tiara, please.

[dotalimjan]

dottie & josie | ofjcsephines​

    Her morning had been going great so far, she’d woken up refreshed, done some yoga, there had been hardly any traffic en route to the office, her chai latte had been free because of a rewards scheme the coffee shop were running that day and Josephine was looking forward to a stress-free day of simply typing reports, having a few phonecall appointments and filing paperwork. That was until she got to said office and was warned by her assistant of a strange sniffling sound coming from behind the door.      Since moving to Bayview, Josie had managed to mostly fend off the well-meaning offers from her sisters such as, living with them, eating lunch with them every day, video calls at all hours. She thought that perhaps they had both finally come to respect and abide by her boundaries, this was evidently wrong when she stepped into her office and found chaos had moved in whilst she was sleeping. There were enough tissues strewn across the floor that one would be forgiven if they believed the rug was while and fluffy rather than the black and emerald pattern that truly lay underneath the mass of scrunched up discarded squares. Eyes fell to her sister, who looked like she’d been possibly crying all night, her face swollen with mascara streaming down it and her nose bright red, Josephine took a steeling breath and brushed aside her initial annoyance, Dottie was clearly upset and she needed a sister, not a lecture.      Stepping carefully across the floor, careful not to touch any of the white masses on the floor, Josephine sat on the arm of the couch and reached out a hand to place on her little sisters head comfortingly, “Dottie, have you been here all night? Why didn’t you call me?” she scolded gently, worried for her sister, but also keeping a reservation in the back of her mind that the younger girl could in fact just be blowing things out of proportion. Eyes cast down to the jacket and she blinked, trying to place it in her wardrobe, finally recognising it as a vintage coral Chanel piece Lottie had bought for her in good conscience that Josie had hung up with the intention of never wearing (under the pretense of it being “for a fashion emergency”, of course) she shook her head and smiled comfortingly.      “Don’t worry about the jacket, you know coral washes me out. It’s probably for the best. now, tell me what happened.” 

— “I’m afraid if I tell you,” she said, voice trembling. “That you’ll be disappointed in me.” Dottie fought against the tears, but the last battalions of her stubborn spirit were crumbling. She sounded strained, brittle. “Josie, I have worked so hard for my career,” she said. After years of waffling before the press in a bid to appease everyone, it felt unnatural to speak so firmly.

There was a voice -- a voice, once belonging to her agent that was no co-opted into her own -- in the back of her mind that punished her. It tore her apart for daring to say that she deserved to enjoy the fruits of her labor. She knew it wasn’t selfish to want things for herself, but that knowledge didn’t stop making it so scary to admit aloud.

Unspoken words choked her, building into a mottled blockage that seared against her esophagus. Dottie's gaze roamed everywhere in the room except for on her sister. “I have worked so hard,” she said. “And every time I think things are looking up, I fall flat on my face in front of a million people.”

The back of her mind still tormented her: Why are you complaining? You chose this, didn’t you? And in exchange for all the money from reruns and merchandise and ad campaigns, the public owns you. You knew what you signed up for, so flash a smile and perform.

Suddenly, the firm cushions beneath her had all the consistency of a waterbed. She fanned herself with two panicked, jittering hands capped by pink nails. “Like, is it just some sick joke? That never, once in my life I can have one win?” she said. “It’s like in Some Like It Hot, where Sugar says she always gets the fuzzy end of the lollipop. The whole world thinks I’m some...some brainless...”

Dottie pressed her lips together. The thin, pale pink line wobbled until she could finally confess the truth. “Josie, I might owe a lot of money now,” she said. “I didn’t do anything bad, but there were tabloids and troll farms that just...just spun things out of control. My sponsors dropped me and are saying I have to pay them back.”

Maybe her sister knew what came next. Her sister, who’d always known that Dottie was the type of woman who gave and gave, even when she didn’t have anything left. Hastily, Dottie brushed her sleeve across her cheeks to soak up the tears that stung her skin.

