Title: starting out
Cohen Scott - November 4, 2011 09:23 AM (GMT)
His phone would not stop ringing, and while Cohen had thought about turning it off, he was afraid that he might forget to turn it back on. Which would be bad should someone whose calls he was not screening attempted to call. At first he had silenced the phone – a term he had since concluded was coined by a masochistic little man who looked like a monkey, because that was the sort who would spread lies to everyone. His phone was nowhere near silent; opting to hum and vibrate with each missed call, making it impossible to ignore. His solution solved nothing. Rather than turn it off, Cohen had opted to bury it beneath two down pillows and a heavy comforter, but even then he could still hear the muted hum as it vibrated, taunting him. There were only two people in the world who would call him incessantly: his mother and his agent. Both had accused Cohen of screening his phone calls which was why they refused to leave a message. His mother only called when everything was fine – it was when he hadn’t heard from her that week that he worried. Silence usually meant that her boyfriend, Osmosis, had had too much to drink which resulted in a bout of artistic inspiration where his fists were the brush and Cohen’s mother was the canvas. The last time they had spoken she’d informed Cohen that she wanted to throw Osmosis a surprise party and that it would mean so much if he were to attend. Cohen was certain that was a pile of shit. The only time Osmosis acknowledged that he was not the only human on the planet was when he could get something from someone else. In Cohen’s case it was the notoriety of being associated with a star, no matter how fallen. He hadn’t completely refused to attend, promising instead to check his schedule because he was certain he had midterms approaching. If given the choice Cohen would rather remain conscious during surgery than spend time with Osmosis.
Interspersed with his mother’s phone calls were those of his agent. She had found a project that was perfect for him, one that would rise him from the monotony of school and back into the headlines once more. In other words she had found something that would guarantee a hefty percentage of his wages for herself.
In both cases Cohen just wasn’t in the mood, but his sanity was currently hanging by a thread and he needed to free up the line to call Amelia and make sure they were still good to hang out later. With a sigh he catapulted himself onto the bed and retrieved his phone from its grave. He didn’t bother glancing at the number as he answered, “Yeah?”
“Cohen, darling!” the voice of his agent purred in his ear. Every time they spoke Cohen was reminded of a cat stalking its prey. “I haven’t spoken to you in ages. Is everything okay? I’ve been worried…”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Nothing too terrible, I hope.”
“Just the usual. Drugs. Alcohol. Women. More drugs. Last night I thought my car was a talking horse named Fraser and tried to get it to come home with me but it kept saying that I wouldn’t respect it in the morning. I think a paparazzi or three captured the whole event so you’re welcome.” Cohen paused, hoping that his agent would make a point so that he could hang up. “Did you need something, Deborah? The last time I checked I wasn’t on house arrest so you weren’t required to check up on me.” Deborah responded as though scripted. She assured Cohen of her having only his best interests at heart; that she loved him like a son, and did he know about that new Nicholas Sparks movie that Cohen was perfect for? His attention waned as he listened to her rehearsed lines, but he responded as was expected; never committing whilst remaining agreeable. He didn’t blame her for his failed career and both knew that he could drop her if he was serious about leaving acting altogether. As much as Cohen wanted to believe that he was done with that aspect of his life forever he couldn’t stop the niggling feeling that it might be the only thing that he was good at.
An hour later, he was finally free. His phone silent. His mind reeling.
More than anything, Cohen desperately needed an escape. A quick glance at his alarm clock confirmed that he had exactly one hour to kill before meeting with his deliverance, Amelia. This gave him just enough time to figure out something that would entertain them both. In many ways Amelia reminded Cohen of the sort of person he had left back in Hollywood, but there was something about her that didn’t make him contemplate murder. He often surmised that it was because she wasn’t afraid to act foolish and have fun. That or she was too self-absorbed to care about his supposed fame, but he liked to believe that it was the former. Regardless of why, Cohen did genuinely enjoy the time he spent with her, and tonight was going to be no exception. He could feel it – some people could predict weather; Cohen could predict fun. The only question was what that fun would entail. Where Amelia was concerned a plan was always required.
He rolled onto his stomach, flipping idly through emails via his phone when he came across the advertisement. It was the sort of invite that a graphic design student wouldn’t touch with a Pooper-Scooper: bright red and pink hearts floated across a white-lace imposed background. The lettering was an overly stylized script heralding a night of romance beneath the stars. Shakespeare was even incorrectly quoted. And if the invite alone contained enough cheese to keep a dairy farmer in business for the rest of the night, Cohen could only imagine what the actual event would be like. He quickly closed his email and sent Amelia a vague text: I think we need some cheese to accompany our wine. Dress to impress and quickly set about preparing himself for the evening ahead.
