Postbox: Jeremy Job 2006 (2/?)
Title: Postbox [Jeremy Job 2006: 2/?]
Author: sionnach-ayame & stardoll
Fandom/Pairing: Inception | Pre-Inception, Arthur/Eames
[this part] Approx. Word Count: 3,428
Disclaimer: Inception? Not ours.
Rating: PG
Summary: A meeting with the client and some awkwardness.
Eames' Player: stardoll
Arthur's Player: sionnach-ayame
[this part] Occurs: January 2nd & 10th, 2006
Author's Notes: Thanks to Google Images for the image of Bronson.
<< The Jeremy Job (2006): 1/?
LOCATION: London Heathrow Airport
DATE: January 2, 2006
TIME: 5:35 p.m. GMT
Eames stood shivering outside the main terminal building, nervously sucking down a Treasurer. Arthur's expected arrival time from New York was God knows when - it was sometime before five, at least, he thought it was sometime before five - and he had (grudgingly) promised to meet the man upon his arrival.
He had also promised to lend his flat to Arthur during his stay ("You know, because hotels are so needlessly expensive..."), a promise he was quickly growing to regret. At least if Arthur had opted to stay in a hotel, their interaction would be minimized. Now, he had no escape from the man who (relentlessly) haunted him.
Then again, no one said unrequited love was easy.
Like clockwork, his cell phone began to vibrate against his ass cheek and it was Arthur, it had to be Arthur, because Arthur always called Eames when Eames was thinking about him.
Eames jammed the cigarette between his teeth, retrieved the phone, and grunted a hasty "hello".
"You sound absolutely cheerful," Arthur said flippantly. Six hours of in flight movies, free drinks and bad airplane food had left Arthur with six hours to do nothing but wonder how the job would go.
In hindsight, it was probably not the best idea to accept Eames' offer of meeting him at the airport. The man was after all, probably in a great deal of discomfort and was therefore, bound to be not particularly happy.
"Where can I find you?" Arthur added.
"Listen, it's been a long day," Eames said curtly. He flicked the cigarette to the pavement and snuffed it out with the heel of his shoe. "Not that any of it is your fault, but...anyway, I'm outside. Might be easier if I went to come find you. What terminal are you getting off at?"
"I'm at the carousel now, waiting on my luggage, so you can meet me there if you want. But I can try to find you when I'm done - "
" - I'll just meet you, easier than you trying to find me," Eames repeated. "Fucking hate airports, but what can you do?"
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. If anything, the job was certainly going to be...interesting.
"Right - well then, I'll be here. If we want to get on the Tube, we can get on it easily from here," Arthur said.
"Sure," was all Eames said before hanging up.
He stepped back inside, grateful to be out of the cold, and began making the trek to locate Arthur. Heathrow was a goddamn maze, but thankfully baggage claim was easy to locate. It wasn't long before he was able to find Arthur exactly where he said he was going to be, by the luggage carousal, looking rather downtrodden.
"Bad flight?" Eames asked, a pathetic attempt to make conversation but an attempt none-the-less.
Arthur shot him a look that comprised mostly of exhaustion (primarily of the mental variety) and a little bit concern for the man standing next to him. He should probably be in bed or at home resting and not picking him up from the airport.
"It was just long,” Arthur relented. His eyes drifted to the carousel and he sighed; it was about time that it began to spit out his luggage - ten minutes after he arrived.
"Sorry to hear that. Need a hand?" Eames asked, jamming his hands into his pockets and making intense eye contact with the scuffed toes of his black leather combat boots.
This was going to be a problem; just the sight of Arthur was enough to make his heart race and his palms sweat. There was going to be a change in plans regarding this job, he decided. Get in and get it done as quickly as humanly possible.
"No, I've got it. Thanks," Arthur said. "Are you doing alright?"
"I'm in love with you and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it," Eames thought bitterly. He shook his head. "I'm fine. 'Mechanical injury'," he said quickly, adding air quotes for emphasis. "Listen, I'm sure you're hungry...want to go grab something? I mean, you're my guest...I don't mind spotting you."
Arthur made for his suitcase and pulled it off the conveyor. "Food sounds great, actually," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “But you don't have to spot me if you don't want to. I can pay for myself." He looked around them, making sure he had everything he needed. Messenger bag with his laptop and notebook and files, PASIV, and suitcase, all accounted for. Arthur nodded.
