DESIDERATA

A/N: A special shout out to HaleWhitlock for being such an awesome reader and reviewer. This update is just for you, bb! Enjoy!

Things I own: A Cheshire Cat tattoo.

Things I don't own: Anything Twilight, it all belongs to SM.

CHAPTER SIX: PLANS (ACCORDING TO EDWARD)

"Diplomacy is the art of letting someone else have your way." – American proverb

"One man's way may be as good as another's, but we all like our own way best." – Jane Austen

EPOV

In all my life, I've only remembered a handful of dreams. The ones I remember are usually very stressful and unpleasant. Once I dreamed that someone was chasing after me with a syringe full of heroin, and I awoke just as he got me in the arm. I then realized that I was lying on that arm and it had fallen asleep. Apparently, my subconscious mind isn't very creative. So the fact that I remember my dream from last night is, in and of itself, remarkable. The dream itself isn't much to talk about—just a pair of deep brown eyes looking up at me, questioning me, bearing into my soul. The eyes haunted me, making me feel utterly naked. Whenever I moved, the eyes followed me, inquisitively. I didn't know how to answer, I just stared right back. And then I opened my eyes to find myself in my own bed. Alone. Just like every morning for most of my life. A fleeting thought enters my mind—I've never felt lonely until this morning. As soon as the thought appears, I shoo it away. I just don't have time to deal with shit like that today. The brown eyes wake me up before my alarm sounds, so I roll over and look at the clock. Fuck! It's only three fucking AM. I hate it when that happens. I grin to myself morbidly when that thought runs through my head, because Jasper and I have discussed this phenomenon before. I hate waking up in the middle of the night, because it is nearly impossible for me to get back to sleep. He loves waking up in the middle of the night, because he knows he has a number of hours left before he needs to wake up. Just another very visible example of how different the two of us are. Jasper always sees his glass half full, I'm always the glass half empty kind of guy. I suppose that's why we get along so famously. He's the yin to my yang. I briefly ponder trying to roll over and get more sleep, but I'm old enough to know myself better than that. It would merely be an exercise in futility. I groan and hoist myself out of bed. I may as well be constructive if I'm going to be awake at 3 AM.

I walk over to my desk and pull my laptop out of my briefcase. I smirk to myself when I remember I updated the Masen Masterworks website during the flight home last night. Hell of a lot of good that did me—I'm just going to be working on more of that shit now that I'm awake. I should have saved myself the trouble. It is important to me to get the truth of our project out there on the site, however, before the rumor mill churns up a life of its own. It pisses me off that I get obsessive about that shit, but I can't help it. If you make films, stuff like this happens, because fans want to know what your every move is going to be. As much as I try to protect Jasper and other Masterworks players, industry players like TMZ and Perez make it virtually impossible. And Jesus, these fans and their cell phones—talk about trying to keep your image under control. There are just too many ways to get caught these days, no matter how hard you try to be above the board. All it takes is one innocent itch to the nose, and suddenly the world thinks you're a booger picker. I should just surrender, but that feels so wrong to me. Like the gossipmongers win. I refuse to let those without any integrity ruin the lives of those who do.

My mind drifts back to the dream image of brown eyes and I ponder that for a minute before I pop back into my conscious mind. What the hell is wrong with me? I rub my eyes and shake my head. I've never, ever had this problem before. No one has ever affected me in this way. I almost feel like she is haunting me. Oh hell, now I'm fucking hard. Seriously, I need to get this under control!

I decide to take a shower to get myself fully awake and in the right frame of mind to start the day's work. Of course, the right frame of mind includes beating off to the image of the beautiful woman attached to the haunting brown eyes. Hopefully that will get her out of my head—both of them. I step into the steamy shower, and my cock is literally throbbing. I can't remember the last time I was this hard. I reach down and wrap my fist around myself. I breathe in deeply as I stroke my erection, imagining her mouth wrapped around my cock, her doe eyes looking up at me. Her lips are so full and pink, moving up and down my shaft. I even picture that adorable dot of flour dusting the end of her nose. I moan deeply as I envision her hands gently palming my balls. My orgasm bursts forth suddenly, unexpectedly; it's the best one I've ever experienced. I've never come harder in my life, not even when I'm having sex. That fact truly alarms me—I don't even remember this woman's name, for Christ's sake. She is a baker in the middle of Nowhere, Washington, and has nothing substantial to offer someone like me. How can someone with those credentials, or lack thereof, make me so hard? How can someone like that invade my dreams, when I don't even dream at all? How can someone like that make me so anxious to see her again, that I'm counting the days until we return to her shithole town? I'm completely perplexed by all this.

