. dialing out

[jane ridley]

What started as a rare night in had ended with Jane settled in the back of an Uber Black, smoothing the creases out of her chocolatee silk pajama set and the flyaways from her hair. More often than not when Thompson Weathers called, she answered, engaging in some opulent event or never ending evening with him that forever stayed behind her lips. This, however, was a break from the norm. One she'd taken in full stride, checking her artfully applied 'natural' make-up in the side mirror of her ride once they'd punched in a code. The house looming before her was something she could barely fathom in her dreams, tapping the edge of her mini Ugg on the step up before ringing the doorbell. Jane half expects staff to answer, so she's almost caught off guard when Tom himself appears instead. Almost being the key word, tilting her head with a grin as she showcased her overnight bag. "Can't wait to see if you go with Charcoal or Clay."

[thompson weathers]

Before she'd been dismissed early, Thompson had his personal chef prepare a buffet of snack options; salads dotted with pomegranate seeds like jewels, extravagant sandwiches overstuffed with prosciutto and burrata. She'd also baked up a storm, with brownies and blondies, cookies and flapjacks all piled high, filling his whole house the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Well, maybe not the whole house - it was a lot of square footage to cover. As he breaks a salted caramel and apple cookie in half the doorbell goes, and it takes him a few seconds to remember that he's sent all the staff home early and actually has to answer it himself. Abandoning the cookie on the Carrara marble counter, he heads to the door with his trademark swagger, even in a sage green silk set of Soho Home pyjamas. "Someone got the memo," he grins, openly running his eyes the full length of her body. He leans down to kiss her on one cheek.  "Come in, I hope you're hungry." He leads her to the opulent kitchen, dark cabinets and bright marble coming together to look like a Pinterest pin. Which, having done Architectural Digest a few months before, it was. "I've been slaving over a hot oven all day. Here, give me that." He took her bag, leaving her alone for a second to drop it in an equally lavish living room.

[jane ridley]

After so long, there was a calculated method to Jane's madness. Even when drifting from her element, the loud lights and flashing wants of a club, she managed to carefully construct a composure that often bewildered those she came across. Never stressed, never needy - Jane fit herself into every corner she needed to occupy with an easy smile and mindful agenda. Tonight was no exception. A perfectly manicured brow lifts at the options displayed before her across the pristine kitchen, dark eyes rolling in his wake at his attempt to claim the spread as his own. "I've always wanted a housewife," she jests, perching on the edge of the counter and popping a brownie bite into her mouth. She quickly catalogues the looming space and countless hallways, impossible to guess what led where as her legs swung mindlessly off the edge. She quickly runs her hands through her hair again, inviting him forward upon his return with a less than chaste kiss, salt and chocolate hot on her tongue. "So what's the verdict, horror movie or serial killers?" she asks when she pulls away, swiping some pomegranate seeds into her mouth. "Either way, I came prepared."

[thompson weathers]

Thompson holds a hand to his chest at her declaration in a mock swoon. "I've been looking for someone to bring home the bacon so I can fully devote myself to the home, what a perfect match." He notices as she slips a brownie bite into her mouth, filing that away as a fact about her: not averse to sugar. There was so little to know about Jane, or at least so little information that she allowed to be publicly available - she struck him as a glossy pane of glass, reflecting anyone around her without allowing herself to be known at all. It was of course one of the most intriguing things about her, alongside how perceptively she anticipated and catered to his every whim. Speaking of, she kisses him and he returns it eagerly, placing his hands on the counter at either side of her as he leans in. When she pulls away he wants more but he knows that she'll know that, so he leans back, a sly grin on his face as his eyes settle on hers. "Serial killers, I want you to really explain what about it gets you girls going so much." He fully steps away from her, going to the fridge and pulling out a bottle. "Besides, I need some ideas for how I'm going to dispose of you later. I sent the staff home early, guaranteeing no one will hear you scream. Champagne?"

