. dialing out

[thompson weathers]

Thompson clutches his heart. "Ohio?" A pained voice, barely above a whisper. "You're killing me Janey." He picks up a piece of chocolate coated popcorn, tilting his head back to chuck it in the air and catch it in his mouth with some difficulty. "How much longer do I have to have this thing on my face?" In all honesty he'd gotten used to it, the serum cooling against skin that had been slightly sunburned earlier that day. The burn tingled under the gel. Reading his mind, she answers the question before he's finished asking it, making him grin. "I think I can make it. Maybe we should bring some of these on the boat tomorrow, the guys will love it. We're playing poker, by the way, you're welcome to join." Somehow he had a feeling she'd be an expert player. What Thompson doesn't say is that these kind of conversations don't come naturally to him with anyone, not just beautiful hostesses he'd struck up a flirtation with. In fact, they were probably his more comfortable ground. But even with Cece he hadn't known how to be vulnerable, hadn't understood what questions friends asked of each other. His main relationships were his ex wife, his sister, his ex best friend and his college ex, who he happened to still hook up with. Genuine connections were lacking. "That's true." The timer goes off and he takes the mask off, rubbing the remaining liquid into his skin as he mulls over the question. "Honestly? I have no idea, that's why I haven't added anything." It's a lame answer but he can't manufacture an alternative. "Would you ever let me come over to your place?"

[jane ridley]

"Never said it was glamorous," she says with a shrug, nervously tugging her hair into a ponytail before letting it tumble back down. Very little in her life was from back home, practically starting her life over the second she stepped onto her college campus. No one had known her there and she'd used it to her advantage, curating the Jane she always figured she deserved to be. The one that got her here, imagining the lavish scene she'd be a part of tomorrow. "I'd love to see a table of stone faced koalas, giraffes and tigers - someone will grab the wolf and go all Jordan Belfort." Jane tosses the mask off at the sound of her timer, gently mimicking his actions. "I do alright at Texas Hold'Em." From here the conversation shifts and she almost wants to laugh. Two self admitted individuals, trying to maneuver through conversations that didn't always fit them. Strangely it didn't feel awkward, almost naturally curious, Jane encouraged by his boring but truthful answer to get up and reposition herself directly across from him on his own couch. Close but not too close, snagging a chocolate strawberry in her wake. "No, that would ruin it all. The magic would be gone - homes usually say too much about someone, but I figured this," she waves around, motioning to the muted walls and expansive space, "would almost be neutral territory." Jane lithely crosses her legs, reaching to tug one of the blankets around her shoulders. "What drew you to me?"

[thompson weathers]

That was the difference, right there. That she was from Ohio but had built a life for herself, eschewing what she was born into. Thompson had no concept of himself beyond the role he was born into, the third son of a man who really should have stopped at one. Every time he saw the Prince Harry memoir he had to roll his eyes-- if he was a spare, did that mean he was a spare to a spare? The answer was obvious and it had been no wonder he had gone off the rails so publicly. What else did he have to define himself by if not being the troubled one? He laughs at the comparison. "They're all pretty Jordan Belfort, actually. You're lucky Freddie Beaumont was busy, we're bad influences on each other." Soon she's sat across from him on the couch and it's more intimate than a hotel bed. It's a big couch with plenty of space, but practically unthinkingly he stretches his legs out beside her, patting his lap to encourage her to unfurl hers and place rest them on him. Her reply makes a defined brow raise. "You're actually the first girl I've brought here." Not including Cece of course, but even she was only there briefly for drop off. He'd moved here after the separation, making sure to include two extravagant princess themed bedrooms. Usually little girls' toys would be strewn all over the place, but they were away seeing family in Arkansas. Hard to imagine a more different environment. "Your looks," he says, stating the obvious. "But that's not what kept my interest." He finishes his drink, swirling it around his mouth as he mulls over the question. "You're not like anyone I know, or anyone I've even met. Most people are boring but you're about as far from as it's possible to get." He decides that's enough compliments for now. "Do you worry what people think about you?"

