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[blogluxuryvipsuites]

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[dragonshoard]

Don’t Leave Me (With a Smile) Chapter 1

Charlastor 1920s AU AO3 Link

Summary: New Orleans, 1926. Charlie Magne was the daughter of old money. From the city to the stock market her family had their hands in every pot. In her parent’s ideal world, she was to marry into a wealthy family for connections and continue her mother’s work with the city’s richest, but Charlie never wanted that. Her father was a reasonable man, she could make him see things her way... maybe (though her time was ticking).  

Alistair was a coincidence, a happy happenstance. And her way out. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she fell in love with him. Before, it had been enough to know that he had loved her. 

(If you could call the dark, twisted thing in his chest love)

i’m sorry for any typos ahh

--x--x--x--x--

From the glittering skyline to the bustling streets, New Orleans was truly the place to be if you were anybody. Jazz was the city’s lifeblood and the nightlife was flooded with the clarinets and trumpets playing in tune, drawing in people from miles away. 

Men and women dressed to the nines walked the streets, laughing and sometimes dancing their way to their destinations whether it be to another club or the coffee shop still open down the block. 

Similarly, a small group consisting of one man and two women, just at the start of adulthood, barely squeezed their way past the door of a small cafe into the winter air, clutching onto their hats and fur coats respectively. 

“I don’t know why we don’t do this more often!” The blonde with a brilliantly powdered face smiled through the cold, viciously happy to be surrounded by friends and free of the demands of her parents, however temporary it may have been. 

Her clothing was, perhaps, slightly too conservative to have someone call her a “flapper”, but was well within the style. She was fitted in a gorgeous black dress with golden accents and embroidery in a geometric pattern that shimmered in the streetlight. It covered her arms with sheer golden lace and came up to cover her collar bone. The signature sequin tassels swayed at the cut off just below her knees. Covering it was a beige fur coat that screamed wealth. 

Perhaps she was a bit sheltered, but it had yet to cause any issues. Well, besides the teasing from her friends that ranged from funny to rather ruthless at times. 

“You want me to answer that or ya wanna keep walking, Charlie?” The laugh that followed was loud enough to turn heads. 

The young man in question was visibly taller than most people, in general. He was roughly a head taller than his companions. White hairs artfully laced through his slicked back brown hair despite his obvious youth. His eyes were a warm brown, complementing the slightly tanned skin. 

“I know I don’t get out a lot, but things are changin’, Angel! Daddy’s been getting more clients downtown, so he doesn’t come home as much as he used to… Mama’s been really busy too but she’s also willing to give me some leeway…” The girl directed her beaming smile at him as she hurried along down the sidewalk, nearly running into a pole when she turned back around. 

“Careful! You don’t need a bump on the head to ruin your night! And, honestly, do we have to call you that Martin?” 

‘Angel’ gave her a sharp smile, looking every bit the shark that many had claimed him to be. Charlie was, of course, aware but chose to redirect the two of them to other topics. Even if it meant drawing attention back to herself. 

“I’m fine, Vaggie! You worry too much!” Charlie smiled down brightly at the dark haired woman who had pulled her away from what may have resulted in a very tedious evening. Vaggie had sun-kissed skin with dark eyes that looked nearly black in the low lighting. She had been her first (and at times her only) friend that her father had approved of. 

“Says the one who tried to slip in past the broads that you know you couldn’t have fit a quarter in between the three they were so close together.” Angel smiled even wider, before looking over to the side and waving at a group of people across the street.

Charlie’s smile dimmed to a more mute, yet still appropriately impish, grin before she tucked into Vaggie’s side. “It’s just - I’m so excited! Can you blame me?” 

The answer differed from the faces her two friends made at her. One entirely endearing while the other was more… over it, for lack of better words. Charlie frowned a bit, mostly for show. 

She tried to justify herself. “Lights, crowds of dancers, and all the latest music.” She popped up, almost twirling in place. “It’s just so glamorous, and Daddy has been home for days now, and you know how he is,” she drawled, smirking almost innocently up at the tall “Angel”.  

When “Lucifer” (as many of his business partners had taken to calling him) was home, he preferred older tunes that practically put Charlie to sleep. She could barely find moments where she could put in her records or turn on the radio to listen in without her Daddy hollering for her to turn that trash off. 

Charlie’s father was a charming and charismatic man, when he wanted to be. He treated his daughter as if she was the most precious object in the entire universe. The amount of photos stuffed in nearly ten photo albums from ages zero to three showed the dedication he had towards his little girl. 

And perhaps that was the reason it had become a problem, especially as of lately. The only good thing that came out of the attention these days was that it extended the time she spent in the house and not out finding a husband. Even now, he was hesitant about giving her away and having her no longer in his sights (perhaps that was why he was looking so meticulously, to find someone that may easily fit under his thumb). 

“If you ask me, your pops has got a few screws loose up in his noggin. I mean, come on, you’re twenty-one! Practically an old maid, and he hasn’t even let you go out on a date!” He laughed, hand casually hooking her away from Vaggie and into his side, squashing her into his fashionably striped suit. 

They were nearing the club, the music growing audibly louder from the sidewalk. 

“I’ve been on dates before!” 

“Honey, being chaperoned by Daddy dearest who makes it a point to play with the steak knife ain’t exactly what I would call a date.” He flipped his hair up, tilting his head down so Charlie could see the near mocking grin painted across his features. 

“Lay off her, Angel. I don’t see anyone coming to ask to date you.” Vaggie put a protective hand on Charlie’s shoulder and practically yanked her away from him. 

“Aw come on; don’t be such a tart, I didn’t mean any harm by it! I’m just saying that’s it’s not natural. She should be goin’ out! Having the time of her life! Not sitting home all day doin’ whatever her ‘daddy’ wants her doin’,” he made a derisive hand motion, rolling his eyes.

A sly grin took over and Charlie knew exactly what he was going to say. 

“If you’d just let me introduce you to some of my friends - “ 

“You mean some of your family, Matra - “ 

“Shhush!” He nearly jumped over them to cover both of their mouths, regardless of the fact that Charlie wasn’t even saying anything to begin with. It drew a few lingering eyes to their party. “You want me to get ganked? You can’t say that type of shit in these parts.” 

Vaggie didn’t look particularly apologetic and simply shrugged him off, opting to pull Charlie along with her. She gave him a smug look as they stepped up to doors that barely seemed to contain the music inside. 

“‘K, but seriously toots. I got a cousin that goes by Arlo. He’s a bit of a sap, but he’d treat you right.” 

“None of you would get Daddy’s money if he didn’t approve, and I’m not so sure he’d be happy getting involved with your family.” 

New Orleans wasn’t as bad as, say, Chicago or New York when it came to gang or mafioso violence, but it wasn’t the cleanest either. A politician had been mysteriously “removed” when he’d attempted to go after one of the organized crime rings. 

Angel pouted at that, “Come on, you’ve known me for ages! You think I’d set you up just for the money?” 

They both looked at him with the most unimpressed face they could individually pull. Charlie was the first to let up and laughed as she waited for the entryway to clear. 

A man smoking against the wall gave Charlie a second glance, confused but with a look of vague recognition crossing his features. He opened his mouth, likely to ask if they’d met before, only to be cut off by the tall mafioso whose eyes felt like daggers going into his skin. 

The man quickly turned away and Angel seemed to do a one-eighty, once again smiling at his friends as they were finally able to push open the doors. 

“Welcome to the Lodge! It’s been open for a few years but they added a few ah features that made it more popular over the last couple months.” 

Charlie’s eyes seemed to glimmer as she took in the large space, absentmindedly taking off her coat and hanging it to the side. The Lodge was absolutely luxurious, from the wallpaper to the nearly reflective wood flooring. The band was booming, but not loud enough to drown out the laughter and chatter that was a testament to the hall’s popularity.  

“Oh my - “ Charlie was practically hopping in place, excitement practically vibrating off of her. 

“Hey! Careful, lets not get separated, okay?” Vaggie, being the voice of reason and caution, was quick to hook elbows with Charlie, the only thing that had kept the girl from shooting off into the crowd. 