"I do," Eames said quickly. "I planned for it. He returned his gaze to the toes of his boots; the way Arthur casually raked his fingers through his hair was just too much. "Take out...dine in...?"
Arthur looked over at Eames and gave him a nod. "It doesn't matter to me," he smiled. "You know this city better than I do - I trust your opinion on where we go."
* * *
Eames had opted for mild, inoffensive take-out - there was a particular hole-in-the-wall not too far from his flat that he frequented, and Arthur seemed agreeable enough to the suggestion.
It wasn't because take-out is easy - although he'd lie if he said that wasn't a factor in his decision (who seriously wants to go OUT to eat immediately after hopping off a flight?). Rather, it was the simple fact that going OUT to dinner with Arthur would have simply been too much for him to deal with.
Misery was just the tip of his emotional iceberg.
"I know it's not much, but it's mine, and I'm more than happy to play host for you while you're here," Eames said, his voice still rather inexpressive even though he was trying, god damn it.
And from down the hall, the fledgling conversation was interrupted by a low, almost menacing growl.
Arthur took a look around Eames' flat and smiled. It suited Eames. Not only that, but it was a lot cleaner than Arthur might have thought it would be. "So long as it's enough room for you and what you need out of it, that's what matters." Upon hearing the growl, he shot Eames a quick look. "And I would be happy to stay here so long as the beast down the hall doesn't mind." While he never had any pets of his own, it wasn't as though he was opposed to them...he was just never home in order to take care of them properly. “And...so long as you're sure you want me here.”
"I want you here," Eames said hurriedly. "I've just...I've had a lot on my plate lately." He gave Arthur a small smile. "Believe me, I...have...been looking forward to your visit. There's the job of course, that...you know...could be fun.”
Arthur released a silent breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Right, sorry - I know...but I'm here, and I can help reduce the burden, at least where the job is concerned."
Eames pushed himself up off the sofa and shuffled toward the source of the growling. Moments later, he returned with a small, panicked dog in his arms. "I hope you're not allergic."
That was the dog? It was a lot -- smaller, than Arthur had imagined it to be.
"Not allergic as far as I know."
"Good, because he loves visitors," Eames said, flopping back down on the couch with the tiny dog in tow. "His name is Bronson. I was always told having a pet can be therapeutic, so I got him a few years ago to keep me company. He can be a right bastard, but mostly he's the sweetest - " growl " - most gentle creature.” He gave the dog a scratch between the ears; Bronson's bug eyes swiveled to Arthur and he began to growl even louder.
Arthur kept his eyes on the dog that appeared to be giving him the perpetual evil eye. "You said he loves visitors?" Arthur asked warily.
"Adores them," Eames said. He paused, and rubbed Bronson's ears thoughtfully. "Although he's always attempted to drive away anyone I happened to be dating...jealousy, I guess." He frowned. "But in this case, I think he's just shy. It's been awhile since I've had any real visitors, sadly."
Arthur nodded, filing in the information about jealousy and past boyfriends and/or girlfriends to the back of his mind. "Right. I hope that he'll be okay with me soon enough," he said finally after breaking from a staring contest with Bronson.
"Just give him a pet, he'll come around," Eames said, smiling. His first genuine smile all day. "Anyway," he said, quickly changing the subject. "Because you're my guest I've decided - in terms of sleeping arrangements - that you can stay in my room. And I'll stay out here on the couch. And before you say anything, the couch is actually quite lovely - I've...slept on it many times before. So really, it's no big sacrifice for me. I just assumed you would want the added privacy that comes with your own room. Will that be alright?"
"Are you sure? If so then that's fine with me. I wouldn't want to kick you out of your own bedroom though if you'd rather be in your room."
"You're my guest," Eames said, his smile fading. "Believe me, if it weren't alright by me then I wouldn't have suggested it."
Arthur's smile faded when he watched Eames' fade. "Right. I just didn't want to put you out," he admitted. He personally, could sleep anywhere and on anything if it came down to it.