[jane ridley]

It had been easy. It's what she keeps to herself, one of the many secrets or facets of her life hidden under the lock and key of her stoic, curated persona. She was pretty enough, smart enough, to maneuver this city to her advantage. Make it work for her, one step removed from the untouchable celebrities but doing alright for herself by her own standards. No one knew she was Jane from Sugar Creek, who had hidden behind her textbooks and thick hair. No, here she was Jane at HWood, dangling golden keys and speaking syrupy words the frivolous world wanted to hear. "Beaumont Hotels, yeah? I've ran into him and Tate McCarthy a few times. Trouble, the lot of you." Jane steals another sip of champagne, crisp and light on her tongue as she stretches her legs over his almost naturally. "You probably said that to the others before you inevitably murdered them," she murmurs, eyes sparking with amusement. She's all but abandoned the documentary at this point, play button sat idle as she drinks in his answer, a slight warmth in her cheeks betraying her. It's rare to get compliments that aren't purely physical or tinged with an alternate want, swirling the glass in her palm. "I'll take that," she finally decides to say, not wanting to divulge further on how or why or who. It worked, and that was what she needed. "Yes, probably too much. I work in an environment of competition and excess, it's very easy to question how or why things happen. It's gotten easier, over time, but that voice never goes away." His question guides her next, head buzzy and warm. "Do you care what people think about you?"

[thompson weathers]

Freddie was a perfect foil for Thompson, comparably wealthy and thrust into a predetermined life path, as was Tate. Though they both had the honour of being the only sons, guaranteeing their ascension in their respective family pantheons. As the third, Tom often felt like the Dionysus to his brother Robbie's Apollo, a debauched hedonist with a louche lifestyle that contrasted sharply to his sibling's orderliness. Apollo, the God of Sun; Robbie Weathers, who believed it shone out of his ass. "We were all at school together." A lifetime ago. Tate had a surprising dislike of locker room talk even back then, and a less enthusiastic approach to some of his and Freddie's vices, ultimately leaving Thompson to feel he was a bit too uptight. Too reminiscent of Robbie for him to really warm to. "Think our school taught us more about how to maintain societal structures than it ever did something like, fuck, I don't know, calculus."  With her long legs draped across his, he sinks deeper into the couch, enjoying the comforting weight. "You've got me there." A smirk spreads across his face as he glances out the full length windows, looking out onto the grounds as if reminiscing about their burials. He leans across and picks up the bottle, topping them both up and finishing it as he does so. He had never really thought of the job the way she's describing it, falling into the typical male trap of assuming things came easily to beautiful women. But there were a lot of beautiful women in LA, more every day, and it must be cutthroat. More details to add to the mental Jane Ridley file. He mulls over her question, thinking of the endless stream of TMZ headlines, the barbed comments from exes, the jabs from his brothers. Eventually he shakes his head. "No. Once the press have decided you're a joke then you've only got two options; lean in to it, or kill yourself." He hadn't meant to be that abrupt but he means it. "I've asked you this before but I'm asking again. What's your endgame?"

[jane ridley]

"You're all just set up for success," Jane starts before she can help herself, making note of the additional connection she'd inevitably use later. The chilled champagne had thawed her demeanor, lax as she flexes the legs strewn across his own. "Your school gave you more rich friends, your parents more connections, and so the cycle goes. I kind of admire it, actually. Protect what's yours." Much like she did, pressing down the nausea of comparison and envy to project her easy going, meticulous composure. Giving less, teasing more. Her palm reaches to give his ankle a gentle squeeze, following his gaze to complete the ongoing joke between them. Truthfully she wouldn't hate being buried here, a laugh caught under her breath at the absurdity of the thought. Almost as absurd as this situation, an aborted documentary marathon turned questionnaire with someone she tenuously called a client. Tenuously called a friend? It's all undefined, the gray matter she's comfortable with as Jane nods along to his answer. Ponders her own. "I think my answer's still the same - why do I have to have one? I don't want 15 minutes of fame, I don't ask for money and things, people just give them to me. For all intensive purposes what if my objective's just to date rich, fascinating people?" Date's a bold term for her to choose but it feels fitting in her haze, retracting her legs and shifting to balance her chin on her knees. "What happened with Cece?"