“Aw, come on, there’s a ton of people here! Not to mention the bulls in literally every corner.” Angel discreetly let his eyes wander around the room as he leaned against a pillar. 

If anyone were to pay close attention, they would notice the men in unremarkable suits lingering near the bar and every little hideyhole you could think of. It made Charlie shift, unsure of how to feel about the knowledge and and slightly concerned. If any of them were in her father’s pockets she was so dead. She ducked her head at the thought, almost attempting to hide via Vaggie despite their height difference. 

“Speaking of the ‘bulls’, should we be concerned,” Vaggie questioned. “I’d rather not get arrested or hauled away in a cab tonight.” 

“Don’t worry about it! They’re the reason the club gets to keep their juice.” Angel was quick to get distracted by a handsome fellow on the other side of the club. “I hate to cut this gaggle short, but I got some tail to catch, if you get my drift. See ya ladies later!” And with that he was off in the other direction. 

Vaggie was thoroughly unimpressed and neither of them looked surprised. Charlie couldn’t help but shake her head. It was a common trick he pulled after they’d all been to a few places; always looking for a guy to end the night with. Charlie admired his boldness; however, couldn’t imagine herself dating so many men, much less having sex with them. 

And it wasn’t like she was there for any of that nonsense to begin with. She was there to dance.

“Come on, Vaggie!” 

The look of sheer panic on her friends face was telling, but it didn’t stop Charlie from dragging her to the packed dance floor. Charlie knew that her dancing was a bit intense for her friend’s (most people, really) liking, which is why she usually ended up dancing solo, but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t make them try for a while before they wore out. 

Charlie tapped her slight heels to the dance floor, tuning into the beat and began shimmying sideways until her hip bumped Vaggie’s. Her glittering smile almost effortlessly brought her friend out of the doom and gloom the thought of dancing with Charlie had put Vaggie in. There was some exasperation, but it was mostly fond. Charlie would take what she got.  

Giggling, she did a small spin. Her feet followed the basic steps of the Charleston to warm up, surprisingly considerate of her reluctant dance partner. Charlie gave Vaggie a mischievous smile that Vaggie had come to know as the turning of the tide against her favor. 

Heart pounding already as Charlie began to speed up, smiling so wide that her face was beginning to hurt: one foot to the side, back and forward. The music seemed louder like this, as if it had drowned out everything else: from the slight static of the stereo someone seemed to be playing in the background to the dancers who seemed to have begun to back away. 

So engrossed in her own movements, she didn’t notice when Vaggie tapped out, unwilling to try and compete with her. And even had she been paying attention, she wouldn’t have noticed that she had caught someone’s eye in a unique way. 

A man, who had taken the invitation for a night on the town by a fellow colleague and had been regretting it deeply, was watching her with the hungriest gaze anyone on that side of New Orleans had ever seen. A tall man with slicked back dark brown hair in a fairly tailored pinstripe suit with a burgundy tie to match similarly colored dress pants. His eyes looked nearly red in a certain light, pulling the look together flawlessly. 

A few years ago, no one would have noticed him, but these days he was too public for at least a few people to recognize the voice of the Alistair Trahan. 

He watched as she pulled up her dress every now and then to perform a kick or jump. His grin grew in glee as she practically leaped across the dance floor, feigning falling a few times only to skip and tap away unscathed. The grace in her movements was uncanny. 

She teetered in between stages of nearly falling and stability so often, he wondered how she hadn’t become dizzy from the whiplash. Perhaps it was the danger that bid her to prefer the dance style (or maybe she just enjoyed it). 

Her energy was something he had rarely seen before. What made it even more energizing was how she never stopped smiling no matter how her dress clung from the sweat that must have been pouring off her in waves or how those heels must have been a pain to dance in. 

She caught his gaze for a split second and those eyes. Dark and piercing as they were compared to his own dreadful gaze. He imagined what it would be like to have those eyes on him and only him. 

He raised a hand to his face, surprising himself when he noticed how flushed he was. He was brought back to reality when he noticed that the band had stopped playing. She was practically glowing as she panted, looking victorious in her stance (and a part of him imagined it as a form of armor, and he wondered what she would look like bound in steel). 

It would be a pleasure to pull apart that cheerful manner and see what was underneath it; see if she was just as golden inside as she was out. 

His mood dimmed slightly (though his smile didn’t show it) when he noticed that another woman had tucked herself into the personified sunshine’s side. 

It seemed there were obstacles that needed to be removed.

[luckylq55-blog]

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[ghoulboyboos]

Vampire!Shane and werewolf!Ryan meet on a dating app for non-humans and are surprised by how well they get along/their chemistry when they meet offline

Shanefiddles with his cuffs and looks around the restaurant for the sixthtime in the last ten minutes. He arrived early,

way

too early,because he had been so anxious about being late on accident that hegot here about twenty minutes before he was supposed to meet Ryan.

Ryan.

Hetakes his phone in his hand again and unlocks it. His eyes settle onRyan’s profile, the picture of him leaning against a wall, armscrossed, fists pushing just a little behind his arms to put hisimpressive biceps on display. Shane remembers the little flutter hefelt the first time he dared to message the other man. Part of himhad expected to be brushed off and ignored. Ryan was gorgeous andShane had long accepted that he was kind of weird and lanky and hisheight made people consider going out with him. Even if Ryan didn’thave a problem with that, Shane half expected to be rejected forbeing a vampire.

Justbecause Ryan hadn’t specified any type of partner on the profiledidn’t mean he didn’t have any preferences.

But,miracles happen apparently and Ryan had messaged him back. They hadexchanged a couple of jokes about the old “bats and dogs don’tmix” stereotype before launching into a chat about everything andnothing. Shane had already feared the conversation would crash andburn when Ryan brought up sports, unable to contribute. However, overa strange mix of Shane mentioning that he grew up in Chicago, jokesabout the Bulls and Michael Jordan and Space Jam and a quickdiversion into Looney Toons territory, they had started to talkmovies. It was the start of a conversation that ended with both ofthem falling asleep on their phones while lying in bed and they hadpicked up right where they left off the next night.

Moviesweren’t the only thing they had in common. They both enjoyed thesame terrible jokes, theme parks, Halloween and food. Both hadlaughed about the irony about them liking Halloween and Ryan had puthis foot in his mouth by asking Shane about food. Shane had done justas bad when he asked Ryan what form he chose for jogging.

Despitethe little hiccups, they eventually agreed on meeting for dinner.Shane picked the restaurant, a nice little place that catered to themore supernatural types of guests and Ryan agreed to meet him there.

Shaneis looking through the menu, trying to guess what Ryan would go forwhen he hears the waiter come closer, catching the tail end of whatshe’s saying.

“…overhere.” She says and indicates towards Shane at the table. Shanenearly jumps up, eager to stand to his full height in the suit thathe brushed up for the occasion only. His eyes settle on Ryan wholooks even more gorgeous in person. He’s slightly flushed, his hairis gelled back and he is wearing a nice dark red shirt and suitpants. His sleeves are rolled up and Shane gets a great view ofRyan’s arms – and if he wasn’t already technically undead,Shane would die over those.

“Hey.”Ryan says and his voice is bright and warm and Shane feels the oldyearning for lying in the sun for an hour or two without worries.Holy shit. Weird. But also kind of amazing.

“Hi.”He answers and holds out his hand for Ryan to shake. Ryan snorts buttakes it, giving it a firm shake and Shane shudders at how warm thosehands are. The other man glances up and smiles.

“Yourhands are so cool. That’s actually pretty nice.” Shane frowns.

“What…really?”

“Yeah.I always burn so hot that I sometimes feel like I have a constantfever. It’s refreshing.”

“Huh.Well, I’m glad to be of cooling assistance.” Shane jokes and hehears a soft wheezing laugh in return as they let go and shuffle totheir seats. Shane thinks about pulling out the seat for Ryan but theother guy beats him to it and the shorter man flushes a little moreas he stands with his hands on the back of Shane’s chair,indicating to it.

“Thankyou.” Shane says with a smirk as he sits and he sees the other manclear his throat and avoid eye contact. He allows himself a giggle,mostly because he gets the luxury of not having to stress aboutblushing. If Ryan is offended it doesn’t show.

