A/N: I had this sitting around for awhile but I wasn't sure about posting it. I'm still not sure about posting it but here it is anyway...
Kurt surveyed his office. It was everything his father had dreamed he would achieve: ostentatious, reassuringly expensive, and in the most exclusive part of the city.
He had perfected the art of argument in legalistic language and commanded an exorbitant fee. He wasn't married, no children and drove an exotic car.
He had an executive home with so much square footage he needed to hire several maids to clean it.
His chef popped in three times a week to make the fine meals; the rest of the time he ate out. His problem now was that buying the best of everything no longer gave him joy. He'd tried having mistresses, and that was still fun, but it wasn't enough. The only way out of his slump was to do something radical and he wasn't into hard drugs. Many years ago a young friend of his had gone over to a non profit, specializing in lobbying for legislation that increased peoples rights and freedoms rather than taking them away. Perhaps through reinventing himself he could save himself.
"Kurt," his lawyer and good friend, Roman Kruger, greeted striding through his front door. His head high and his briefcase tucked firmly under his left arm.
"How's it going?" He asked, taking a seat in the lazy boy couch to the far end of the luxurious living room.
Kurt spared him a glance but immediately returned his attention back to the cluster of papers stacked in front of him.
With a glass of bourbon in hand, he finally turned his body to his right hand man and savior.
His hand tighten around the glass so hard it was a surprise it didn't shatter.
"That should've been mine."
Roman shrugged and got up to pour himself a drink. He needed some kind of stability before Kurt exploded.
"I worked my ass off. How the hell was Gibson favored for the role and I wasn't?" He asked, his voice slightly rising.
Roman waved his hand around. "Kurt, calm do—"
He slammed his hand on the table. "He ripped me off!" He screamed, not caring if he once again attracted the attention of his nosy neighbours.
Roman stood in complete silence for a few minutes before making his way to the refrigerator. It stood like a great silver monolith in the kitchen.
"What do you have to eat here?" Roman asked cheerfully, completing ignoring the fact that Kurt was beet red in the face.
Kurt stood up so fast his chair toppled back, hitting the floor with a loud thud.
Roman raised an eyebrow at him, "you're still an actor with a reputation to uphold. You can't be lashing out like this," he said sternly, shaking his head.
"To act I become the part, not another version of myself, but truly live it as a separate person. It's the only way to be authentic, don't you think? I feel their emotions, work through their problems, always keeping in mind the limitations of their perspective. I ride with the character on their quest for joy and redemption, always rooting for their victory. That's the only way I know how to give a sincere performance. How can they not give me what could possibly be the biggest role of my entire career?"
Kurt's anger was justified to an extend. He was, no denying, a brilliant actor but he mostly excelled in action, horror and crime films. Those were his specialities. The film in question is one of the most sappiest tragedy to ever been written; The remake of Romeo and Juliet. "No offense or anything, boss but you're not exactly lover boy material. They need someone who has loved, felt love and can easily profess what they feel not merely just what they read. Romeo was a love sick idiot who fell in love way too fast. The kid was what? Thirteen? He should've been playing video games and getting dirty not killing himself over some girl business," Roman ranted, taking a long drink of his martini mix.
Kurt rubbed his hand violently through his tousled brown hair and groaned loudly.
"Find me a woman then. If I'm around one long enough I can pretend to know what the hell this love business is about so I can snag this role"
"Have you heard nothing?" Roman asked in clear annoyance.
"You can't just pluck a rather woman. You must fall in love, you idiot. God, sometimes you're worst than my sister. She's older but she can be stubborn as hell when she wanted to. You two would make quite the pair."
And suddenly it were as if Kurt's brain had been reprogrammed over night, overridden. It was as if all his previous interests had been deleted and replaced with the image of an unknown face and the voice of an angel.
"You have a sister?" He asked slowly, looking over his shoulder to where his lawyer stood with a firm look on his face. "Yes, my older sister. No, she isn't interested. I've seen what you do with women and even though my sister can beat your ass down I'd rather you stay the hell away from her," Roman rushed out in basically one breath.
Roman has always been very protective of his older sister. She was his light in the darkest places and his shield against the cruelty of the world. They were both forced to grow up way too fast but his sister always made sure he still had time for a normal childhood while she did all of the work and took all of the beatings, he frolicked about; oblivious to every misfortune happening around him —oblivious because his sister kept him away from that. The orphanage was hell but Roman didn't see the worst of it. Being older, his sister was placed on an entirely different floor so he knew nothing of what she had to endure. She would never burden him with such ugly memories. It was safer if he went about his entire life believing everything he was taught and thought he knew.