[thompson weathers]

It was strange to think of her with Freddie or Tate. There's a twinge of annoyance somewhere deep inside him as he contemplates what her connection to them might look like, if she'd do this with them, sit with her legs draped across their frames. It wasn't lost on him how obviously and conventionally attractive they were, how he'd never once seen either of them rejected by a woman. It would hardly be Jane's fault if she felt the same way as all those other girls. "Most people met their partners there, I can't tell you how many of my classmates are getting married. Some real Hogwarts shit." The number of legacy students was insane, Tate and his sisters amongst them. He wonders if his girls will end up at Blair, and (not for the first time) he feels a twinge at guilt over naming them Memphis and Malibu.  She lays it out for him and he's only more confused. It's the central conundrum of Jane Ridley, what her motivation could possibly be. He knew plenty of people who wanted money, comfort, status, power, success-- he could see that those were all of interest to her, but it didn't come together in a way he could grasp. "Because rich people are the least fascinating people going." She pulls her legs back and he feels exposed, only to be asked an even more exposing question. It's one he's asked himself a thousand times, what did happen with Cece? "We still love each other." That was true, he knew that. What else was a hard fact? "But I'm not a good dad. I don't think she can get past that. She loves me, but she loves them more." He finishes his drink, pushing the glass onto the coffee table. "Do you want kids?"

[jane ridley]

Jane watches the flick of a frown give his features away, gone in an instant but captured within her mind. If she was being honest half the time she didn't know what she was doing, answers vague and haphazard to hide the occasional panic that would crest to the surface. At a certain point she wouldn't know what was intrigue and what was just ambivalence, and it was strange to wonder if that would thrill or terrify her. "Like I said, protecting what's yours. Bet those weddings are a time," she says dreamily, imagining the opulence and networking abound. Gates she'd likely never cross, beautiful but gauche in the face of old money. Jane eventually clues back in to his answer, shaking her head in disagreement and watching as the world blurred in her wake. Even when used to the dizzying amount of drinks she'd have to consume during work hours, champagne always threw her for a loop. "It's because they're probably the only people you know. I intrigue you because you don't understand me, and vice versa - the more we ask, or learn, the more stark the differences will become." Jane flicks her wrist to the area surrounding them, demonstrating the vast space that she existed in as a guest. As lifeless as it was this was his home, her eyes darting to his in curiosity. "Did you want kids?" She parries instead, reaching back for her plate and sorting through the various desserts she'd tackle next. Porcelain balanced precariously on her knees. "Not really, no. I think I have a funny way of showing love, not sure it would translate to children."

[thompson weathers]

"I'll take you to the next one." He would be happy to, eternally unbothered to be seen with someone others would consider below their standing. It was less an egalitarian attitude and more of a challenge to his peers; a subtle fuck you to the rules to which he was supposed to be duty bound. Princess' name had elicited a special glee in the man, and he could still remember the look on his mother's face when he introduced the two, relishing calling her Princess the cocktail waitress. She had been fuming with him of course, but that was hardly his concern. Jane would not be anywhere near as much fun to parade around, however-- too cunning at her craft to let herself be humiliated.  "I'm getting another bottle." He gets up, stretching his 6'2 frame. "Unless you want something else?" By the same time tomorrow they would be on the family yacht, where drinks were so seamlessly topped up that it seemed like they regenerated themselves. Stood, he scratches at his jawline, shaking his head right back at her. "No. I like you because you're interesting, I have limited interest in the hoi polloi." He's sure that she'll learn what he already knows, that wealth made people as bland as it made his interiors and he was no exception. "No, never saw it for myself. But here we are." As if on cue, the holding screen lapsed to the log in screen, where there were only two profiles; his own, and the twins'. "Have you ever watched Bluey? It's actually pretty good, almost makes me want to work at being a dad."