Dinnergoes smoothly. They chat, they eat and Shane laughs at the monstrousmeat dish that Ryan orders and devours.

“Noreason to wolf it all down,Ryan. They won’t take it from you.”

“Funny.”Ryan says, face expressionless. “Neverheard that one before.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin beforecontinuing. “I need tostack up on calories. Full moon’s coming up.”

“Ican never sleep during full moon.” Shane admits. “I get antsy.”

Ryanwheezes again.

“Don’tworry about that, big guy. I know what it’s like to get antsy. Iusually stumble into a Denny’s at three in the morning and ask forwhatever.”

Shanechuckles and sips from his glass.

“Wellyou can always text me during those nights if you’re bored. I’mnot a runner but I could at least hang with you in whatever park youwant to rampage.”

Ryansnickers.

“What,you don’t feel in the mood for running? We could go dancinginstead.”

“Dothey let you in clubs if you wolf out?”

“Thereare a few.”

Ryan’seyes are twinkling and Shane feels himself smile. He isn’ta big party guy but hitting the dance floor with Ryan sounds likefun. It’sbeen some time since he just let loose at a party without having toworry that heightened emotions and excited heartbeats around him gettoo distracting.

“Whatabout you?” Ryan asks, nodding his chin towards Shane. “Whatdo you do for fun?”

“Uh,well. I spend a lot of time at home. You know, I think I mentionedthat I’m kind of new to this… uh, lifeand I’m not always in control.” Shane clears his throat, toyingwith his fork. “I don’t want to hurt anybody, you know.”

Heglances up at Ryan, who looks serious, but nods with a hint of asmile.

“Iget it. I’m fine with staying in. Uh.” He pauses, stammering.“If- If you want to meet again, you know. We could just- Watch amovie or something.”

“Iwould love that.” Shane says before Ryan can get freaked out. Hisdate deflates visibly and smiles at him.

“Oh.Cool. And for the record, I’m… pretty strong. So if you want wecan also go out and I can have an eye on you and help you leave theplace if you want.”

Shanesmiles.

“Soundslike a plan.”

Theymove to lighter topics. Before they know it, most of the night isover and it’s time to pay their bill. Surprisingly enough, Shane isthe one to suggest taking a stroll around the area and Ryan seemssurprised but delighted.

Thereis no running, no transforming, no measuring of strengths that night.It’s not quite first date material. Instead they find a 7/11 andbuy snacks and chat as they eat and walk.

Ryanslips a warm hand in Shane’s cool one and Shane feels the littleflutter in his chest again.

Hecould do this again. And again and again. The thought of spendingnights, especially the tougher nights with Ryan, distracting eachother sounds wonderful. He wonders if Ryan will let him feed off ofhim one day. In return, he wants to run with Ryan, wants to help himpower through his transformations, wants to gather him up afterwardswith a change of clothes and some water and snacks. Right now, Shanedoesn’t say that, but he files it away for later. Another night.Another date.

Tonight,they’re holding hands and talking about their favorite crime shows.Tonight, Ryan bounces up and down next to him as they are chatting.Tonight, things just fit the way they do.

Hehas to remember to give SuperDate a five star review on the appstore.

[zebraslovescupcakestoo]

What a day!: A oodle-lolly golly what a day revisited.

This is a short story of two unlikely heroes that rose from the injustice of the Alfonso Mafia that rules almost all of the underworld and Black market of the Chicago City streets. (Guitar playing)

One was from the suburbs of Chicago. The other was blown in from the northern country a couple years back.

And this is just one moment that might have happened. Had happened. Or whatever.

Two guys walked together in a quiet, normal park on one spring day.

The smaller one was Felix Lockheart, the underdog, detective hero of the Chicago Police. He was the innocent people's last hope against the criminals and those who knew the mafia well, the Alfonso mafia. He was a single parent-like uncle to his nephews after a tragic accident of his father and sister. He was a well respected police officer in his own rights with his special skills and his good manners.

The other one, who he was a tall but a bit intimidating, was Sammuel Toutsaint. Also known as Sam Toucan for shorts. He was an unusual man who he had served in the WW2 before he became a full pledge attorney after it ended. Despite he was much suited to be a prosecutor, he changed to defense due to the fact that... there was too many prosecutors in Chicago and that they'll hire anybody who wanted to be a defense attorney... So he took the defense position and got the job.

He was a honest but er... 'unfiltered' type of person who doesn't beat around the bush when he wanted to say something. He does however kept it minimum if there's kids involved or around. He was actually grew found of Felix after their first case working together and gave him hope again for justice to his innocent clients.

Felix Cat and Sam Toucan walking through the park path. Laughing back and forth at what the other has to say.

As I've said it, it was a bright spring day when they're out walking the park. There might be some snow here and there, but it had cleared up quite a bit to enjoy the trails. They both agreed to take this opportunity to get some fresh, spring air after a long, cold winter from inside. After all, even these coffee buddies wanted to go out once in a while to clear their thoughts.

“What a beautiful, blue sky! I can almost see the tulips popping out of my imagination and ready to be planted on these grounds. At least today it might be peaceful for once.” Felix hoped with his arms stretched out and put behind his head. He was feeling quite good today.

“As long as you 'imagine' those lettuce you'd promise to pick up from the grocery store for Kitty, mon amie.” Sam reminded him with his hands in his pockets. His legs were almost just as long as Felix's height so his little friend sometimes needed to pick up the pace.

Reminiscing that time while having a good one with lolly, lolly, golly what a day!

“I'm surprised to see you've dressed properly for the season.” Felix complimented Sam who had on his navy blue overcoat that was meant for his job, but he'd normally use it for spring/fall coat.“Pourquoi?” He asked in french.

“Because I think you've 'intimidated' the other rival lawyers in mid-winter when you've showed up in your Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. Outside. With a tropical drink in your hands.” He recalls on those times he caught him wearing them to meet him. “I get that you're almost like cold resisting type, but please! Don't scare EVERYbody away like that.” He then got a bit concern and tried his best to be reasonable with Sam.

He knew that despite his friend's... unusual antics and behaviors, he was a very successful lawyer and one of the few who remains 'untouched' by the corrupted system and out of any rich influential and political payrolls pockets. If Felix haven't asked that one question about his reason of why he became a lawyer that one time, before he knew him better, he would have mistaken him for a grumpy thirty three year old man with a suit and tie.

“It's for keeping stupid bulls!t out of my request files for 'real' issues, not cause your partner forgot to go to a dinner date you've promised one time and you wanted a divorce.” As much as Sam might seem rude at one point, Felix knows he's telling the common sense truth. He can tell even without his 'special' talent.

Never, ever thinking there was danger in the bushed while they're were talking and just walking on by!

Felix then noticed a warning sing from Sam's eyes. He noticed that his dark blue eyes were glaring at a large brick wall on his left. He knew that look as if to say: 'that seems suspiciously dangerous!' He knew him well enough that if he sees or sense something off, be on your guard!

Never dreaming that the scheming Dancing Demon and his Big Bad Wolf was waiting for them for a surprising hit n' run!

Sam slowed down and then took out from his jacket some sort of a small jam bottle with a very unusual blend of liquids that looks like some kid had thrown in various mix of beverages. “Let's see if this works.” As soon as he opened the lid, Felix can smell the horrendous stench from it, but he kept his straight face on. He sees Sam lean a bit of his arm back like he was about to scoop something and then in a blink of an eye, he threw it right over the brick wall from their left. It didn't even took one second to hear some screams.

“RUN FOR IT!” Sam shouted as he picks up Felix from his right arms and ran to the direction they've just came from.

Felix Cat and Sam Toucan running through the park path, then on the grassy and snowy patch, passing behind trees.

Despite that spring is around the corner, there was still big snow banks in the area. One that can leap over a tall brick wall. Sam took this opportunity to step on only the grassy area and tries not to leave any tracks on the snow. He than halted from the wall, he then lift Felix up to the edge first for him to escape and in return, Felix used his whip belt that his late father made to help Sam climb over the wall. They finally manage to escape from whoever they were.