"I just want you to be comfortable, that's all. Even I admit my place is a bit on the small side, and I thought..." He shook his head and continued smoothing his hand over Bronson's round head. "I'm sorry, I'm making this awkward." He sighed. "You're not inconveniencing me; I've been planning for your visit for awhile and I personally think the arrangements are fair. You've always been a good host to me; I want to return the kindness."
"Thank you, Eames." Arthur gave him a smile. "If it works for you then it works for me." Slumping back further into the couch, he hoped that they would resolve whatever it was that made Eames appear distant - more so than his stomach pump from the day before; it made Arthur feel like he did something horribly wrong. If they didn't, it was going to be a very, very long job.
“I'm sorry,” Eames muttered. He loosened his hold on the dog, allowing the small, manic creature to leap from his lap and skitter off down the hall, growling all the way. “I asked you to fly in; I should be a more enthusiastic host.” He laced his fingers together and allowed his hands to rest over his stomach. Turning his tired, gray eyes to Arthur, he added, “I am happy to have you here.”
Arthur turned his head to look Eames in the eye. "I knew you would be miserable when I arranged my ticket. I would be surprised if you were more enthusiastic considering the circumstances." If the tables were turned, Arthur would be a miserable bastard as well. "Honestly, I'm happy to be here." Eames shook his head.
“I should have waited until I was feeling better, but...I didn't want to wait. I...” He took a deep breath, then exhaled shortly. “I'm tired of being judged by a family who doesn't know the whole story. Both Mum and my sister think I'm some kind of alcoholic, and want to ship me b - ” He stopped suddenly, and began to twirl his thumbs. “I think I want to lie down. I probably shouldn't have met you at the airport, but damn it, I already invited you out. Meeting you halfway is the polite thing to do.”
Arthur wasn't going to argue with that. It had been on his mind after all. Likewise, he wasn't going to pass judgments on Eames' character. Who was he to judge after all? "They're worried about you." So was Arthur. "I wish I had told you I would meet you here," he muttered. "Go ahead and go lie down. You should be resting anyway, not picking up American's from the airport."
“They shouldn't be,” he mumbled. He unlaced his fingers and waved a hand dismissively. “But whatever. I made it everyone's business when I got dropped off at the hospital.” Fixing his eyes at an invisible point on the coffee table before him, he tentatively asked, “Is...is it okay if I stayed out here?”
"They're your family, Eames. Course they're going to worry." Arthur shook his head and gave Eames a bewildered look. "And of course it is okay for you to stay out here, it's your flat, after all. Lie down wherever you'll be most comfortable."
Eames pushed himself up from the couch only long enough to stop slumping before lying down, his head resting in Arthur's lap. He closed his eyes and continued mumbling. “Fucking none of their business is what it is.” He opened an eye and looked up at Arthur. “I'm sorry, I bet I look like a right prat. Tell me to shut up if I begin to bother you.”
Arthur was taken off guard when Eames' head came to rest on his lap but made no move to move it. "I wouldn't say so much as 'look' as 'sound' like a right prat," Arthur spoke frankly. "Just get some rest. You need it."
Eames smirked. “Thanks,” he said, closing his eyes and settling in. “I can always count on you to be honest.”
Arthur smirked in response and settled into the couch. "Of course you can." Arthur unlaced his fingers and slid a hand into Eames' hair to soothingly run his fingers through it. When Eames' didn't say anything, Arthur closed his eyes a bit and continued on.
No one said unrequited love was easy, and perhaps lying his head in Arthur's lap and allowing the man to slowly drag his fingers through his hair was a bad idea (a very bad idea), but at that moment none of that mattered. Not enough to Eames, at least.
* * *
LOCATION: Green Door Studios
DATE: January 10, 2006
TIME: 10:00 a.m.
Rocco Jeremy was handsome, warm, and charismatic - qualities that were both expected and unexpected from the man who ran one of the most successful pornography studios in the United Kingdom, Green Door Studios.
“So,” he said warmly and with a grin. “I can't say how happy I am the two of you decided to agree to this job. Let me thank you in advance!”
Arthur pursed his lips. He wasn't exactly impressed with the fact that that the job was based out of a pornography studio, but a job was a job was a job. Besides, wasn't that what he had told Eames regarding their last job? They would just have to make due with the cards that they were dealt, and see what exactly needed to be done and how they could help their client.
