Post by k4writer02 on Apr 15, 2009 11:30:54 GMT 10
Title: Avoiding Award Shows
Author: K4writer02, Kate
Rating: PG
Summary: Part of the AU Country Singers Open Universe. (Crack fic that turned serious on me). Raoul doesn’t attend an awards show. Partially inspired by watching the ACMs on TV last week.
Genre: Drama
Series: Tortall, Country Singers AU (Check out this thread to find out more about it)
Author's Note: This story popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.
Jonathan de Conte looked across the yard of highly polished mahogany at the musician whose band was currently topping charts (and tabloids) nationwide. He swiveled in his magnificent chair—jokingly called the throne—to face his visitor.
Raoul Golden (his stage name, but at this point, he’d been using it longer than the name his mother gave him) wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt, topped with his signature cowboy hat. But not his signature smile.
Jonathan had stuck with Raoul Golden through his addiction, the nosedive of his career, rock bottom, rehab, and the painful recovery. Through the lean times, the glory days, and all the bad times, till he’d earned his way here, back to the top.
Jon gestured, and Raoul seated himself in a chair on one side of that huge desk. He settled back nonchalantly, even put his left boot over his right knee, displaying the toe of a snakeskin boot that had been tanned yellow.
Jon sighed, “Is that what Lalasa gave you for the awards show?” He knew damn well it wasn’t, but the conversation had to start somewhere.
“I’m not going.” Raoul dropped his foot and leaned forward, all business, casual pose dropped. “So it doesn’t matter.”
Jonathan glared, “You’re up in three categories. You might even win one. You’re scheduled to perform. You have to be there.”
“Kel can accept on our behalf. She’s the only one with manners, anyway. It’ll be good for her, making speeches.”
Jon gave Raoul an ‘are you kidding me?’ stare.
“Okay, maybe not. Dom could handle it, though. He’s more the media darling anyway.”
“I want you there.” Jon said, firmly. “Raoul, you know what these things are like. Kel and Dom, even Lerant. They’re talented musicians. Good performers, too. But they’re not seasoned yet. They can still be rattled, by anything from bad technical to comments on the clothes. Might forget the cameras and do something…unfortunate. Think about what could happen at the after parties.”
Raoul dropped his eyes to the floor, not able to meet his friend’s eyes. “I am thinking about the after parties.”
And that silenced Jon, for a moment, because he knew about those parties, the way champagne flowed like water, the pounds of caviar and trendy hors d’oeuvres consumed by strangers. Knew the way speed could transform a good-humored cowboy into a frenetic dancer. Knew that Raoul’s personal hell would be going back to being the man who disappointed not only himself but every friend he had. And even knowing the consequences, how tempting that champagne and cowboy candy would be.
“So don’t go to the afterparty. Tell everyone you and your wife are going to your own private after party. ”
“It’s a slippery slope.” Raoul argued, looking up. “If, this year, I say it’s okay to go to the show, what if, next year I say I can handle the party without using? It’s a heartbeat from that to ‘I can have just a bit.’ I need to stay away from it. I can’t handle the politics and gossip and the whole scene yet.”
Jonathan sighed, because what could he say to that? As Raoul’s friend, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was endanger the cowboy’s sobriety. As someone who profited from Raoul Golden, he knew there was more money in keeping the man sober. But part of doing the job was performing; invitations to perform at awards shows, and the publicity that garnered, didn’t come along every day. Jon groaned an acquiescence. “What are we going to tell the press?”
Raoul tried to suppress expressing his sense of relief, “Laryngitis?”
If it hadn’t been beneath his dignity as CEO, Jonathan might’ve thrown something at his friend. “Next time,” Jonathan said, “You’re going. I don’t care if you have to take your sponsor as your date and leave Buri at home.”
Now Raoul actually laughed, thinking of his sponsor, who did double duty as the heart and soul of the label’s PR department. “Yeah, try explaining Myles to the press.”
“I don’t have to. That’s what we pay him for.” Jon grumbled.
So that night, there were comments on the clothes—Thayet’s elegant black gown was compared to the pink organza creation that it seemed no one had ever forgotten. There were a few glitches in performances (someone switched Kel and Joren Stone’s guitars, with the result that she felt out of tune the whole song). There were triumphs—Roald Conte collected a trophy for his success as a crossover artist. Third Company won a Horizon award, but the Riders took the honors for best group. There were legends and luminaries in the audience—Alanna foremost among them. In that grand company, one could almost overlook the absence of one rather large, shy cowboy and his golden boots.
Watching from a hotel room, shaking his head over the slip masquerading as Kalasin’s dress (probably along with her father and brothers) Raoul tried to believe he was happier far from the action, and that it didn't bother him that no one missed him.
