New York
Jun 26, 2010 10:34:10 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 26, 2010 10:34:10 GMT -5
Although Adrien had been swarmed in London, that had only lasted a day before the return to France seemed to reassure him that they had been hardly noticed; his greeting to his maman had been a tight embrace and reassurances that they had been planning to stop in and see her even before they had been outed. But meeting Lucie alone had been the only thing that had reminded him that he was a celebrity now; there had been none of it in his everyday life.
From the moment they stepped foot in America, however, things were different. New York, like London, was a cloud of nearly-impenetrable English, but at least London was still recognizeably European. New York was like nothing Adrien had ever seen before; and though they had arrived late at night, nice and incognito, the moment Adrien stepped out of their American home in daylight his cover was permanently blown.
Oh, he could have done something to prevent it - not been so recognizeably pretty and blond, not have had a French accent, or not have carried, against the side of his trench coat, a faux-leather bag with the classic Veidt logo prominently displayed - but everyone in the first boutique he entered knew exactly who he was and ever since then it had been paparazzi and not a moment's peace.
All the same, it only took about a week before the tabloids had quit oozing scandalous delight in referring to him as a little doe-eyed, exotic foreign boyfriend, practically jailbait, really, which of course had the kind of unfortunate implications tabloids love - namely because his quiet could no longer be freely interpreted as malleability befitting a catamite, as while he usually ignored most journalists he had broken his silence a few times to make memorable, pithy, oft-quoted and re-quoted comments.
In response to a question, 'How do you feel about being with a man old enough to be your father?': "I'm old enough to know zat 'e eesent."
'Surely you've noticed that there's a bit of a gap between you...': "Yes," in a put-upon voice, trying for patience and bored, "'e ees a vegetarian and I am Feurench. We manage."
And a bit longer, after yet another comment about his former employment in the Veidt company as the personal assistant to what was practically Adrian's daughter, a girl his own age: "Stop deurt-ee-eng eur name; Micaela knew; she was 'app-ee for ze bote of us. Zere was nossing unprofessional about eet, and snidely dragging eur eento sings onlee shows you-eur ignorance abou teur cleveurness and charactair - she knew, 'ow could she not, and she reacted to ze news as any sinking adult would, wiss 'appiness and good 'umeur." In one paragraph he'd sunk the most sarcastic commentators' favorite ship, that of contrasting the supposedly degenerate relationship between Adrian and Adrien and the wholesome one with Adrian and his ward. Talking about how it dirtied Micaela's memory to know he had shacked up with the assistant old enough to be her twin brother after her tragic disappearance wasn't so fun when you knew that they had been together before Micaela had vanished, and that she had been perfectly aware of this and fine with it.
At the same time as Adrien shot down many initial impressions - that Adrian was a dirty old man, unfortunately, was gleefully discussed, which shocked Adrien to no end; to him his fiancé was still nothing less than saintly - he constructed several new ones. The image of Adrien as a gay pin-up boy of some kind, bubble-headed and young and frivolous, especially next to sophisticated and brilliant Adrian Veidt, evaporated after a few too many reserved appearances and sharp single comments. The appellation "little French diva" was applied to him in a desperate last-chance shot at smearing, but instead of recalling stereotypical effeminacy it made people think of stereotypical French class and reserve. The boy was unflappable. It was easy to see why he would be engaged to famously glacial, enigmatic Adrian Veidt...
...who was having at the same time as all this a triumphant comeback in the financial world. Respectable papers that had respectfully wondered how heavy a blow his sexuality (or, rather, the fact that Adrien was 28 years younger than he was; next to that the sex paled) would deal his company - as well as the less-respectable New Frontiersman, which was crowing about what a triumph this was for right wing family values - were proven dead wrong when a little over a week after the value of Veidt stock had plummeted, everything more or less returned to normal, as those who had smugly turned their backs on him slunk guiltily back into his orbit, realizing he was too crucial to shun without suffering losses of their own.