“So, let me cut straight to the chase: approximately six months ago I experienced a falling out with a friend - former friend - of mine, Jenna Anderson. Jenna and I used to go way back, before I established Green Door,” Jeremy began, leaning over his desk. He propped his elbows up on the high-gloss surface and laced his fingers together.
“A few years ago, Jenna retired from acting and began working for me as both a producer and a creative director. She was brilliant, an absolutely invaluable asset to me and my studio - as well as a beloved friend.
“Jenna and I were a remarkable team, until she and I both had a personal and professional falling out. It was shortly after she left, that she began working as a director for Red Light Entertainment, a rival studio to mine."
Arthur had been jotting notes down into his Moleskine, taking care to bullet key points that he wanted to look into further when he returned to Eames' flat. It was when Jeremy mentioned a falling out between he and Jenna that Arthur looked up. It didn't seem to add up. What had caused a falling out between two people who were supposedly beloved friends? "What happened to cause this fall out? Did she say anything?”
“It happened gradually,” Jeremy said, the corners of his lips pulling down into a slight frown. “I'll spare you the details - unless you require them, of course - but six months ago she began accusing me of stifling her creativity. She said that I stood between her and her career. So she left Green Door and began working for Red Light, where she claimed they would provide her the opportunity to work as a director full-time.”
Arthur nodded and wrote a few things down to research further. "When she left - did anything go missing?"
“I discovered a handful of my actor's portfolios and a few rough storyboards missing,” Jeremy said. “See, I wouldn't have been so bothered by all of this if it weren't for the fact that those actors are real up and comers in the adult entertainment industry, young men and women who bring Green Door a lot of notoriety and a loyal fanbase. The storyboards as well would not have bothered me if it weren't for the fact that last month, Red Light released two films whose plots mirror what I had on those storyboards, films that were directed by Jenna.
“So that's where I ask you two to come in. Please, find out why Jenna changed, why she and I had to end both our friendship and our professional relationship. And find out what happened to those portfolios and storyboards. I wouldn't point fingers if it didn't look so suspicious.”
Arthur nodded. That made sense. "Do you have a list of people that we could talk to who may have worked closely with Ms. Anderson?" Jeremy nodded enthusiastically in response.
“She worked primarily with four of my actors, so I suggest talking to them first. Ricky Holmes, Marilyn Grey, Sasha Lords, and Ron Siffredi,” he said, ticking each name off on his fingers before jotting the names down on a legal pad. He tore the top sheet of paper off before handing it over to Arthur. “But she was especially close to Ricky, so if I may suggest, it might be in your best interest to start with him.”
Arthur took the sheet of paper from him and nodded. "We will, thank you." He starred Ricky's name and turned to Eames to see if he had any further questions. Eames was staring intently at Jeremy as he chewed his left thumbnail, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. Pulling his hand away from his mouth, he said, “You seem convinced of Ricky's guilt. Do you know something about his relationship to Jenna that you're deliberately withholding from us?” Jeremy blinked quickly.
“What?”
“Why bother naming the other three when it's Ricky you want us to investigate?” Eames asked, crossing his legs. “If there's something you're hiding, it might be in your best interest to tell us now so that there are no unpleasant surprises later.”
“They worked extensively together, that's all,” Jeremy, said hurriedly. “She produced many of his films.” He paused, then exhaled loudly and heavily. “Ricky...Ricky is one to watch. He's one of my highest paying actors, and he has an extensive fanbase. He's used to getting what he wants. Exercise caution around him, okay?”
Eames nodded, and then glanced at Arthur.
Arthur was now watching Jeremy closely. "Is there anything we should know about Ricky specifically, aside from the obvious?" he asked. Jeremy pushed himself back from the desk, stood up, and walked around to meet Arthur and Eames. He placed a hand flat on both of their shoulders and leaned in close.
“I hired you two because you specialize in the subconscious. It'll be your only way to make Ricky cooperate with you. He's hiding something and somehow he has got Jenna involved. Please, find out for me.” He squeezed their shoulders. “Can you do that for me?”
Arthur shared a look with Eames before he turned his attention back to Mr. Jeremy with a nod. "We will, Mr. Jeremy." Arthur stood from his chair in order to be at eye level with him. "We'll be in touch."