Contemplating, nothing but escaping and finally making out, good a little, lolly, lolly, golly what a day!

Once they've stepped on the other side they were back in the city's edge. There was tall buildings and streets. People every where for the afternoon outing and they were only, surprise surprise, nest to one of Bendy's signature cars only the social elites haves. Felix quickly tugged Sam's sleeves and pointed to the nearest car that was parked close to them. “I think they might be coming after us very shortly after that happened!” Whatever Sam have thrown on them, it's stench was so foul that  he knew that Bendy would abandoned the whole 'fun time' thing.

They've his behind the yellow car that was behind Bendy's just as they heard them coming from the park, infuriated. “Those two weirdos! Especially that *cough! * lamp post, Elvis dorky, rude mannered, colour blinded tie wearing *cough! * dodo!” Bendy coughed as he let out a disgusted sound as he tried to sniff, but the stench of whatever Sam threw, was really unpleasant even from where they were hiding. “Don't worry, Bendy, we'll get them next time. That Toucan guy was prepared for us in this round, but nobody will be that lucky forever. * COUGH! COUGH!*  gosh! What did he threw?!” Boris complimented as he coughed it too while he helped Bendy in the car and then he goes to the driver's seat.

Good a little, lolly, lolly, golly what a day!

As soon as the DeMon's signature luxury car was out of sight, they came out of their hiding. Felix called out to Sam. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you've been taking too many chances like that lately.” Sam Tsked. “You think mines are daring? You should have seen what Bendy's been up to with the more influential circles. The documents I found hidden in their files doesn't lie. He's trying to buy or blackmail more juries. But luckily for us, I did manage to 'fix' it as if he never did.” Sam happily smirked at his handy works.

Felix sighed in frustrations. “I'm sorry that you had to put more work like that. I wish I can do it myself but somehow... I'm still being held back for 'law' reasons. By that, I mean I'm almost restricted to aristocrats' self-entitled rights on properties and possessions unless they played a serious role of a crime. It's not a big issue, but they do seems to have an upper hand on some things just save a face or two.” I'm not saying all upper classes are like that, but there are those who would take advantage of rich privileges to an extend.

“Ces't vrai, but don't fret too much, mon amie. No matter how high and mighty they act, they are germs like the rest of us. They are humans and they make mistakes too. One of these days, their 'perfect' system will collapse like a house of cards.” Sam tried to assure Felix.

“Thanks, Sam. I knew you're not the type who'd cheer people up like that, but I appreciate it.” Felix smiled.

“Who was responsible for that? Eh bien! There's a local groceries store. Let's get that lettuce before we'll forget that.” Sam pointed out the way across the street in a cheerful manner. That got Felix attention when he mentioned an ingredient. “Hey speaking of ingredients, what WAS that stuff you've just thrown on them?” It was a particularly have a really strong unpleasant odor, but he knew that his friend has sometimes had some... different methods of handling things. Not to mention that Sam has rarely shown his optimistic side apart from his kids... unless it was a mischievous idea.

“Nothing really serious. I learn it from those bunch of kids that hangs around the Joey Drew Studios on their 'Free Hands' protests. You might be surprise how easy it is to get those ingredients.”

“Sam...” I used my tone of voice that I use when I say to my kids when they're not telling me something. Like he's hiding something or not telling me the 'whole' truth.

He held his hands up before we can get inside as to protest and defend himself. “It is nothing serious, Félix, It was just a ecologic friendly gas bomb.”

That made him jumped a bit and stuttered. “What the-?! What do you mean by that?! Are you trying to-Mmh!” HE then got muffled by Sam's hand clapping on his mouth. His tall friend then gave a hush sing language. “You're gonna replace the police siren if you keep out-bursting like that and before you open your mouth like that, no, it's nothing serious like that. This is a city not Europe from the war a few years back. The only differences is that the stuff it was made is to irritate the eyes and leaves a really unpleasant smell. They're lucky enough to hold out their tears long enough to not cry in public. It does take some time before the effect wore off so there's no harm.” He then smirked again at his genius strategy.

But Felix wasn't pleased and then removed Sam's hand, talking with his indoor voice as they went inside. “Well, you'd better not make a habit of doing that or else Bendy's gonna have to think of a counter measure. We've seen him extort some er... 'quality goods' from his connections and has multiple ways of how to 'take care' of certain people who are... not agreeing with him.” He was being careful of his words when they were looking for lettuce. He checks around the spacious but small store for potential witnesses. As much as he wanted to bring down the Alfonso mafia along with Bendy, he knew that his public image was different from the people they hardly knew him well. Some were actually Bendy's eyes and ears and they are pretty good at camouflaging their appearances.

“He knows too well that he can't lay a finger on us in day time and that he can't have ALL the powerful people on his side. That would send a red flag to 'you know who' at the head of the states. The store is empty apart from the owner, Félix. She doesn't look like she's hearing us from the cashier.” Felix glanced at the old lady who she was reading the 'good book' while she waited patiently for us. She does seem harmless... and his 'senses' told him she doesn't have a malicious aura.

He took a deep breath. “The more we encounter them apart from his goonies, the more they're getting better. Even you'd be in hot waters if we're not careful enough. I felt like I'm not getting enough experience on the filed... But... I can't ignore my responsibilities as an uncle either.” As much as he want to pursue the horrible persons that has taken two of his most beloved family members and left them in pieces, he promised himself to be the one to take care of them like his father would have done and raise them with good characters. “Félix...” Sam asked him in a tone that would say 'are you alright? You sound depressed again.'

“Y-yeah! I'm alright! I'm just doing the best I can like you've said one time! It's getting late already. Why don't I meet you up again at your office before your next trial? It's at eleven this Friday, right? And do we still have our hard evidence to prove that the RiceKrispies brothers are innocents?” He immediately cheered himself up to avoid any pessimistic energy. He himself is getting enough as it is. Sam then decided to take up his subject as they were heading to the cashier. “They're safe as a hidden treasure in a pirate book. Only I can remember their locations. I just hope it's not Jerry this time, but if he is, at least I have my trusty side kick for the show that makes it less sucky!” He joked as he messed Felix's hair. “UAGH! SAM! I hate it when you do that!”

Ka-ching!

That sound surprised Felix and he realized that Sam had paid for both his lettuce and Sam's milk. “I needed that for tomorrow morning anyways. You're welcome.” He then leaves and Felix soon follows after his lettuce was bagged. “Sam! I told you you don't need to pay for me on anything! I don't want to rely on you like that!” Felix tried to reach for his wallet again but then Sam made a halt gesture. “You want to pay me back badly for a fifty cents lettuce? Then you'd better be at that trial on Friday. I will promise not to put 'something' on Jerry's seat if he's the one that shows up .”

That made him hesitate a bit. He knew his tall friend was famous as a high powered defense attorney to most people, but he also knew that sometimes in his trials, things get a bit... unusual to say the least. Not to mention he has 'the best seat in the house' next to him in front of the judges and juries.

It's not just the victim's, accuser's and the witnesses' reputation that's on the line...

But then again, he doesn't like to 'ask' people favors, including money. He knew better.

“Promise?” He decided to take the chance. Sam nodded and then they've retired for the day.

----Author’s notes-----

I hope you’ve enjoyed this mini one shot!

I’ve had a flash back of the earliest childhood memories of the animated Disney films of Robin Hood. I just imagined about how Felix and Sam is closely related to Robin and Little John. Both the hero of an unjust ruler! (In this case, the undertaker of Chicago, Bendy.)

One of the side notes, there IS a homemade remedy of tear gases, however, I DISCLAIMED ANY SOURCES CAUSE I DO NOT WISH TO IMPLY ANY FUTURE ATTEMPTS THAT WILL INSPIRE ANYONE! Please do NOT do this even if it’s safe! Just say no!

Next is the pricing, in the 50′s era, things like groceries were really cheap... Google it.

Hope this has entertained you for a bit.

Bendy Before the Ink Machine AU and humanized Felix the cat Belongs to Marini4. Humanized Sam Toucan is mine.