Kurt nodded, turned on his heels and walked out of the living room, into the kitchen.
His chef, Robert, was busily working on some new invention. Robert wasn't a typical chef in that he was skinny, surprisingly so. Yet in other ways he was perfectly typical. His opinion was the right one, always, no one else could hold a valid point of view if it wasn't consistent with his own. He prowled the kitchen like a caricature of himself, the eyes popping more everyday and his mouth becoming thinner, tighter. He only ever smiled when he tasted his own food, for everyone else he muttered under his breath "garbage, bland..."
"Evening sir and sir" he greeted as Kurt and Roman entered the kitchen. For a kitchen that should've been a mess during the preparation of meals, the kitchen was absolutely spotless. You could clearly see yourself in the utensils and on the floor.
Robert picked up the chopping knife and cut the vegetables into perfect matchsticks in the time it took most people just peel the carrots. Every motion was precise from intense repetition and he prided himself on the machine like perfection of his shapes. Everything was even, uniform, perfect.
"How long until the feast, Rob?" Kurt asked, stepping closer to inspect the meal.
"With all due respect, sir, when I'm here this is my kitchen. You do not overstep your boundaries and you will certainly not peer into my pot. Now please." Robert spoke clearly and with his head held high.
Kurt raised his arms in defense and backed away slowly. Rob kept his eyes on him as he moved backwards. When he had maintained enough distance Rob smiled tightly and returned back to his cooking.
"Psycho chef," Roman muttered, when Kurt was close enough.
He nodded and strode back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Roman lets out an exasperated breath and downs the rest of his drink before motioning that Kurt should take a seat. He did.
"I want another job— a better one.
That's what you do. Find me one."
Roman laughed dryly, setting down his glass.
"We've had this discussion already. With your credentials, I can get you any job you want. This one? of course not."
"They'd be fucking lucky to have me. My portfolio speaks for itself."
Roman cleared his throat, tapping his glass with his perfect fingernail. "As does your personality," he says sharply.
Jonathan Gibbers was a family man. He valued family, respect and love. There was no way that he'd allow a well known womanizer and absolute asshole, such as Kurt Weller, into his business. It was Romeo & Juliet for God's sake.
Roman stretched his long legs out, looking at ease. He appeared to not be as worked up about Kurt's 'dilemma'.
"Didn't Llys Williams offer you a role in his new upcoming action film? Just accept the role and go on with your merry life. That's the kind of role you're good at. Love? You're not capable."
It wasn't that Kurt Weller was a cruel man per se, he just didn't give a damn about what anyone thought. He was blunt. Whatever he wanted from you he just told you straight, he didn't try to sugar coat it or bargain. And after only minutes of a conversation the annoyance of having to converse showed on his face, even if he'd initiated it. His mouth was set in a permanent scowl and offering help even when it was obviously needed was not in his nature. His one redeeming feature was that he could act his ass off, he worked hard and he made whomever he worked for alot of money.
"No amount of expensive equipment can make up for the lack of plot. The movie starts like a tortoise and ends like road kill," Kurt argued.
"It's horrible and I only take part in greatness."
Roman scratched the back of his neck nervously. His sister had hit rock bottom after the death of Oscar, her high school sweetheart turned fiancé and she refused to take even a single dime from Roman. He would've given it all up for her in the blink of an eye considering she was the one who got him to where he was today. She worked three jobs, day in and day out to provide for him. She got two hours of sleep every night because after college she'd help Roman with his homework, she'd help him study for his exams which resulted in her barely graduating college but she never complained. Their foster mother, Shepherd provided for them but being Army based she was hardly ever around and his sister felt awful taking her money so she worked hard for her own.
He owed her everything and so much more.
"How much are you offering said woman and how long would you need her for?"
He drew his lower lip between his teeth and cocked his head to side.
"This is your sister?" He inquired, beaming at Roman.
"You're beautiful," he said offering his open palm to this woman who was supposed to act as his girlfriend for a year.
She hadn't bothered to put a face to Kurt Weller. His reputation said far more than he needed to. She didn't search him up on the internet like a horny sixteen year old. She simply didn't care.
