runs_the_show (runs_the_show) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-10-10 11:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | nick fury, pepper potts |
WHO Justine & Olivia
WHAT Random Run In
WHEN Recently? This morning? IDK
WHERE On the Strip
WARNINGS None!
Fridays were for dance lessons but that was in the afternoon and it was currently bright and early, just about 8am. Justine didn’t need to be at Ainslie’s studio until noon, which gave her plenty of time to get some breakfast and find a bookstore. She dressed casually in a floral printed spaghetti strap summer dress and baby blue flats, looking like she was probably about sixteen instead of nearly twenty one. It was hard to believe it was almost her birthday and she was very excited to be able to celebrate a milestone like that in Las Vegas. Of course, she hadn’t started planning a party or anything, but she was anticipating doing something maybe after that Halloween party that MJ was throwing. Pepper didn’t want to go - had expressly said as much the other night - but Justine didn’t really care what Pepper wanted. It would be good for her, to do something other than work. Setting out from Turnberry, she made her way to the main street that was just a block over and from there it was just a matter of wandering until she found a place that she wanted to stop for tea and a pastry. Justine thought possibly about seeing if Paris had anything to offer so she started that way, marveling at how different the Strip was now, so early in the morning, versus how it was not ten hours earlier. She tended to avoid the busy avenue just because she didn’t really like the crowds when she was on her own. It was always better to go out with Mike, but maybe she’d ask Silver if he wanted to go out one night. If Tony wasn’t using him. Her nose wrinkled at the thought and it was just enough to distract her from looking where she was going, causing her to walk right into another passerby. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I was thinking and not watching where I was going,” she rushed to apologize, looking about to see if the person she ran into had dropped anything or if they needed help. It began with a bird. It could have gone either way, otherwise. New bone-gray shoes and slate gray skirt (feeling polished made the moments of playing babysitter to men who had never quite outgrown the desire to be babied slide together into one single knot, instead of a hairball to twine around her day) and the coffee order (complex) rattled off at high speed was correct this morning. And then - as Olivia gathered Blackberry and bag, as she finished a long and complicated email explaining the intricacies of the Malaysian markets as she had a small (polite) argument with her boss and was stepping out of the door, the bird happened. Olivia didn’t like birds. They were beady. And nervy. And they were missile-equipped when they flew overhead and one moment she was feeling accomplished and pleased, if not a little clever and the next the soft, dark, pearl-colored suede of her shoes had a dirty-great white stain over the toes. Snappy, then, when she gave her order (not her order - her drycleaner was both cheaper and better than this one, but apparently pricey location had some significant effect upon stains that she’d never heard of) to the man behind the counter, whose head sweated brightly beneath the overhead lights. And then irritated, in the long conversation in which she found he had never taken the suit to be dry-cleaned that she had a ticket for to say he had, and that it had never been booked and that she’d never been there previously (eight times. She had been there eight times). Olivia took a breath. Long, slow. Measured. She smiled, even as the tight cramp at the side of her jaw began to bite in, her voice was cool, calm as water. By the time she was outside, the rustling plastic clinging to her skirt, she’d missed ten emails and five calls and collided on the sidewalk as one (fussy) client insisted in email that she prioritize his requirements. Unless his fund tripled its monthly growth rate, thought Olivia, tartly, that was never going to happen. And then she was knocked sideways and there was an awkward slide with her feet and the new shoe snapped a heel. It was all the bird’s fault. As soon as she heard the crack of something breaking, Justine’s face fell. She was going to be in so much trouble, she could just tell. The last time she’d walked into someone was when she’d been trying to avoid Benji, but one glance at this woman proved that at least it wasn’t another blast from the past. Or anyone she knew either for that matter. “I’m really sorry,” Justine reiterated, reaching out to help steady the woman more out of instinct than anything else. She took a closer look at the woman she’d bumped into and was immediately reminded of Pepper. Calm, cool, collected, and clearly very professional. Plus there was a phone in her hand and Pepper was rarely without her phone. Thankfully, Justine had no problem ignoring Pepper’s phone calls. Whatever it was could wait and if it was really important, Tony would call. That was her philosophy at least. Shaking her head just slightly to snap herself back to the present, Justine gave the woman a warm and honestly apologetic smile. “I can pay