to be an environment where no one could judge each other on their statuses...yeah right. Luckily for Pandora her father was like the King of the Music Industry. Pandora was talking with some of her friends about what any normal teen girl would talk about...boys!
    Pandora had a crush on this boy, Trey. His father was a big time Casino Tycoon, he was gorgeous. He sat a few rows ahead of her. Pandora sighed, he was super cute. To bad she had a monster for a dad, he treated every boy that even looked at Pandora with a fist to the face.
    Pandora rarely liked a boy enough to want them to ask her out. Trey he was different, she needed him to ask her out. "Pan? Pan!" Pandora jumped when her friend, Mimi yelled at her. "What?" Mimi started to laugh. "You know your father would kill Trey if he even waved at you, right?" Pandora shook her head. She rested her face into her palm. She felt her phone buzz, she got a text from her big sis. Pandora smiled. "Of course! You know I will be there sistah!" Narayah text back. "Don't call me sistah! Okay, sister." Pandora laughed and went back to gazing at Trey.

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  6. [​IMG]
    “Come on Hugo, your head’s not in this.” Hugo Mayfair growled low in his throat and took another swing, the gloved punch connecting solidly with his former trainer’s jaw. The older man stumbled back, shaking his head and gaining his bearings before lifting his eyes to regard his former client. Hugo was every bit the giant he’d been during his career. Same good looks, same mean right hook and the same hungry look about him. Predatory, that was the word. The trainer rubbed at his face with his own glove, nodding in approval. “I knew you hadn’t gone soft.” Hugo accepted the pat on the back as the two men ducked out of the ring. They both set about getting out of their gloves and mouth guards and the whole bit, Hugo silent through the process. The trainer, a tough old Pollack, frowned at him, nudging his former protégé with his knuckles. “You alright Machine?” Hugo shut his eyes. “Kaczka The Machine” had been his nickname during career. Even after picking up Jean-Cane’s last name, most people who knew he was knew him by that name. His marriage to another man wasn’t usually a thing of discussion in such a masculine world like boxing. Sometimes his fans asked if he was seeing any women, like they marked out his real life to imagine him with some busty blonde on his arm. It was weird, but the old man was eyeing him and waiting for an answer.

    The large man rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Everything’s fine. Just tired.” The trainer wanted to say something, really get to the bottom of the haggard look on the younger man’s face, but he left it. People like Hugo didn’t talk about things like that. It would be a waste of both of their breathing. Hugo packed up his things and changed out of the sweat stained t-shirt and shorts he’d been working at a punching bag in until his old trainer asked him into the ring. He threw on a pair of clean sweats and a pull over that showed some of his chest (and chest hair) and left for the day without another word.

    He barely seemed aware of the trip back to he and Jean-Cane’s home at Park Avenue. They resided on the fifteenth floor, not so high up that the elevator ride was longer than a few blinks. With both Laurent and Audrey out of the house, it was rather lonely. Both of them still had their rooms set up of course, and both frequently spent weekends with them, but it was still strange. Quiet, empty seeming without Jean-Cane flitting here and there, without painting supplies spread out everywhere. Now Chanel’s toys and cats were the only things he had to dodge around as he unlocked the door. The kittens danced around his feet, whining for food or attention or both.

    The large man sighed heavily and checked their bowls. No food, no water. Which meant Jean-Cane either hadn’t gotten out of bed or he left for the gallery without feeding them. He doubted the latter was the case. So he fed and watered the cats, and picked up Chanel’s things, and started on the dishes. He needed to check on Jean-Cane. He wanted to. He knew he was just a few rooms away, either sleeping or watching foreign films that made them both cry or reading about himself in a magazine. He should have walked in and kissed him first thing. Held his quickly thinning face in his hands and told he loved him no matter what. But he did the dishes instead. Watching his beloved husband waste away, walking on eggshells in fear of upsetting him, of saying something stupid…these things kept him away, busying himself with dishes and tidying their apartment.

    When he’d finished, about half and hour before Chanel would arrive home from school, he managed to make his way to the back bedroom. He cracked the door and found Jean-Cane sleeping heavily, dark circles staining his pale face and accenting his dry, cracking lips. Hugo leaned heavily against the door frame and felt a hot coal form in his throat. He’d never felt so helpless.


    Laurent's Song (Lorelai by Fleet Foxes)
    “Now I can see how, we were like dust on the window, not much, not a lot. Everything's stolen or borrowed. I was old news to you then, Old news, old news to you then.” Laurent chewed on his pen, squinting hard on the words on the page. The song was coming together for him. Word by word, note by note. He could already hear it in his head, he just needed to get it on paper and out of his mouth. The handsome young man sat in car outside his parents’ apartment complex, consumed with the song that had suddenly come to him. Scribbling on napkins from a fast food restaurant, humming to himself with the windows rolled down. He’d intended to go up and check on his Papa and Dad, but he’d been distracted when the lyrics suddenly seized him.

    Folding the napkin and stuffing into the pocket of his jacket, he finally climbed out of his vehicle. He nodded politely to the door man and headed towards the elevator. He noted a beautiful young black woman also getting into the elevator, but he made no attempt to speak to her. She looked sort of familiar, maybe like they’d gone to the same high class school, but she could have very well been in a magazine he’d leafed through so he didn’t bother introducing himself. If she was someone famous, he’d probably look like some creep asking if they’d met before.

    He got off before her and slipped into his parents’ home. It was quiet, no weird New Wave shit filling the air or blaring classical music. “Inspiration” Jean-Cane called it. He poked into the kitchen, noting it was clean and tidy and Chanel’s two fat kittens were eating together out of a massive bowl. He cocked a brow and then strode into the living room. “Dad? Papa?” Hugo came tearing around the corner before he investigate further, wrapping his son in a tight bear-hug. Laurent blinked, stunned by the seeming need in the embrace, so he wrapped his arms around his dad’s broad back and let him hug him. “Hey Dad.” Hugo sighed shakily and released him after what seemed like forever. “Hey kiddo. How’s it going?” Laurent smiled blandly, being far too European between his parents to do very well at appearing cheerful, even when he was happy. “Just thought I’d drop by. I’m almost done with the semester so not much school work to do, and the band is laying off for a few days after Sunny and Jared got into it, again. We’ve got a gig this Friday though.” Laurent wandered to the fridge and helped himself to peach from the fruit drawer. Hugo watched him from where he leaned on the counter. “That’s great, good grades?” The dark haired youth nodded and broke off a chunk of the peach with his teeth. “Mhmm…where’s Papa?” Hugo’s jaw tightened visibly, causing Laurent’s brows to raise. “He’s napping. Long night at the gallery.” Laurent nodded and tossed the pit of the peach in the bin. “Oh. Cool.” Something was weird, yet again.


    Jean-Cane dreamt of Paris. Of his mother smiling at him from the balcony of their old home, his father coming home with treats from the bakery, of his fingers stained with paint and sun coming through the window on his canvas. It was a happy dream, wholly in French. He only spoke the language with his children now that his parents were gone so it was strange to hear it in his dreams again.Dad? Papa?” His eyes fluttered open slowly as each one felt like it had a ten pound weight attached. He stirred in the dark of he and Hugo’s bedroom, coughing for the dryness of his tongue and the rawness in his throat. Yesterday had been chemo day, so today he had no strength in him. Vomiting, shaking, every undesirable thing he could think of. He dragged himself out of bed to the murmur of his husband and son’s voices.

    Each step to the bathroom hurt, really hurt, but it was worth to drink a handful of water from the sink and to see that his hair had not began to fall out in the night. Every morning, or afternoon in this case, brought the dread of losing his hair. His doctors told him it didn’t happen to everyone and Jean-Cane found himself praying to a god he didn’t believe in that it wouldn’t happen to him either. He washed and primped and smeared concealer under his eyes. Laurent was a clever, clever boy. He’d notice how tired he looked, how thin he was getting. It was only a matter of time, but he couldn’t bear to make him worry. Not yet, not now.

    He managed to walk out of the room with his head up and a smile on his face. “My sweet boy has come home!” He kissed his son all over, earning a groan from the young man but a small smile a moment later. Papa. Heard you were sleeping the day away.” Jean-Cane’s lips twitched but he hid it with a laugh. “Oh, you know me. Out all night.” Laurent gave him the same look the kittens did when he spoke in French to them. Curiosity, suspicion. But the look disappeared as soon as it came when Hugo seemed to continue whatever conversation they were having, asking about a new song or something. “Huh? Oh yeah! It’s going to be very dreamy. Most of the stuff I’ve been writing lately has been like that. Folky, indie sort of stuff. I made a couple of girls cry last week at our gig. I felt pretty accomplished.” Jean-Cane couldn’t help but laugh. Laurent said that with such a straight face, it was sort of eerie but endearing at the same time. “I’m so proud of you. Your EP is dropping soon, yes?” Laurent nodded. “Yeah, our agent says its going to sell really well. He just wants to make sure we aren’t a “New York Only” band before they sign us. Jean-Cane let Hugo take over the conversation and made his way to their couch, sitting heavily. Every word felt like running a mile, but listening didn’t cost much.


    There was red lipstick on her chin, and it wouldn’t come off. Audrey wanted to cry, Audrey wanted to scream. Audrey wished she hadn’t just let the boy she’d met at the coffee shop kiss her. It wasn’t a society induced slut shaming sort of a regret but rather a lack of patience with her self control. She was supposed to be attracting a rich lawyer, some stable older man to take care of her. Instead she was letting boys with glasses and sweet smiles feel her up in the back booth of a coffee shop without so much as exchanging numbers first. She finally resorted to using hand soap and managed to get the pigment off though the scrubbing reddened her skin anyway.