Author: K4writer02, Kate
Rating: PG
Summary: Part of the AU Country Singers Open Universe. (Crack fic that turned serious on me). Raoul doesn’t attend an awards show. Partially inspired by watching the ACMs on TV last week.
Genre: Drama
Series: Tortall, Country Singers AU (Check out this thread to find out more about it)
Author's Note: This story popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.
Jonathan de Conte looked across the yard of highly polished mahogany at the musician whose band was currently topping charts (and tabloids) nationwide. He swiveled in his magnificent chair—jokingly called the throne—to face his visitor.
Raoul Golden (his stage name, but at this point, he’d been using it longer than the name his mother gave him) wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt, topped with his signature cowboy hat. But not his signature smile.
Jonathan had stuck with Raoul Golden through his addiction, the nosedive of his career, rock bottom, rehab, and the painful recovery. Through the lean times, the glory days, and all the bad times, till he’d earned his way here, back to the top.
Jon gestured, and Raoul seated himself in a chair on one side of that huge desk. He settled back nonchalantly, even put his left boot over his right knee, displaying the toe of a snakeskin boot that had been tanned yellow.
Jon sighed, “Is that what Lalasa gave you for the awards show?” He knew damn well it wasn’t, but the conversation had to start somewhere.
“I’m not going.” Raoul dropped his foot and leaned forward, all business, casual pose dropped. “So it doesn’t matter.”
Jonathan glared, “You’re up in three categories. You might even win one. You’re scheduled to perform. You have to be there.”
“Kel can accept on our behalf. She’s the only one with manners, anyway. It’ll be good for her, making speeches.”
Jon gave Raoul an ‘are you kidding me?’ stare.
“Okay, maybe not. Dom could handle it, though. He’s more the media darling anyway.”
“I want you there.” Jon said, firmly. “Raoul, you know what these things are like. Kel and Dom, even Lerant. They’re talented musicians. Good performers, too. But they’re not seasoned yet. They can still be rattled, by anything from bad technical to comments on the clothes. Might forget the cameras and do something…unfortunate. Think about what could happen at the after parties.”
Raoul dropped his eyes to the floor, not able to meet his friend’s eyes. “I am thinking about the after parties.”
And that silenced Jon, for a moment, because he knew about those parties, the way champagne flowed like water, the pounds of caviar and trendy hors d’oeuvres consumed by strangers. Knew the way speed could transform a good-humored cowboy into a frenetic dancer. Knew that Raoul’s personal hell would be going back to being the man who disappointed not only himself but every friend he had. And even knowing the consequences, how tempting that champagne and cowboy candy would be.
“So don’t go to the afterparty. Tell everyone you and your wife are going to your own private after party. ”
“It’s a slippery slope.” Raoul argued, looking up. “If, this year, I say it’s okay to go to the show, what if, next year I say I can handle the party without using? It’s a heartbeat from that to ‘I can have just a bit.’ I need to stay away from it. I can’t handle the politics and gossip and the whole scene yet.”
Jonathan sighed, because what could he say to that? As Raoul’s friend, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was endanger the cowboy’s sobriety. As someone who profited from Raoul Golden, he knew there was more money in keeping the man sober. But part of doing the job was performing; invitations to perform at awards shows, and the publicity that garnered, didn’t come along every day. Jon groaned an acquiescence. “What are we going to tell the press?”
Raoul tried to suppress expressing his sense of relief, “Laryngitis?”
If it hadn’t been beneath his dignity as CEO, Jonathan might’ve thrown something at his friend. “Next time,” Jonathan said, “You’re going. I don’t care if you have to take your sponsor as your date and leave Buri at home.”
Now Raoul actually laughed, thinking of his sponsor, who did double duty as the heart and soul of the label’s PR department. “Yeah, try explaining Myles to the press.”
“I don’t have to. That’s what we pay him for.” Jon grumbled.
So that night, there were comments on the clothes—Thayet’s elegant black gown was compared to the pink organza creation that it seemed no one had ever forgotten. There were a few glitches in performances (someone switched Kel and Joren Stone’s guitars, with the result that she felt out of tune the whole song). There were triumphs—Roald Conte collected a trophy for his success as a crossover artist. Third Company won a Horizon award, but the Riders took the honors for best group. There were legends and luminaries in the audience—Alanna foremost among them. In that grand company, one could almost overlook the absence of one rather large, shy cowboy and his golden boots.
Watching from a hotel room, shaking his head over the slip masquerading as Kalasin’s dress (probably along with her father and brothers) Raoul tried to believe he was happier far from the action, and that it didn't bother him that no one missed him.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!