[jane ridley]

Leave them wanting more. It's what everything came down to in the end, an eternal game of chase that had Jane winning in spades. She'd watched enough opulence and excess come through her line of work to catalog who got off on what, where she could push, what she could get away with. Thompson Weathers had been an eclectic mix of dark humor and cunning persuasion, an intriguing cocktail of a combination that had led her here. Now. With him, slipping her hands through the thick of her hair before perching them on his shoulders, gently pressing to keep the distance. "Where'd we forget the kids, at boarding school?" Jane murmurs, drifting her eyes down the hall he'd come back from, wondering if a theatre or lux, cozy living room awaited their inevitable viewing party. A tiny smile quirked her lips at him going along with her childish whims, gently schooling it back as she slid back down to the ground. "Ted Bundy it is." She artfully arranges every sweet displayed onto a plate in front of her, nodding to the chilled bottle in his palm. Her favorite, though she'd never say that out loud. "What if I want to scream anyway?" Jane calls over her shoulder, curiosity getting the best of her as she traipses out of the room. "I'd say to drug the champagne while I'm not looking, but that's a little too obvious and you probably have prescriptions laying around here. Easy to trace back." Her steps halt as she reaches a maze of hallways she didn't expect. "What way do I go?"

[thompson weathers]

Her hair is tousled from her hands being raked through it, and it is incredible how modelesque she looked-- and Thompson knew his way around models. It was strange to see her in the light of his kitchen, so often seeing her in the neon tint of clubs or the dimmed hues of a hotel room. She looked even more beautiful out of those contexts, more real. "Oh yeah, boarding school for sure. They might be lonely though, better make sure they have plenty of siblings." His hands moved to her thighs as her hands find his shoulders, easily slipping under them and pulling her against himself for another kiss.  Separated, he focuses on getting himself together. As much as he enjoyed her ability to preempt his desires, having her here in his domain gave him a unique opportunity to get under her skin, and he was determined to get under the skin of her facade. "Scream away, my neighbors are used to it." It takes a few attempts for him to locate the right cupboard, but he eventually retrieves two crystal flutes and follows her through, nodding directly ahead. "There's a couple living rooms but that's the more comfortable one." As they emerge into the room, floor to ceiling windows are softened by heavy drapes, luxurious couches deep enough to sleep on artfully arranged around a heavy coffee table and a huge TV. "If you want drugs you need only ask, Ridley. Prescription or otherwise."

[jane ridley]

"We'll pray for those blessings in church," she mocks, half thinking of her sister back home and half wondering what his bedroom looks like. Everything here is artfully perfect, as if nothing had been touched since the article she'd skimmed through on her way over here had gone live. It was a strange pattern with wealth, museums as homes and smiles as fake as the statues, but something she'd grown to admire over time. She wishes someone was around to organize the pile of shoes tossed in the bottom of her closet. "Thank god there's options for all the sitting that has to be done," Jane teases, again encountering a room almost frozen in time from AD. Thankfully, lush throws now decorate the pristine couches, more treats spilling across the coffee table as she settles into a corner and almost immediately melts into the soft fabric. God she could fall asleep almost instantly, eyes fluttering shut before remembering where she was and flicking them back over beside her. "I'm kinda on a comedown, so think I'll stick to the bubbly and sugar but help yourself." Jane half remembers her headache in the admittance, taking a big swig of her glass to combat the feeling before leaning over to fetch her bag and rummage inside, tossing reflective mask packets onto the couch beside him. "I was serious about this though - I have infinite options, inclusive of animal faces if those tickle your fancy."

"What way do I go?"

[thompson weathers]

Thompson had an affinity towards hotels, whose anonymity felt appropriate. His house was as anonymous but it felt fake for it, designed to perfection by someone who knew as much about him as his Wikipedia page. He'd shrugged off questions about color palettes and preferred artists, letting the interior designer go to town with a nearly unlimited budget and full creative control. The result was a beautiful, soulless place that looked just like both of his brothers' places, from whom he'd gotten the recommendation. There were few things he found as relatable as Dakota Johnson pretending to love limes when AD had stopped by her place. "You fit in here more than I do," he thinks aloud, unwrapping foil from the bottle as he watches her sink into a lush couch.  He expertly wields the bottle, easing the cork out with only a soft 'pop'. Filling each glass, he collapses onto a couch separate from hers, not wanting to seem as keen as he truly was. "I'm trying to cut back, saving myself for the yacht tomorrow. You still coming?" Accidentally he'd scheduled far too much of her time, and he wonders if she'd still agree to it. A groan escapes him as she starts rummaging through her bag, downing half the glass of champagne in response. "My dermatologist will kill you," he says with a grin, pushing the masks apart on the table to inspect them. "OK, fine. Dibs on the lion."