    She walked out of the bathroom, actually relieved to see the guy was still outside on the phone. Maybe with a girlfriend, maybe with his mom. She didn’t know but she took the opportunity to order a coffee to go and slip out of the side entrance. It was a shitty thing to do, she knew that. But this had been a mistake. She strode down the block and towards Central Park, eager for a long walk to clear her head. Life had been…chaotic to say the least. Her parents were weird, Laurent actually told her to fuck off the last time she saw him, and her finals were going to be a bitch.

    The tall blonde helped herself to a bench across from a fountain, letting the soothing sound of water calm her mind. She was losing her grip. Her hard-won, perfect, perfect grip. She shuttered in agitation and dug through her Prada bag to find her stupid little vapor cigarette. She puffed it nervously a few times then drank her coffee in gulps. Anxiety was creeping up on her and it was making her sloppy. She needed to be Audrey Mayfair at her job if she wanted to find a worthwhile man. She had to be Audrey Mayfair. She sighed and leaned back. If only she was actually who she pretended to be. If only, if only.

    “Bye Chanel!” Chanel waved furiously at the Mayfair’s family driver, who’d fetched her from school and had now walked her to the elevator and then up to their home. “Bye Charlie!” She bounced onto their floor and into the kitchen where her brother and Daddy were. “Hi Lauri, hi Daddy.” Hugo smirked down at her and patted her head. “Hey Chanel.” Laurent greeted. She beamed at them, scooped up China and Fantasia, and flopped beside her Papa on the couch. “Papa! I got a perfect score in piano today! And I wrote a story about China and Fantasia and they actually went to real China and they met Mulan and and and….” Chanel seemed to immune to the strangeness the rest of her family was experiencing, and it eased the heart of the rest of them to see it.
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  7. [​IMG][​IMG]
    Daniel Ernest Chandler AND Mariela Jane Chandler
    Mariela Chandler was an intelligent but ill-mannered teenager. Her father only spoke to her to tell her she was a pathetic excuse for a daughter, and her mother was usually having "too much fun" with Eric. She despised both her father and the son-of-a-bitch sleeping with her mother, and it is a wonder that she doesn't absolutely hate her mother as well.

    People would be surprised to discover that there is always a rhyme and a reason to her madness--from drinking to having unprotected sex to doing drugs. Everything was and always be her somewhat elaborate plan to ruin the family's perfect little image. Unfortunately for her, the family's lawyers are paid to do the exact opposite: protect this image. And she's one teenager against a team of trained, highly-paid snobs. Every little dirty secret of the Chandler family is kept locked away from the media's eyes.

    But Mariela was a determined girl--more determined that most people would expect. Then again, she's pretty much the definition of the unexpected. Even now, as she stumbled into her penthouse prison of a home, it was all in her efforts to tarnish her parents' image.

    Not that she didn't thoroughly enjoy herself in the process.

    Her eyes crusted and her stomach churning, Mariela stumbled into the huge and barely-used kitchen. Tripping over nothing, her hand flew out to the counter to catch herself. Sadly, she didn't quite see the china plate that was at that particular corner of the counter. It flipped into the air, sailing several feet before crashing to the ground. The sound was loud and rather annoying, causing Mariela to wince.

    It took less than five seconds for her older brother Daniel to rush in, concern apparent on his face. "Mariela! What the hell are you doing? It's the middle of the afternoon!" he cried, exasperated. He shooed her away from the shards of china, getting a broom and sweeping it up quickly and efficiently--as if he was used to cleaning up messes. He shook his head as he looked at his sister; she was beyond drunk.

    "Why, Mariela?" he asked, though he certainly knew the answer. She chuckled, attempting to walk a few steps like a sober person would but failing miserably. She fell into her brother's arms, bile rising to her throat and coming out all over his shirt.

    "MARIELA!" he cried in disgust, his own bile rising now. He forced it down, helping his sister walk to the bathroom as she puked several more times all over the wood floor. Rachel came rushing in, her eyebrows raising at the sight of the Chandler girl. She said nothing, but her eyes betrayed her.

    "Just clean up this mess, will ya?" Daniel snapped, though he didn't mean to sound so harsh. The woman sighed but nodded, muttering unintelligible words under her breath. She was supposed to be Johnathan Chandler's hospice nurse, not the housekeeper for the entire family. She would complain about it to her friends for sure if it wasn't for the strict confidentiality agreement the lawyers made her sign.

    Sometimes she wondered if the pay was really worth it.

    Inside the guest bathroom (which rather looked like a master bathroom with its double sink, tub, and shower--he's not even sure why they call it the guest bathroom at all as they never have guests), Mariela had her face in the toilet while her brother held back her hair. He wanted to change out of the soiled shirt right then and there, but he couldn't leave his sister alone like this. When she sobered up, however, he was going to let her have it. This was the second time this week! Ugh, he'd have to deep-clean himself to get the bile off.

    Sighing, he silently wondered what the rest of his messed-up family was up to.
    #7 Kimberlyn, Apr 30, 2015
    Last edited: May 17, 2015
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  8. Sean and Diana laid in bed cuddled up to one another. He pulled Diana a little closer to him and kissed her on the forehead. Sean said, "I have really missed you. Have I told you that lately?"

    Diana smiled and said, "Only five times in the last hour."

    Sean replied, "Well the last three times were..."

    Diana interrupted with a chuckle, "I know about those I don't think we need to discuss that right now." She looked up at Sean and said, "I like to believe that I made my feelings known about missing you as well."

    Sean looked over the bed by the door at where his suit was laying on the ground. He said, "Oh yes you did." He shook his head very slowly and said, "My shirt or what's left of it is evidence of your enthusiasm. I had no idea how strong you were." Diana looked up at him for a moment and Sean looked back at her and said, "I will give it proper burial."

    Diana smirked and said, "Sorry about that. I know how much you loved that shirt."

    Sean shook his head and asked, "Oh yes where will I ever find another black silk shirt in New York City?" The two of them began to laugh as they shared another kiss. Diana got out of bed and put on a white teri cloth robe and said, "I don't know about you but I could use some lunch. Let's say we go cut up some veggies and have them with some dip while we watch some TV? I hear the Mets are playing a matinee."

    Sean sat up in bed and said, "Sounds good to me." Diana smiled as she left the room, and Sean got out of bed and put on a pair of black lounging pants and followed her out to the kitchen. Sean said, "So you did the marathon session in Dallas just to come home and see me? I'm touched thank you."

    Diana replied, "Well mainly, but there is another reason." She got out a cutting board, a knife, and various vegetables. She asked, "Would you be a dear and start rinsing off some of these?" Sean walked over to the sink and began rinsing off the vegetables as Diana began cutting them. Diana continued, "A friend of mine from college who lives in Allentown, P-A is getting ready to have some of her work displayed at Jean Cane Mayfair's gallery in a couple of days. Could be her big break. I thought I might come home and give her some support, and possibly go see to put in a good word for her. Besides I haven't seen Jean in a while I really should look in on him. I miss our chats.

    Sean nodded and replied, "That's very nice of you Diana."

    Diana smiled at Sean and said, "Thank you, and no you don't have to go. I know that at times you get bored to tears at these things."

    Sean replied, "Not always."

    Diana shook her head and Sean said, "Okay there was that one time, but Diana it was the playoffs for the Pirates and their Wi-Fi went down how else was I supposed to follow the real time action? The Pirates hadn't been to the playoffs in twenty years."

    Diana turned back to the vegetables as the phone rang. Sean replied, "I got it." He walked over to the phone and said, "It's your dad." Diana looked over and just nodded as she said, "Tell him I said, 'Hi' and we'll see him on Sunday if nothing else for Mass and lunch after."

    Sean picked up the phone and said, "Hey dad."

    The other voice on the phone belonged to that of Charlie "Big C" Scardino. Owner of one of the biggest import and export businesses on the East Coast. Also one of the biggest Crime Lords in the country. He said in an Italian accent, "Clarence Darrow. How are you?"

    Sean chuckled as he said, "Not bad dad. What can I do for you?"

    Charlie replied, "Ahh you're not at the office and no small talk. Diana must be home okay I'll keep it short. The land deal from the Everest group in Michigan. What do you think?"

    Sean walked over to his study and closed the door. He removed a painting from the wall revealing a safe. Sean gave pressed on a thumb pad, entered a combination, and pressed on the pad again. He pulled out a black notebook and flipped it open. He said, "I read over it twice they're giving you everything you want and it's a solid deal."

    Charlie said, "It's a set up by the feds."

    Sean replied, "Oh yeah all the way. I'm kind of insulted that they thought we'd buy into it."

    Back in the kitchen Diana was still cutting the vegetables. She stopped for a moment and looked up. Diana said, "I would give up anything you ask, or do anything you ask if you could just get my father out of mine and Sean's lives. I can't deal with it much longer."
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  9. OOC WARNING: The hidden text is the introduction of Page, a character in our story that has a drug addiction. Because of the sensible nature of the character's life I am including a warning whenever I write about her due to the mature content that may be found. If a moderator finds it is inappropriate for these boards, I kindly ask that the roleplay be moved to the proper area so that the group can freely express themselves when writing the stories of these characters.