[opera-ghosts]

She was the more beautiful of the two — indeed she was the most beautiful member of a very handsome family. Her voice was as rich in quality as Adelina's and its range even higher. Her technical accomplishments were fully as wonderful. She delighted in singing music written specially to show off the violin technic. In all these respects she was as bountifully equipped for the operatic stage as her sister, but the unfortunate mishap in her childhood confined her within the narrow limits of the concert stage. Besides these qualities she not only had genuine feeling and fine sentiment, but decided dramatic ability. It was evidenced in every song she sang. It must have been bitter for her to endure her confinement to the concert- room, and now and then she must have envied the brilliant career of her sister in that particular realm of music for which she was so richly endowed. This feeling once came to the surface. It was in Birmingham, England, in 1871. Her manager imprudently advertised her as " the sister of the celebrated Adelina Patti." The Patti wrath flamed up in her, and she refused to sing. Carlotta Patti's nature was made up of a singular combination of qualities. When among her intimates, she was the very soul of good nature, and I have seen her when she was bubbling over with fun and sparkling with repartee. But with strangers, or persons seeking to make her acquaintance out of mere idle curiosity, she was reserved and forbidding. She was by nature imperious and haughty, quick tempered, and brusque of speech. She was very fond of social functions, although her lameness prevented her from dancing. She was also devoted to dress and personal adornment, and was luxurious in her habits and fond of elegant ease,— conditions which may have been superinduced by her physical impediment. Carlotta Patti's musical career, though confined to the concert stage, was exceptionally brilliant. She made her debut in 1861, and her success was instantaneous. She gave concerts all over this country and Europe, and became a universal favorite. She died in Paris, the city she loved best, in 1889. The gayety and excite- ments of that city just suited her pleasure-craving nature. With one sister queen of the opera, and another sister queen of the concert-room, what was left for Amalia Patti but a quiet, uneventful stage life in this double shadow, the applause only of those who really knew something about music, and devotion to the interests of her manager-husband, Maurice Strakosch? She was graceful and handsome, — all the Pattis were, as I have said. She was an excellent singer, as a matter of course, being a Patti. She had decided talent, but it was not sufficient to place her in the highest rank. Unlike her two more gifted sisters, she had a contralto voice. She was the oldest child of the second marriage, and made her debut in " Beatrice di Tenda," at the Astor Place Opera House, New York, in 1847. Maurice Strakosch first met her in 1848, when arranging a concert tour with Anna Bishop, Parodi, and herself. They were married at the close of that tour, and, as far as I know, " lived happily ever after." She came to Chicago during the tour, again in 1853 with Steffanone, Paul Julien, and her husband, who was an excellent pianist, the most dignified of managers, and most philosophical of men. He always rose superior to the accidents menacing the box-office and the absurd caprices of artists. Amalia Patti' s next concert visit was in 1854 with Ole Bull. Her voice was not a powerful one, nor was it very dramatic, but she was always an enjoyable singer. It was a pleasure to listen to her smooth, quiet, melodious, and well-trained manner of singing, as it was to watch her pretty face, her graceful, high-bred personality, and the quiet elegance of her stage deportment. She appeared many times in Chicago in opera, and while she never roused wild enthusiasm with furious outbursts of declamation or brilliant feats of technic, she was a favorite with musical people because they were confident she would do everything correctly. I have known an

audience to go wilder over a single sforzando of Brignoli's, a high C of Wachtel's, or one trill by Adelina Patti, than they would over an evening of perfect en- sembles. In a word, Amalia's career was colorless because it was continually in the Adelina-Carlotta penumbra.

[nightmare-afton-cosplay]

Will Sheltering in Place Finally Help Michael Jordan’s Mansion To Score a Buyer?

Compass, Timothy A. Clary/Getty

It’s been eight long years for Michael Jordan‘s mansion. Since 2012, the Chicago-area home of basketball’s greatest has simply been sitting on the market.

Price cuts haven’t helped. Elaborate videos haven’t clinched a deal. And the afterglow of the “Last Dance” has worn off—a little.

Perhaps the global pandemic, though, will finally push a sale to a close.

Until now, a giant, self-contained property with endless acreage and oodles of interior space might have constituted a hurdle in buyers’ minds. Now, those assets seem almost ideally suited for the times.

“The pandemic concerns have created a new need for space, seclusion, and the capability to create one’s own vacation environment,” says the listing agent, Katherine Malkin with Compass.

“This gives buyers the opportunity to look at this house differently than they did before. It now has a dual purpose of being both a vacation home and a permanent home at the same time.”

A Compass marketing rep tells us that the company has seen an increase in searches for homes offering abundant outdoor space and pools. Jordan’s estate ticks both those boxes—in a big way.

Malkin told us the popular ESPN documentary has contributed to awareness of the home.

“I think the showcase of Mr. Jordan’s life as a Chicago Bulls player,” she says, in reference to the recent documentary, “has also stimulated a new interest in the property.”

All that being said, the Highland Park, IL, home is still in search of a buyer with $14,855,000 to spare. Its price tag puts the mansion in third place among the priciest properties in Lake County, IL.

Jordan’s number adorns the front gate, and his outsize fingerprints are all over this property. The 56,000-square-foot estate comes equipped with “every conceivable luxury amenity,” according to the listing details.

The custom-designed property includes a regulation-sized basketball gym, circular infinity pool, putting green, and tennis court, each bearing “Jordan’s signature touch,” the listing description asserts.

That may be great if your name is Michael Jordan, but the home has proved a challenge to sell to a buyer with a different name.

Gate of Michael Jordan’s home in Highland Park, IL

Compass

Entry

Compass

Living room

Compass

Game room

Compass

Circular infinity pool

Compass

Basketball court

Compass

Outdoor living space

Compass

The sprawling estate, custom-built for “His Airness,” was completed in 1995, when Jordan was in the middle of his second championship run with the Bulls.

It came on the market in 2012, with a list price of $29 million. When that failed to entice a buyer, the price was sliced to $21 million in 2013, and to $16 million in 2014, before arriving at its current price in 2015.

Despite the extensive price machinations, the 7-acre property has yet to sell. 

The estate has undergone “extensive renovations” since it was built, including the addition of a cigar room and modern appliances.

In addition, the deluxe, nine-bedroom abode with 15-plus bathrooms incorporates a great room, floor-to-ceiling windows, and an outdoor patio that can be accessed from multiple areas of the home. The grounds also feature a separate guesthouse.

In addition, the property is hallowed ground, as the site of the famed “Breakfast Club” for Jordan’s teammates Scottie Pippen, Ron Harper, and Randy Brown.

The players met at the residence for predawn workouts and morning meals prepared by Jordan’s personal chef. As we now know, the efforts ultimately succeeded. 

As we also learned from “Last Dance,” Jordan has since moved on from the property, purchasing homes in Jupiter, FL, and North Carolina.

Now, we’ll see whether a global crisis can spur anyone to step into Jordan’s enormous shoes and finally leap at the chance to own his home.

The post Will Sheltering in Place Finally Help Michael Jordan’s Mansion To Score a Buyer? appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

from https://www.realtor.com/news/celebrity-real-estate/renewed-interest-michael-jordan-mansion-illinois/

[rickhorrow]

10 To Watch : Mayor’s Edition 62419

RICK HORROW’S TOP 10 SPORTS/BIZ/TECH/PHILANTHROPY ISSUES FOR THE WEEK OF JUNE 24

with Jacob Aere

Ahead of the NHL Draft, the NHL Board of Governors unanimously approved billionaire entrepreneur Alex Meruelo to purchase a majority share of the Arizona Coyotes. The sale is expected to be "finalized in July," according to the Arizona Republic. Sources said that Meruelo’s focus will "remain on securing a permanent future in Arizona for the franchise." NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman said Meruelo is "committed" to finding a new arena in Arizona, adding that Gila River Arena in Glendale is "not viable long term.” The Associated Press noted that although the Coyotes "couldn't leave Arizona anytime soon due to NHL rules prohibiting new owners from immediately applying for relocation, Bettman pointedly didn't rule out the long-term possibility." As The Hockey News noted, one thing "working in the Coyotes’ favor” in this scenario is their Gila River Arena lease. That agreement runs season-to-season, and all the Coyotes have to do to renew it is “state their intentions" by December 31. If Meruelo is able to negotiate an arena deal elsewhere, extricating the Coyotes from their Glendale commitment will be relatively simple.