“We have so many nice family members,” she said. “What if I have to tell grandma we have to sell the house I bought her? Or do I have to like, call up all our aunties and uncles I bought cars and groceries for? Lottie’s girlfriend was moving in, so I needed to pretend it was fine for me to move out. They think I’m staying at some fancy condo and I just...couldn’t tell her, Josie. I couldn’t tell her.” 

She looked away.

“I couldn’t tell her I don’t have anywhere to go.” 

[stars-bean]

The Seven Year Itch (1955) dir. Billy Wilder

[stars-bean]

“Why don’t you take a little time for yourself?” “Maybe another hour.” “Live dangerously, take the whole day.”

Roman Holiday (1953) dir. William Wyler

[toastbutteregg]

TAKE MY LOVE!!!!

[dotalimjan]

dottie & tai | taisirifrezi​

Taisir let out a huffing little laugh as Dottie flew straight into his arms. She entirely ignored whatever little overly-hopeful besotted boy she was currently trampling with her Louboutins to give Tai all her attention.  Which, honestly, there was no other way Taisir wanted to be greeted by the ebullient young starlet (sort-of).  He leaned back, just so she could take that extra flair to kick her legs up - dramatic and eye-catching, her favourite sort of existence.  She was a tall creature so it wasn’t like Taisir could pick her up, but.  Flair still mattered.

“I could say the same about you, darling.  Never in a million years did I imagine I’d find you here, but dear me - you’re a sight for weary eyes.”  He ran his hands down her slim arms, leaning back as if to check her over for changes.  Then in mock-confidentiality, he leaned closer and added, “Or, quite honestly, eyes tired of seeing poorly constructed fast fashion in polyester blends.”  

He gave her a cheeky wink, clearly setting Dottie apart from the crowd around her.   “Look at you.  Gorgeous as usual, fit for a far better nightclub than this one.”

The truth was that in all their random encounters at exclusive parties and invite-only clubs, Taisir didn’t really know much about Dottie Alimjan - not the girl behind all of her notoriety, at least.  He knew of her scandal (though he’d kept his old promise to Dottie and had never actually googled ‘rocket bogie girl’ or whatever her net name became) and of her small acting roles (none of which he’d ever watched either). He knew she seemed to know everyone rich and famous, by name-dropping at least. And he knew she was a riot at parties. 

But Dottie having family?  In Eureka?  Did he know them from twenty years back, Taisir wondered, a little heady at that wild coincidence if it was true.

“Isn’t that sweet, the little swan’s come home to roost with her ducklings,” Taisir said, buying completely into her story.  He had no reason not to believe her, after all. Taisir liked Dottie most when she was glamourous, a sparkling diamond.

“I do know how to party,” he agreed with a foxish smirk, taking a hold of her hand He ignored her dance partner as Taisir led Dottie away - up the stairs, to the VIP level of the club.  “And I can’t stand seeing my Dottie mingling with her adoring fans when she should be risen above them. Like the star she is.”

Up on a catwalk that looked down at the dancefloor, he motioned to the club.  Both of them keeping up separate acts, Taisir pushed as much easy-going irreverence into his voice, as he said,  “I’m here because this, my luv, is all mine.  Vice, this nightclub.  I was bored one lonely night in Kuala Lumpur, so I bought it.  Only a week ago, in fact.”

A server immediately materialized, and Taisir was about to order a drink for himself, but he then looked at Dottie.  “Or should we get champagne to celebrate your latest project success?  Unless you’d rather pills, poppers…or something with a bit more kick.”

— Tempting as his offer might be, the tabloids lining grocery store checkout lines didn’t need more scandals from her. She posed: delicate hand on her hip, rows of gold bangles she’d inherited from her grandmother clamoring down a slope of body glitter. “What I need more than anything,” she huffed. “Is wherever will take me to the biggest bottle of champagne you’ve got and a new boyfriend.”

Dottie followed him to the exclusive level, twirling and blowing kisses along the way. Signs of the drunk to come later that night, the type that overpaid the cab driver so she could go twirl in a flower field and skinny dip in a pond, tended to reveal themselves when she was buzzed. Not that anyone minded. The actress always exuded a certain starlet quality about her, an aura that made you want to bask in her light.