I make my way to the bedroom to get dressed, then stumble off to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I may be awake, but that doesn't mean I'm lucid. I need some serious caffeine to get my brain to kick into high gear. If that is my only vice, I'll embrace it. I'm definitely a caffeineaholic, but I refuse to enter a 12-Step program to stop. I can stop whenever I want to; I just don't want to. Okay, that line of thinking is a perfect example of what my brain does when it needs a caffeine infusion. I decide it is best to just wait for the coffee to be done brewing, and not to attempt any heavy-duty thinking so that I avoid injuring my brain. I grab the first clean mug I see from the cupboard—"Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but the duties are largely ceremonial." I smile to myself whenever I use this mug. Rosalie gave it to me for Boss' Day one year, and she didn't crack a smile when she handed it to me; I'm pretty sure she thinks it's true. I pour it full of coffee and return to my desk.

I'll be meeting with Jasper and Rosalie today to review and finalize plans for the filming schedule. Esme and Carlisle don't need to come in for the meeting, but I will need to apprise them of the final details before we get final approval from the board. Together with Aunt Elizabeth, they make up the planning board for Masen Masterworks. Nothing gets done without their approval. Fortunately, the fact that they are family and intimately acquainted with my working style makes the approval process far easier than it is for other studios. Of course, I also make good use of my own brand of diplomacy, where I get each of them figure out that they want to do things my way. That certainly makes my life a lot easier.

I look over my meeting agenda, and think about the casting process for locals. I need to find a liaison for the Native American community before we look for our leading players. It's very important to me that the process be fair and respectful of the Quileute tribe—the last thing we need is a PR nightmare because we handled the casting process with insensitivity. I trust Rose to track down someone good, but I need to make sure we get on that process immediately. It is going to be hard to find just the right cast for this film. Of course, all the other leads have already been cast, including Jasper and Tanya Denali. We've used Tanya in other Masterworks productions, but she tends to be a little overly friendly with me during our projects. I'm slightly concerned that the media will bring up the old news about the two of us being linked, when clearly we are not, nor have we ever been, an item. Half of the reports about me link me with Tanya; the other half swear that I'm gay. Overzealous photographers tend to sniff out relationships that don't even exist. Hopefully the paparazzi won't be too anxious to hang out in rainy, miserable Forks, Washington to get their stories.

I'm done with the agenda and planning, and glance at the time on my laptop screen: 6:00. Our meeting isn't until 8:30, so I have some time to myself. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I open my web browser and Google "Forks, Washington restaurants." Sure enough, one of the hits turns out to be "Alice's Wonderland Café and Mad Tea Party." The website is actually pretty fun and eclectic. There are photos of Alice, Miss Brown Eyes, whose name is listed as Bella Swan, and a huge, muscular guy whose name is Emmett Brandon. Their menu and prices are listed, and I recognize at once how much cheaper the cost of living is in Forks, Washington than it is in LA. Well, keeping those types of expenses down will make Auntie Elizabeth very happy indeed. My eyes drift back over to the picture of Bella. Bella. What a perfect name for her. In the photo, she is holding one of her "buns" and has a nervous, self-conscious smile on her face—it is utterly adorable. Her chocolate brown doe eyes are looking right into the camera, so it feels like she is looking directly at me. Her lips are positively kissable. She has small features. Her brown hair is shiny and full around her face, like it is designed uniquely for you to slip your fingers through its waves. She is wearing a black t-shirt that says, "We're All Mad Here—You'll Fit Right In." The Cheshire Cat's grin is sitting on top of the lettering, and his tail is peeking out from the side of the lettering. She isn't wearing an apron in the photo, so it is easier to pick out the lines of her curves than it was when I saw her in person. She has a small waist, curvy hips, and her tits are perfect—it looks like they are just the right size to fit in my hands. Aw hell, now I'm hard again. I thought I took care of all that! I quickly click the browser shut so I don't think about Bella any more. I just wish my cock would get the message…

I open my e-mail and work on that until Jasper and Rosalie arrive. I manage to avoid having a hard on for about two hours, and I'm really proud of myself. I got my mind off of Bella for two hours. Fuck, I think to myself. I'm so pathetic.