    Page was feeling low, the high was wearing off, and she hated that feeling of slowing down, when the world becomes too real and the emptiness and the guilt come back. She rolled her body off the red leather lounger and sat up -- head hanged low, her shoulders slouched forward -- she barely had the strength to sit up properly. Her head was spinning, and in one body-moving-rush a wave passed through her, from the top of her head down to her stomach. She wanted to vomit but only a breathless protest escaped her lips.

    This was hell. This was torture. She needed a fix.

    It took a minute for her eyes to take in the room around her, to collect her thoughts, find her bearings and absorb where she was. It was a party - the music was loud but nice. Couple of seats down a trio of half naked bodies worshiped one another. She stood up and found the Louis Vuitton bag, her life was in that bag. She searched through it looking for the one thing she needed, and when she found the stash she bit her lower lip. She walked toward the bathroom clutching her bag. The bathroom door was ajar and a girl was inside applying lipstick. Page smiled saying, “You mind, I really need to pee.”

    The stranger gave a faint smile and walked away. Page slam, lock the door behind her. She rested back against the door and pulled the small bag with the narcotics. She rolled-up a dollar bill and used it to sniff through her nose the white powder -- “Goddamn!” The rush of the drug pass through her nostrils and back down to her throat - she liked the taste - it woke her up, it energized her. She checked her nose in the mirror and wiped the sides clean. But when she really saw herself she almost gasp, she had lost weight, she had dark circles around her eyes, she looked older even and quite frankly disheveled. She’d been wearing the same clothes for two days now.

    “You need to get your shit together, Page.” She imagined Joana saying (if she were there). But nobody tells page how to live her life anymore. She peeled off the designer jeans and lace thong, and the lace chiffon tunic top she was wearing and tossed it on the counter. She washed underneath her arms and between her legs, and dried herself with hand towel she found. This was her life now, giving herself birdbaths in the bathrooms of strangers, surviving out off a designer bag. -- she pulled a leather mini from her bag, ripping off the tags as she pulled it up her thighs, and a string silk top that fitted her perfectly. She removed her black bra and adjusted her bosom under the silk top. She comb her hair back in a high ponytail, using whatever products she found in her bag to make the hair slick and neat. She applied mascara and some tinted moisturizer, from her bag, finishing with a sheer natural lip-balm that made her lips look fuller. Finally she looked like a completely different woman, deceptively clean and fresh - she did another line of coke before exiting.

    On the other side of the room a group of well dressed men walked by with drinks in hand. One of them glanced her way and smiled -- she rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted was the attention of a pervert in a suit and a clean smile. They were all like that, clean cut proper men, but with weird fetishes and sexual appetites their wives at home can’t satisfy. She made some distance between them and searched for the man that brought her.

    The house was big, one of those old french mansions with too many rooms and the opulence and wealth of the owner displayed at every turn, yet it all looked tasteless and tacky. The music had changed to an urban upbeat, the aroma of hashish permeated in the air -- Page wasn’t too fond of the smell, still, she followed it to a room where a mellow crowd of strangers socialized. This was not her crowd. A quick glance around the room was fruitless, her escort was not there.

    “Where the fuck is he?” Page said, to no one in particular.

    “Who?” --

    She turned around to face the inquisitor. It was smiley face, the guy from a moment ago. Up close he looked handsome and smelled delicious.

    “Are you following me?” Page snapped.

    “I’m looking for a good time, and I think you are the type of girl that likes to party.” He said, confidently. He reached inside the breast pocket of his suit and revealed his personal stash of narcotics.

    “I’m here with someone.” Page said, unimpressed.

    Oui, I know. Victor is an idiot, left you here all alone. But allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle. I am Bruno De La Fontaine and this is my home and you are my guest. Therefore, it is my duty to make sure all belles demoiselles at my party are having a good time. I will take good care of you. Take my hand, s'il vous plaît. ” Bruno said, and extended his hand for Page to accept.

    Page’s instinct told her not to trust Bruno, there was something about him that made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed to know who she was, or that he was trying too hard to get her to trust him. Victor was clearly gone and quite frankly she didn’t really know Victor either -- they met at a bar and had spent the last five days together. She told him she was on vacation, alone, and he offered to show her Paris. They stayed in cheap motels doing drugs, drinking, and having lots of sex. He took her to lavish parties, like this one, and even took her shopping for clothes because all of her shit was back in her room at hotel Le Six. And now it seems she had been passed on to Bruno.

    Page accepted Brunos’ hand and together they walked up the circular stairs to the upstairs rooms. Looking down Page noticed the stares of some of the guests.

    New York City

    Bo pulled out a painting from behind a pile of artworks that belong to his mother. It was a portrait of a scantily clad boxer as the object of an all-male crowd’s gaze. He noticed the crowd was compiled of the same face, the same man. The boxer was seen only from behind, glorified, and in the oblique glances of the crowd one could absorb the subversion admiration, desire, and love of the healthy physique of the athlete. What was interesting about the painting was that the man in the crowd had presented himself with attune abstraction, as if he was coding his desires for the boxer in layers -- each face a layer of his feelings, yet his identity link up with the boxer.

    “You like that one?” Joana asked. Bo noded. “It was part of an exhibition about the intricate visual history of gay relationships, how american artists as a whole have explored human sexuality. This one was my favorite. I thought the artist did a great job at communicating the murky line that runs between sexuality and intimacy --”

    “It amazes me how you can be so accepting of homoerotic art but you can’t accept me.” Bo said.

    “Bo, I accept you. You’ve made a choice, I don’t like it, but I respect your --”

    “It isn’t a choice, mother. I was born this way. --”

    “Can we not do this right now? I just want to spend some time with my son and finish decorating this room.” Joana placed her arm around Bo’s shoulders. “I think we are done here anyway.”

    They both looked around the spacious living room.

    After the divorce Joana felt a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders, it was the right decision for her. But changed came with a heavy price. For the last six months she’s blamed herself for breaking up the family, partly because her ex blames her of infidelity, but mostly because she lost her children. But her marriage had ended long before the divorce. There is no one to blame but time itself. The love she felt for her husband simply vanished, and his absent through the early years had a lot to do with how things are now.

    Her daughter was the first to leave the house. Joana has no idea where Page went. She suspects her son Bo knows Page’s whereabouts. But their relationship is complicated, also. Joana hopes she can amend the relationship with her children by providing for them in ways she couldn’t before. Now it all depends on whether her children can forgive her and move forward.

    “You can keep the painting.” Joana said to Bo.

    “Thanks but can I keep it here until I find a new place?”

    “You can stay here, Bo. I’ve already said one of the bedrooms is yours, I even have a key for you.” Joana looked for her bag and Bo followed.

    “Mom I can’t live here.”

    “Nonsense, sure you can.”

    “What happens when I meet a guy I like and bring him home?”

    Joana had considered the possibility and her first thought was to prohibit sleepovers of any kind, but Bo was no longer a child and any restrictions will push her son away. She found her bag and searched inside for the enveloped with the extra key.

    “I don’t have a problem with that. But there are some ...guidelines I will need you to follow.”

    “Guidelines, such as?”

    “We are both adults and we need to learn to respect each other's boundaries. The point is no one stays over unless it's someone special, someone you are serious about. Is there someone?”

    “No.” Bo said. He was too busy with school and work and looking for a new place to live that he scratch out relationship from his life. Sex he always found, weather at the gym where he works or online social apps, it was always quick and never too intimate.

    "Then its settled." Joana said, and handed Bo the keys to the apartment.
    #9 Mariposa, May 8, 2015
    Last edited: May 8, 2015
    • Love Love x 2
  10. Noel had set up the Baby Brain Booster and was watching Kamilah with rapt attention. His beautiful little girl had gone straight to the form fitter, and although she didn't get the shapes and holes right off the bat, she had tried to put the different shaped blocks in the holes and that was all that mattered. Noel didn't like to predict, but he could see Kamilah growing to be an engineer. He was on the floor next to her, grinning every time she grabbed a block and tapped it gently against a hole, when Aziza came in with a...Kid in tow. Well not a kid, a teenager, that part was obvious. But at first glance, and Noel didn't like to judge as much as he didn't like to predict, but Aziza's niece didn't look like a niece. Sure the teen was wearing heels and make up, but last time Noel checked girl's didn't have such prominent Adam's apples.

    Noel got to his feet slowly, brushing lint off of his pants, and making a mental note to vacuum later, he didn't want Kamilah inhaling dust and getting a respiratory affliction.

    "Hey, honey! We're back!" Aziza chirped cheerfully, but oddly enough she didn't look so happy. Her usually bright eyes were a little dim and the corner of her mouth was twitching, something Noel noticed she did when she was annoyed. Noel had noticed long ago, that Aziza didn't display her emotions around him, and he wished she would bottle herself up the way she did, but he was afraid that if he commented on the fact, she would get upset with him and leave. So he remained silent.

    "Welcome back," Noel said softly, crossing the room in a few strides to give Aziza a peck on the cheek. He smiled at her...Niece and held out his hand for h..er to shake. "Nice to meet you, I'm Noel."

    Zainab assessed the man in front of him with a few quick glances and all he could think was, wow Auntie Aziza really is a gold digger. Because why else would she hook up with someone so old? But, he didn't want to rock the boat just yet, so he smiled wide and took the man's hand. "Nice to meet you too, sir. I'm Zainab."

