Madames are a boy's best friend (avec Bren)

[Cynthia DeMato]

Ah, shopping. Truth be told, Cynthia didn't love shopping - she didn't like searching, she didn't like trying on, she didn't like "the hunt." No, she liked finding, she liked having. Shopping was just a means to that end, a "necessary evil," if you will. And today, that necessary evil was going to lead her to a fancy red number she would be wearing to kick off that weekend's round of shows. She didn't want anything too fancy - it was back to basics for her this weekend. Strapless, maybe some sequins, maybe a bow around the middle, or a large brown belt. The dress would hit the floor if it was right, perhaps a train of a few inches just to keep things classy. Her hair, dark as the night, would be teased up, her lips painted a bright shade of red to match the dress. Everything else would just fall into place from there.

It was typical that she would kick off Thursday night's show with an introductory number. Sometimes it was a solo performance, sometimes she was lounging on the piano as the House Band accompanied her, sometimes the showgirls would join her for something a bit more rousing. This weekend, in honor of Whitney Houston, she would be singing "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" - she wished she could sing the theme from the Bodyguard, but she just didn't have the voice for it, not anymore. Her rendition would start off slow, low, a leg up on the chair, perhaps, but would explode into the second verse as the girls danced out onto the stage to join her for a recapitulation the audience wouldn't soon forget. By the bridge they would all be dancing. She got giddy just thinking about it.

But none of this could happen without just the right dress; fortunately for her, she found it, and - after trying it on and spending a good few minutes looking at herself every which way in the mirror - charged it, bagged it, and was out the door. It was a brisk winter day - it usually was in Vermont - but not terribly cold (it was certainly a midler winter than she'd experienced in a long time), so she wore a simple red skirt, black stockings, and a black top with a purple scarf that was more for decoration than warmth. A light jacket topped this off, and she was heading down the street, shopping bag in hand.

Now having completed her quest for that weekend's outfit, she found herself with nothing to do. She could head over to the mall to do some shopping, or pop into a cafe for a cup of coffee, or even head back to the Club District to get some work done. Business was lagging a bit, and she was considering doing a round of auditions to bring in some new talent. That would take a lot of coordination, though, so there was always work to be done with that. Not to mention, of course, that her artistic director had quit and she was now designing all of the sets herself. The stage was never done up too extravagantly - it wasn't like that was in the budget or even feasible when the show changed by the day - but she did like to put up different colored curtains and have set pieces the talent could interact with. It was a lot of work, and she was afraid it was a bit more than she could manage.

[Brendan James]

Brendan was walking around downtown; his mind and heart both heavy. Well, they should have been. He’d managed to tell his dad that he’d quit from Hammel. And had simply told him it was because he wasn’t happy there. Which was… The biggest lie he’d told in his life. Bren loved Hammel. It’d always been such a big part of his life. And when he began teaching there, it just seemed natural. Right, somehow. Add in the fact that it meant he got to see Vin all the time, it just seemed perfect to him. Of course, when the relationship was discovered, it had finally hit him that everything he’d been doing was probably not morally, socially, or in anyway ok.

The fact that he’d lied to his father, the person he respected the most, was what had him the most worried. His father was the kind of man he aspired to be. Hard working, devoted, honest. Lying to somebody like that didn’t sit well with Brendan. But he didn’t see another way. He was sure if he told his father the truth, Tim would never look at him the same way or respect him ever again. And the thought of that was unbearable.

Of course, there was also the worry that he had yet to find a job. Though, he was pretty sure he could talk to Eugene and work something out. Tell him that the project for his students creating the set designs for his plays wasn’t a possibility anymore. And then perhaps convince the man that he could be set designer. Piece of cake, right? If that didn’t work he wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do. He had to find a job. And quick. Having been living at home for three years now, he’d taken to helping support the family after his mom’s death. Going from one salary to two? Well, he had refused to let that happen. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen now.

Yet, despite all that he had to worry about, he didn’t regret anything that had happened. Vin made it all worthwhile. He was still Bren after all. Anything that brought him joy and was a fun time wasn’t worth regretting. And anybody who knew his boyfriend knew that was exactly what Vin was like. Even after the Valentines Day Dance ugliness.

But it was still all too easy for Bren to dwell on the bad things. So while he was walking around the street, he had his ear buds in, his music loud enough to drown out even his own thoughts. And it was the only way he was comfortable enough to be singing in public. Like he was. Knowing his voice was actually pretty good wasn’t the issue for him, because it was (people trying to convince him to do musicals while still in school told him that). Singing for groups of people was just an awful idea to him. You wouldn’t expect it from somebody who is always so obviously performing to be the center of attention, but singing gave him stage fright. But the volume of the music playing in his ears also drowned out his fears.