JPOV

When I get home from the airport, I pour myself a tall glass of Oban. I toss some ice in there. I plop myself down in my leather recliner and take a nice, long sip of the scotch. While I am fatigued, I'm not tired at the moment. My mind has been a jumble of ideas and sentiments from the moment we stopped to get coffee this afternoon. I'm not used to being this distracted, but then again, I've never met someone like Alice Brandon before. I'm not a hopeless romantic, but I have always believed in true love. Edward laughs at me whenever we discuss this, but he's just so damn cynical about everything in life, love included.

I've never met anyone quite as broody as Edward, but somehow our friendship rises above my optimism and his pessimism. He's always had my back, and I've always had his. I would do anything for that son of a gun; he is as loyal a dude as I've ever known. The fact that we have known each other forever, and we work together so intimately, just reinforces how close we are. Although Edward doesn't have any siblings, he feels as close to me as a brother. In fact, I feel more related to him than I do to Rosalie. I know aspects of his character that no one else has ever seen. He is an extremely private person and holds his cards very close to his chest. Edward is the most principled individual you will ever find. It is tough to get to know him, but the rewards in doing so are huge. He is a really funny person. Truly. No one would ever believe that, because in his day-to-day affairs, he seems so formal and stiff. It is hard for him to make small talk—he nearly always freezes up when expected to do so. Whenever we are at an event, we become inseparable, because he always relies upon me to take care of the meet and greet obligations. I certainly don't mind, but I wish Edward could feel more comfortable in his own skin. He is such a good guy, if he could only relax and let someone in, the right someone, it would be the making of him. Sadly, most of the women we tend to meet are social climbers, vapid and shallow. Edward needs someone with a hearty intellect, someone who isn't afraid to speak their mind, and perhaps most importantly, someone who isn't part of the Hollywood scene. Edward will never meet anyone of substance here in LA.

My thoughts of Edward's unsuccessful love life eventually drift back towards my own lonely state of affairs. It has been a long time since I've been in a relationship, which is of my own choosing. Victoria and I were together for about a year. I never realized that she was still seeing James while she lived with me. We met during a Masterworks project, of course, and I was instantly attracted to her. She had beautiful, wavy red hair, and she was as hot tempered as she looked. When I walked in on them together in the living room, my heart broke. It is one thing for your lover to fall out of love with you; it is another thing entirely to find them fucking their old flame on the living room couch. I swore off actresses at that very moment. Unfortunately, I don't often meet people outside the film industry, so I've been without a sidekick for nearly a year. I'm just not even remotely interested in a quick, meaningless lay anymore, but a little lovin' on the side sure sounds good about now. Maybe that's why meeting that little dynamo Alice seemed so magical. The moment she appeared from behind the pastry case, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Now, I've seen all kinds of beautiful, stunning women over the years, but no one ever hit me like Alice. When her deep blue eyes gazed at my face, I just knew she was mine. She was always meant to be mine. I can't explain it, or make any more sense of it than that. I locked eyes with her, and I just knew. Typically, that kind of an internal response would have me running away, but all I felt was a huge sense of relief, and of peace, in my discovery of her. She hasn't been out of my thoughts for more than a minute or two at a time. I'm going to get on Rosalie's case again at our meeting tomorrow to make sure we use Alice's café for the coffee cart. Not only do I want to give her the business, but I also want to see her as much as possible every day we're in Forks. I want to know everything there is to know about this mesmerizing woman. I smile to myself as I think about what a petite little thing she is—she only comes up to my chest. I imagine myself holding her, and her ear falls directly in front of my heart. It is a very satisfying thought. I've never before been attracted to someone like Alice—all my past girlfriends have been relatively tall and willowy, always with long, wavy hair. But Alice is petite, has short, spiky black hair, and a very funky look. Everything about her physically appeals to me. The fact that she is so different is what initially makes me recognize that we were meant for each other; everyone else who came before were just like rehearsals with the understudy; Alice is the true leading lady.