to have your shoe fixed. I know it doesn’t help much right now, but I’ll even give you money for a new pair of shoes? I don’t know how busy you are or anything. I can definitely pay for a taxi so you don’t have to walk,” she babbled, trying to offer a few suggestions to make up for her clumsiness. “I’m so so sorry, honest. I didn’t mean to bump into you.” It was more than obvious that she felt bad for what happened and she hoped the woman could forgive her. The shoe was dead. Olivia had broken enough heels to know that the shoe (new that morning and they had been so pretty - she had a weakness for shoes) was beyond repair, was in fact on its way out when the bird had decided to christen it. But the girl -- she was a girl, not a woman, not quite. There was something too rounded and soft about her for her to have seen everything necessary to be a woman -- was a quiet hand on her arm and a rattle-pace of apologies and Olivia dragged herself away from irritation and mourning (the shoes had barely had an outing) to looking at the girl properly, if a little lopsidedly. “I know,” Olivia said calmly - the kind of calm dragged in handfuls, the kind of calm like soft blankets and strict rules. There was a brief moment where all the things that were wrong (the clinging plastic of the dry cleaning, the painful bite of the wire-hangers into her palm, the shoe) rested on her shoulders and then with effort, shaken off. “It’s not your fault. Do you mind?” The dry-cleaning was held out with the clear expectation the girl would take it. Olivia delved into a suspiciously large purse and retrieved sellotape which, balancing on one leg, she began applying liberally to the broken heel. It would not be a permanent fix and she would have to remember to swap out the shoes before the client meeting that afternoon, but it would work. Another look at the girl. “You look more bothered about it than I do.” Justine breathed an obvious sigh of relief when the woman said she knew she was sorry. That was important wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like the older woman was yelling at her or anything so that was good too. It was always good when no one was yelling at her or being disappointed in her. “No, no, of course not,” she rushed to reply, taking the dry cleaning immediately when prompted. “I don’t mind.” She felt the need to clarify because of course it was her fault. She watched as tape was pulled from a purse and Justine idly wondered why she had tape in her purse. It just seemed random. Shifting a bit, she held the dry cleaning in one hand and reached to grab the woman’s elbow, to help keep her steady while she taped her heel together. “Oh, I...” But Justine didn’t really have a good reason why she was so bothered, other than she knew it was her fault and she felt bad. “Well, I just feel bad, since I wasn’t looking where I was going and I totally broke your shoe. Plus you’re dressed all nice and stuff, and it’s early enough, so I figured you’re some kind of business woman right? Just means I’ve been an inconvenience and I’m sorry about that.” She frowned. “You’re sure it’s not a big deal?” There was an undercurrent of hope there because despite all of that, she still thought the woman might be mad at her. “I’m Justine by the way.” Of course the tape was just one of a number of tricks that Olivia’s large, buttery-soft leather bag contained. There were fixes for all manner of situations, but she’d rarely had to apply them to herself. There was, Olivia thought wryly, tucking the tape back inside, some dignity in not having to take the hangover cures. She took back the dry-cleaning with the graciousness of having given something rather than re-possessed it, and smiled, warmth pooling beneath the coolness of someone who knew how to carry off even broken heels on a side street. “I’m Olivia,” and she juggled her things until she had a hand out to shake. “It’s not a big deal. They were already ruined.” She’d balanced herself gingerly on the shoe once again, and smoothed down invisible wrinkles in the skirt-suit. “It’s not a big deal,” she repeated, with a breath for the white lie, but -- Justine, that was her name - looked woeful about the whole calamity. “It gives me an excuse to take a lunchbreak. I can buy new shoes and learn a little about the city.” Justine smiled warmly and shook the proffered hand once the dry cleaning was back with its owner. “It’s lovely to meet you, Olivia,” she replied, welcoming and warm despite falling over herself to apologize just moments ago. It seemed all was forgiven and Olivia didn’t look any worse for wear. She couldn’t help chuckling when she said it was just an excuse to go shoe shopping. “The Premium Outlets might be your best bet for the widest selection,” she suggested. “There’s a bunch of designer stores and it’s pretty big.” She had to stop herself from adding that it had a carousel inside. She didn’t think that would be a selling point for Olivia, even if it was one of her favorite parts. Mike teased that she’d need to borrow a kid just so she wouldn’t look weird going on a carousel at 21 on her own. She glanced at her watch almost out of habit and realized it was nearly time for working people to be working and she winced. If Olivia was anything like Pepper, she probably hated being late. “I’m sorry, I’m