* * *
The Jeremy Job (2006): 3/? >>
Author: sionnach-ayame & stardoll
Fandom/Pairing: Inception | Pre-Inception, Arthur/Eames
[this part] Approx. Word Count: 3,428
Disclaimer: Inception? Not ours.
Rating: PG
Summary: A meeting with the client and some awkwardness.
Eames' Player: stardoll
Arthur's Player: sionnach-ayame
[this part] Occurs: January 2nd & 10th, 2006
Author's Notes: Thanks to Google Images for the image of Bronson.
<< The Jeremy Job (2006): 1/?
LOCATION: London Heathrow Airport
DATE: January 2, 2006
TIME: 5:35 p.m. GMT
Eames stood shivering outside the main terminal building, nervously sucking down a Treasurer. Arthur's expected arrival time from New York was God knows when - it was sometime before five, at least, he thought it was sometime before five - and he had (grudgingly) promised to meet the man upon his arrival.
He had also promised to lend his flat to Arthur during his stay ("You know, because hotels are so needlessly expensive..."), a promise he was quickly growing to regret. At least if Arthur had opted to stay in a hotel, their interaction would be minimized. Now, he had no escape from the man who (relentlessly) haunted him.
Then again, no one said unrequited love was easy.
Like clockwork, his cell phone began to vibrate against his ass cheek and it was Arthur, it had to be Arthur, because Arthur always called Eames when Eames was thinking about him.
Eames jammed the cigarette between his teeth, retrieved the phone, and grunted a hasty "hello".
"You sound absolutely cheerful," Arthur said flippantly. Six hours of in flight movies, free drinks and bad airplane food had left Arthur with six hours to do nothing but wonder how the job would go.
In hindsight, it was probably not the best idea to accept Eames' offer of meeting him at the airport. The man was after all, probably in a great deal of discomfort and was therefore, bound to be not particularly happy.
"Where can I find you?" Arthur added.
"Listen, it's been a long day," Eames said curtly. He flicked the cigarette to the pavement and snuffed it out with the heel of his shoe. "Not that any of it is your fault, but...anyway, I'm outside. Might be easier if I went to come find you. What terminal are you getting off at?"
"I'm at the carousel now, waiting on my luggage, so you can meet me there if you want. But I can try to find you when I'm done - "
" - I'll just meet you, easier than you trying to find me," Eames repeated. "Fucking hate airports, but what can you do?"
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. If anything, the job was certainly going to be...interesting.
"Right - well then, I'll be here. If we want to get on the Tube, we can get on it easily from here," Arthur said.
"Sure," was all Eames said before hanging up.
He stepped back inside, grateful to be out of the cold, and began making the trek to locate Arthur. Heathrow was a goddamn maze, but thankfully baggage claim was easy to locate. It wasn't long before he was able to find Arthur exactly where he said he was going to be, by the luggage carousal, looking rather downtrodden.
"Bad flight?" Eames asked, a pathetic attempt to make conversation but an attempt none-the-less.
Arthur shot him a look that comprised mostly of exhaustion (primarily of the mental variety) and a little bit concern for the man standing next to him. He should probably be in bed or at home resting and not picking him up from the airport.
"It was just long,” Arthur relented. His eyes drifted to the carousel and he sighed; it was about time that it began to spit out his luggage - ten minutes after he arrived.
"Sorry to hear that. Need a hand?" Eames asked, jamming his hands into his pockets and making intense eye contact with the scuffed toes of his black leather combat boots.
This was going to be a problem; just the sight of Arthur was enough to make his heart race and his palms sweat. There was going to be a change in plans regarding this job, he decided. Get in and get it done as quickly as humanly possible.
"No, I've got it. Thanks," Arthur said. "Are you doing alright?"
"I'm in love with you and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it," Eames thought bitterly. He shook his head. "I'm fine. 'Mechanical injury'," he said quickly, adding air quotes for emphasis. "Listen, I'm sure you're hungry...want to go grab something? I mean, you're my guest...I don't mind spotting you."
Arthur made for his suitcase and pulled it off the conveyor. "Food sounds great, actually," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “But you don't have to spot me if you don't want to. I can pay for myself." He looked around them, making sure he had everything he needed. Messenger bag with his laptop and notebook and files, PASIV, and suitcase, all accounted for. Arthur nodded.