“I want your horror,
I want your design!
‘Cause you’re a criminal
as long as you’re mine!
I want your love!”

What he should actually be fearful of was his dancing. Because it was not at all in time with the music. And he just looked like he was all arm from the way he swung them around. Then there was the matter of his hips. He often moved and swayed them, but in such a way that made him look like a teenage girl grinding against her boyfriend. However, he was sure of his ability. People who laughed at him were just jealous.

“I want your psycho,
Your vertigo stick,
Want you in my rear window,
Baby you’re sick.”

The only thing that brought him down from his high of dancing and singing was when he would accidentally hit somebody. Or a gorgeous woman. Which was the matter in this case. Immediately, the buds were taken out of his ears and he walked over to her, his eyes wide and earnest. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you… But you are absolutely stunning. Did you know that?”

(OOC: Sorry! I know I promised this yesterday! I'm bad! But I was all zonked out tired and passed out. Sorry.)

[Cynthia DeMato]

As she walked down the street, Cynthia took a moment to shift her sunglasses from their resting place on the top of her head - nestled into her large, curly hair - to the bridge of her nose, the large, dark lenses covering her eyes, eyebrows, and some of her forehead. They were the type of shades a much more famous person than she would wear, but she did like to pretend she was well-known. In a way she was - her patrons definitely recognized her, which was partially the reason why she wore such gigantic sunglasses - but she certainly wasn't a household name in Pilot Ridge. At least, not yet. Sales were lagging at the House the past few months, and the woman was now seriously considering some major overhaul or another - something to spice up the place a bit. But what? This was the $100,000 question - literally, in a sense. She didn't like to admit it, but it kept her up at night.

Ohh, I wanna dance with somebody; I wanna feel the heat with somebody... The song had been stuck in her head all morning, as she had wanted to make an outfit selection that would fit the song, but now it was just becoming a bit annoying. She didn't want to wear it out before the weekend, after all. But at least this was better than listening to Jennifer Hudson warble her way through the Bodyguard; she swore if she had to sit through that one more time she would just shoot herself. She could sing better than that any way, or so she had convinced herself.

Crossing the street, she found that on this block there stood a man with earbuds in his ears, singing along to a Lady Gaga song - she adored that woman, in a bitter jealousy sort of sense - and dancing just terribly. It was like he was having some sort of spasm. Actually, he danced like nearly every white guy she had ever met - part of the reason all of the dancers at the House were girls - but it was almost like a caricature. His voice wasn't half bad, but the fact that he was singing out loud, ostensibly alone, and gyrating like a fool was making her rather uncomfortable. Ugh, this crazy man's going to hit me, I just know it, she thought to herself, her nose wrinkling under the weight of her sunglasses as she took a few steps to one side in order to minimize the chance of impact. Fortunately, as she walked by him, there was no contact, and the woman was free to continue on her way - that is, until the man's voice stopped her in her tracks.

Turning around, she caught the longing look in his eyes - she recognized that face anywhere - and mustered up a flattered smile. "Well, I had a sneaking suspicion," she said, bringing up her hand to lift her sunglasses up off her face - the same hand before, as the other was busy carrying her shopping bag - to get a better view of this man. My, but he was a handsome one. But all men were the same regardless of looks: she was sure he was just as immature and obnoxious as the rest of them. "But I always appreciate hearing it from someone else."

[Brendan James]

With a genuine smile, it was obvious that Brendan was delighted she’d stopped. It wasn’t unusual for him to do something like this. Stop and talk to a random stranger on the sidewalk, so he was perfectly at ease with it. Though, not everybody that he tried to befriend was as comfortable as she seemed to be. But it certainly helped that she was. And he was already beginning to like. If not for her beauty, then because she seemed not to mind being complimented purely on her physical appearance. He’d never understand women who were upset by that.

“Sneaking suspicion?” Raising his eyebrow, a quizzical look set on his face. “Darling, the fact that you aren’t walking around town, yelling ‘Bask in my beauty!’” He said with a little chuckle. “Because, to be honest, if I looked as good as you, I would.” Of course, Brendan had been known to toot his own horn from time to time. And by ‘time to time’ I mean almost on a daily basis. Though, obviously, he was also very fond of tooting other peoples’ horns as well.