probably keeping you from work. I’m really sorry again. Do you want my phone number so I can pay for your new shoes? Or cash?” “You aren’t paying for my shoes.” It was the silvery glint of steel beneath silky-calm, that gentle curl of stubbornness rising to the surface. She was thirty-seven, she was a career-woman, she could (with a firm pat of the Blackberry and its reminder of all the entanglements of work) damn well buy her own shoes. “The Premium Outlets?” and Olivia had the faintest look of doubt, all corners of the eyes and set mouth. Las Vegas was not, in any way, the same as New York. And she missed the bagels and the street-food but most of all she missed knowing where to shop. “Are they any good?” She was asking this of a young woman who probably didn’t own a suit. Why would Justine know? But there was no one else to ask, and Justine was overly-apologetic and talkative; it was almost soothing. “I don’t want your cash.” It was said politely, warmly -- without one hint of the obvious difference between the woman clutching an evidently expensive bag and wearing designer head to toe, and the pretty college girl, and what they could respectively afford. Justine nodded, acquiescing only because she knew that tone. It reminded her more of her mom than Pepper though, and that was definitely a good thing. “Yea, they’re pretty cool. There's two, a north one that's up past the strip and a south one that's down the other end. The North one has more stuff, like Armani, Burberry, Banana Republic, Kate Spade, not to mention Stuart Weitzman's shoes. Oh, his are to die for! South doesn't have a lot of the higher end ones, but it does have a BCBG and I like shopping there. You'll be able to get something business-y, I'm sure and definitely something fun! You have to have fun." Justine added that bit because she couldn't ever say it to Pepper. Not really. She didn't even think it was a little odd that she was rattling off fancy designers dressed in her thrift store find. Justine bought things based on want, not necessarily practicality, and her closet at her apartment was full of designer clothes that she wore when she was going out. "Actually, I have to head over there, probably tomorrow since I need to get a new outfit for my birthday. Plus a Halloween costume! I totally forgot about that party too." Justine was talking to herself for that last part but she shook her head and smiled at Olivia. "Sorry, just following my train of thought. But yea, definitely a brilliant place to go if you're looking for nicer stuff." A long list of stores and Olivia blinked. It was the kind of expression that didn’t register, all thin line to the forehead and a tightness about the eyes -- it was, I do not understand your passion for this and minor bemusement at having pegged the girl so wrong. If she thought Stuart Weitzman shoes were ’to die for’, clearly she was not the naive, poor little college girl Olivia had pegged her for but someone with a desire for pricey, high-end ‘fun’ clothing. Clothing, particularly business clothing, was not fun. It was carefully selected to be as bland and as professional as possible, studied emphasis on beige, gray and stone as wardrobe choices. There was less chance of being hassled when looking bland. Olivia preferred life free from hassle. “A Halloween costume?” she said, as she turned her head as if to follow the thought as it flew past them. “Halloween. Of course.” Halloween. A holiday last year she’d spent in giggly darkness, crouched beneath the window with a candle and a bowl of candy they’d crunched through by themselves, jumping (and laughing) each time the doorbell sang out. Was it really October? “Do you like parties?” She supposed Justine would. She looked like the kind of girl who laughed, who would stand effortlessly at ease with one of those plastic cups in hand. Olivia had never actually had a plastic cup, but she had seen enough of them scattered around dorm-lounges the morning after. She smiled; an afterthought, as though the question could be rubbed out with something warm. Justine nodded excitedly. “Someone’s throwing a party, MJ I think her name was, and she said everyone was invited if you wanted to come too? I know it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it could be fun!” Of course, it was through the door and Olivia would probably only be able to come if she had a voice in her head, but Justine wasn’t think about that at all. She was just trying to help someone who reminded her of Pepper to have some fun. “It’s a costume party to celebrate, but it’s not on Halloween. I don’t mind because then after I can have a quiet birthday party afterward.” She still had to figure out what she wanted to do, maybe something quiet with the people who mattered most to her. “Oh, I love parties. When I was with the ballet in Birmingham, we used to go out a bit, but I left to come here because my brother is here and I missed him. I don’t go out very much to begin with but I’ve gone to see some of the shows on the strip and they’re great. I love the Cirque du Soleil shows and I’ve seen most of them a few times. The Beatles one is my favorite, but I also loved O and Zarkana. I recommend them if you haven’t seen them. Especially if you love the more dance type shows.” Justine sighed happily, recalling each