    Noel went back over to where Kamilah was sitting, but she was no longer exploring her toy, instead she was staring at Zainab with wide eyes. Or more accurately, she was staring at the girl's many shiny necklaces. Noel picked his daughter up and returned to Zainab. He noticed that Aziza was watching them attentively. "You can call me, Uncle Noel and this is Kamilah."

    As soon as Noel introduced the toddler, Zainab let out a loud squeal. Kamilah jumped but soon recovered when Zainab began making cooing sound and reaching her arms out tentatively and then pulling them back sheepishly. "Uh, can I--may I hold her, Uncle Noel?" She asked, her eyes practically shining. Noel smiled and held Kamilah out to her, the toddler than stared at Zainab for a minute before reaching out and leaning forward, zainab took her and immediately began fawning over the girl.

    "Oh my gosh, you are the most adorable girl I have ever seen, including me!" Noel briefly cocked an eyebrow. So Zainab was a girl apparently. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I love you so-o much, we are going to be total besties!" Zainab continued to squeal and coo, and Kamilah giggled excitedly and patted Zainab on her face with her chubby little hands. That just made Zainab squeal even more, and Noel turned to Aziza with a small smile.

    "I think they're definitely going to get along." He said, and his wife chuckled hollowly. "They sure will!" But even though she was smiling, she didn't sound very happy. "So, tomorrow, Zainab and I will go down to city hall to change her last name to ours so her transition into school will be easier, okay?" She asked, and Noel nodded, and with those words, his wife disappeared into their room. Noel frowned, but turned back to where Zainab and Kamilah had moved to sit on the floor and Zainab was staring at the baby brain booster with interest.

    "What's with the little Einstein shi-stuff?" Zainab began but stopped herself before she blurted out her favorite word. Noel narrowed his eyes at her, but decided to bring this up to Aziza later. He would not have someone with a foul mouth around his child.

    As Noel explained the baby brain booster, Aziza listened in from down the hall.

    Even though Zainab hadn't done anything yet, Aziza already hated the kid and wanted her gone. But, until her mother decided to use Zainab for something else, Aziza was stuck with her niece. She resolved to watch the girl even closer because if she was anything like her grandmother, she would try to jump Noel, first chance she got and Aziza would end her if she even tried.
    • Love Love x 1
  11. The invitation had come from Russell McCarty, a private investor and soon to be business partner of Jo Townsend. He invited Jo to a showing at the Mayfair gallery in SoHo, Manhattan. But unfortunately, Russell was unable to attend, and as an apology to Jo he sent flowers and a private driver, of course, but also gave Jo the authority to commission two works of art from Jean Cane himself. Joana saw the opportunity to invite Bo.

    Bo was not as interested in art like his mother but he was curious enough to meet Jean Cane. There is always a story behind a work of art and he wondered what was the story behind the Boxer - the painting his mother gave him. He only hope that the man be less a stereotype and more interesting than his mother’s uppity, upturned nose acquaintances. He was sure Jean Cane was a gay man, no straight man would ever paint another man with such care and admiration, like the Boxer.

    The black bentley pulled up to the curve of the Mayfair gallery. The chauffeur walked around to open the door for Jo Townsend and her young companion. Jo was dressed classic, in a simple black dress paired with black McQueen knuckle duster clutch and Natacha Marro heelless platform shoes. She had arranged her hair up in a fancy bun, for a bold look that complemented her intricate features. Bo was dressed in a more relaxed vibe, smelling of expensive oils, decked in Jitrois jeans and Armani shirt. His slicked-back pomaded hair accentuated his strong-jaw and the voluptuous shape of his lips. The two drew stares and whispers as they entered the building.

    Jo Townsend posed for the photographers, and gave vague but approving comments about the event, moving forward she was greeted by cultural historian and art critic Maurice Berger. She introduced her son to the man, and their conversation was lost in the music and chatter of the room.

    Bo admired his mother. She was in her element talking about art with passion and brutal honesty. He noticed how these people looked upon her with warm approval. Alas he was entertained by the ensemble of characters and art in the room. He walked around scanning with wondrous eyes the sculptures and paintings, but some presentations he didn’t understand - like the pile of jelly beans on the floor from which people picked and eat. And he didn’t dare ask what was artistic about it at the risk of feeling embarrassed. Instead he walked around it and looked for art work that he thought was made by Jean Cane Mayfair.
    • Like Like x 4
  12. [​IMG]
    Hugo let Jean Cane adjust his tie for the fifth time since they’d gotten into their Rolls Royce. Hugo drove, of course as Jean Cane was a terrible driver and normally his husband constantly reaching over to fuss with his clothes with agitate him, but tonight the intimacy, the touching was welcome. Hugo reached over and took Jean Cane’s bony hand in his and squeezed it. He heard his husband giggle but felt the squeeze back. Tonight, everything felt okay. Jean Cane looked vibrant and lively, excitement coloring his cheeks pink and causing him to chatter endlessly. There was no cancer tonight, just his man ecstatic about an art show and looking very dapper in a deep blue suit. This was like when he first bought the gallery.

    “Jean Cane, do you remember the first showing?”

    The Frenchman smirked but flushed at the thought.

    “Oh yes, I remember.”

    Hugo smirked and pulled up on the gallery.

    “How did that night end again?”

    Jean Cane waited to get out of the car until Hugo opened the door for him. He gripped Hugo’s forearm tightly and leaned into him, planting a hot kiss on his mouth just as the cameras began to flash. Hugo was the one blushing this time. “It ended with me bent over one of the desks in the office while our guests were still milling around in the gallery.” Hugo grinned and the two entered the gallery together. Jean Cane paused to comment to an art magazine writer, so Hugo made his way over to the drinks. While he was pouring his wine, he could feel the stare of a few of Jean Cane’s fans. They didn’t know him as a boxing champion, they knew him as The Boxer, and The Lover (one of the raunchier pieces Jean Cane had displayed that ended up being a full frontal nude of Hugo lounging on a pile of writhing snakes. Luckily he didn’t have to pose with snakes. He’d never understood the symbolism of it, but Jean Cane had told him that finding a gay lover always posed the possibility of reaching into a pile of snakes.) and the masculine hands in The Gift- one of Jean Cane’s last paintings before the cancer cropped it. It had been simple, his hands cradling a child.

    Hugo poured himself a glass of wine and took up a position near the new artist’s sculptures. Some of them were really beautiful, but some of the more abstract ones were lost on him. He’d never been very good at grasping those sort of concepts. That’s why he liked history, it was concrete. He glanced up at the right moment and noted a handsome, muscular young man wandering past. Hugo’s eyes ran over his figure, admiring the work that went into his form. Something stirred in his lower belly but he quickly averted his eyes. Maybe tonight Jean Cane would let him into his bed. Maybe he’d have the strength.


    Jean Cane managed to dodge most the writers and warm wishers and nagging old women and everyone else who wanted to talk to him long enough to fix himself some coffee and greet the young sculptor. He kissed both of her cheeks and gestured at her pieces. “This is the beginning my dear. Soon you’ll be eating caviar in a spoon made of hundred dollar bills.” They both laughed and he posed for a picture with her, then he slunk to the back of the gallery. It was only polite to keep one’s own work towards the back, after all. He hadn’t been up to the gallery in some time and though it seemed vain, he missed his own works.

    He walked the rows of his work, mostly painting, some raw sketches and a few other scattered mediums. But his paintings, they were what he was famous for. The Lover was still the center of the room. Almost life size, painted in hushed grays and dark greens and blacks with the exception of Hugo’s mouth which was deep red .He was pictured biting down on his lower lip. He stared up at it, smirking at the energy the damn thing still held. He doubted he’d ever surpass it or The Boxer but he had plenty of ideas on how to put the feeling of cancer onto canvas once he was feeling better. Of course, some of the work he did when he was young was also pretty famous, but these were his peaks.

    He noticed a young man was nearby, looking up at The Lover from a little ways off. Jean Cane smirked at him and gestured him over. He moved over so he could look up at it. “I’m biased, of course, but I really do love this one. I’ve gotten so many offers on the damn thing, I still haven’t been able to get rid of it.” He glanced at him, noting the confident, muscular frame but the shyness behind the eyes. A young homosexual was easy to spot. “I’m Jean Cane Mayfair. Who might you be?” He smiled to show he wasn’t in trouble. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the boy.

    #12 GoodEveningClarice, May 13, 2015
    Last edited: May 13, 2015
    • Love Love x 3
  13. Bo was mildly stunned when Jean Cane Mayfair introduced himself. At first glance he didn’t recognize the artist, he looked older than he imagined, at least older than Mayfair’s self portraits in the Boxer painting. And there was something else about Mayfair that he noticed but couldn’t quite decipher, only that it showed in his thin physique. It was almost unhealthy, the artist’s appearance. Bo couldn’t help process, in his head, a workout routine and diet regimen for Mayfair -- “I can help him gain mass with a bit of personal training.” -- But even so Mayfair was handsome and looked quite elegant in the suit, Bo thought.

    “Bo Townsend,” Bo said, extending his hand to greet the man. Bo’s muscular biceps swelled momentarily under the fabric when he gripped Jean Cane’s hand -- his hand was fragile and surprisingly soft, almost like a woman’s hand. He cleared his throat and continued talking nervously. “This one takes the life out of all the other paintings in the room. It demands to be ogled and worshiped.” Once he said it he regretted his choice of words. “Its impressive how well you captured the beauty of the model, there is admiration here, I can see it. Possibly love.” It was not a question. But a blunder of honesty. “I own one of your paintings, the Boxer. And I can see the similarities.”