My scotch has been long finished, and I am finally feeling sleepy enough for bed. The last thing I see before I drift off to sleep is Alice's lovely smile, looking up at me.

RPOV

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I want to cut off Edward Cullen's balls, and preferably with rusty, dull scissors! How the fuck can he not conclude one stinking little fact-finding trip to shitty Forks, Washington without landing in the gossip rags? I make a mental note to call up Perez personally when we land in LA—that asshat is always causing me problems. I glance down at the card I'm holding in my hand for "Alice's Wonderland Café." Seriously, Jasper, please tell me you are not holding a torch for this little runt of a woman. Jazz may be my brother, but I've never understood him. He's always soft where I'm hardened, and it annoys me to no end. Jesus, he can't even look out for his own ass. Between Jazz and Edward, I feel like I'm a full time mom of two toddler boys, I swear. They'd be totally lost without me.

We need to do a planning session tomorrow, so that means I have tonight to get things straightened out with the Quiluetes. I've been in touch with Sue Clearwater, and she has agreed to be my liaison with the tribe for both auditions and tribal matters as they are portrayed in the film. In my visit to the reservation, I noticed that most of the guys there are hunky and huge. It was a lovely little side benefit that Sue was able to talk Sam Uley and his gang into heading up our on-set security team. Sue had some great ideas about who could play our male lead, the Native American who falls in love with Tanya's character. We'll be screen testing with him on our next fact-finding trip. Ugh, I don't even want to think about going back to that crappy little town before we set up for good when filming starts. I'd term this as taking one for the team, but that is kind of my mantra—all I ever do is take one for the team. Fuck.

I enter all of Sue's and the Quileute's agreement information into the standard contract we use for Masen. I'll have our lawyer look things over in the morning before I fax it off to Sue. It will be nice to have that out of the way early in the day. There is nothing more satisfying than crossing something off my to do list. Well, except boning some hot dude, but there is rarely enough time in my schedule for that, dammit. I totally blame Edward for cramping my personal life. He always has me running ragged—tell me when I'm supposed to fit a guy into my schedule? Exactly, you can't. I finish e-mailing the contracts to Esme and close up shop for the night. I'm exhausted and cannot fall asleep soon enough.

*********************

After taking my shower and checking my e-mail, I head into the office for my meeting with Edward and Jasper. En route, I quickly dial the phone number listed on Alice Brandon's business card. I'm expecting the sprite herself to answer, when this gorgeous, deep bass voice answers.

"Yeah, this is Emmett."

WTF? Emmett? Did I fucking misdial?

"Umm, I was trying to reach Alice's Café, is this the wrong number?" I hear a booming laugh come over the phone line.

"Yes, yes it is! Are you sure this is the number you wanted to call?"

"Well of course I wanted to call here, or I wouldn't have dialed this number now, would I?"

"Well, I happen to be the business manager for Alice's Café, so if you need the business office, then you've reached the right place. What can I do for you?"

I sigh deeply. Looks like I'm working with a beginner. "My name is Rosalie Hale, and I'm the Personal Assistant to Mr. Edward Cullen of Masen Masterworks." Apparently, Emmett's brain doesn't work very fast, because I sit there in silence for longer than I cared to waiting for his reply, which never came. I prompt him again. "Masen Masterworks. You know, the film production company?"

"Why would I know anything about Masen Masterworks? This is a bakery!"

"I assumed that Alice would have told you that herself. She gave us her business card when we were in the shop yesterday afternoon. We'll be in town filming our latest project, and we were hoping to use the Wonderland Café to provide our coffee cart."

"Well, why the hell didn't you say so? I had no idea what you were talking about, lady!"

"You know, we can always take our business elsewhere, Emmett," I inform him icily. No one gets the better of Rosalie Hale, that's for damn sure.

"No, no, now don't get like that. I'm sure we can work up something to keep you guys happy."

"That sounds better. Do you want me to e-mail a list of our specifications over to you? That's probably the easiest way to get our needs across to you."

"What kinds of needs to you think you're going to have?" I hear Emmett say in this wonderfully sexy voice.

"I'm sorry, what?" I say with indignation in my voice. He isn't going to get away with that kind of crap, so I want to stop it before it even starts.