show just briefly. She loved the Cirque shows and she thought maybe she could go see a show for her birthday. “But, anyway, parties are much more fun than bars, especially here because I’m not 21 yet and they won't serve me even though the drinking age is 18 in England, where I’m from.” Another blink. Justine may have held a lot of plastic cups. MJ, ‘everyone’. Olivia looked down at the tip-toes of her very pretty but very quietly-expensive shoes. She had not been a college student for a very long time. She’d never been a ‘Liv’ or a ‘Livvie’, except in private. Somehow, she did not think Justine’s (very warm and very welcoming) prattle about ‘everyone’ encompassed thirty seven year old women who would likely spend Halloween sitting with a glass of wine with the lights off, pretending she wasn’t home. A half-beat and Olivia caught up, ‘Your birthday?” And the ballet -- she’d sat in enough firm-paid-for seats to appreciate the ballet, on best behavior and on edge enough to only skim its glossy, icy-perfect edges. There was something to appreciate there, all the same -- ballet purged itself of the messy way opera poured humanity onto a stage. Everything was crystalline, clean. Yes, Justine looked like a dancer, tiny and perfect and pretty in a way that was no doubt completely unthreatening. “Twenty-one is an excellent age.” Another smile, shaken out and smoothed over - sympathetic. Olivia had spent twenty-one surrounded by books, closeted inside library walls. But twenty-one had seemed to be the age everyone ran around, shrieking and crying and laughing and having sex in peculiar places, before jobs and the real world forced their way in. It was a while past. For all her socializing - and it wasn't much despite coming across that way - Justine had very little by way of life experiences. She'd only just had her first kiss, with Prince Charming no less, and if her phone call with Olive was any indication, she was quite behind when it came to boys. Possibly even life in general, but if there was one thing in the world that Justine was good at it was avoiding topics that depressed her. The only exception seemed to be Benji, but she was getting better at pushing those black thoughts away. The Halloween Party was skipped over and Justine knew enough to know what that meant. Olivia probably wasn't interested. Not one to let that particular thing get to her, Justine just focused on her birthday and turning 21. "I'm excited. I still haven't decided what I want to do, but I'm sure I'll think of something!" Ever the optimist, or just really good at faking it, Justine wasn't thinking about how all she really wanted to do was dance professionally again, to start the long and wonderfully difficult journey to Prima Ballerina. A dream that would stay a dream for the rest of her life, more than likely. "Do you have anywhere special you like to go to celebrate your birthday?" Birthdays. Birthdays were noise and candles and people crammed into too-small spaces. The last birthday, the one in which the firm had paid for a sheet cake and people had leaned on her desk until she’d been surrounded and felt trapped and choked, someone with a plate of cake had sauntered up to her and remarked that she was clearly going to be dedicated to her career for the rest of her life as she hadn’t had children. Birthdays were embarrassment, were standing with an untouched piece of cake and wishing she could dive back into the cool familiarity of accounts and shifting dollar signs. Olivia’s face, however, showed no sign of the undercurrent of memory lapping at conversation’s edge. Serene, in that glassy sort of way that was utterly untouchable. “No,” she said, soft and sweet and finite. Like a period at the end of a sentence, no more questions, as effective as a door slamming shut. “I’m sure you’ll find somewhere lovely, though.” The peace-offering. “I’ve got to get back to the office -- Justine,” a half-beat, name remembered and applied. “Thank you for your help.” Even if it had been required because of Justine. A so-unconscious moment of reaching into the same bag, a card pulled out -- this was how all conversations ended, as conversations were usually conferences, business meetings -- or between herself and the back-of-her-head voice in the quiet of her apartment. ‘Olivia Landon’ embossed in a delicate gold, despite the blocky-looking script, above the name of a well-known bank. Olivia caught herself as she held it out -- but by then, withdrawing would seem rude. “Oh,” she frowned, when Olivia said she didn’t know of anywhere. “That’s alright. I’m sure I will too.” Justine accompanied that with a smile, nodding along when the older woman said she needed to get back to the office. It was definitely past the time her day started, Justine could tell. “You’re welcome,” she replied automatically, completely forgetting that it had been her fault to begin with. But then, Olivia was holding out a business card and as quick as the flash on her phone, she’d snapped a picture of the front before taking the card and writing her name and cell phone number on the back. “There you go! Let me know if you find any cute shoes! It was nice meeting you!” Another smile, and then she was on her way, turning back a dozen or so steps later to give the other woman a wave, even if she wasn’t looking. |