"I do," Eames said quickly. "I planned for it. He returned his gaze to the toes of his boots; the way Arthur casually raked his fingers through his hair was just too much. "Take out...dine in...?"
Arthur looked over at Eames and gave him a nod. "It doesn't matter to me," he smiled. "You know this city better than I do - I trust your opinion on where we go."
* * *
Eames had opted for mild, inoffensive take-out - there was a particular hole-in-the-wall not too far from his flat that he frequented, and Arthur seemed agreeable enough to the suggestion.
It wasn't because take-out is easy - although he'd lie if he said that wasn't a factor in his decision (who seriously wants to go OUT to eat immediately after hopping off a flight?). Rather, it was the simple fact that going OUT to dinner with Arthur would have simply been too much for him to deal with.
Misery was just the tip of his emotional iceberg.
"I know it's not much, but it's mine, and I'm more than happy to play host for you while you're here," Eames said, his voice still rather inexpressive even though he was trying, god damn it.
And from down the hall, the fledgling conversation was interrupted by a low, almost menacing growl.
Arthur took a look around Eames' flat and smiled. It suited Eames. Not only that, but it was a lot cleaner than Arthur might have thought it would be. "So long as it's enough room for you and what you need out of it, that's what matters." Upon hearing the growl, he shot Eames a quick look. "And I would be happy to stay here so long as the beast down the hall doesn't mind." While he never had any pets of his own, it wasn't as though he was opposed to them...he was just never home in order to take care of them properly. “And...so long as you're sure you want me here.”
"I want you here," Eames said hurriedly. "I've just...I've had a lot on my plate lately." He gave Arthur a small smile. "Believe me, I...have...been looking forward to your visit. There's the job of course, that...you know...could be fun.”
Arthur released a silent breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Right, sorry - I know...but I'm here, and I can help reduce the burden, at least where the job is concerned."
Eames pushed himself up off the sofa and shuffled toward the source of the growling. Moments later, he returned with a small, panicked dog in his arms. "I hope you're not allergic."
That was the dog? It was a lot -- smaller, than Arthur had imagined it to be.
"Not allergic as far as I know."
"Good, because he loves visitors," Eames said, flopping back down on the couch with the tiny dog in tow. "His name is Bronson. I was always told having a pet can be therapeutic, so I got him a few years ago to keep me company. He can be a right bastard, but mostly he's the sweetest - " growl " - most gentle creature.” He gave the dog a scratch between the ears; Bronson's bug eyes swiveled to Arthur and he began to growl even louder.
Arthur kept his eyes on the dog that appeared to be giving him the perpetual evil eye. "You said he loves visitors?" Arthur asked warily.
"Adores them," Eames said. He paused, and rubbed Bronson's ears thoughtfully. "Although he's always attempted to drive away anyone I happened to be dating...jealousy, I guess." He frowned. "But in this case, I think he's just shy. It's been awhile since I've had any real visitors, sadly."
Arthur nodded, filing in the information about jealousy and past boyfriends and/or girlfriends to the back of his mind. "Right. I hope that he'll be okay with me soon enough," he said finally after breaking from a staring contest with Bronson.
"Just give him a pet, he'll come around," Eames said, smiling. His first genuine smile all day. "Anyway," he said, quickly changing the subject. "Because you're my guest I've decided - in terms of sleeping arrangements - that you can stay in my room. And I'll stay out here on the couch. And before you say anything, the couch is actually quite lovely - I've...slept on it many times before. So really, it's no big sacrifice for me. I just assumed you would want the added privacy that comes with your own room. Will that be alright?"
"Are you sure? If so then that's fine with me. I wouldn't want to kick you out of your own bedroom though if you'd rather be in your room."
"You're my guest," Eames said, his smile fading. "Believe me, if it weren't alright by me then I wouldn't have suggested it."
Arthur's smile faded when he watched Eames' fade. "Right. I just didn't want to put you out," he admitted. He personally, could sleep anywhere and on anything if it came down to it.
"I just want you to be comfortable, that's all. Even I admit my place is a bit on the small side, and I thought..." He shook his head and continued smoothing his hand over Bronson's round head. "I'm sorry, I'm making this awkward." He sighed. "You're not inconveniencing me; I've been planning for your visit for awhile and I personally think the arrangements are fair. You've always been a good host to me; I want to return the kindness."
