It's Brittany, Bitch | Ερις (eristic) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-02-15 09:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | eris, hermes |
when i get to where i'm going
Who: BB & Percy.
What: A competition is born.
Where: Beverly Hills.
When: The weekend before Valentine's Day.
BB tucked a wild curl behind one ear as she continued down the street toward her chosen target. The Uber she'd ordered had dropped her off a few blocks away from the target's assumed location, a somewhat camera-shy celebrity who was doing their best to wash off the stain of embezzlement allegations. The news was everywhere, and now they weren't taking interview requests, at least not by phone. BB had tried. Relentlessly. The next step after that was to get in the person's face... Rather, ask, as politely as possible, even if that meant climbing a garden trellis or banging on a living room window. Trespassing? She'd faintly heard of the word, but no one had made it stick yet.
Putting her tape recorder at the ready, she turned onto the street she'd been looking for and was startled to see another person had nearly beaten her to the punch. She picked up her steps and moved to intercept the man before he could start walking up the long, stair-laden pathway to the celeb's Beverly Hills bungalow.
"Excuse me," she said, her Valley Girl tone dripping with incredulity. "Just what do you think you're doing?"
“Oh, I’m only here to do my job,” Percy responded lightly, after nothing more than a brief pause of astonishment at the woman’s sudden appearance--there was a slight raise of his eyebrows, the hint of an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you lost, miss?” he added, thinking it would be best to assume friendliness with this newcomer.
After all, this woman couldn’t possibly have any business whatsoever at this exact location--at the exact time as him--could she? No, that was ridiculous. Percy had specifically meant to be here, at this time, on this day, and given the amount of excruciatingly boring research it had taken to find Mr. Jameson’s home, he wasn’t about to let this minor interruption sway him from his goal. No, he would see this job through; at this rather determined thought, Percy tapped the shoulder strap of his dark olive messenger bag with his fingers, punctuating his inner sense of resolution. Within the bag rested his tools of the journalism trade, ripe and willing to be used to extricate the hidden backstory behind the Jameson fellow’s dishonest financial habits.
“If you are lost, I can help you.” He shrugged, offering this aid out of an old--and sometimes careless--habit.
Her eyes went wider for a moment, before a semi-snorting laugh broke free.
"No, you're the one who's lost," she replied, sidestepping around him so that she could continue up the pathway. Whatever he thought he was doing there, he certainly wasn't going to beat her to a story when she'd come so far. He didn't even look like a reporter -- maybe he was a paperboy (out in the afternoon?) or maybe a Mormon (she hadn't seen a nametag, though...) -- but regardless, not something she was going to have to worry about. No, she had plenty to worry about as she started to climb the first set of stairs, literally, toward her goal.
There was something strange about this woman. Percy couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was almost as if she was silently challenging him. Now, he was not necessarily an exceptionally competitive man. He left the diehard fantasy football games to others--Percy was more at home playing a game of backgammon or chess, as absurdly odd as it may have seemed upon closer inspection of his more typical investigative hobbies.
No, it was ambition instead, in some few words, that presided as one of Percy’s favorite follies. The drive to succeed and meet his given goal at any cost fervently burned within his wayward soul, and this woman--whatever her name might be--was directly impeding his personal progress and imminent success.
Out of all the irksome matters Percy accepted in life, this was one which he could not abide.
“I don’t think so,” he retorted back at her, passing her on the walkway in order to look down at her from a pleasantly lofty height, attempting what he felt was a perfectly acceptable mask of indignation. “Listen, I don’t know your name, but I came here on a business matter.” He glanced at the shortened distance between the two of them and the front door, knowing innately that he would be able to outpace the woman in a hot minute, were he to kick up his heels.
But doing that wouldn’t quench his nagging curiosity as to why she was here in the first place.
“Why are you here?” Percy focused on keeping his tone friendly. “I was here first, you know.”
BB cocked a hip, crossing her arms imperiously over her chest. She could easily read between his words, see under that sly tone that he was anything than what he was presenting himself to be. He was, in a word, a competitor, someone she needed to knock down before he got one over on her.
"Like that means anything? Do you really think that's how the world works? Oh, cupcake," she replied, skipping up two steps and stopping on his to gently slap his cheeks with the palms of both hands, before skipping off ahead of him again. If they were going to play that game, she'd trip him down the stairs; the bump on the head might adversely affect the one his mother had obviously given him when he was a baby.
Unperturbed by the woman’s brash lack of personal boundaries and manners, Percy laughed, his face brightened by a sense of open mirth; this was certainly turning out to be a far more eventful afternoon than he originally had planned.