He arrived at Amelia’s clad in dark-washed designer jeans and white tee. On top of that he had elected to wear a navy blazer; his customary black converse completed the look. The outfit would have been complete had Cohen not wished to mask his identity as well. He had opted for a pair of glasses with a thick black frame. His hair – in dire need of a haircut – had been slicked back and fashioned into a stub of a ponytail. By his own estimation he looked obnoxious. Despite the evite explicitly stating that semi-formal attire was required, Cohen knew his ensemble was perfect. He didn’t have tickets to the stupid thing anyway. His plans revolved solely on the line.
A broad smile brightened his features as Amelia opened the door and took in his appearance, a customary smirk curving her lips upward. “Mademoiselle,” he intoned in an affected accent that screamed fake and from nowhere. “Are you ready for an evening of enchantment and romance?” He straightened and winked, tucking the accent away for later. “Or rather, an evening of ruining enchantment and romance for others.”
Amelia MacEwan-Drummond - January 21, 2012 04:53 PM (GMT)
It had been quite some time since a night had gone by where Amelia had allowed herself more than the few hours it would take to simply function. There were things to do, people to see – brothers to take care of. Since Hunter had moved in with her, it was more of a necessity to keep her habitual insomnia on the down low. She didn’t know if he knew what she got up to, but if he did things were much better when the two were playing happy families. Not that she was playing at happy – she loved having her brother in her home. For the first few days it felt like being a child again, and she had been able to laugh from the bottom of her tummy, in the most carefree natural way. Of course the circumstances leading to his arrival and for-now permanent placement in her home were nothing to laugh about, but something had changed that day – it had been a wake-up call. Hunter needed to take better care of himself, and she had been inspired; at least momentarily. One of these moments had been last night. She hadn’t made plans to go out. She had finished the report for her Spanish class two weeks previous and had gone over it a dozen times, assured that there was nothing she could do to better it. If she thought of anything, she still had a week to look it over again. So she had decided to give herself a night in.
Amelia had been sleeping for 18 hours. No one would have been more surprised then her when finally cracked her eyes open to see 2:00 pm flashing on her alarm clock. “Good God…” She muttered to herself, rolling over back onto the pillows to allow herself time to wake up before she started her afternoon. She listened carefully for sounds of Hunter, wondering if he was still in the apartment. But she heard no shifts, no music, no sound coming from the kitchen and she surmised that she was on her own. She rolled out of bed and pulled her silky red housecoat on over her bare shoulders, tying the ribbon in a bow at her thin waist. She padded through to the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on, choosing to sit while it brewed. Her head felt heavy – it always did when she did this. And she hated it. Incapacitation in any fashion was something Amelia loathed, especially when it came to herself. And the more she thought about it, the more agitated she got as she waited for this pot of coffee to brew. If she could have had a caffeine drip, she would. She didn’t even wait for the rest of the pot to boil – as soon as it looked like there was enough in the pot to make a cup she poured herself one, black and moved to the window so she could sit.
It took a lot, funnily enough. To just sit and enjoy her cup of coffee. Most of the time she felt like she needed to be doing something. Of course she had places to go, people to see. But today she knew that she had plans with Cohen and had for this very reason not made plans with anyone else or invited them along. Well, it would have been impossible to invite them along – she still had no idea what they were doing. She had left that to his very capable hands and trusted him with her enjoyment. Mind you, she had discovered over the last few months of their friendship that the two could have fun just about wherever they went when they were together. To her, Cohen was another person – a friend, at that. She had never been overly concerned with who was popular in pop culture, and though recognized his talent and his craft as something to be admired, Cohen was just that – Cohen. Someone she called her friend whom she enjoyed spending time with. These thoughts and these thoughts alone were the only things that could distract her while she started out the window down at the world passing by, sipping casually on her steaming mug.
Eventually she traded her coffee mug in for a wine glass, filled to the acceptable level with red while she soaked in the tub. Up to the neck in bubbles, Amelia soaked for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been for more than an hour and a half before she heard her phone go off in the other room. It could have been anyone, but she knew very well that it was her call from Cohen. She stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel, padding carefully through to her bedroom where she picked up her phone and read his message. I think we need some cheese to accompany our wine. Dress to impress. Amelia smirked, chuckled a little even at the message. She responded with a cheeky Don’t I always? Before she set about preparing for her evening out.