"Thank you, Eames." Arthur gave him a smile. "If it works for you then it works for me." Slumping back further into the couch, he hoped that they would resolve whatever it was that made Eames appear distant - more so than his stomach pump from the day before; it made Arthur feel like he did something horribly wrong. If they didn't, it was going to be a very, very long job.
“I'm sorry,” Eames muttered. He loosened his hold on the dog, allowing the small, manic creature to leap from his lap and skitter off down the hall, growling all the way. “I asked you to fly in; I should be a more enthusiastic host.” He laced his fingers together and allowed his hands to rest over his stomach. Turning his tired, gray eyes to Arthur, he added, “I am happy to have you here.”
Arthur turned his head to look Eames in the eye. "I knew you would be miserable when I arranged my ticket. I would be surprised if you were more enthusiastic considering the circumstances." If the tables were turned, Arthur would be a miserable bastard as well. "Honestly, I'm happy to be here." Eames shook his head.
“I should have waited until I was feeling better, but...I didn't want to wait. I...” He took a deep breath, then exhaled shortly. “I'm tired of being judged by a family who doesn't know the whole story. Both Mum and my sister think I'm some kind of alcoholic, and want to ship me b - ” He stopped suddenly, and began to twirl his thumbs. “I think I want to lie down. I probably shouldn't have met you at the airport, but damn it, I already invited you out. Meeting you halfway is the polite thing to do.”
Arthur wasn't going to argue with that. It had been on his mind after all. Likewise, he wasn't going to pass judgments on Eames' character. Who was he to judge after all? "They're worried about you." So was Arthur. "I wish I had told you I would meet you here," he muttered. "Go ahead and go lie down. You should be resting anyway, not picking up American's from the airport."
“They shouldn't be,” he mumbled. He unlaced his fingers and waved a hand dismissively. “But whatever. I made it everyone's business when I got dropped off at the hospital.” Fixing his eyes at an invisible point on the coffee table before him, he tentatively asked, “Is...is it okay if I stayed out here?”
"They're your family, Eames. Course they're going to worry." Arthur shook his head and gave Eames a bewildered look. "And of course it is okay for you to stay out here, it's your flat, after all. Lie down wherever you'll be most comfortable."
Eames pushed himself up from the couch only long enough to stop slumping before lying down, his head resting in Arthur's lap. He closed his eyes and continued mumbling. “Fucking none of their business is what it is.” He opened an eye and looked up at Arthur. “I'm sorry, I bet I look like a right prat. Tell me to shut up if I begin to bother you.”
Arthur was taken off guard when Eames' head came to rest on his lap but made no move to move it. "I wouldn't say so much as 'look' as 'sound' like a right prat," Arthur spoke frankly. "Just get some rest. You need it."
Eames smirked. “Thanks,” he said, closing his eyes and settling in. “I can always count on you to be honest.”
Arthur smirked in response and settled into the couch. "Of course you can." Arthur unlaced his fingers and slid a hand into Eames' hair to soothingly run his fingers through it. When Eames' didn't say anything, Arthur closed his eyes a bit and continued on.
No one said unrequited love was easy, and perhaps lying his head in Arthur's lap and allowing the man to slowly drag his fingers through his hair was a bad idea (a very bad idea), but at that moment none of that mattered. Not enough to Eames, at least.
* * *
LOCATION: Green Door Studios
DATE: January 10, 2006
TIME: 10:00 a.m.
Rocco Jeremy was handsome, warm, and charismatic - qualities that were both expected and unexpected from the man who ran one of the most successful pornography studios in the United Kingdom, Green Door Studios.
“So,” he said warmly and with a grin. “I can't say how happy I am the two of you decided to agree to this job. Let me thank you in advance!”
Arthur pursed his lips. He wasn't exactly impressed with the fact that that the job was based out of a pornography studio, but a job was a job was a job. Besides, wasn't that what he had told Eames regarding their last job? They would just have to make due with the cards that they were dealt, and see what exactly needed to be done and how they could help their client.