    “Ugh, I need a drink,” Bo thought to himself. He felt like he was making an ass of himself, talking about art as if he knew what he was talking about. That was his mother’s job, not his. The simple truth, the one thing about the painting --The Lover-- that got his attention was the beauty of the naked model. He glanced across the room, looking for a waiter, he should have grabbed a glass of champagne earlier.

    OOC WARNING: Because of the sensible nature of the character's life I am including a warning whenever I write about her due to the mature content that may be found. If a moderator finds it is inappropriate for these boards, I kindly ask that the roleplay be moved to the proper area so that the group can freely express themselves when writing the stories of these characters.


    The hours had passed unnoticed, Page couldn’t even tell if it was daytime or nighttime, but her golden-jewel wristwatch said 7:40. The room was lit with the yellow light of the wall-lamps. On the king size bed laid Bruno, spread out naked and dead asleep. Their clothes carelessly tossed around the room. It was a carpeted room, and Page liked the thick and softness of the carpet beneath her bare feet. She paced back and forth, lost in her thoughts and the effects of the drugs in her system. She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t sit, she couldn’t stay still for even a moment. Her body was too energized, her heart was beating fast, and her pupils where dialated.

    She felt both strange and excited. Not really sure where she was, only knowing that she was with Bruno and that was all that mattered. He was taking care of her. He loved her. He gave her everything she wanted. She stopped to watch Bruno sleep - he looked like an angel with golden hair and fair skin. Her eyes scan him over, taking in all the masculinity of the man, the hairy armpits, the soft hairs on his chest and the well defined abs, and the trail of hair that ran from his belly down to his growing. She stared at the long and flaccid, uncircumcised, manly muscle between Bruno’s hairy legs. He was surprisingly well endowed.

    She climbed on the bed like a lioness slowly padding toward her prey. She bit him on the inside of his thigh, gently, and he protested. Still asleep, she continued to climb on top of him, her soft skin touching his -- he was warm. She liked Bruno’s abs and tasted the saltiness of his skin, he moan and Page giggled. She couldn’t tell if he was moaning out of pleasure or discomfort. It didn’t matter, he was still asleep. Sliding up she licked his pecks and then bit him again, this time a little harder, and he grabbed and pulled her up to meet his gazing blue eyes. Page smiled wickedly.

    Bruno rolled over on top, pinning Page beneath her and said, “Elle diable.” (She devil)

    “Monsieur, je ne parle pas français,” Page replied.

    “Vraiment?” Bruno asked, smiling from ear to ear.

    “Yes, but I know french kissing.” Page said, and leaned in to kiss Bruno.
    • Like Like x 1

  14. Barry "Big Boss" Westwood
    Barry was finishing up with the girl group, "The Forgotten Ones." He was heading over to 432 Park Avenue to have some family "sit down" for his daughter Narayah. He wondered what she wanted to tell them all, probably that she finally picked the songs for her debut album. Narayah is a perfectionist, just like her father. Barry smirked at the idea of Narayah maybe one day taking over Westwood Records. "Okay, girls that's it for today." Barry and Jimmy escorted the girl group out of the building. "Later Jimmy." Barry waved off to Jimmy and got in his tinted windows Cadillac.
    "Gorton, The Westwood Building." The driver, Gorton shook his head and drove Barry to his home. While in the car Barry took out a cigar and started to smoke it. He gave a heavy sigh and sat back and relaxed. Barry road down his window, letting the cigar smoke fly out of the car. "Gorton I think I might've struck gold with these girls." Gorton smiled and shook his head. "They are going to make me even richer, I might even give you a raise." That made Gorton perk up a bit, Barry smirked at him.
    The door to the Cadillac swung open. "Hey sexy, what have you been up to?" Barry smirked and grabbed up his wife Nikolett. He fixed up his suit, after kissing his wife. They have been together since they were kids, on and off but they got married before they came to New York and started a family. Barry looked in the mirror that Nikolett had built into the car. He looked good, with his wife by his side...as always.

    Nikolett Westwood
    Nikolett was in her giant two story walk in closet, getting ready for the family. Nikolett was hoping that Barry didn't start anything with Camryne today. She didn't want another fiasco that would ruin the family. She really hoped that nothing went down with Pandora being there, she is the only one who doesn't know about the conflict between Barry and Camryne. "There." Nikolett smiled at herself in the mirror, she had finally finished her outfit look.
    She wanted to go for a more Angelic Look, she had accomplished it. She fixed her wedding ring on her finger, watching it gleam in the daylight. Smirking, Nikolett walked down her closet's stairs and out of her house. While making it out of the building, Nikolett spotted the Cadillac. She smiled at Gorton as he opened the door for her.
    Nikolett felt herself being grabbed into the Cadillac. She smirked at her husband. "Boy, don't do that. Your going to mess up my outfit." She kissed her husband, they were still acting like kids, kissing and touching each other. Women her age envied how much Barry loved Nikolett, and she just let them. "You're still smoking those gross cigars." Nikolett watched as Barry smiled at her, she just shook her head. The Cadillac had arrived at 432 Park Avenue. "Let's go honey." Nikolett waited for Barry to escort her out of the car and into the building.

    Kariono Westwood
    "Okay, this is what I'm talking about." Kariono was listening to his track that he had just recorded. He was bumping to the song, jumping up and down. Kariono dapped up Trigga, he was excited about this song. His father would have to sign him after he heard this. Finishing the song and getting the track, Kariono started to pack up his stuff. "Yo Trigga, I'm out. I'll hit you up later, iight?" Trigga shook his head and Kariono left the condo.
    He got into his car, he popped in his song. He was driving down the road, rapping to his own lyrics. The next step was getting signed and getting his album out. Kariono was still upset about his sister getting a album deal before him. Kariono was the big star in the making, he had the fun wild personalty that everyone would love.
    "432...Park Avenue. Ha, that rhymes." Kariono grinned and started to make a rap about 432 Park Avenue. "432 Park Avenue, when I'm gone it's all through." Kariono was getting hyped up, he could make a rap out of anything. Finally making it to the building, he hopped out of his car. Slamming the door shut and locking it.
    "Wow, this place is fire. Maybe I should move here and leave The Westwood Building." Kariono had been thinking about moving from the building for awhile now. He had his own house but it still felt like he was living with his parents. He got into the building and waited in the elevator. The apartment/condo or whatever was on the top floor of the building.
    Once getting to the top floor, Kariono walked to the apartment. "Mom, Dad...Sis. Miss me?" Kariono smirked and flopped down in a seat near the table. Camryne and Pandora hadn't showed up yet...like usual. Pandora was probably getting out of school right now and Camryne, no telling if he was even going to show up.

    Pandora Westwood
    Pandora was getting ready to leave school, she was at her locker getting her stuff. While she was doing that, Trey had made his way over to her. "Hey, Pandora." Pandora frozed for a second, she checked her hair and teeth in the locker's mirror. Then she closed her locker door. "Wassup Trey." Inside Pandora was freaking out, jumping around and screaming, but she was playing it cool on the outside. Trey smiled at her. "You wanna go on a date with me. I think your really cute, so wassup?"
    Pandora could've passed out right there and now, but instead she smiled at him. "I don't know, I usually don't go on dates without it being official. No present? No card?" Trey started to grin and laugh. "What?" Pandora stumped her foot, but she was laughing too. "Okay, how about I get you a present when I pick you up." Pandora acted like she was thinking about it. "Okay, you know where I live. Bye Trey." Pandora twirled away from him, knowing that he was watching her leave.
    Her chauffeur, Braxton opened the door for her. He looked at the way she was smiling. "What Braxton?" He just shrugged and closed the car door. Pandora was so giddy right now. She text messaged her bestie Mimi, who in turn text back a whole bunch of emojis. She would have to tell Narayah later today, the only one that she worried about finding out is her father.
    "This place is nice, but I still prefer my home." Pandora thanked Braxton with a big smile and a hug. Braxton was like her uncle in a way, which is why she didn't tell him about Trey. He would have been almost as bad as her father. Getting into the elevator and making it the top floor. Pandora looked out the window of the building. "Wo! So high." Pandora started to laugh. "So High, good one." She skipped to the apartment, giving her mother, father, sister and brother a hug. Now the only one left was Camryne.

    Camryne Westwood
    Camryne was about to walk out of the photo shoot building, when the model from earlier, Jericho came over to him. "Hey Camryne, you did an amazing job back there." Camryne turned to Jericho smirking. "Thanks, you did a great job to Jericho. Really sexy." Jericho smiled at Camryne. "I wasn't as good as you were. Maybe you could give me some pointers on poses." Camryne took out his phone. "Yeah I can, put your number in phone. We can...practice later tonight." Jericho put his number in Camryne's phone and started to walk away. "Damn, that body." Camryne watched as Jericho left.
    The modeling building was in Soho, Manhattan. It would take a bit of time for Camryne to make it to 432 Park Avenue. While driving down the streets in his car, Camryne noticed an Art Gallery. He wasn't really an artsy fartsy kind of guy, but he appreciated any form of beauty. He is a model, so technically he would be considered a work of art. "Maybe I should just go to the art show, instead of this shit show."
    Camryne looked at everyone going into the building, but he just kept driving. He knew that Narayah would be pissed if he didn't come. After a few more minutes of driving he made it to 432 Park Avenue. Getting out of his car and getting into the building. He smiled at the doorman and found the elevator. "Why did she have to pick the highest apartment." Camryne was waiting in the elevator, impatiently. Once he made it to the floor he stood at the door. "Here we go." Camryne opened the door, he smiled at his family. He gave his mother and sisters a hug, he gave his big brother dap. Camryne didn't even look his father's way. He just sat down. "So what's the big important news Ray?"