[jane ridley]

"Why, because I'm unfamiliar?" She isn't sure why she's toeing the line of insults in the vast capacity of space that he owned, but one glance around and she figured he probably knew as much about this space as she did. That's what staff were for - make life easy, make things simple, disappear from sight. She'd encountered it enough times to understand it was a strange standard quo; why framed, personal photos seemed so taboo unless they were of weddings, she had no clue. Something else she'd likely never understand, brow jumping at his decision to settle so far away from her. If there was one thing their relationship didn't lack it was proximity but she lets it slide, even more stark in the realization they were basically spending a weekend together. Not that that hadn't happened before, but never had it involved such personal space. Her eyes flick around the room again. Ok, not terribly personal. "Of course I am," Jane confirms, voice effusive as she can't hide the glee in his indulgence at her silly request. She immediately snaps up one with a panda logo, tossing the wrapping aside before sliding it on almost autonomously. Dark eyes blink suddenly from beneath the edges, somehow finding a way to swallow another piece of brownie before tilting her head his direction. "How do I look?"

[thompson weathers]

"No, because you work hard to." She does look the part, expensively dressed, subtle makeup and impossibly shiny hair. It was hard to believe she shared a similar world to Princess, who even through marriage had utterly failed to assimilate, providing constant amusement to the wider Weathers clan and mild embarrassment to her husband. Without even noticing himself do it he polishes off his drink, pouring another up to the brim and topping hers up as he goes. "Good, easier to dispose of your body in international waters." He eases back into the couch, stretching his legs out to fully recline as he fiddles with the packaging. It's surprisingly wet, dripping down onto his pyjamas and making his nose wrinkle. "Skincare is always so slimy," he moaned, though it might have held more weight if he hadn't already slipped the mask over his features, the cartoon lion smiling broadly over his frown. Still, he can't help but laugh when he catches sight of her. "You look.. culturally appropriative." The comment reminds him of a question he'd been meaning to ask since they'd met but never got around to it until now. "What are you, by the way? Nationality wise."

[jane ridley]

She offers a smile at the compliment, combatting the anger that sparked then fizzled in her chest. In a dream world it was all effortless, put together in that subtle way wealth personified. Instead it was second guessing every decision and crossing her fingers at the outcomes, getting better at her predictions as she went along. Quietly, she was glad she met him longer into her time in Los Angeles; if they'd crossed paths when she was fresh to the city, she'd likely be in a very different scenario. Not laughing at the flat deliverance of his joke, or reaching for the universal remote to flick through her options on a screen as big as the wall. "The slipperier the better," Jane instructs, unable to contain another laugh as an animated lion stared back at her. The entire situation was such a stark contrast to their typical conversations that Jane didn't blink at the personal question, tucking one of her knees under her chin and carefully avoiding the transfer of sheen onto the silk. "My mom's Filipino, dad's half Native American, half white. They met in Spain while he was there on a research trip and she was visiting family. Rest is history." Her gaze flickers from the table back to Tom, not looking to divulge anything further. "What's your family story? Not the Wickipedia version."