The Rays have "received permission" from MLB's exec council to "explore a plan in which they would play early-season home games in the Tampa Bay area and the remainder of the year in Montreal," according to sources. While the plan is in its "nascent stages, ESPN noted the Rays have embraced the two-city solution as the most feasible to saving baseball in the Tampa Bay area after years of failed attempts to build a new stadium in the region," according to sources. The Rays would play in new ballparks in "both the Tampa Bay area and Montreal," according to sources. The ability to play games early in the season in Florida "would preclude the need" for a domed ballpark, "cutting the cost of a new building.” The plan faces "several significant hurdles before being implemented," and it likely would not be in place until at least 2023. Reports of a potential schedule sharing plan have "surfaced several times in recent years from Montreal media." The Rays rank 29th in attendance only ahead of the Marlins, averaging 14,545 per game. While this bold plan is not likely to come to fruition, it is only the latest creative gambit by a pro sports team to strong arm its home city into ponying up funds for a new stadium.

Adidas is accused of discrimination by employee group. Adidas built its brand in the U.S. by embracing influential African-American athletes. However, fewer than 4.5% of the workers at the company's North American headquarters are African-American, per the New York Times, and members of that cohort say they feel ignored and sometimes discriminated against. This lack of diversity has led to multiple tone-deaf decisions that African-American employees say could put the entire brand at risk. One prime example of this is Adidas’ releasing all-white sneakers to commemorate Black History Month (which the company discontinued after an outcry). The European Union General Court also recently ruled against Adidas' claim that its famous three stripes, applied in any direction, deserve trademark protection. The case was a rare legal loss for Adidas, which has earned a reputation in the fashion world for aggressively litigating against anyone who uses a trio of stripes in their collections.

The Golden Gate Bridge, Highway and Transportation District board of directors held a public hearing on the proposed "special evening service to Warriors games" at Chase Center. According to the San Francisco Chronicle, the proposed Chase Center ferry from Larkspur would "replicate an existing special event service to Giants games at Oracle Park, which costs $14 for each one-way ticket." Staff at the bridge district "recommend the board set the same fare for Warriors games to recover all operating costs." The Water Emergency Transportation Authority is "pursuing a separate ferry line to carry East Bay fans from its terminals in Oakland and Alameda.” While the Bay Area has long provided special ferry routes to sporting events, just as many other cities routinely provide expanded transit service for sports fans, New York and Seattle are among the only other major metropolitan areas in the U.S. to routinely get fans to games across the water.

Cubs considering sportsbook at Wrigley. According to Hashtag Sports, the Chicago Cubs have considered opening a sportsbook at Wrigley Field and at locations just outside of the Friendly Confines. Betting windows, automated kiosks, and even a full-blown sportsbook venue inside the stadium are among the options that have been considered by the Cubs and other Chicago professional franchises, as Illinois prepares to put it new sports gambling law into effect. MLB currently prohibits sportsbooks, including betting kiosks or windows, inside a club's stadium. The NBA has similar rules in place prohibiting retail sportsbooks from offering in-person betting inside arenas. The leagues are reviewing the Illinois legislation. If a bill is passed in Illinois, it would mean that other state-based teams, including the Bears, Blackhawks, Bulls, and White Sox, could also apply for a masters sports wagering license, which is said to cost $10 million. Also heating up Chicago this month – the annual Association of Luxury Suite Directors conference, where Rick will serve as master of ceremonies June 30-July 2.

USWNT enters mediation over salary disparity. In the three years after they won the 2015 World Cup, the U.S. women's national team generated more game revenue ($50.8 million) than the U.S. men's national team ($49.9 million), according to audited financial reports acquired by the Wall Street Journal. The women's team's ability to match, and even exceed, the men's team in game revenue is a key factor in their ongoing gender-discrimination lawsuit against the U.S. Soccer Federation. Last month, U.S. Soccer responded to the suit by emphasizing that any alleged pay differential is "based on differences in the aggregate revenue generated by the different teams and/or any other factor other than sex." But while men's games used to bring in far more money, the women's team has closed the gap. While our national teams also generate revenue from sponsorship deals and broadcast rights, as the WSJ points out, "U.S. Soccer sells broadcast rights and sponsorships as a bundle, not separately for each national team.” That makes it difficult to parse the value between the men's and women's teams. Here’s a fair solution: give the men and the women the same base salary and then allow them to earn bonuses based on ticket and merchandise sales and anything else that can be tracked.

Gatorade has a new media strategy to make video everywhere with an AR Snapchat lens. According to Digiday, Gatorade debuted a new augmented reality lens on Snapchat on June 20 as a follow up to the animated world of PepsiCo’s “Sisters is Sweat,” where the lens followed the journey of a young girl and her soccer ball. The upcoming AR lens, one of Snapchat’s portal lenses, allows the audience to get into the game and score the winning goal in AR. This is the latest Gatorade experiment with Snapchat, where the brand has found success with games like Serena Williams’ Match Point and filters. The brand had pivoted away from thinking about video in terms of linear, online, and premium channels to instead be wherever its athlete audience will be. That’s why the PepsiCo beverage brand is planning to spend 45% of its media budget on digital this year, an increase of 11% from 2018’s 34% on digital, with the majority of that spending focused on mobile.

NASCAR’s Kyle Petty Charity Ride Across America raises $1.7 million for Victory Junction. 250 participants completed the charity’s longest route ever, nearly 3,700 miles – from Kent, Washington to Key Largo, Florida – to raise funds to provide a life-changing camp experience for children with chronic medical illnesses. According to Kent Reporter, the Kyle Petty Charity Ride Across America celebrated its 25th anniversary with its funds raised directly to benefit Victory Junction. The ride’s donation supports maintenance programs, building projects, and summer camps. In addition to the more than $1.7 million raised by the ride, a $2 million donation was presented to the Kyle Petty Charity Ride Trust by the Andreas family in honor of a beloved Charity. Victory Junction has served as the Ride’s primary beneficiary since its establishment by Petty and his family in 2004 in honor of his late son, Adam. Since 1995, 8,650 riders have logged more than 12.4 million motorcycle miles and raised $18.5 million for Victory Junction and other children’s charities. Getting together to cruise across America, this year’s Ride  featured several celebrity riders, including NASCAR Hall of Famer Richard Petty and NASCAR legends Harry Gant, Hershel McGriff, and Donnie Allison who helped to create a near $4 million change for children.

Murray and other honorees get WISE/R. Octagon’s Lisa Murray was recognized by Women In Sports and Events (WISE) as a 2019 Woman of Distinction, for her continued support of women in the industry and making a mark as a pioneer of the sports industry. WISE/R Symposium, held in New York City on June 18, was the first of its kind to focus solely on the personal and professional development of women in the business of sports, WISE/R Symposium offered the opportunity to hear from top experts, learn career strategies, connect with peers, and more. Confirmed speakers besides Murray included finance journalist Jean Chatzky and industry leaders Anita DeFrantz, Janet Fletcher, Michele Roberts, and Suzanne Smith. This annual one-day event was produced by WISE. The WISE/R vent joins SportsBusiness Journal’s annual Game Changers conference and other prestigious events now honoring the significant contributions women have made to the sports industry.

Former NFL official Mike Pereira helps military veterans through officiating. In 2015, the former NFL official forged a second career as a highly respected rules’ expert on Fox Sports’ NFL and college broadcasts. The ex-official then met some military vets in Los Angeles and realized that these men had acquired the same skill set through the military that it takes to be a good official. That’s when Pereira realized he could give scholarships to vets to become officials, and get them off of the streets. Since the inception of Battlefields to Ballfields in 2016, more than 220 vets have been given scholarships to get them started on a career in officiating in football, baseball, and basketball. According to the Democrat & Chronicle, the money covers the cost of their training, uniforms, equipment, and local and national association dues for a period of three years. One thing Pereira loves about getting vets into officiating is that of all the people who could ignore the abuse from fans and coaches, the former official realized that no one is better suited than veterans.