[jane ridley]

"Cece would have a fit." It should be strange, knowing his wife and still fucking her husband. Princess had been beautiful but cold at first meeting, an exterior Jane had had to chip at until she realized it wasn't frost, but naivety, that paled her blue eyes. She'd seen her wax poetic about the man now stretching in front of her, dark eyes trailing the slight lift of his hemline in unabashed interest. It was easy to see how she'd fallen hard - and also, how they'd fallen right out. Satisfied with her internal assessment, Jane tugs on his hand when it falls, persuading him down for another kiss. "Another wouldn't hurt," she murmurs, knowing full well it'll give her a crushing headache she'll need to immediately mitigate tomorrow with a Diet Coke and maybe a little blow. Anything to keep her going and stay on her toes, rolling her eyes at his confession. "For the record, no idea what that means," she states, reaching for her phone when he exits the room to Google it and send a few quick texts. Jane tosses it back on the coffee table when he returns, offering up her empty glass like a chalice. "If a children's television show is enough to inspire you, cheers to that." Her face falls at the profile picture of the girls, unable to imagine the eventual scrutiny, excess and quirks they'll inherit. "What's your end game, while we're asking? Fuck around and find out, as the kids so eloquently say these days?"

[thompson weathers]

There it is, the dangling temptation; pissing Princess off. Harassing her current boyfriend was getting old, the joke going on too long for the man with such a short attention span. "Do you guys still talk?" Despite being one time colleagues there was nothing about Jane that made him think of Cece, her precision and her confidence pitting her at the opposite end of the spectrum to his estranged wife. She tugs his hand and he lifts it to her face, burying it in the hair at the nape of her neck as he kisses her back hungrily. The taste of champagne and chocolate lingers on her lips and for a moment he considers dragging her upstairs, only to hold off. Delayed gratification was something he was working on. He heads back to the kitchen, taking a moment to splash his face with cold water from the faucet. He switches it off, glancing at himself in the dark reflection of the window ahead. Not too bad. Remerging with the bottle of Dom, he grins. "I should have said the great unwashed." Both were favored phrases of his mom, who was extremely British in her deranged obsession with class. He tops her glass up, watching as her eyes wander to the screen. He switches it off. "Hmm... beyond getting my dick wet?" He slumps back onto the couch. "My end game is to find an end game. I don't know why I do anything, except to either have fun, piss someone off, or both." Another sip. "When's the last time you seriously dated someone?"

[jane ridley]

She scoffs at his question, shoulders raising in a what do you think? kind of way. "She dropped me the second you put a ring on it." Jane didn't hold it against her at all, likely would have done the same if she'd been in those shoes. But she wasn't, and the situation she'd found herself in was much better for her current way of life, flicking her tongue into his mouth before falling back on the retreat, satisfied with the crisp taste of champagne and the edge of a cookie she pulled to her lips after. Thompson Weather's house is legit the AD article - keep ya posted x The quick text she thumbs her old (only?) friend, Risa, elicits an immediate response of question marks, laughing to herself as she leaves her on read. Somehow, her former roommate had become more of a sister than her biological ones were, the one tether to Ohio she refused to let go. It was half fun to have someone to tell these stories to and another to have someone actually fawn over them, living vicariously through Jane's footfalls across the hills of Los Angeles. She hears it buzz again, moving to flip it over as she takes another sip. "Easy way to live," she admits, finding that bitterness and pleasure are an effortless way to make a living. After all, you never get closer to someone than when you find a common enemy. Jane's eyes tip skyward again. "Right before I got my job at h.wood. I was dating this accountant for a year, but then I found out he was fucking this wannabe influencer on the side. So, broke up with him, made myself hotter, and never let her into one of our venues again once I was in." It still hurt sometimes to think about, a rare scrunch of her nose betraying the quick pain in her heart before she shook it off. "Why'd you decide to get married?"