But this man standing before her was sex on legs she would've let herself fall into his arms anytime until he opened his mouth, of course. That voice. She'd know that voice anywhere.
It was unavoidable. The voice instantly brought up visions of morning sex and shower sex, public sex, and sheet-clawing, multiple-orgasm, ecstatically screaming sex. Kurt Weller, the world's biggest asshole.
He had a voice that would make a nun drop to her knees and pray for forgiveness for her sinful thoughts.
She gripped his hand firmly and raised an eyebrow at him. He sent her one of his panty dropping smiles, looking her up and down.
"Remi," was her simple response as she pulled her hand from his tight hold.
Kurt Weller was surly and crass. It had been said that he hardly ever agreed to interview because he simply didn't have the time or if he ever did it was always one liners; he had always seen himself better than every other actor. He was paid atleast double the amount of the leading actors simply because he was Kurt Weller.
Remi's scrunched up expression said she simply didn't see the appeal.
"So Remi-Jane.." Roman said trailing off, his eyes darted from between his sister and his boss as he picked at his nails nervously.
She tugged on his hand gently and he trailed behind her once they were out of earshot she turned to him and punched him right in the chest
"Kurt Weller?!" She hissed, glaring daggers at her younger brother. "Are you really such an idiot?"
"Please. Please, you just have to pretend for a year. He's paying you three million dollars for the year. Please Remi."
She thought long and hard.
Well... I could use the money, she thought to herself. My apartment is a major shit hole. No matter how much Roman begged and tried to force his money on her she wouldn't take it. She couldn't.
"Fine. One year"." She scrubbed her hands down her face and wrapped them around the back of her neck, popping her knuckles.
Roman nodded happily and pulled her in for a hug.
"Oh and please don't fall for him. Please don't fuck him," Roman moaned looking slightly disgusted for even uttering those words to his sister.
Her face scrunched up. Not from the dismissal, but from the warning. The awareness.
After the death of her fiancé just two years ago she had no intention of crawling into bed with anyone. Kurt Weller was a dick and he could keep his dick in his pants because she really wasn't interested in that kind of blow up.
Five minutes later, the duo joined Kurt back in the living room.
"One year," Remi repeated, taking the contract from his cold, evil hands and scrawled her signature across it quickly.
Roman went over the rules and what was expected when and where to make the whole sham believable. The kid had been in one relationship and suddenly he was an expert. He did make some valid points not that she would ever tell him that. She wouldn't risk feeding his already inflated ego.
"You should probably post a picture of the two to your 10 Million followers," Roman said tapping his chin and looking thoughtful. "Not her face though," he added quickly.
"Maybe interlaced fingers or something sappy like that," Remi injected, earning a flirtatious smile from Kurt.
Ugh. The man was disgusting.
"Then maybe take a walk somewhere. Wear a hat; those really large ones, so your face won't be recognized."
"Why have a girlfriend if I can't show her off?" Kurt questioned seriously.
"Ah. That's for later. We're just showing people for now, that you have a woman you're serious enough about to take pictures with."
Fake it til you make it right?
"Your girlfriend, sir?" Robert, whom I learned was his chef, asked looking at me with a soft smile.
He was a fairly handsome man with brown skin and tight, black curls and according to Kurt, the only best thing in his life. Now that was sad.
The left side of Kurt's faint lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god like face; casting a spell of lust to eyes that dare look his way.
"My girlfriend," he repeated, placing his hand on my lower back and made small circles around my spine. I tried to stay still. I really did but the proximity was so uncomfortable that I faked a sneeze —an actual sneeze to get away from him.
"Welcome miss," Robert said, offering me his hand, completely ignoring the fact that I just sneezed to get away from Satan himself.
The introduction ended as quickly as it began but I was thankful for not having to pretend any longer, that I was so much in love with that vile man.
"This is the bathroom," Kurt explained as he stopped in front of a wooden door, holding it open for me he nodded towards the space motioning that I should enter.
The bathroom had an earthy feel. The walls were large format tiles of white honed travertine and the floor was made of dull brown tiles. The vanities were of a dark wood and the counters were a brilliant white quartz. There was no bath but instead a huge walk in shower with two shower heads.
We had been going over alot of boundaries that should be maintained during our year together.
I slept in the guest at all times unless someone of importance was coming over and according to him that happened quite alot.
It probably didn't and he just wanted me in his bed but I let him tell his lies if that made him feel better.