    Narayah Westwood
    Narayah had the apartment all set up for her family to see it. The T.V. execs made sure to do exactly what Narayah told them. "Okay, this looks perfect. You guys should go before my family shows up. If they see cameras and producers, they might know something's up." The T.V. execs left the apartment with the camera crew. Narayah watched from the giant window, she spotted her mother and her father in the Cadillac. Her mother was dressed to the Nines...no she was dressed to the Tens.
    She started speed walk to her seat, waiting for them to the enter the apartment. "Mommy, Daddy. You made it!" She hugged them and gave them both kisses on the cheek. "Now when Kari, Cam, and Pan show up, I can tell you all the good news." Well, she hoped they thought it was good news. Narayah watched as her siblings started to trickle in. When Camryne asked what was the big news, Narayah stood up.
    "Well, family. I love and care for all of you." Narayah could see her father getting uncomfortable, Narayah cleared her throat. Okay it's do or die, tell them now or never. "Ummm...the big important news is, these T.V. execs want us to star in our own Reality T.V. show." Narayah had an awkward smile on her face. Her father had a "Your not fucking serious," face. Her mother just stared at her, her siblings well they just didn't know what to say.
    "It would be called The Westwoods: Music & Family. I think it would be an amazing way to get my...I mean our names out there. You know, me, Kari, Cam, and Pan. So the younger crowd, our peers can get to know us." After saying that, Narayah could see her siblings, Kariono and Pandora perk up. "So what do you guys think?"

    • Like Like x 2
  15. Annette Gibson paced around the closed off area of the Gallery like a lion sizing up its prey. Staring at each painting as though it could speak to her. The words that she was longing to hear were, “It’s all right. You’re gonna be just fine.” Her nerves were starting to get the better of her, but Annette did everything in power to not let them show.

    She looked at herself in the reflection of one of her paintings. Her red-hair was in a pony-tail and it was even more noticeable because of the dark-purple formal gown she wore. Annette began to think about how she looked and was finding nit-picking thoughts to frustrate her. Just then the double doors into the room opened up. She saw Elizabeth McIntosh, assistant to Jean Cane Mayfair, walking in with the one person in the world that could make her smile no matter what; Diana McPherson her college roommate and BFF. Dressed in a silver formal gown wearing a star sapphire pendant that Sean bought her last Christmas. Annette looked at her like a child who had just found its parent after being lost. Elizabeth smiled very widely knowing that this was just what Annette needed, and Diana smiled as well saying, “And here’s our star for the evening.”

    Annette laughed slightly and Diana turned to Elizabeth and said, “Thank you Elizabeth. Can you give us a few moments?”

    Elizabeth nodded and said, “Of course I can Diana. I’ll come back for you all in about ten minutes and then we will open the doors for the guests.”

    Diana replied, “Thank you again so much Elizabeth.

    Elizabeth nodded and replied, “You’re welcome Diana.” She looked over to Annette and gave her the same smile and said, “You’re going to be fine Annette. Mr. Mayfair wouldn’t have done this if he thought you weren’t worth it.”

    Annette relaxed a bit and said, “Thank you Elizabeth.”

    Elizabeth left the room closing the doors behind her. Diana and Annette instantly looked at one another and Diana smiled like she had just won the lottery while Annette started giggling. The two women embraced one another as
    Annette said, “Thank you so much for being here. I love you Diana.”

    Diana replied, “Absolutely anything for you. I love you too.”

    Diana took a couple steps back as Annette said, “You still look beautiful you haven’t aged a bit since college.”

    Diana smiled and said, “Liar. How are you other than really nervous?”

    Annette replied, “I think I’m all right. I have so many thoughts going through my head right now. I’ve heard Mayfair can be quite the harsh critic. I’ve only talked with him a couple of times and the biggest reaction I got out of him concerning my work was a nod and an, ‘okay.’ Tell me that I’m not being set up for a disaster?”

    Diana shook her head and said, “Settle down right now. First off remember what Elizabeth said. Second the most I ever got out of him in terms of praise was a ‘nice work Diana.’ However Jean likes fostering young talent and once he gives you an opening like this…” Diana shook her head and said, “The sky is the limit, because he will go to the wall and over it for you.” Diana shrugged her shoulders as she said, “Not to mention you got me on your side, and Jean likes me for a reason other than my work for his Gallery.”

    Annette looked at Diana as if to say, “Go on…”

    Diana smirked and said (as though she were giving out a state secret), “Sean is his lawyer, and there is an unwritten rule in this town that states, ‘Don’t ever piss off your lawyer.’ Jean knows that if he upsets me Sean is not afraid to let him know about it. So you’re in good hands Annette.” Diana gave her wink and said, “You’re playing with house money tonight, so live it up and go big.”

    Annette smiled and too Diana’s right hand as she said, “Thank you so much Diana.”

    Outside the Gallery.
    Sean pulled up to the Gallery in his vintage 1966 gray Mustang. He was dressed in a tux and took one last look in the rear view mirror. He shook his head slowly and said, “The things we do for love.” At first Diana told Sean he didn’t need to be here, but then she changed her mind and asked him to be there for support. When Sean tried to resist Diana she opened her white teri-cloth robbed revealing nothing on, and said, “Unless you want to not see this again until our Wedding Anniversary you might want to reconsider.”

    Sean got out of his car and gave the keys to a valet as he began to enter the Gallery. A doorman dressed in black said, “Your invitation sir.”

    Sean replied showing him his Driver’s License, “Sean McPherson I am a guest of Diana McPherson’s.”

    The doorman looked at the license and said into a blue-tooth, “Mr. Sean McPherson has arrived.” He nodded twice and opened the door a little wider and said, “Please come in sir. If you will wait here Miss McIntosh will take you to meet your wife.”

    Sean entered and gave a casual smile as he said, “Thank you very much.” Sean looked around and felt like a square peg in a round hole. He was comfortable playing cut throat in court, dealing with mobsters, and the media but the Art crowd was out of his league. Sean wouldn’t know Van Gogh from Van Helsing, but he was planning on taking an Art Appreciation course during the summer to help understand the work Diana did a little more.

    Elizabeth approached Sean and said, “Good Evening Sean so nice to see you again.”

    Sean replied, “Hello Elizabeth. Nice seeing you as well.”

    Elizabeth said, “Please follow me.” The two began to walk through the Gallery, and Sean looked around as they walked. He stopped long enough to grab a glass of Champagne, and sipped as they walked along.

    Elizabeth opened the door and said, “Excuse me ladies. We’re just about ready. I will take you over to see Mr. Mayfair for a brief meeting, and then we’ll begin the presentation.”

    Diana took Annette’s hand as she walked over to Sean. Diana and Sean gave each other a kiss, and then Sean turned to Annette and said, “It’s great seeing you again Annette. Congratulations on your opening.

    Annette gave Sean hug and said, “Thank you Sean. I am so glad you came here this evening.”

    Sean returned the embrace and said, “Glad to be here for you.”

    Annette whispered, “She threatened to withhold sex from you didn’t she?”

    Sean replied in a whisper, “I had tickets for the Rangers game tonight what do you think?”

    Annette chuckled as they broke the embrace. Elizabeth said, “If you all will follow me.”

    The four of them made their way to Jean Cane who was in conversation with a young man. Elizabeth said, “Excuse me Mr. Cane it’s about time.”

    Diana looked at Jean and said, “Hello Jean so wonderful to see you.

    #15 MST3K 4ever, May 14, 2015
    Last edited: May 14, 2015
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  16. When Noel eventually wandered back to his study--Zainab was currently playing with Kamilah and Aziza was setting up the guest room--he found that his voice-mail had two messages on it. Both from his mother, with one pleading to meet and the other a 'part two' of the first message. Noel frowned, his mother didn't plead and his mother didn't need two phone calls to state her messages, because she was such a direct person. Noel wondered what could have possibly come over her and for a second he wondered if she was dying. But no, she would have come to him in person to tell him that wouldn't she?

    "No sense in fretting when the answer's right here." Noel murmured pulling the volume down a bit before pressing play. He didn't want to get Aziza's hopes up if the message was bad. She had always wanted to meet his parents and had been devastated when they all but disowned their son.

    "Hello, Noel! It's your mother!" Why did she sound so...Chipper? And why did she feel the need to introduce herself like that, did she think he'd forgotten what she sounded like? "I'm calling to invite you to the Mayfair gallery in SoHo! It'll be wonderful please come!" And that was the end of the first message.

    Irritation seethed through Noel. After all that his parents had done...After the abandonment! His mother had the nerve to leave a message like that? Like everything was okay! He didn't even want to listen to the second message now, but he had to. Maybe since she was acting so bizarre, his mother had done it as an impromptu April Fool's joke and her second message consisted of her laughing herself to pieces.

    He pressed play.

    "Oh that message was terrible, wasn't it? I can just see your face now, creased with that little frown you always get..." She chuckled then, and Noel's frown melted from his face. His mother sounded so...Vulnerable. "The truth is Noel, that I apologize. As a parent I should have never treated you the way I did and, well just please come to the gallery! We can talk then, bye!"