“You remember that guy with the motorcycle, right? That we met at that totally wild autumn festival?” she said. “He had that fear of centipedes thing? And never wanted plants in the house because he thought I wouldn’t sweep the dead leaves and they’d like, breed in them or whatever.”

Dottie playfully rolled her eyes. A speck of glitter fallout clung to her cheekbone, glimmering under the club’s lights. She’d been having fun -- lots of fun, lots of drinks, lots of people -- despite swearing to multiple family members that she never, ever drank until inebriated. For some reason, her grandmother believed it and had given her all those gold bangles in approval. 

“Well, we broke it off before I got here,” she said. Dottie’s revolving door of ‘true loves’ always ended the same way. They grew tired of the glamour, and she grew tired of appeasing them. They’d speak in roundabout ways, arguing over silly things like rugs and dishes and who was responsible for clogging the drain. And there’d be one blowout fight before breaking things off, where they both cried that it was “never about the stupid drain!” in the first place.

Sometimes they got back together. (Her record was four times, crawling back to some novelist who loved the idea of her only when he didn’t have to live with her. But she, so enamored with the romantic notion of being a real writer’s muse, tried to salvage a future together. They’d pretend everything was okay, if only to make a meal of hotpot less lonely.) 

It was always the same story, but with a different guy. Swap the novelist boyfriend for that one theater actor or the playwright or the idol, and it still had the same ending. Such messy tales helped divert the attention away from her imploding career, diverted attention away from her being anything but a sparkling little socialite. Love was an acceptable trouble to have. If it wasn’t wrapped in a made-for-television film bow, then she didn’t want to bring it up to Tai.

“So now it’s just me, my sisters, and the agony of production delays. This next film is going to be, like, such a turning point in my career.” 

If it was ever released. If a thousand other “what ifs” that kept her awake at night never came to fruition. If all the worries haunting her, despite a night out on the dance floor, stayed the phantom figments of her imagination.

“But we gotta circle back to your thing!” she said. “Because, um, hold the body glitter? You bought this place? I mean, you know that I love all kinds of cutesy, kitschy town stuff! I just didn’t think you were into little projects like this? The last time I was here, someone had filled the toilets in the ladies room with gummy worms.” 

[dotalimjan]

dottie & iggy | wclven​

as he looked over her, it was safe to say that the woman was having a rough time, but it wasn’t his place to point out the obvious. “sure.” he mused, holding out the box for her to take one. she didn’t look like a typical smoker, but then again, who really did? smoking wasn’t just a hobby for the likes of him, covered in tattoos and better suited to the rough life than others, smoking didn’t discriminated. 

there was a beat where he just let the air between them settle before he practically ignored her words. “might be stating the obvious, but uh… you all good?”

—  “I’m just not having a very glamorous time, I guess,” she said. Dottie’s collection of handy knickknacks tended to congregate together at the bottom of her purses. Fishing out a lighter shaped like Hello Kitty, despite never having smoked in her life, wasn’t out of the ordinary for her. She pinched the cigarette in her mouth like it was done in old films, then lit it up. (The results weren’t romantic in the slightest. But at least now, her tears could be from choking on her first cigarette instead of wallowing in her sorrows.) 

Her brown eyes glazed over like a splash of rich amontillado in a foggy glass. A small choke, two pitiful puffs of breathing out her nose, and she couldn’t take the burning feeling in her throat any longer. Now she was full-blown coughing, slapping a hand against her collarbone until her skin flushed. “I thought it was going to be more romantic,” she confessed. “Like in movies! All that poetry about coffee and cigarettes is just a bunch of baloney!”

[dotalimjan]

dottie & iggy | wclven​

OPEN — OUTSIDE DEADLY INKS / LATE NIGHT TRADE THURSDAY @eureka-starters​

he was tired, but there wasn’t long to go on his shift. it wouldn’t have been bad if the traffic through the shop had been a little more flowing, but still— iggy wouldn’t complain. he pulled the cigarette from his lips and let the smoke leave him in a long stream, eyes fixated on the bar across the road. “I wish a double shot of patron was able to be a take away item.”