[thompson weathers]

When it came to Weathers levels of privilege, there weren't too many people in the world who truly walked the walk. It was hard to isolate exactly what made the difference between the two of them, since Jane was practically as immersed in luxury as he was. Sure, she was funded by clients and friends and whatever the hell he was to her, but he was funded by his father, which hardly felt more legitimate. "I wouldn't like you so much if you were part of all this."  It's a comment that could verge serious, if it weren't coming from Simba's face. Laughing along with her, he felt a lightness he hadn't experienced in months, potentially years. She answers his question easily and he drinks in her response, committing each detail to memory, his list of Jane facts rapidly expanding; likes sweets, half Filipino, quarter Native, quarter white. He keeps uncharacteristically quiet as she divulges, hoping to keep the list going. But she stops. "Not much more to it." He takes a healthy gulp of champagne, easing back on to the couch and trying to ignore the fact that doing so made him feel like he was talking to a shrink. "My dad's self-made, that's true. Married my mom for her respectable family, she married him for his money. I don't think either wanted kids but they wanted an empire. Tale as old as time."

[jane ridley]

"I wouldn't like you so much if you were part of all this." The statement alone stills her, gaze curious even through the cartoon shapes of a mask. It almost felt easy to drop the pretenses like this, together after hours but cautiously guarded by childish sheets. Half wondering if he was as curious to what went on in her mind as much as she was about his, this life. "Sometimes it's nice, having a comparison. Grateful for where I am, coming from where I've been." Bound determined to never go back, consequences be damned. "Sometimes the stupid things are fun, anyway," she gestures to the panda slowly sliding down her face, pushing it back into its intended position as she remembers to set a timer on her phone. She also clues in on the fascination with her answers, another mannerism committed to memory as she steals another sip of her champagne. "And an empire they have," she murmurs, drinking once more before breaking up one of the cookies on her plate. Sugar was an ultimate vice, one of the rare areas in her life she couldn't totally control, trying to think of her next question before giving up and just saying what was on her mind. "Do people ever find it hard, like, having a conversation with you? Not you, specifically, but I always kind of think about that. What do you say to someone with a life so different from yours?"

[thompson weathers]

Though she had only arrived twenty minutes before, they've already spoken more than they usually would in a whole evening. Their five star hotel suite rendezvous didn't tend to be led by conversation, and usually one or both of them had somewhere else to be not long after. The masks make it so that he can hardly move, not wanting the offending item to slip off onto the soft furnishings and so staying still, not able to drink or close the distance between them. "I can imagine. Well, I can't really. Where'd you come from, Ridley?" It's bad that he doesn't already know that, though should he? Was she his friend? "I figured you were born fully fledged at the Polo Lounge, or something." When she asks the question it makes a smile spread across his face. He sits up with some difficulty, using one hand to hold the mask against his face and another to pick up his glass and take an awkward sip. "I was just thinking the same thing. I don't know what to ask you that doesn't sound patronizing, and honestly, I feel kind of embarrassed that I haven't asked before. Though I bet you get that a lot, people spewing bullshit at you at the club." He leans forward, elbows rested on knees. "How about we alternate questions. You get one skip. I'll go first... do you think this place is garish?"

[jane ridley]

Surprisingly, the biggest difference she notices is how quiet it is. Even with the mindless loop of previews streaming before them the volume was quieted, forcing the pair to fill the silence. When they were typically together it was a night out, quick conversations, directives and questions of after hours and borderline transactional hotel exchanges. This was time, drifts that could be felt, and strangely, Jane didn't feel awkward filling the conversational gaps. "Ohio," she laughs under her breath, tilting her head against the back of the cushions. Overheard, a giant ceiling fan chills the serums all over again. "The only Polo we have there is the kids playing Marco Polo in the community pool." She's able to shift just enough to catch his piqued interest, tapping at her phone screen again as they both struggled to keep their covered composures. "Two minutes," Jane announces, maneuvering into a position that provided her full attention and somehow kept her mask in place. The honest rambling's refreshing, a break in the calculated flirtations or lines she almost thought to be scripted at times. "Our circumstances are a little different, I can forgive a lot of the awkward introductory things we've seemed to gloss past." She slowly nods in agreement to his mention of the club and parameters to this game, taking another look around. "It's just...kind of void of anything. Sure, everything is beautiful but...this house tells you nothing." Jane manages a sip, biding time to try to think of her own question. "What's one thing you'd add that like, actually says something about you?"