“You’re a little cheeky, I’ll give you that,” Percy stated, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. “But I’m afraid I have a scheduled meeting with the honorable Mr. Jameson--” he glanced casually at the silver watch upon his left wrist--”in a hot minute. So, if you’ll excuse me, Miss, I really need to speak with him.”
As if purposefully ignoring the stranger’s clear attempt to make it to the front door of the embezzler before him, Percy slipped past her on the steps, continuing farther along the expansive stairway, the lavish bungalow looming ahead. Whether she followed him or not was not the point--no doubt she would, as she seemed the capricious type--he was more concerned with making his own intentions perfectly comprehensible to her.
BB's jaw nearly hit the floor; so he was there for the same reason? That would not do, that would not do at all. How the hell he kept managing to outmaneuver her was something she couldn't understand, and it was irritating her more and more by the minute. Picking up her own feet, she moved up the steps as quickly as she could manage.
"And just what are you talking to him about? Look, I'm pretty sure he doesn't care about his Lord and Savior, he's already pretty entrenched with Satan, so maybe you should just go next door with your little Mormon shtick," she returned, starting to breathe heavily as she just barely caught up with where he was, even as he seemed to perpetually move forward. He needed to stop for one god damned moment so she could catch her breath!
Percy decided to humor her; if anything, she was persistent, and persistence often led to success.
Except in this situation, of course.
“I thought I’d discuss with him the lack of prayer beads in his life, actually,” Percy mused, halting for a moment to toss a look at the woman from over his shoulder. She seemed utterly exasperated, not to mention fatigued--the poor dear. Well, it was possible she wasn’t going to be able to manage this tiresome ascendance along the stairway to Jameson’s personal heaven. Percy felt a sense of reassurance at this thought; no doubt the gentlemen would prefer to speak to the less winded of the two, and he, naturally, would make the better first impression.
And it wasn’t as if this was the stranger’s story, anyway.
“Forgiveness is key to a happy life,” he said with a grin, continuing his climb up the steps--slower this time, to allow the miniscule woman to feel as if she would succeed in surpassing him. “And I’m here so that he can confess his financial sins to me.”
Shit. BB reached out to grasp the man's elbow, jerking him to a stop. She was down to two options, really, and she wasn't above asking for help.
"Look," she started, one hand out in supplication. "We can do this together; we're both looking for answers, but I'm assuming different fields. Who are you writing for?"
And to his credit, Percy did stop, turning on the step to face his newfound dutiful shadow. His curiosity piqued, and with it, the conflicting notion of a potential need for caution. While he was nowhere near ignorant enough to assume that another journalist wouldn’t seek out Mr. Jameson for a front page story, he nonetheless found it awfully coincidental that this woman would arrive so soon after him, and had been especially, and carelessly, brazen with her manners.
“I tend to fly solo, Miss,” he began, studying his adopted shadow for any signs of telling oddities. Had he seen her before, perhaps? Did she tail him to Jameson’s place? In a city as large as this one, it certainly couldn’t be difficult to blend into a crowd, although Percy preferred to think of himself as being far more careful than this pint-sized treasure seeker. Surely he would have noticed if he was being followed.
“But...sure, I’ll bite,” he continued. “I work for The Orange County Register. Kind of a new addition to the team. What’s your gig?”
BB wrinkled her nose at the sound of the LA Time's competitor, before reminding herself that that wasn't her gig anymore. She straightened. "Thirty Mile Zone. So see, we're not at all the same, we're coming at this from completely different angles. I think we could really help each other out."
When Percy had gone job scouting prior to making his big move from Oregon to California, he’d come across this woman’s employer. Seeing as how the company had seemed less than appealing, he hadn’t bothered to submit his decently impressive resume. However, if she was involved with them...well, it didn’t necessarily mean she was a terrible writer. Just--not exactly his style.
“Yeah? How do you figure we can do that?” Percy couldn’t resist asking, nor the feeling of intrigue at such an odd proposition. Hadn’t this woman, not ten minutes ago, patted him on the face as if she was his over-zealous aunt that never knew when to quit?
She fixed the man with a look that said 'are you stupid,' before explaining to him what had seemed so terribly obvious to her.
"Uh, duh, we can pull a good cop, bad cop. Weasel him down, hit him with hard and soft questions to see what we can needle him into answering. This guy could probably just slam the door in your face, but seeing as I'm the bigger threat to his career, I could help you get in the door." The latter part was flattery for herself, though she knew TMZ had a much larger readership than The Orange County Register. Even if they both dropped stories at the same time, it was more likely that hers would hit newswires faster -- usually, though, the details would be much less factual. "So, really, you should be thanking me for coming along. So, whadda think, or do I have to trip you down the stairs?" The last bit was said mostly jokingly. Mostly.