—  “Can I bum a smoke off of ya?” she asked. Dottie had never smoked in her life, but she thought the words sounded like they came from someone who knew what they were talking about. A tough as nails dame from an old, black-and-white film who’d had her fair share of troubles. Those types with wistful eyes as they puffed on a cigar, who’d snap at whatever poor piano player or barkeep was the second lead. Dottie wasn’t as outwardly strong as the leading ladies she liked to watch at the Eureka Theater’s classic movie nights. 

It could be argued, however, that she certainly was just as glamorous: impossibly long legs, a curve-hugging dress of the deepest red, and a voluminous blowout. The only thing missing from her usual ensemble was a face of perfect makeup. Tears streaked her foundation, smog-like lines of wet mascara sticking to her cheeks. In the light of the district, it was easier to see her nose was red from crying.

She kept her eyes on the bar across the road. And tried not to cough at the man’s stream of smoke.

“The bottles are pretty,” she said. “Those Patrón bottles, I mean.” 

[dotalimjan]

dottie & wes | weshill​

Frances hadn’t stopped crying about the doll, which was unusual for a few reasons. One, the youngest Hill child had never been much of a crier – sure, she was the dramatic one in their little family, always flaunting her outfits and making herself known to anyone who would listen (or not, it didn’t matter). He remembered the conversations with his wife about her flounce and flair, deciding mutually that she’d gotten it from Nora’s side of the family. The second reason was that – well, she wasn’t really one to hang on to things. Very much a child who liked to cycle through toys like they were constantly going out of style, it never made much of a difference to Frances.

However, what made this doll different, was that it was a gift from her mother.

So, Wes had, evidently, been playing damage control, attempting to trace their steps and even going as far as looking up identical Elsa dolls online to no avail. No – it wasn’t until Franny spotted a very well put-together sign next to her school that some groundwork was made. Was Wesley surprised that someone went through all that trouble to return a doll? Absolutely. Was he also a bit suspicious? Well, yeah, you had to be these days, which is why he made sure he was the one who went with the little girl to Humboldt Gardens. 

“Ah – no buster here. Just –” his explanation to the woman (with such an elaborate set up) was cut off by the shreiking sound of his daughter, who ran right up to her with recognition in her eyes. “Daddy! It’s Elsa!” Franny exclaimed, tugging on Wes’ sleeve whilst pointing to the doll. “Yes, honey, I see that.” He replied with a grin, turning back towards the other. “I believe that doll may belong to her. There’s, uh – initials sewn into the inside of her cape. ‘FH’.”

—  “Oh, to be a little girl again!” she thought. Manicured fingertips gently peeled back the doll’s cape and sure enough, two little initials were stitched into fabric. None of her childhood toys were ever initialed. She wondered what became of them -- all the stuffed animals and dolls that had made up her whole world, who she played tea party and theater and mommy with. Maybe her parents had given them away. Maybe they’d been thrown out, decomposing in a dump. Dottie’s imagination latched onto the visage of her favorite childhood dolls rotting under a mound of trash, the synthetic hair she used to brush daily falling out in patches.

The thought spiked her temperature, her lungs suddenly heavy and leaden. Why did it bother her so much? To imagine things that were once so loved now forgotten, nobody left to love them. She shoved the thought away and beamed. There wasn’t a break in that shiny, red smile as she knelt down to be at the little girl’s height. 

“I hope it’s okay that Elsa had a sleepover at my house,” she said. Gently, she handed the doll back to the little girl. “She had so much fun,” she said. “We went clothes shopping! If you want, you can take all her new outfits home to play with.”

Dottie brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The neon pink Band-Aid wrapped around her middle finger stood out in stark contrast to her raven hair.  Not being much of a seamstress, she’d worn the thimble on her thumb. (Didn’t the ‘T’ in thimble stand for thumb?) And had only learned of her error after pricking herself for the third time.