"Just e-mail the details to me. Then we can talk some more."

"What is your e-mail address?"

"It's on the business card, sweetcakes."

"Oh, you did not just call me sweetcakes. You did not do that!"

"Oh yes, I did."

"Just get back to me with the specifics once you get my e-mail. It might be better for us to deal with one another via electronic communication if you're going to continue with your constant innuendos." I hang up before he has a chance to answer. He isn't getting the best of me, that's for damnfucking sure.

EPOV

Jazz and Rose show up within minutes of each other for our planning meeting. Jazz doesn't really have to be there, but it just feels like he is a natural part of the project rather than simply being one of my lead actors. Plus, his presence tends to offset Rose's, so the energy remains relatively even. Jasper is kind of like the choke collar to Rosalie's Rottweiler in heat, and I'm always grateful that the choke collar is usually around when I need it the most. Rose goes over the specifics of the contract with the Quileutes and her initial contact with the coffee people, as well as plans for housing the actors and crew in the local hotels. Everything looks like it is shaping up nicely, and our current filming schedule actually seems attainable at this point. Of course, something always happens to shoot that to hell, but I'm actually optimistic about things at this point.

Before we finish up the meeting, Rose insists that we take a photo to post on the website. I roll my eyes at her; I hate that staged bullshit, but she says it is good for PR. When the photo has been completed and Rose has e-mailed it to me, she huffs off to do whatever it is she needs to do. I mostly just try to stay out of her way and do what she tells me to do. She is an amazingly precise and efficient PA, but she also scares the bejeezus out of me. I never want to get on her bad side. Ever. A few minutes after she leaves, I get a call from her.

"Bad news, Edward. It looks like we need to head back up to Forks for negotiations with the Quileutes. They don't trust paper contracts per se, and they want to negotiate with us in person. The only good thing about this news is that the guy who is perfect for your lead, Jacob Black, will be home this weekend, so we can do a screen test while we're there. Do you want to talk to Esme about it, or should I?"

"Fuck. Just when I was feeling slightly optimistic about the project, it blows up. Remind me I never want to be optimistic again. I knew there was a reason I am a pessimist! I'll talk to Esme. Just get the flight and details set up, and let's head there for the weekend, OK?"

"Yep, I'll 'make it work.' No worries there."

Immediately after hanging up, I give my mother a call. "Hey mom, there's a slight glitch with the Noble Savage project that I need to run by you."

"Of course, Edward. What seems to be the trouble?"

"Apparently, the Quileutes don't much trust written contracts. They want us to negotiate with them face-to-face. The guy I want for the lead will also be in town this weekend, so I want to do his screen test while we're there, too. Do you think you need to come along with us, to cover the legal end of things? Or do you feel comfortable doing this over the phone?"

"Well, Edward, I'm assuming that if they don't trust paper contracts, they aren't going to trust a voice on the cell phone, either. No, I'll go with you. Your dad will be working all weekend, so it will just be me. Have Rosalie get the trip details to me when they are ready. Come to think of it, I'm actually kind of excited to get to spend a little time with you; it seems like we never see each other anymore."

"Yeah, that will actually be great, although we'll be running around the entire time we're there. I'll save you a seat next to me on the plane, OK?"

"Sounds just great, Edward. I'm looking forward to it. Bye, my sweet boy"

"Mom, I'm 28 years old…am I ever going to stop being your 'sweet boy'?"

"Absolutely not! That's one of the privileges of being a mom, you never outgrow the role."

"I guess that's why I love you so much. See you soon, mom."

"You know I love you, too. Bye, my boy."

I shake my head as I smile knowingly. Esme really is the world's best mom. I don't know how I got lucky enough to have parents like Esme and Carlisle, but I'm grateful to have them as such a strong presence in my life. Without my friends and family, I would never survive in this business. It tends to just rip the core right out of you if you aren't properly grounded. Thank goodness we've all survived the journey intact so far.

End Note: The paparazzi/gossip rant was something I added after I saw how much RPattz is being hounded while filming Remember Me. Seriously, peeps, let the poor boy be. Pay for the movies if you need to see him that badly!

If you want to trade barbs on Twitter, you can follow me kimpy0464