[thompson weathers]

Cece's callousness should surprise him, but it doesn't. Los Angeles was a brutal place that moved at such a breakneck pace that acts of cruelty happened so casually as to be commonplace. "Her loss." He places another quick kiss on her lips before pulling away fully, a more chaste act of affection than either is used to. In the kitchen, he takes a moment to absorb events. Was this what people meant by having a heart-to-heart? The conversation still had their usual edge of suggestion, lust hanging heavy between them as it always did. But he did feel he knew more about her now than he had an hour before, and that was a thrill of its own. Her last question lingers in the back of his mind when he's back in the room. What was his end game? He'd been asked it thousands of times by his family members and friends, but had hand waved it away. But he knew, deep down, that he couldn't keep being the court jester forever. At some point what was rakish charm would turn either to seediness or it would bestow him with some air of tragedy, and more than anything he didn't want his daughters to have to be embarrassed by him. It's a heavy thought so he's relieved to be stirred from it by her response. "An accountant?" he almost chokes on his drink, the thought so laughable. But he shakes his head as she continues on. "Sorry, insensitive of me. But that's insane. Bet he regrets it every day." Her next question elicits a wry smile. "What else do you do when you find out you're having twins? I don't know, it didn't feel like there was another option." Not the most romantic notion.  "Are you afraid of commitment?"

[jane ridley]

Looking back, it was incredible how far she'd come. From shy hometown girl to a sorority princess, all melding into this louche amalgamation of a woman she'd gleaned from movies and television. Unaffected, approachable but a mystery, forever out of reach. It was fun to see how far she could press without getting much of anything involved, be it her reputation or feelings. It's how she's able to laugh along with him now, shrugging off the sting with a sigh. "You know how people want to fix people? Swear he wanted to just fix the mess that is my finances. When I eventually was deemed a lost cause it was like he found the next decent looking girl and took her home. I stalked, they're not together anymore." She doubts he would even recognize her now, features highlighted just so, coming in to the nuances and subtlety that she realized wealth gave off. The clubs were flashy, showy, a mirage; the people who inhabited them, barring promoters, were stealthy, under the radar. So unaffected by anything that their shoulders seemed to never tense, eyes seemed to never compare. It doesn't stop them from having similar problems, understanding he felt duty bound by obligation. It's strange how similar their thoughts seemed to be, Jane shifting closer on the couch as she shook her head. "No - exhibit A, the aforementioned." She takes in his rakish features, eyes trailing the square of his jaw before snapping back to his gaze. "I also, if I think about it a certain way, commit to who I'm seeing at a given time. Never more than 3, never looking for more until something doesn't work with one of them. And I think if one really worked..." she trails off, shrugging again. "I could fuck off with all the rest." Another sip, dismissing the honesty. "Do you believe in true love?"

[thompson weathers]

She mentions her finances and it's a funny concept to him. For the most part, Thompson's financial affairs were handled by a business manager, who shared overviews with him that he pretended to read. In all likelihood the man knew this about him and could well be sending him blank PDFs, siphoning off huge sums for himself... Thompson wasn't sure how much he'd care if he was. "How are your finances now? I have a guy, if you need a recommendation." As if she would, far too close to a personal insight. "Anything to stop you falling into a relationship with an accountant."  He laughs easily at the idea of her stalking her ex, knowing with almost certainty that he would likely stalk her too. As she starts to answer his question he realizes he's listening more intently than he had meant to. Most of these questions were intended to suss her out, to add details to his idea of her, to flesh her out. But he's surprised to find he has a vested interest in her answer now, one that makes her response more to process. One of three. She says it casually but it's heard loudly, and despite himself, he leans over to kiss her properly. Not a chaste kiss by any means, but a kiss that's less heavy on the lust, the kind of kiss he hadn't had in a long time. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." Her question is an easy one. "No, I'm not a teenage girl. Do you? Though don't answer if that's going to count as my next question... my official question is: do you want a massage? I'm surprisingly good at 'em."