“So, let me cut straight to the chase: approximately six months ago I experienced a falling out with a friend - former friend - of mine, Jenna Anderson. Jenna and I used to go way back, before I established Green Door,” Jeremy began, leaning over his desk. He propped his elbows up on the high-gloss surface and laced his fingers together.
“A few years ago, Jenna retired from acting and began working for me as both a producer and a creative director. She was brilliant, an absolutely invaluable asset to me and my studio - as well as a beloved friend.
“Jenna and I were a remarkable team, until she and I both had a personal and professional falling out. It was shortly after she left, that she began working as a director for Red Light Entertainment, a rival studio to mine."
Arthur had been jotting notes down into his Moleskine, taking care to bullet key points that he wanted to look into further when he returned to Eames' flat. It was when Jeremy mentioned a falling out between he and Jenna that Arthur looked up. It didn't seem to add up. What had caused a falling out between two people who were supposedly beloved friends? "What happened to cause this fall out? Did she say anything?”
“It happened gradually,” Jeremy said, the corners of his lips pulling down into a slight frown. “I'll spare you the details - unless you require them, of course - but six months ago she began accusing me of stifling her creativity. She said that I stood between her and her career. So she left Green Door and began working for Red Light, where she claimed they would provide her the opportunity to work as a director full-time.”
Arthur nodded and wrote a few things down to research further. "When she left - did anything go missing?"
“I discovered a handful of my actor's portfolios and a few rough storyboards missing,” Jeremy said. “See, I wouldn't have been so bothered by all of this if it weren't for the fact that those actors are real up and comers in the adult entertainment industry, young men and women who bring Green Door a lot of notoriety and a loyal fanbase. The storyboards as well would not have bothered me if it weren't for the fact that last month, Red Light released two films whose plots mirror what I had on those storyboards, films that were directed by Jenna.
“So that's where I ask you two to come in. Please, find out why Jenna changed, why she and I had to end both our friendship and our professional relationship. And find out what happened to those portfolios and storyboards. I wouldn't point fingers if it didn't look so suspicious.”
Arthur nodded. That made sense. "Do you have a list of people that we could talk to who may have worked closely with Ms. Anderson?" Jeremy nodded enthusiastically in response.
“She worked primarily with four of my actors, so I suggest talking to them first. Ricky Holmes, Marilyn Grey, Sasha Lords, and Ron Siffredi,” he said, ticking each name off on his fingers before jotting the names down on a legal pad. He tore the top sheet of paper off before handing it over to Arthur. “But she was especially close to Ricky, so if I may suggest, it might be in your best interest to start with him.”
Arthur took the sheet of paper from him and nodded. "We will, thank you." He starred Ricky's name and turned to Eames to see if he had any further questions. Eames was staring intently at Jeremy as he chewed his left thumbnail, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. Pulling his hand away from his mouth, he said, “You seem convinced of Ricky's guilt. Do you know something about his relationship to Jenna that you're deliberately withholding from us?” Jeremy blinked quickly.
“What?”
“Why bother naming the other three when it's Ricky you want us to investigate?” Eames asked, crossing his legs. “If there's something you're hiding, it might be in your best interest to tell us now so that there are no unpleasant surprises later.”
“They worked extensively together, that's all,” Jeremy, said hurriedly. “She produced many of his films.” He paused, then exhaled loudly and heavily. “Ricky...Ricky is one to watch. He's one of my highest paying actors, and he has an extensive fanbase. He's used to getting what he wants. Exercise caution around him, okay?”
Eames nodded, and then glanced at Arthur.
Arthur was now watching Jeremy closely. "Is there anything we should know about Ricky specifically, aside from the obvious?" he asked. Jeremy pushed himself back from the desk, stood up, and walked around to meet Arthur and Eames. He placed a hand flat on both of their shoulders and leaned in close.
“I hired you two because you specialize in the subconscious. It'll be your only way to make Ricky cooperate with you. He's hiding something and somehow he has got Jenna involved. Please, find out for me.” He squeezed their shoulders. “Can you do that for me?”
Arthur shared a look with Eames before he turned his attention back to Mr. Jeremy with a nod. "We will, Mr. Jeremy." Arthur stood from his chair in order to be at eye level with him. "We'll be in touch."
* * *
The Jeremy Job (2006): 3/? >>