He was to keep his hands to himself when we were alone. No one except Roman and I was to know that this was a ruse. To his chef, Robert, I was his girlfriend and he was finally ready to move our relationship to the next level —moving me in.
"Is everything okay? Is the house alright?"
Is the house alright? He's joking right? This was literally a castle and I wasn't about to let him know that I appreciated his taste.
If he had every known failure in his life, it didn't show. Everything from the way he held himself, to the way he spoke, to that look of unassailable confidence in his eye said he could do anything he set his mind to. Except get the role of Romeo, of course.
"The walls are a bit bland but I'll survive," I said pretending the look at my nails.
I saw him raise an eyebrow at the corner of my eye but managed to keep a straight face.
"This isn't your house. I like my walls. Join me in the living room when you're tidied up."
Before I even had the chance to reply he walked out and slammed the door behind him.
What a charmer..
Twenty minutes later, I joined him in the living room, like he requested.
The room is like a perfect magazine cover. I'm afraid to sit in case I wrinkle the fabric or stain it with something I don't even know is on my pants. The couch is cream but inlaid with a fine green silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but I know they took hundreds of hours to sew. The white curtains are linen, the kind of white that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right shows me the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them. There is a huge flat screen television, a few bookshelves and chairs arranged around the bespoke fireplace which leaps with a gas flame. The photographs are black and white, not casual family snaps, but arranged to look like such by a professional.
The floor is a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter.
The room is uncomfortably large. It reminds me of a hotel foyer, not just in the space but in the artwork too. I scan for a personal touch, something that doesn't suggest a hired designer chose it. Nothing.
The room gives away his bachelorhood. Everything is functional.
There is room in here for dozens of children, though I doubt even one would be welcome. It is a perfect place, but cold in its tranquility. The soft jazz just audible as background noise, and at the same volume in every room, somehow makes it even less personal. I feel like I just stepped into the mall. There are no personal photographs, like the place is staged for sale. It isn't though.
Kurt sat comfortably in one of the couches with a pair of glasses resting gently on the bridge on his nose, his face buried in a book and he had a small smile etched onto his face. He almost looked human.
"You're here. Good," he says with his face still buried in the book but that soft small was now a deep frown as he closed the door gently, as if it were the most fragile thing.
"Sit." His voice was suddenly cold and hard and I automatically wondered if I already messed up my chances of earning this well needed money.
I complied, forcing myself to sit comfortably. I couldn't.
"We have to do this picture business," he said, finally looking over at me. Behind those glasses his eyes were almost translucent, glossy, like the palest blue glass, too soft to be turquoise, too bright to be baby blue.
I nodded numbly and shifted closer to his side of the couch and took his phone from his tight hold. He stiffen for a bit but easily relaxed and flashed me his signature smirk.
"Do you own a cowboy hat?" I asked when we were close enough.
Kurt glances upward, his mouth pursed but slightly open and loose. His eyes are fixed on mine as if he was lost in a memory.
"Look away," I mutter self consciously.
He blinks, refocuses, "a cowboy hat?" I smile and nod.
He hesitates a bit but gets up and heads back to his room. I couldn't place what it was about a cowboy hat that made him so jittery but it must have been really close and personal to stun Kurt Weller.
"The only one I own," his glasses are now replaced for his contact lenses and his usually styled hair was now tousled from him running his fingers through it countless times.
The cowboy hat was barely brown anymore and was old and worn out. There was an engraving at the side that I couldn't make out but this wasn't about me figuring him out. This was about taking the damn picture so I could finally go to bed.
"Come here," I said, patting the spot next to me. He sits quickly and I place the hat up while he looks at me confused.
I shifted until our knees were touching and brought my face closer to his. His eyes fluttered shut for a minute but as I got closer he looked me right in the eye with a confused look before he could get a word out I brushed my fingers against his jaw and snapped the picture.
"Perfect"
He blinks. "What was the cowboy hat for?"
"I listened to some of your interviews before I joined you here," I explained, suddenly feeling shy. "You said you despised cowboy hats so what better way to sell this than for you to dig up something you hate because the woman you love loves it?" My voice flattered when I uttered the word 'love' not because I was uncomfortable in any way but because I never thought I'd say the word for as long as I lived.
He nodded understandably, still looking slightly confused.
"Well then," he said, dragging himself up from where he sat.
"Let's go to bed then"
"Goodnight"
Reviews are greatly appreciated :)