Lifting his hand to the woman. “My name’s Brendan James. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Meta.” He always informed people he was Meta when first meeting. Over time it’d become quite clear to him that not everybody in the world was accepting as he wished them be. And he always thought it was best to get out in the open quickly. That way, if it were a problem, he could tell what exactly they could do to themselves, with a smile of course, and walk away. If it wasn’t a problem, great.

He realized then that his music was still playing, and loud enough to be heard even without the ear buds in. “Sorry.” He smiled as he turned it off, as Lady Gaga was finishing. “Can’t blame me though. Gaga is… amazing.”

This was just one of many things he prided himself on. In his experience it wasn’t very often that you met an almost thirty year old man who was willing to admit to listening to and singing along with Lady Gaga. But in his opinion, anybody who said they didn’t like her was a damn liar. It’s was Lady Gaga after all. How could somebody not? It was no coincidence that he dressed as her for the last three Halloweens. Each time basing it off of one her outfits. He drew the line at her dress of meat though. More props to her though.

Enough about Gaga though (though really, is it ever enough? Not to Bren), back to the beauty in front of him.

[Cynthia DeMato]

The woman couldn't help but laugh: this man was certainly a charmer, that was for sure. But she assumed that, like all men, he was programmed to be sweet until exactly the time that they put on a wedding ring. Then it was infidelity, alcoholism, and just generally obnoxious behavior from there on out. But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a few compliments, so she simply smiled. "Well, thank you; I always appreciate a good fawning," she said cheekily. "Besides, you're pretty darn handsome yourself," she added, allowing her free hand to come to rest on her hip, the other carrying a few shopping bags.

As he introduced himself, Cynthia nodded, extending her free hand to shake. "Cynthia. Most call me Madame." Not that she was French at all - actually, she was Italian-American - but they called her this because she owned the Burlesque house La Maison Magnifique, and they all liked to pretend they were French when they were there. She briefly wondered if this man had ever been there, or if he'd ever even heard of it; unfortunately business was not quite as good as it once was, and she was trying to find some new dancers, singers, and staff members to liven the place up a bit and bring in some new business; all this was to say that it was entirely possible that he'd never been before. Were that to be the case, he would be missing out, and would probably also think she was crazy for having such a nickname. "I run La Maison Magnifique," she added, figuring it would be best to just clarify that, but also so that she could brag.

Lady Gaga. Yes, Cynthia liked the woman; she really brought sexy back, but in a truly talented and creative way. They had performed a few of her numbers at the House, and they were always crowd-pleasers. "No, I certainly can't blame you," she replied. "We do Gaga sometimes over at the House," she added. Actually, she was currently working on some choreography to one of her newer songs, "Heavy Metal Lover," and was having some trouble making it work. She just couldn't get inspired, but she loved the song. "And what do you do?" She asked, figuring if she knew she ran the House, she might as well know what his profession was.

[Brendan James]

“And fawning you shall receive.” Brendan was known for it. But, he only fawned when it was true. Such as Cynthia’s beauty. If he didn’t find her absolutely stunning, he would’ve kept his mouth shut. He didn’t lie. Not usually at least. And when he did, he felt this horrible gnawing feeling. Which surprised just about all of his friends and family. Most people, who knew Brendan well, knew that he was generally lacking in the morals department. So for him to value honesty above all else… Well it was baffling to say the least.

However, that didn’t mean he didn’t have an ego. And loved for it to be stroked. And it made him automatically like the woman because she had done just that. Beaming with joy that she’d complimented him, he had to remind himself he still didn’t know her well. So telling her that this wasn’t new information to him would probably be off putting. He wanted people to like him before they thought of him as a jackass. “Thank you. I’ve heard it once or twice before. But it never gets old.” That was a bit more polite, right?

“Madame?” Brendan nodded. She didn’t look french to him. But he didn’t question. She could’ve been first generation french. And really, nowadays, was there really any point in trying to guess ones nationality? You would surely get wrong after all. Taking her hand, he smiled and lifted it, giving a small kiss. Truth be told, that was one of Brendan’s favorite things to do. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Brendan.” Then he lowered her hand, and let it slip from his.

Listening as she spoke more, Brendan became more curious about her work. She’d called it the House. And people called her Madame… His curiosity got the better of him. “You’ll have to excuse me, but what exactly is La Maison Magnifique?” He had hopes. But he wouldn’t allow himself to be too helpful. Because there’d be nothing more disappointing.

And then came an uncomfortable question. Uncomfortable in the sense that he only recently became unemployed for improper behavior with a student. After clearing his throat, he answered her question. “I used to be the art teacher at a local high school.” But there was no need to tell as to why. Because then it’d get really uncomfortable. “Now I’m mostly doing my own art. And set designs for the town theater.”