    Noel sat in his study for awhile, just staring at the phone and debating on whether he should go or not. It couldn't hurt to just see what she wanted, right? Everything would be fine. Getting up slowly, Noel made his way to the guest room where Aziza was fluffing the bed pillows. "Hey honey, so my mother called," The pillow that Aziza was holding dropped onto the bed.

    "Really? What did she say?" His wife asked, her eyes glittering with hope.

    "She wants to meet me at a gallery opening in SoHo, to apologize I suppose. Do you want to come?" He asked hopefully. Truthfully he didn't want to go alone. It's not as though he was afraid of his mother, but art gallery's really weren't in his top five interests, and he and Aziza hadn't gone out in awhile. "I could ask Mrs. Jubilee from across the hall to check in on Kamilah and Zainab--

    "No! I mean, it's just that I have to set up the guest room and you know your mother doesn't really like me and she invited you after all, not me." Aziza said quickly and Noel sighed a bit.

    "Aziza...Alright. Well, I'm going to get ready to go now, but I don't know how late I'll be. I'll call you if my plans change." Noel murmured, and pecked his wife on the cheek. She responded by giving him an encouraging squeeze on the arm. "I hope everything works out."

    It took him less than thirty minutes to get ready, as all of his clothes were always pre-ironed. He was dressed in gray dress pants, a light gray sweater, a white dress shirt and black dress shoes, and he was wearing just a tiny spritz of cologne. He'd never approved of guys who doused themselves in noxious smelling body spray. "Alright, I'm leaving! Bye Kamilah, Zainab." He made his way to the door, but before he could step out, Zainab dashed over to him. A feat he would have thought impossible because she was still wearing those skyscraper high heels.

    "Wait, wait, wait! Where are you going?" She asked, looking him over and bouncing in place.

    "To a gallery showing, to meet with my mother--

    "Ooh, can I--May I come?" Zainab begged, clasping her hands together and attempting at puppy dog eyes. Noel tossed the thought in his mind a bit. It was true that he didn't want to go alone, but...Zainab was a child. A teenager, but still a child. Seeing the hesitance on his face, Zainab stopped her bouncing and stood ramrod straight. "Please let me come, Uncle Noel! I won't embarrass you, and I can be super bougie!" As if to accentuate that point, she steeled her face into a nonchalant look and raised her chin as if she were looking down on him--Well if she was taller than him that is. Noel chuckled.

    "Alright fine, but you have to change." Zainab deflated then.

    "But I don't have anything else to wear, I didn't get to bring anything." She sighed, and Noel though that was weird. Had her father been in such rush that he didn't even allow his daughter to pack?

    "Well, I suppose we can stop on the way there to get you a more appropriate outfit." He murmured, glancing at his watch. They had a bit of time, he hoped Zainab was a quick shopper though.

    "Yes! Thank you!" At the sound of her sudden shrieking, Aziza came out of the guest bedroom. "What's going on?"

    "Uncle Noel is taking me shopping then we're going to an art gallery. Bye!" And with that Zainab strode out the door. Noel gave Aziza a wave and followed the confident teenager.

    Back in the penthouse, Aziza stood dumbstruck in the living room, a decorated pillow being twisted in her hands. "That little b--" She snarled but stopped when she saw that Kamilah was still in the room, staring at her, as usual. Aziza huffed and stormed back to her own room to finish her seven page paper from before.
    Turns out Zainab was a quick shopper and within ten minutes of arriving at the clothing store, she had found a surprisingly appropriate and simple black dress and heels that would not break her ankles if she stumbled in them. When they got back to the car, she removed all of her jewelry and when Noel sent her a questioning look, she simply said, "Jewelry shouldn't outmatch the dress, Uncle Noel."

    When they got to the gallery, Noel parked the car and together he and Zainab approached the doorman. "Noel Garrison, I'm a guest of Adeline Garrison, and this--

    "Is your plus one, I presume?" The doorman cut in, and allowed them inside. Noel pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. So his mother had assumed that he'd bring Aziza, but hadn't had the courtesy to extend the additional invitation on the phone. Typical.

    Noel turned to Zainab who was looking around with awe, when she saw the jelly beans on the floor she snickered. "Wo-ow, white people are weird." She stated and Noel frowned.

    "I'm half white." He grumbled and Zainab looked at him in surprise. "Really? I thought you were just a really light black person, wow your hair is pretty curly for a mu--mixed person." She ended her sentence with a wide apologetic smile and Noel rolled his eyes.

    "Gee, thanks. Now, Zainab, I'm going to see if I can locate my mother, so you should look around. But do not, and I repeat do not, take any drink that a waiter is carrying on their tray and don't take any food or drink from strangers." Noel said sternly.

    "Why because you think someone's going to try and roofie me?" The teenager asked.

    "No, because I'm quite sure that 90% of the drinks in here are alcoholic." And with that Noel went off in search of his mother and Zainab began exploring the gallery.

    Noel didn't have to walk around for long, before his mother stepped in front of him. "Hello, Noel dear."

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  17. [​IMG]

    Jean Cane felt an easy smile on his face. He liked the rawness of Bo’s words. The boy wasn’t trained in refined artistic lingo and hadn’t learned to appear aloof. “Thank you for your honesty Bo.” He cast another fond glance at the painting. Hugo felt far away since he’d gotten sick. Jean Cane was well aware he deserved the distance, he’d been absolutely awful to him and making him keep all those secrets…He sighed tiredly but kept his smile. “I’m glad you have The Boxer. I had to get rid of that one; it haunted me day and night. I used to have it over our bed, but it honestly gave me nightmares. It deserves to be displayed by someone who understands it.” He sipped his coffee. “I was a bit surprised your mother bought it. I like her, don’t get me wrong, but it seemed too cool a business decision. That painting needs to be owned. I think you can do that Bo.” He noted Hugo chatting with a couple of young men, and something pinched at his heart. Hugo was still so beautiful, so primal. He was a roaring fire, where as Jean Cane felt himself a dying ember. “As for my model," he touched Bo’s shoulder and pointed over. “There he is, in the flesh.” He sighed and finished his coffee. “Now where is Elizabeth, I need another of these…Oh! Speak of the devil and she shall appear.”

    Jean smirked into the group of four approaching him. Two wolves, a long legged foal and Elizabeth, his flawless android. “Welcome, welcome.” He gave Diana a kiss on each cheek, Sean a firm handshake and a cool smile to Annette. “This is Bo Townsend. He has my Boxer now if you all remember that one. Bo, this is my assistant Elizabeth, my dear friend Diana and her husband Sean. And this is Annette, our blossoming artist of the night.” He smirked at her, feeding from her nervous energy. It was enough to know she cared. That was what mattered to him and if he had to be cool to draw it out of her, well he would. “Right, right. Time to introduce the world to your beauties. Elizabeth get poor Bo a drink and I need another coffee pronto.” Jean Cane made his way towards the unopened section of the gallery, drawing the eyes of the room. Hugo trailed him with his gaze adoringly. Jean Cane puffed with pride and delight at the attention. He paused to accept his coffee from Elizabeth and then cleared his throat.

    Welcome to the Mayfair Gallery. I hope you are enjoying the works on display, but I have to tell you the best has yet to be revealed. When I first met Annette Gibson, I could practically hear her knees knocking. I thought to myself, how can this girl have enough passion to paint! She should be crafting with pipe cleaners!” The earned a laugh and a look from Hugo. Spare the girl. Jean Cane shook his head and smiled. “But once I saw her canvases, I realized a lioness hid beneath the veneer of a wallflower. Ladies and Gentlemen it is my pleasure and privilege to host the debut of Annette Gibson’s collection.” He turned around to move the posts holding the velvet rope blocking off the exhibit. The post was heavy and he nearly dumped his coffee trying to move it. He frowned, feeling a shaking start in his hands. He licked his lips and turned around, gesturing over Hugo. “A better idea. I will let my muse open the exhibit. I wish you all the luck and success in the world Annette.” Hugo quickly strode over and easily moved the post. Jean Cane kissed Annette on the cheek and moved out of the way so the crowd could pass. He leaned heavily against Hugo, hands gripping his coffee firmly to try to steady them. “I need to sit down.” Hugo wrapped an arm around his husband and guided him to a sofa. “Do you want me to take you home?” Jean Cane shook his head. “No, no. Mingle for me. Please, I’m sure someone will come over and pester me.” Hugo hesitated but nodded. He leaned down to kiss Jean Cane, but the older man turned his face away. “Not now.” He hissed. Hugo deflated visibly but nodded and strode away to find some conversation.

    Jean leaned back against the cushion, feeling tears prick his eyes. Why had he been so nasty just then? Hugo was at his beck and call and all he was was cruel. He shut his eyes and sighed heavily. This sickness was tearing him apart. He rested for a moment before opening his eyes. It was quiet on this side of the gallery now. He glanced around and noted a few stragglers here and there. Sean and Diana would wonder why he wasn’t on the other side with them. He pushed up carefully and started that way, but something made him pause. A young…girl? He squinted and glanced around. He pointed at one of the doorman and motioned him over. The man walked over, nervousness coloring his face. “What the fuck does it say under my hours of operation?You know, on the door you stand next to.” The man frowned. “I—“ Jean Cane grabbed him by the tie. “No one under 18 permitted! Do you think I want a teenage girl looking at my husband’s cock? Hmmm?” The doorman frowned under the European ferocity that suddenly tore from Jean Cane’s mouth. “I’m sorry sir…” Jean Cane let him go and rolled his eyes. “Idiots every one of you.” He stormed back over towards the new art. What a cluster fuck.
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  18. Annette walked around, technically, it actually looked like she was floating more than anything else. She moved amongst the crowd shaking hands, accepting compliments with grace and humility, smiling for pictures, talking about her work openly, not to mention the compliment from Jean was completely out of nowhere, and of course having Diana with her helped tremendously.