[laularlau8]

The history of India’s independence and the creation of Pakistan had been unfamiliar to Gillian Anderson when she took the role of Lady Mountbatten for her new film Viceroy’s House. The actor had once hired a private history tutor, a dozen years ago, to fill in some gaps of history she was hazy on – “Stuff that just wasn’t in my brain” – but this had not been one of them.

“No, I’d thought let me start with a couple of things that I don’t actually know that much about, or I can’t remember that much about, which was the first and second world wars.” She starts to laugh. “But it was a disaster. Because I have no memory. I took notes, blah, blah, blah, but couldn’t remember a thing he taught me. Nothing. I’m not even sure, if you’d asked me the next day, I could have told you what I’d learned. You know, even my favourite books, I couldn’t tell you what they were about. It’s always been that way.”

The menopause hasn’t helped, and lately things have become so bad that she’s going to get herself tested to see if she might actually be dyslexic. “Somebody had said to me that dyslexia isn’t just about seeing words backwards, it’s also about the assimilation of information. I’d always been afraid to look into it, because I was afraid that if I found something out, I would think that I couldn’t do anything that I wanted to do. I have this impression that I can do whatever I make up my mind to. But the reality is...” She lets the sentence fall away with a grimace.

By a bit of luck, the one thing the actor has always been able to remember are her lines. “But of course that’s terrifying for me, thinking, well, what if this problem that exists in the rest of my life shows up in that respect, too? Then I’d be buggered.”

If this creates an impression of a ditzy blonde, it would be misleading. We meet at the photographer’s studio, where a rack of stylist’s clothes stands unused; she chooses to be photographed in her own, and the way she chuckles about this makes me think the preference is par for the course for Anderson on shoots. Her fitted black trouser suit and heels are a sort of corporate/fashion hybrid, and her manner is similarly friendly but business-like. Apart from her enormous eyes, everything about Anderson is tiny, and the compactness reinforces the sense of efficient self-possession she conveys. She was just 24 when, as FBI agent Dana Scully in the paranormal TV drama that would make her a global star, she captivated X-Files fans for 10 years with her hyper-rational cool, before moving to London where her career has been equally sure-footed. From period dramas (Bleak House, House Of Mirth, War And Peace) to big-budget TV series (Hannibal, The Fall), to independent movies (The Last King Of Scotland, A Cock And Bull Story), comedy (Boogie Woogie, Johnny English Reborn) and theatre (A Doll’s House, A Streetcar Named Desire), Anderson seems to get busier the older she gets. It’s a tall order for a beautiful blonde to play consistently powerful, intelligent women, but Anderson has pulled it off.

The actor brings her air of serious purpose to the role of Lady Mountbatten, giving us a less flighty version of the aristocrat than the good-time girl caricature we’ve been accustomed to. She evokes her character’s classic colonial glamour, but depicts her dashing about nursing the sick and injured, and being a generally good egg.

“One of the things that I was surprised by in studying Edwina was that there was certainly a turning point in her life when she went from being predominantly a socialite, and wafting around and having affairs, living pretty much from holiday to holiday and leaving her children at home. But when the war happened and she started to participate in nursing et cetera, her escapism completely switched over to being of service, so everything she did from that moment on was about properly digging in and working around the clock.”

Viceroy’s House opens with the arrival in India of Lord Mountbatten and his wife in 1947, to oversee the nation’s transition from colonial rule to independence. Hugh Bonneville plays Edwina’s husband, and their official residence – Viceroy’s House – is not so much the film’s setting as the third star member of the cast. Sumptuously filmed, at moments the movie is a sort of Downton Abbey of the Raj, with all sorts of romantic intrigue going on below stairs among the 500 Hindu, Sikh and Muslim household staff. But there is not so much as a hint of the affair Lady Mountbatten was rumoured to take up with the man about to become India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru. Their romance was to have been the subject of a 2009 film, Indian Summer, until the Indian government took exception to the salacious storyline and forced the movie to be cancelled. In the hands of British director Gurinder Chadha, whose own family were among the 14 million displaced in the violence and bloodshed of the period, this new version of India’s independence is less racy, if rather more substantial, and concerns itself with the politics of partition.

Anderson says she was always conscious while making the film that some viewers will find the concept of a “good” colonialist inherently problematic – “yes, absolutely, absolutely” – and 70 years after independence, she found herself revisiting colonialism’s dynamics on location. They filmed in Jodhpur, staying at the Umaid Bhawan Palace hotel, where the film was also shot, using the palace to double for the real Viceroy’s House. “And, you know, we’re in a situation where we’re in a developing country and we are filming at the height of luxury and, yes, there’s an uneasiness to it. There was one actor we worked with, who does a lot of work around the world in – I can’t remember whether it’s around poverty or Aids – who would not stay there. He refused to stay in the hotel, and wanted to stay in some place that felt more like India.”

Even by the standards of activist actors, Anderson’s own involvement in social and political causes is prolific. The 48-year-old has campaigned variously for women’s rights in Afghanistan, against sexual violence towards girls in Myanmar, for better access to HIV treatment in South Africa and education in Uganda, against domestic violence in the UK and child trafficking across the globe, for the rights of indigenous tribes in South America and conservation of cheetahs in Namibia, against deforestation in the Amazon and rabbit fur farms in China – and that is nothing like the full list. I was therefore expecting her to be quite forthright about current political affairs, but am completely wrong.

“I generally have a tendency to steer away from outright political discussion in interviews, because I am an actor, and there’s so much that I don’t understand, and I don’t for a second feel like I have a right to that platform. I don’t want to get into a discussion about Trump or about Brexit or any of that – I feel it’s best left to people who really understand the very, very complex issues. Not for a second am I going to pitch in, because I don’t really know what it is that I’m talking about. I have opinions, but I don’t think my opinions are more valid because I’m an actor and have more of a platform than others.”

I wonder if this is her way of saying she shares the view that actors ought to stop turning awards ceremonies into anti-Trump rallies, but she looks faintly alarmed. “No, no, no, I’m not saying that at all. I’m only talking about myself. I don’t have an opinion on whether or not actors should speak out.”

She has, on the other hand, just co-written a book called We: A Manifesto For Women Everywhere. Rather like Anderson, it is less polemical than one might guess from the title, and more a manual for spiritual self-improvement. Co-written with her close friend Jennifer Nadel, a former barrister and BBC documentary maker, Anderson has described it as a work of advice to her younger self. “I have struggled with self-esteem myself,” she said last year, “and in looking at the ways that I have dealt with overcoming those things, I started to think that maybe some of it might be potentially useful for other people of all ages.”

According to the introduction, it is a “manifesto for a female-led revolution”, and Anderson stresses that it is “not a self-help book”, although it reads a lot like one. Chapters are called things like Acceptance: Making Friends With What Is, and Courage: Ending The Victim Trap, and its pages promise to “change your life”. It prescribes a detailed programme of fairly recognisable techniques, which range from meditation, affirmations (“This is who I am and I’m glad to be me”), messages to oneself on Post-it notes stuck to the bathroom mirror (“My name is Decca. I am a good and kind person. I do not need to please everyone. I do enough. I am enough.”) and a nightly gratitude list of reasons to feel grateful to the universe. As is often the case with this sort of book, I find myself torn between cynical giggles and the mesmerising thought: what if it works?

Anderson swears it does, but she has such cut-glass British poise that I struggle to picture her solemnly reciting affirmations. It might have been easier to reconcile her voice with the book’s rather Californian, new-age tone had we met in America, for she is what’s called bidialectal; when in the US, she speaks in an American accent, but here she sounds completely British, and says she has no control over it. “I was in Los Angeles recently with a couple of Brits and I thought, I’m going to see what it’s like to talk among Americans with a British accent, and I felt so uncomfortable. It felt so disingenuous, and I kept thinking they must think I’m a complete twat. But when I’m here, it’s nearly impossible for me to maintain an American accent.”