Handling all that life had thrown at them with grace and calm, Adrian and Adrien came out on top, predicted to be a highly influential couple in 1986. Even though they always looked so serene, every photograph taken of them in public, Adrian's arm lazily wrapped around Adrien's back, looked as though they were nothing short of laughing at their detractors, knowing that they were completely untouchable.
From the moment they stepped foot in America, however, things were different. New York, like London, was a cloud of nearly-impenetrable English, but at least London was still recognizeably European. New York was like nothing Adrien had ever seen before; and though they had arrived late at night, nice and incognito, the moment Adrien stepped out of their American home in daylight his cover was permanently blown.
Oh, he could have done something to prevent it - not been so recognizeably pretty and blond, not have had a French accent, or not have carried, against the side of his trench coat, a faux-leather bag with the classic Veidt logo prominently displayed - but everyone in the first boutique he entered knew exactly who he was and ever since then it had been paparazzi and not a moment's peace.
All the same, it only took about a week before the tabloids had quit oozing scandalous delight in referring to him as a little doe-eyed, exotic foreign boyfriend, practically jailbait, really, which of course had the kind of unfortunate implications tabloids love - namely because his quiet could no longer be freely interpreted as malleability befitting a catamite, as while he usually ignored most journalists he had broken his silence a few times to make memorable, pithy, oft-quoted and re-quoted comments.
In response to a question, 'How do you feel about being with a man old enough to be your father?': "I'm old enough to know zat 'e eesent."
'Surely you've noticed that there's a bit of a gap between you...': "Yes," in a put-upon voice, trying for patience and bored, "'e ees a vegetarian and I am Feurench. We manage."
And a bit longer, after yet another comment about his former employment in the Veidt company as the personal assistant to what was practically Adrian's daughter, a girl his own age: "Stop deurt-ee-eng eur name; Micaela knew; she was 'app-ee for ze bote of us. Zere was nossing unprofessional about eet, and snidely dragging eur eento sings onlee shows you-eur ignorance abou teur cleveurness and charactair - she knew, 'ow could she not, and she reacted to ze news as any sinking adult would, wiss 'appiness and good 'umeur." In one paragraph he'd sunk the most sarcastic commentators' favorite ship, that of contrasting the supposedly degenerate relationship between Adrian and Adrien and the wholesome one with Adrian and his ward. Talking about how it dirtied Micaela's memory to know he had shacked up with the assistant old enough to be her twin brother after her tragic disappearance wasn't so fun when you knew that they had been together before Micaela had vanished, and that she had been perfectly aware of this and fine with it.
At the same time as Adrien shot down many initial impressions - that Adrian was a dirty old man, unfortunately, was gleefully discussed, which shocked Adrien to no end; to him his fiancé was still nothing less than saintly - he constructed several new ones. The image of Adrien as a gay pin-up boy of some kind, bubble-headed and young and frivolous, especially next to sophisticated and brilliant Adrian Veidt, evaporated after a few too many reserved appearances and sharp single comments. The appellation "little French diva" was applied to him in a desperate last-chance shot at smearing, but instead of recalling stereotypical effeminacy it made people think of stereotypical French class and reserve. The boy was unflappable. It was easy to see why he would be engaged to famously glacial, enigmatic Adrian Veidt...
...who was having at the same time as all this a triumphant comeback in the financial world. Respectable papers that had respectfully wondered how heavy a blow his sexuality (or, rather, the fact that Adrien was 28 years younger than he was; next to that the sex paled) would deal his company - as well as the less-respectable New Frontiersman, which was crowing about what a triumph this was for right wing family values - were proven dead wrong when a little over a week after the value of Veidt stock had plummeted, everything more or less returned to normal, as those who had smugly turned their backs on him slunk guiltily back into his orbit, realizing he was too crucial to shun without suffering losses of their own.
Handling all that life had thrown at them with grace and calm, Adrian and Adrien came out on top, predicted to be a highly influential couple in 1986. Even though they always looked so serene, every photograph taken of them in public, Adrian's arm lazily wrapped around Adrien's back, looked as though they were nothing short of laughing at their detractors, knowing that they were completely untouchable.