By the time she was done, Amelia’s makeup was utterly flawless and her chestnut hair hung in loose curls down to the middle of her back. She had opted for, shockingly, instead of the little black number, a gold dress she had been saving for an event such as this. Black tights hugged her long legs and on her feet were the most devastating pair of Brian Atwood pumps she could find in her closet. In all honesty and with no regard as to what would make her sound at all conceited, she gave herself a 10. And almost on cue as she turned to give herself one final inspection, confirming that yes, though the front of the dress didn’t have much to share, the back of it was low enough to cause a stir, she heard the knock on her door. Though she hadn’t been in a foul mood before, she immediately brightened, snatching her clutch from her vanity hastily as she headed for the door. And what a site in front of her.
He looked like a bum. No, worse than that, one of those twatty art students that glued a frying pan and a cheese grater together and called it art. She snorted and leaned momentarily against her doorframe. It wasn’t often that she was lost for words, but this was a very special occasion. Madamoiselle, are you ready for an evening of enchantment and romance? She pursed her lips together, trying to force herself not to laugh at the horrific accent he had quite obviously and cheekily used. He was meant to woo her. Or rather, an evening of ruining enchantment and romance for others. Dramatically, Amelia raised her hand to her chest. ”Oh be still, my heart. My prince charming has finally come.” She let her hand drop and the smirk return. “In the form of a failed graphic arts student. Really, Cohen, you’re not fit to be seen.” He was one of the few people, she thought, who wasn’t typically offended by her condescension, especially on a night like this when she was sure that was what he’d been looking for. She leaned up and to kiss both of his cheeks in greeting, pulling the door shut behind her. ”Where on earth are you taking us?”
Cohen Scott - March 5, 2012 02:42 AM (GMT)
All Cohen truly knew how to do was play a part. His whole life had consisted of him following scripts and playing the role before him, and he didn’t even know if he was any good at it. True, his agent and a whole cast of other people his career helped to finance told him that he was talented, but their opinions were bought. He was most happy when he slipped into someone else’s life, and forgot, for just a moment, that he had no idea who he was supposed to be. As he looked at Amelia, looking as polished as glass, he had never felt this more acutely. Her long chestnut curls caressed the buttery skin of her shoulders; her gold dress accentuating her in all the right places. She looked every bit the part of a starlet. Which was perfect as far as he was concerned, because no one would pay any attention to him with her by his side.
“Oh be still, my heart. My prince charming has finally come.” The smitten debutante act was quickly dropped, replaced with the Amelia he had grown to appreciate over the first few weeks of their blossoming friendship. She was one the few people who could keep pace with him, rolling her eyes and tossing back smart quips whenever he got to be too much. Cohen felt as though he could be himself around her. She played a part as often as he did, and he found himself wondering for the first time, if he knew anything about her at all. “In the form of a failed graphics art student. Really, Cohen, you’re not fit to be seen.” He took a step back and made a show of examining his jacket and shirt before frowning. “I thought I did good,” he protested with a shrug. “Guess I should’ve brought a stylist with me from La-La Land, but you’ll have to do.” He gave her a playful wink. “Though you do look amazing, as usual.”
She kissed both of his cheeks before pulling her door closed. “Where on earth are you taking us?” she demanded with a smirk. Cohen was practically humming with excitement. He hopped in place while Amelia eyed him warily, awaiting a response to her question. He quickly fished the invite out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed Amelia the crumpled piece of paper. Her glossed lips parted in question as she stared at the paper as though it might infect her. Cohen had been right – this was the sort of event that she would have deemed as beneath her. He just hoped that she would embrace his version of the events because he hadn’t come with a backup. “So I was thinking…” he began, taking a few steps back. As he stared at Amelia he could feel his confidence wane. There was no way she would want to do something so immature and impractical – what had he been thinking?
Still, it was too late to back out now. He ran his hand over his face and drew a deep breath before continuing. “Okay, what’s an evening of romance without a lover’s spat? I mean all those people are expecting to be with the person they think they love and then BAM! an argument between a couple breaks out. All of a sudden they’re forced to look at their own relationship and revaluate it and shit. It’s got all the makings of Hollywood gold.” He bowed and held his hand out to her. “And you, my dear, are precisely the date to make that a reality. What do you say? Shall we ruin an evening of … what was it? Romance Under the Stars for everyone who actually wants to be there?”
He knew it wasn't really her thing, but Cohen hoped she'd still agree.