    Once Diana saw that Annette was handling things like a seasoned pro she very discreetly slipped away. She saw Sean just wandering around aimlessly staring just blindly at the various paintings. She walked over as Sean stopped while sipping his champagne and was looking at a picture of a sunset and an eagle taking flight with younglings in the nest.

    Diana asked very casually, "And what do you think of this one?"

    Sean replied while nodding, "Nice use of brown."

    Diana stifled a laugh as she took Sean's arm and said, "You are so clueless sometimes Sean, and I love you. Thank you for doing this, and at least your phone isn't going off every five minutes with score updates."

    Sean replied as he took a sip, "I have it on vibrate."

    Diana shook her head and rolled her eyes. She said, "Finish your drink and you can go home, but that doesn't mean you chug it either."

    Sean smiled at her and replied, "Fair enough. I just hope I..." Sean glanced over and his whole facial expression changed from casual to very interested. He looked around and motioned for Elizabeth to come over to them. Elizabeth walked over and asked, "Can I help you Sean?"

    Sean asked, "Over there by the third painting from the left is that Steven Kelly?"

    Elizabeth replied, "Why yes it is. Mr. Kelly is a frequent customer of Mr. Mayfair's gallery. If I recall he might even one or two works by your wife though I can't be sure."

    Diana said, "Okay now I get to show my lack of knowledge who is Steven Kelly again? The name sounds familiar."

    Sean looked at Diana with the enthusiasm of young boy getting ready to go on a roller coaster as he said, "Diana Steven Kelly is one of the top Tight Ends to ever play in the NFL. He was with Pittsburgh for five years and retired with a Super Bowl win originally drafted by the Jets. Oh wow! I heard he lived here in New York still, but I never thought I'd see him. Wow!"

    Elizabeth said, "I could be inclined to introduce you to Mr. Kelly. If you were to do me one favor."

    Sean looked at Elizabeth and replied, "Name it."

    Elizabeth said, "I am using my maiden name again, because I am gearing up for a nasty divorce with a custody battle for my two children. I don't have too much confidence in my lawyer being able to take my husband's lawyer. If you were to reduce your usual fee to something a little more financially friendly to me."

    Sean looked her in the eye and said, "You introduce me to him, and I will represent you for free."

    Elizabeth smiled and said, "That is very friendly." She looked at Diana and asked, "Would you like to meet him?"

    Diana shook her head and replied, "Maybe later." Diana looked at Sean and smiled as she said, "Just remember he puts his pants on one leg at a time just like the rest of us mortals. Try not to fan-boy too much."

    Sean nodded at Diana and said, "Yeah mortals and pants got it."

    Diana said to Elizabeth, "Get him over there while he is able to still speak English." Elizabeth motioned for Sean to follow her. As they walked away Diana said, "Now I won't be able to get him out of here with the jaws of life and me stripping down in front of him."

    When they arrived Steven was studying a painting of a gladiator in the Roman Coliseum. Elizabeth said, "Excuse me Mr. Kelly." The massive gentleman dressed in an all black tuxedo with a silver tie turned to them, and Sean felt like a teenage boy meeting. Elizabeth said, "This is Mr. Sean McPherson an admirer of yours." She turned to Sean and said, "Sean this is Mr. Steven Kelly."

    Sean stuck his hand out and Steven's hand almost swallowed it as they shook hands. Sean said, "This is a tremendous honor Mr. Kelly." Steven replied, "Thank you Sean, and please it's Steven. You call Mr. Kelly I'm gonna be looking for my dad." The three of them chuckled as Steven asked, "McPherson? Are you by chance related to Diana McPherson?"

    Sean replied. "I should say so. Diana's my wife."

    Steven's mouth visibly dropped open as he said, "No way? Really? Oh wow! Sean please you gotta introduce me to her. Please! I love her work she is so talented."

    Elizabeth smiled as she took a step back and said, "I think my work here is done." She walked away and began attending to other guests.

    Sean replied with a smile, "It'll be my pleasure." The two men walked over to Diana and Sean said, "Diana I would like for you to meet Mr. Steven Kelly. It appears that Mr. Kelly admires your work."

    Diana stuck her hand out and said, "It's nice to meet you Mr. Kelly"

    Steven took her hand and kissed it as he said, "Trust me the pleasure is truly all mine Mrs. McPherson. I own four of your sculpts. Two at my downtown office where I'm a financial adviser, one at my cabin, and one at my home. You are so talented I can't believe I am actually meeting you. Please call me Steven"

    Diana bowed her head slightly and said, "Why thank you very much Steven. Sean is a huge Steelers fan so I've seen you play over the years."

    Steven turned to Sean and said, "It's always nice to meet someone who pulls for the black and gold. What do you do for living Sean?"

    Sean replied, "Lawyer and an agent."

    Steven nodded and turned back to Diana and said, "Hey the building I work at Downtown is looking to replace the sculpts out front. Their best day came and went about 25 years ago. Would you be interested in taking on that job?"

    Diana somewhat stunned but smiled and said, "I'm not sure I'd have to see the site, and we'd have to negotiate everything. But I'm more than willing to listen and talk about the possibility of it."

    Steven replied, "Fantastic! Oh man if I was able to bring you in on this the people in our building would worship me for years to come." He handed Diana his card and said, "Please call me tomorrow morning. Let's get this going."

    Diana smiled and took the card as she said, "I will certainly will call tomorrow morning Steven. Thank you very much for the opportunity."

    Steven replied, "No thank you Mrs. McPherson."

    Diana said, "Please Diana." She noticed Jean visibly upset and storming off. She said, "If you two will excuse me I need to talk to Mr. Mayfair."

    Steven bowed his head slightly and said, "Of course Diana a pleasure to meet you."

    Sean and Steven watched Diana heading towards Jean. Steven said, "Sean you are one blessed man. You are married to someone so beautiful, talented, and so pleasant. I envy you on a lot of levels."

    Sean replied, "Thank you Steven, so tell me how long have you been a patron of the arts?"

    Steven looked back at Sean and said, "Oh since my undergrad days at Clemson. You see..." Steven put his arm around Sean and the two men began to walk around the gallery.

    Diana caught up to Jean and asked, "Hey are you all right Jean-Cane? Is there anything I can do to help?"
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  19. [​IMG]
    Isabella Grace Chandler
    Isabella Chandler dressed to impress. She never bothered with the whole "casual" look; she was still beautiful at 45, and she intended to make it known to everyone and anyone. After all, her last name was a ticket to any socialite event she wanted to go to. That was the only good thing about being officially married to Ernest. Being a Chandler had its perks, especially since she was an art enthusiast. Artists often went out of their way to try to get Isabella to buy their work. If they managed to impress her, she would pay big bucks for the piece.

    She smiled at Eric, the man sitting next to her in the limousine. The two kept up the appearance of friendship well, and no one in the media dared to even guess what might happen behind closed doors. Again, Isabella had her "husband" to thank for that. The man was a pain in the ass, but at least he hadn't ruined her good name. In fact, he'd rather gone to great lengths to keep up the family appearance. Her nose crinkled at the thought of her family. She almost hated her father-in-law, and her children no longer loved her. The only thing that kept her going was Eric.

    "Maybe we should ditch this scene and find somewhere quiet," Eric whispered seductively, causing Isabella to giggle like some love-sick teenager. She shook her head. "Jean Cane's gallery is one of the most magnificent in all of New York! And he's revealing a new artist this evening; I've heard she's very good." Eric sighed but nodded, a slight smile playing off his lips to show that it wasn't a big deal. Isabella pursed her lips, trying to hide her discontent. It seemed in the past few weeks Eric had been less and less interested in the art world or really anything except some good sex. Doubt played at her mind, but she shoved it away as the gallery came into view.

    "There it is!" she said, smiling elegantly. She was dressed in a simple black dress that went down to her knees and elegant heels that accentuated her legs. She smirked at Eric before exiting the limousine. Cameras were held up to view the latest guest to the acclaimed art gallery, but no flashes came. As per usual, the media was hesitant to take any pictures of someone in the Chandler family. But as she walked up with her head held high, a few dared to snap shots. She didn't mind, though she was sure she would hear the lot of it from Ernest later. He didn't like her going out without someone to make sure things stayed in order. She couldn't care less what he wanted at this point, however.

    She nodded at the man standing guard at the front of the gallery, and he opened the door with a bit of a flourish. Isabella's eyes lit with excitement as she took in the beautiful art pieces all around her. The exhibit of jelly beans on the floor was a bit outlandish, but it didn't take her long to understand its significance. Abandoning the thought of Eric, she flocked over to Jean Cane's famous painting that she'd been vying for for years: The Lover. It was as exquisite as ever....just absolutely beautiful.

    In the back of her mind, she remembered when she had looked on her husband as someone so beautiful. Of course he wasn't pretty much a god like the man in the painting, but she had never cared much for appearances. A strange feeling of sadness crept into the forefront of her mind, but she forced it back as quickly as it came. She would not let Ernest ruin her happiness here. She would not let him ruin her happiness ever again.
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