Perhaps it was unusual for a stranger to go through all that trouble for something so small, something so easily replaceable. Dottie didn’t think loving material things was wrong; objects harbored the soul of all your most precious memories. You could reach out and touch them, and hold time in your hands. 

Still crouched on the ground, her designer heels sinking into the grass, she looked up at the girl’s father. “Didja come by car?” she asked. “The dream house is a little too bulky to carry on foot.” 

[dotalimjan]

dottie & tai | taisirifrezi​​

It was certainly losing him money, to only have Vice open on the weekends.  But it was a loss that Taisir could afford while he worked on his business strategy to rebrand Vice in his design and vision.  In the meantime, the regulars of Vice still got what they came for, at least for the two most important nights for all nightclubs.  

Friday night, first open as the new owner was a learning experience for Taisir and then some.  Saturday night, he intended to schmooze.  Get an idea of what the locals were looking for, what improvements could be made.  No better demographic to capture, than the drunk and beautiful of Eureka.

There were many of the beautiful people here tonight, but one in particular took Taisir by such surprise he did a double-take.  Excusing himself from the table with the college kids, he slipped upstairs to the VIP section, bee-lining straight for her.  

“Dear me, am I seeing a mirage in the desert?  Dottie Alimjan - “ he proclaimed her name, as if he was greeting royalty.  It sounded grandiose, but there was a twist teasing in his expression, something only a person who’d spent time with Taisir would recognize.  And Dottie certainly fit that bill.

They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t just acquaintances either.  For Tai, this ingenue turned celebrity-for-all-the-wrong-reasons was like a member in their secret club.  That club of high society, the infamous or wealthy echelon, where people didn’t just hobnob, they went wild. Because they could get away with it.  Because they were rich, or influential, or just too pretty.

Dottie was a bit of a fallen star in her strange, fame-riddled life.  But where many  in their strata could shun her, Tai had consistently found her entertaining.  He enjoyed seeing what trouble he could get her into - even if it landed her in yet another tabloid or youtube channel to be eviscerated by teenage content creators.  

So long as his name wasn’t stained, it was all in good fun.

And right now, he was elated to see Dottie - his little Dottie - in Eureka. 

“Of all bloody places, my darling.  How on earth am I finding you in Eureka?”

— Life was falling apart at the seams, but that was no excuse for her sense of style to collapse with it. Dottie’s dress was tailored to cinch at her waist, strategic darts guiding the eye over the swell of her hips. The crisp fabric wrapped around her lower thigh, culminating into tiers of ruffles that fell just above her kneecaps. She loved her height, her long legs, and stepping on the feet of anyone complaining that she was too tall for her matching platform heels.

Dottie’s shiny, red smile was saccharine as she skirted away from her dance partner. She apologized for trampling all over his toes -- something about being clumsy, about having two left feet. It was a lie; she had grown up doing dance and cheer, and could still do a back walkover along a sidewalk crack as though it were a tightrope. (And sometimes, she did just that as a party trick.)

At the sound of Tai’s voice, she let out an excited squeal. She all but flung herself at him, pulling him into an excitable hug. It bought her time to figure out what kind of expression to plaster on her face. “Aren’t I the best looking mirage you’ve ever seen?” she laughed. 

How could she explain herself? What was she doing in Eureka? Besides being recently homeless, potentially broke, and definitely jobless. And if her indie movie didn’t turn into an awards darling upon its release? She might also be lacking a future in her chosen career path. 

Even her toothpaste adverts would replace her with someone younger, someone fresh faced and short enough that her co-stars didn’t need to stand on an out-of-camera-view apple crate in order to look taller. Once, a director had Dottie stand in an unseen ditch for an outdoor wedding scene. Acting romantic was hard to do while five inches deep in a muddy hole. And when she brought it up to her agent, he’d bluntly told her that not everyone could be an Elizabeth Debicki.

Dottie finally pulled away and flashed him her standard Hollywood smile. “Visiting my family!” she said. “My last project finally wrapped up filming, so I needed to see everyone after being gone for, like, so long.” Technically, it wasn’t even a lie. It definitely sounded better than embarrassing herself in the public eye and delegitimizing herself as a serious actress. Becoming one of the Four Dan actresses of her generation wasn’t in the cards for her -- not with her reputation.