He bit back a laugh, amused at the woman’s audacity. Her idea wasn’t half bad, truth be told, though far be it for Percy to compliment her while they were still...somewhat at odds with one another. She wasn’t, for instance, quite aware of how persuasive he could be; he highly doubted that he would end up with a door slammed in his face. Perhaps she was far too used to such behavior herself?
At any rate, this unlikely alliance would need to be made, seeing as how it was clear his new shadow was not going to back down from her own mission. Percy could admire her determination, if not agree with how she had acted towards him.
“If you did manage to trip me, neither of us would be getting our respective stories.” Percy’s smile was a little too friendly, and he made a quick sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate that his new accomplice should take the lead up the remainder of the stairs. His blue eyes glinted with unspoken mischief. “Ladies first, Miss. Let’s not waste anymore time--the clock is ticking, and Mr. Jameson shouldn’t have to be alone on such a beautiful day.”
For once, BB said nothing about the fact that her other option was full sabotage. If she wasn't going to get her story, then no one was, but thankfully this guy had seen her offer in the proper light. A wide, toothy grin spread over her face and she needed no further prompting to head toward the actor's door.
"So, what, your plan was just to walk right up and knock on the door? What were you going to do if one of his bodyguards or, I dunno, a secretary answers instead? Or were you just completely winging this?" Her tone was mostly friendly, albeit with slight shades of judgement that said she was already measuring him, as though that had been at any moment thus far in their interaction unclear.
Funnily enough, she wasn’t too far from the truth--but Percy wasn’t about to let her know this. And besides, he’d managed to make what he considered a pretty decent life for himself without ever having too much of a plan...why change things now? Especially in a field such as journalism, when events being covered could change with the hour. It seemed preposterous to him to plan everything out, detail by detail, for each little meet and greet.
“Knocking is polite,” Percy allowed this small, but important, truth to escape. “Storming the fort is another thing. You know, you can get pretty far with good manners.” He grinned at his own pointed jest, idly wondering if she’d notice and take insult. “Regardless of who would figuratively answer the door, I’d talk to them. Nothing more--see what comes of it. I always get my answers.”
BB held up her hands in a defeated gesture, more than willing to sit back and watch this train wreck happen.
"All right, all right," she offered, crossing her arms lightly over her chest. "Take it away, Mr...? You know, I never caught your name." She stopped, offering a hand with as much congeniality as she could manage. "Brittany Bernard. My friends call me BB."
“Percy. My mother swears I’m a Chapman, but sometimes I wonder.” He shook her hand, and as odd as this temporary alliance was, it might prove to be fruitful--or at least somewhat useful, and Percy would wager not only to him, but to his shadow--apparently nicknamed after a small weapon--as well.
“Now, let’s do this.” Percy snaked past BB, walking the short distance left to Jameson’s front door. He glanced behind him to make certain his newfound partner in acceptable trespassing was still with him, then gave the door several resounding knocks with his fist. There was a muffled holler from within the expansive house, and Percy eyed his watch, timing how long it would take before Jameson, or one of his consorts, would answer.
With a less than ominous creak, the door opened after a solid two minutes of waiting, and standing before Percy was an older woman with her wiry grey hair tightly bound in hair curlers. She wore a bathroom robe and slippers, despite the hour of the day. Adjusting the pink-rimmed glasses on her face, she squinted at both Percy and BB.
“Roger is only taking select housecalls. Who are you?”
“I’m an old friend of his. We went to Cambridge together. He’s expecting me--I hope I’m not too late.” Percy motioned to BB, and flashed the woman who he assumed was Jameson’s mother a winning smile. “I brought my fiance with me, but she’s a little shy, and feeling so winded from the trek up here. It’s her asthma. Do you mind if we come in?” BB managed to keep her glare to a minimum, instead opting to press a smile to her face.
Although the assumed mother of the most recent thief to inhabit Beverly Hills seemed wary, she noticed BB and her face brightened. “You may come in, but only for a moment. And you, you poor darling, you look absolutely exhausted! Come in, sweetheart, come in, I’ll get you a glass of tea.” Stepping away from the door so that the two of them could enter, Jameson’s assumed mother granted them entrance. Percy allowed BB to enter first, Jameson’s mother babbling at her about ‘an old friend of hers that looked awfully like BB, and was she related by any chance to a one Julie Cranshaw? BB didn't hesitate to step inside, only partially shouldering Percy out of the way so she could gain first entrance.
It wasn’t the most ideal of situations--yet--but Percy had no doubt the two of them would soon be interviewing Jameson within the hour. He’d wager within twenty minutes at the soonest; there was nothing so convincing to an aged socialite as a damsel in clear distress.