Jennifer Harrison - March 24, 2012 04:03 AM (GMT)
Amelia MacEwan-Drummond - March 24, 2012 04:04 AM (GMT)
These things always took her by surprise. Amelia wasn’t used to being the girl that followed. Over the years she had spent playing her part in the world, Amelia had learned how to bend each and every rule and how to manipulate almost every situation into one of her favor. Nobody told Amelia what to do or where she was going and that was just the way life worked for her. Tonight was the first time in a long time that she had let someone else take the rains. It was a true testament to her genuine affection for Cohen; she trusted him. In the short weeks it had taken to develop their friendship she had developed a very real appreciation for his quirky personality and his playful gibes when she was being too…well…too Amelia for her own good. He was a good reminder that it was alright to sit back and have fun. But the historical Amelia was still in there. The girl made of fire that had to be seen, and he knew that girl too. He was playing into her perfectly this evening.
Amelia curtsied to him as he complimented her, waiting for his explanation. It came in the form of a crumpled piece of paper, which soon revealed itself as an invitation. She took it from him with a curious glance and almost immediately her eyebrows shot up. It had hearts on it. When did anything have hearts on it that wasn’t a valentine from a four-year-old? However, as this was Cohen, and he had a rare sense of comprehension when it came to her, she read on. However, for a smart girl, Amelia was not getting this. She looked up to him, eyebrow raised, and saw the concern on his face. Her lips turned to a curved smirk. This was going to be interesting. Amelia could almost sense his anxiety – it was really rather endearing. And so she heard him out, listening intently as he explained his motives.
“Okay, what’s an evening of romance without a lover’s spat? I mean all those people are expecting to be with the person they think they love and then BAM! an argument between a couple breaks out…” It wasn’t difficult to catch on as Cohen began to explain himself, and as he carried on, her smirk turned into something of a smile, contorting itself into a grin until she burst into a fit of laughter, reaching out to take his hand as he offered her his own. “You’re a card, Cohen Scott.” Before her, he had layed out the perfect situation; a good laugh, good fun with a good friend, and the chance to make a scene. Though she’d never had a penchant for acting, dramatics was something she had always been very good at. (Call it being the youngest child of the family, and a girl at that – she had made it a point to be good at the dramatics.)
“Alright, count me in. What did you do to upset me?” True, this wasn’t the kind of thing Amelia typically got up to. She was a club girl. Like a spider, she’d sit in wait of her next victim. But tonight (little to anyone else’s knowledge) she and Cohen would go for the jugular of their love lives. What was a little destruction on an eve such as this? Besides, a recently failed relationship in her own life was something she could quite happily draw inspiration from. She laughed and shook her head again, shifting to link arms with her ‘man thing’ for the evening, moving with him down the hall and out into the night air. “I would say the ponytail, but that would be horribly superficial of me.” She looked up at him and shot him a playful wink. Amelia was well and truly looking forward to this.
Cohen Scott - May 9, 2012 02:00 AM (GMT)
Amelia was an enigma in Cohen’s mind. On more than one occasion he had found himself wondering why she put up with him. She was one of the few people in his life that he was certain didn’t care about his fame. She sought out her own spotlight and thrived within it. In those moments where the eyes of others were upon her she seemed to come alive. Perhaps that was why they got along so well – she stepped into the centre of the fray while he shied from it. More than that though, Amelia sought out her own fame and notoriety. She didn’t need him in order to be noticed. Still, she left him feeling on edge. He never knew what to expect with her. She was polished and flawless and he was ragged and unkempt. Somehow, though, they were friends, and for that he was grateful.
“Alright, count me in. What did you do to upset me?”
Cohen grinned. Until this moment he hadn’t been entirely certain that she would go along with his plan. While he had waited he figured they could have gone out for dinner somewhere upscale and boring, ordering obnoxious appetizers and taking turns flirting with the waiter if Amelia hadn’t been game. But she was, and he was certain this plan was so much better than gold-dusted shrimp. “Why is it always my fault?” he retorted, his broad smile giving way to a scowl. “I swear to God you even blame me for the price of toilet paper. It’s not my fault you use more than I do!”
Cohen was practically jumping with excitement; it took all of his restraint to keep from clapping his hands. This was going to be beyond fun. “Improv’s better,” he declared, dropping the annoyed act. “People’ll be able to tell it’s staged if we give it too much thought. Just, you know, give me a hard time. I already know that you’re a pro at that.”
He glanced at his watch and grinned before holding out his hand to her. “So, my heart, shall we go? I would hate to be late and have the show start without us. Especially when we’re sort of the stars and everything.”