Her raven hair was pulled into a stylish bun, its glimmering pins shimmering under the night club’s lights. A few strands of hair had come loose at the temples during her night of partying, and she brushed them aside. “What are you even doing here?” she asked. Her smile faltered. “Not that I’m mad about it. You know more than anyone how to party!”

[dotalimjan]

dottie & leland | lelandgraves​

ROSIE’S DINER noon-ish — or onwards open || @eureka-starters​​

“From an insiders perspective,” Leland muttered up, not able to help himself from putting in his two cents, “I really recommend that you don’t think about ordering the corned beef hash—” He glanced over towards the person by his side; standing there as he waited for his own take-out order. “If you were even considering it, that is. It’s not that it’s bad or anything, but…” There was a beat of a pause as he leaned in a little closer, tone dropping just above a whisper, “We tend to use the leftovers for that one. It’s just not the highest quality.” 

— “Do you think Silas would be able to tell the difference?” she asked. “I actually just stopped by to grab us something to eat.” It was a such a coincidence to run into Leland that she couldn’t help but smile. Her former promotions of Graves’ tour stops had been purely contractual, but the friendship she’d fostered with his bandmate, Silas, was genuine. They were two limelight-loving weirdos, and perhaps that’s why they took to each other’s company like fish to water. Dottie wasn’t sure how well Leland may have remembered her, but she certainly remembered him. “Small world, huh?” she beamed. “Getting, like, classified meat intel from you at Rosie’s of all places!”

[dotalimjan]

dottie & josie | @ofjcsephines​​ 

— On the night she was kicked out, she hugged her novelty, pelican-shaped paper tower holder all the way to her sister’s office. Getting inside wasn’t difficult. A custodian leaving for the night recognized her as an Alimjan, and had no reason to doubt her dramatic tale of a forgotten jacket. (If you were wondering: one of Balmain’s “ultra cropped” jackets that were satin-trimmed and only available in the color “midnight”.) 

Dottie hadn’t told her family about the financial penalties she potentially faced. It was too embarrassing! How had she become one of those stereotypical c-list stars that never prepped for the day their spotlight dimmed and money dried up? To save her image, she pretended everything was fine when Lottie revaluated their living arrangement. She’d given the best performance of her life, acting like she already had a condo lined up. Had Lottie known, she would’ve allowed Dottie to stay in a heartbeat. But Dottie, ever the gentle-hearted one, didn’t want to ruin Lottie’s plans of having a girlfriend move in. 

Carefully, she placed Pelican Pete on her sister’s desk. She snatched one of her sister’s extra jackets, bunched it up like a pillow, and curled up on the couches Josie had out for clients.

There was where she let the tears fall until morning. 

                             . . . . . . . . . . . .  【┘】 . . . . . . . . . . . .

Face buried in her sister’s jacket, she awoke to the sound of a clicking door. She’d cried off her mascara, and it acted like glue that sealed her eyes to the fabric. Dottie lifted her head. Her eyes shone with overflowing tears and her nose was chapped, the culprit in the form of three dozen tissues strewn across the office’s carpets in the middle of the night.

There stood Josie, and she knew better than to lie to a lawyer.

“Oh, Josie!” she whimpered. “I’m not doing good.” Over and over again, her sniffling mantra was all that she managed to choke out. Her expression crumpled like an old receipt and she devolved into big, blubbering tears. “I-I-I used your jacket as a pillow last night! I’ll have it dry cleaned for you, so please don’t be mad!” 

[dotalimjan]

[dotalimjan]

dottie & sam | samuelbyrne​

Sam rolled his eyes. So. Hard. Vegan leather? Wasn’t that just a type of plastic? He could barely understand the fuss about the shoes. Somehow this woman had shimmied herself up into a tree in the middle of the day, and her main concern was the tacky boot she’d launched at his face. Naturally. “I honestly couldn’t care less about your damn shoes.” He huffed, professionalism disappearing on the wind. At least he wasn’t in uniform. “Why did you even wear them? Did you use the spikes to climb the tree? Was it worth it?” Samuel approached the broad trunk of the large maple tree, it’s branches broad and heavy. Lucky for the woman dangling from its arms, they looked hardy. Not likely to bust under her weight. Especially not with how hard she was clinging to the branch.

Samuel could call the fire department. They’d bring over a ladder and have her down in a matter of minutes. But… When has he ever done anything the easy way?

“I’m not a knight.” He’d grunted, before he threw his arms into the tree’s branches and began to climb himself.

— “You seemed to care an awful lot like, a minute ago!” she said, gently pressing her forehead against the bark. Dottie hadn’t realized her shoe was responsible for a flesh wound. High in the trees and visibly overcome with vertigo, she’d yet to get a good look at her victim. Once he was close enough, however, absolutely nothing would change about her attitude. Whatever fleeting feelings of guilt she felt were guaranteed to be taken to the grave. Dottie was perhaps one of the most stubborn, opinionated, bullheaded balls of glitter in the whole town of Eureka.

But despite it all, she had a very kind heart. 

“Ha, you’d be surprised at what I’ve accomplished in these,” she said. It was the first time she’d laughed that afternoon. She was about to retell a wild Lunar New Year’s story from the last time she partied in Shanghai that would illustrate the idea, but her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of rustling leaves. “Are...are you climbing up here?” she asked. “On second thought, I’m perfectly fine!  I’d rather just stay up here.”

The reality she was going to have to climb down was finally hitting her.  And she’d like to ignore that reality, thank you very much!

“No thank you! You don’t actually have to come up here,” she said. “I made a choice to try and save a cat -- who, like, actually didn’t even need my help? So, there was my mistake of the day. And I’m just going to chill up here for a bit, then totally come down on my own. So, there’s really no need for you to come up here!” 

[dotalimjan]

dottie & weston | westonjamcson​

Weston had been focused on his campaign the last few months, so much so that a lot of the issues that came up during this time from Civil Barbers had been passed off to one of his assistants. Most cases were manageable, however, when there was 700% influx of customers over a weekend that his team at the shop weren’t prepared for, it was time to involve Weston. After being briefed on why exactly there were so many people at his barber shop, Weston called for a meeting with Dottie. 

As an incredibly busy man who was still campaigning and talking to local businesses and important officials, Weston managed to take time out of his day to meet with the woman responsible for the rise of appointments at his local shop. He entered the room, giving his assistant a nod before undoing the button of his suit jacket and taking a seat opposite of Dottie.

He found Dottie’s initial reaction a little amusing since this issue wasn’t one he was trying to punish her for. The opposite really. “That’s alright, I don’t think you’ll need an attorney just yet but good to know they’re on the line” Or were on the line. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself –– I’m Weston Jameson, I own Civil Barbers downtown” he extended his hand for a shake and gave her a polite smile. 

“Anyway, your little instagram post sort of blew up my place with customers –– I think we’ve even got a few boxes here filled with stuff some of your fans decided to drop off, too” he added with a chuckle, since the entire situation was a little amusing and certainly one he never thought he’d be in. “I actually had a business proposition for you” He began with a charming smile, “I had to do a little research on who you were and what you’re about and I gotta say, you definitely weren’t what I was expecting. But your fans are hardcore and I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t take advantage of this opportunity” Weston’s intern had given him the rundown on who Dottie was, apparently his intern was a huge fan –– “Anyway, I’ve ben partnering with some after school programs that need funding for back to school coming up. I thought that maybe we could team up on a project –– your social media and my business.”

— Dottie believed she offered a wealth of benefits to whomever invited her into their lives. Well, if she were speaking purely on a level of self-confidence. What she brought to the table on a professional level had been iffy as of late. Her career’s trajectory was taking a nosedive. The best she could offer was a promise to skim boxes off from the top of her complimentary, lifetime supply of Kleenex tower.

Nervous she couldn’t use Josie as her secret weapon this time around, she slipped her phone away. A befuddled expression crossed her face. Hadn’t she seen campaign flyers floating around with that name? He was a successful businessman too, owner of both a flourishing business and a suit jacket style that was “so in right now”. Was that an assistant closing the door behind him? What could a man that had already reached the stars want with her?

Then again, she supposed the news she was jobless hadn’t hit the mainstream yet. The trouble with her sponsors and endorsement contracts would take time to untangle, even with the ace attorney Micah had recommended. Doing her best to pick her jaw off the floor, she took Weston’s hand and gave it a confident shake. As long as she pretended everything was fine, nobody would know until her sponsors made her firing public. 

Dottie beamed. She was an actress, after all.  If anyone could fake it until they made it, it was her!  “Oh, who were you expecting? Someone less charming?” she said, prattling away with a smile. “I could’ve sworn I saw your face on flyers around town, but paper doesn’t, like, fully capture your charisma.” A teasing dig coupled with a thick layer of flattery: it was quite Hollywood of her, if she said so herself.

“It sounds like you have me right where you want me,” she added, cocking her head to the side. “Only someone heartless could turn down a chance to help the children.” She pouted, then brought the tips of her index fingers together into a guilty steeple. “And I’m known for maybe having too much heart? It’s my agent that’s the greedy one, you know. I’d personally love to learn more if our calendars align...”

Her calendars were so clear, she’d gone to a garage sale for the first time in a decade. But, she didn’t think that piece of information was crucial for Weston’s plans. 

[dotalimjan]

text → tabs

tabs: to be fair i'm not sure a pink bike would make me pedal any faster

tabs: dottie are u telling me that you LIED on the INTERNET????

tabs: pls it'll be fine everyone else lies all the time

tabs: half my job is finding those lies

tabs: what does the glycerin do??

dottie: what if it was pink stripes? 🤔 there's a ✨ business opportunity ✨ in here somewhere!!!

dottie: I'M A SHAM WITHOUT THE WOW 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

dottie: it makes the rose water bead up like real sweat & kinda cling? 💦🌹😩 and it's like SO moisturizing omg

dottie: apparently that's how the get actors all sweaty looking for sexy scenes?? 🤭 action too like

dottie: logically, this means the rock must smell like a rose garden 😲😲😘😘

[dotalimjan]

dottie & charlie | misscharlie​

Charlene clapped her hands together as she finally figured out the plan to resolve the stranger’s fashion emergency. “Hand over the jacket.” Charlene requested, holding her hand out. “We need to get to a Target ASAP and then we can stop at my apartment for a bit.” She pulled out her phone to start texting her friend Megan to Venmo her $20. Since the stain was pretty bad and wasn’t taken care of right away, they would most likely need to rub, presoak, and wash. “Just trust me on this.” She linked her arm with the other woman’s arm and tugged her forward down the street. She needed a water bottle, dish dishwashing detergent, vinegar, and a container as soon as possible, and then she was going to have to go all miracle worker on this whole thing. “Oh, by the way, my name is Charlene. But you can call me Charlie. Or Leenie. Or Char. But most call me Charlie.”

— “Wow, what’s it like having so many cute nicknames?” she gushed. “My parents gave me such an old lady name.” Dottie shrugged off her jacket, pouting her ruby-painted lips all the while. Clearly, she’d had to inherit her eccentrics from somewhere. She rarely acknowledged it, but perhaps she was more like her parents than she cared to admit. “They’re big movie buffs? Like, fans of old Hollywood movies nobody’s heard of and has seen every silent film produced in Shanghai kinda movie buffs,” she said. 

Dottie rolled her eyes. While Charlotte and Josephine’s names were having a Renaissance, she got asked more often than not: “Where’s the ruby slippers, Dorothy?” It was cute when she was seven, but at thirty it simply made her want to rip out her hair. “Apparently, it was a toss-up between being named Anna May, Gülgine, or Dorothy,” she added. “My grandma was so mad they didn’t name any of their daughters after her, but anyway. I’m Dorothy, and you can call me Dottie or Dot.” 

[genterie]

Fran Drescher in The Nanny (1993-1999)