Anderson was born in Chicago but moved to London aged five, while her father attended film school in the city. When she was 11, the family moved back to the States, to Michigan, but continued to spend summers in London, and by her early teens Anderson was rattling off the rails. Punk rock, drugs, an addict girlfriend and a much older boyfriend all featured heavily in her adolescence, and her classmates weren’t wrong when they voted her “most likely to get arrested”. On the night of graduation, she broke into her school to try to glue the locks shut, and was charged with trespass.

She has been in therapy since the age of 14, and the book is interspersed with personal passages on her own experience of mental-health difficulties. “There were times,” she tells me, “when it was really bad. There have been times in my life where I haven’t wanted to leave the house.” But there’s a bit of a dance between disclosure and discretion, because whenever I ask her to elaborate on the personal vignettes in the book, she shuts down.

I kept hearing myself say, ‘I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down’

The book contains enough 12-step-style advice to make me think addiction issues went beyond teenage experimentation for Anderson, and when I say so, she nods. Could she say a little more? “No.” After 24 years in therapy, and writing the book, I’m guessing she has a good idea where her problems stem from, but the question receives a chilly, “Pourquoi?” There are “quite a few”, she says, but “I would have put them in the book if I wanted to talk about them out loud.”

Her first husband was a Canadian art director she met on the set of The X-Filesand married at 25. Their daughter Piper was born a year later, but the marriage was over within three years; her second marriage, in 2004, to a journalist and producer, ended within two. Months later, she announced she was pregnant, and had two sons – Oscar, now 11, and Felix, nine – with a British businessman, before they split up five years ago.

I’m curious about how a single mother who has been working flat out for 25 years (she was back on the X-Files set nine days after giving birth to Piper) can even find the time to practise all the spiritual techniques her book recommends.

“Well,” she smiles, “I’ve definitely deliberately slowed down. Because I kept hearing myself say, ‘I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down.’ I must have said that for 10 years, or maybe even 20 years. I was just sick and tired of hearing myself. I just thought, why do I do this to myself, and why have I done it for so long? People would laugh at me because I’d be like, ‘I had an extra 10 minutes, so I stopped in to say hi, you know.’ It became enough of a joke among my friends that I had to start paying attention to it. So one of the things I try really hard now to do is, no matter what, after I drop the kids, I go back home so I can meditate.”

Why has she always pushed herself so hard? “Well, the bigger-picture part is that I’m responsible for quite a lot of people financially, so it’s that. But it’s also a little bit of fear of what happens when one slows down. When I think about an empty period of time, fear comes up. I’m quite good at being on my own, so it’s not necessarily fear of myself, but probably fear of facing those things like: why do I drive myself so hard?”

Does she really compile a list of things to feel grateful for every day? “Yes! I do a gratitude list every night. I mean, it’s in my head now, but I go through stages where I think I’m just complaining all the time again. It’s too floating in my head, it needs to be on paper.” Complaining all the time is “probably one of the things I struggle with most. I suffer from great intolerance. Such intolerance of so much.” Such as? “Oh, intolerance of myself. Intolerance of situations. Intolerance of people on the street. Intolerance of whatever. So I have to constantly settle myself down from the state of being aggravated.”

I try to picture her stropping about, grumbling about roadworks or noisy neighbours, and find this image easier to conjure than the new-age version of her intoning, “My name is Gillian Anderson, I am a good and kind person.” She has a steeliness about her that I really like, but whether it’s proof of the success of her spiritual techniques or indicates the limits of their powers, I can’t decide. She certainly feels like someone in full control of herself and her life, and if this keeps her at a slightly cool distance, it is also rather enviable.

She says she used to be pitilessly intolerant of her own physical self, but won’t elaborate on how that manifested itself, because she refuses to allow herself that line of thinking. “I will not go there. I simply will not allow it any more. Because the things that we might be critical of ourselves about actually don’t matter. The only thing that really matters in terms of our peace of mind is our peace of mind itself, and how we react to things. All I know is that when I meditate, one goes beyond the physical, and it is possible to tap into a sense of absolute contentment and joy in that place. So if that’s where you’re starting, then actually none of this,” and she gestures to her body, “means anything, really.”

How is it possible for a working actor to liberate herself from concerns about physical appearance, when her existence is so entwined in it? After eight seconds of silence, she replies: “I don’t know. I mean, as I get older, I imagine the roles that I’m able to get are going to change. There will be a certain point where I’ll make the decision to go grey, you know. There might be a certain point where I decide that it’s silly for me to continue being blond when I’m in my 60s. I’ve also always wanted to direct, I’ve also always wanted to be an artist. Maybe when the kids are out of college, I can decide to downsize and go grey and get less work.”

The art of acceptance is one of her new book’s biggest themes. As someone who is terrible at it, I’ve never been sure how realistic an ambition true acceptance really is.

“Well, there’s an opportunity for fear around every corner, fear of the future, fear of what if,” Anderson says. “But the acceptance of wherever we are, whoever we are, is freedom. So, you know, I can sit and bemoan the fact that I don’t get the same roles, or bemoan the fact that my skin is starting to look like chicken skin, or bemoan whatever it is. But that’s not reality. That’s fighting reality.”

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[how2to18]

Fame, if you win it, Comes and goes in a minute. 

— Jule Styne, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green, “Make Someone Happy” 

The pure products of America go crazy.

— William Carlos Williams, “To Elsie”

¤

DRIVE DOWN some of Hollywood’s major thoroughfares or visit some of its celebrated tourist attractions, like Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, and you’re bound to see at least one mural featuring  bona fide pop icons like Marilyn, Elvis, and James Dean. Depending on the artist, the players joining Marilyn might include Sinatra, John Wayne, or Chaplin. If Duke Haney, the author of Death Valley Superstars, commissioned his own mural, the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce might not approve. Yes, Marilyn would still be there, but her supporting cast would be a bunch of troublemakers as obscure as she is famous — Steve Cochran, Sean Flynn, Mark Frechette, Christopher Jones — as well as the notorious Lee Harvey Oswald and William Desmond Taylor, the victim of one of Hollywood’s greatest unsolved mysteries.

The personalities on Haney’s mural are just some of the subjects he profiles in his engrossing new collection of essays, Death Valley Superstars: Occasionally Fatal Adventures in Filmland. All but one of Haney’s pieces were originally published on Brad Listi’s literary website The Nervous Breakdown, where I discovered his work in December 2013. Familiar with Haney’s experience writing screenplays and acting in low-budget films, Listi, who had published Subversia (2010), Haney’s first collection of essays, invited him to begin writing about Hollywood. Haney twice demurred, not wanting to be known as just another Kenneth Anger. “I had been struggling to start a novel for two years to no effect,” Haney recently told Listi on his podcast, “and it might rejuvenate me to work instead on a quirky tour of a neglected career and colorful life [tough guy actor Steve Cochran] — an appreciation with elements of biography.” He accepted Listi’s invitation and began writing biographical essays on some of destiny’s darlings, and a number of also-rans who briefly achieved a measure of fame only to see it undone by scandal, misbehavior, or malign fate. Superstars isn’t restricted to luminaries of the screen: Hugh Hefner, Jim Morrison, and the aforementioned Lee Harvey Oswald show up in its pages. Haney’s deep research, fresh insights, and engaging prose bring these subjects to life. He also includes several lively accounts of his own experiences working for legendary cheapjack producer Roger Corman and even more marginal Hollywood operators.

Haney leads his book with a powerful memoir, “When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth,” a real cri de coeur recalling how the New Hollywood films of the ’70s celebrated in Peter Biskind’s book Easy Riders, Raging Bulls inspired him to journey to Hollywood to make the same kinds of films, only to discover that the blockbuster success of Star Wars and its successors had already killed the New Hollywood movement, torpedoing the career Haney had imagined for himself in Charlottesville, Virginia, where he had immersed himself in movies screened at the palatial Paramount Theater and a local revival house. There, he discovered the Holy Trinity of Method acting — Marlon Brando, Montgomery Clift, and James Dean — and their ’70s equivalents — Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Jack Nicholson, and Dustin Hoffman — all of whom he had hoped to emulate once he hit Hollywood.

Haney’s essay could easily be titled “Star Wars and Its Discontents.” He spends a hefty chunk of “Dinosaurs” expounding on the detrimental effect of that beloved franchise. Star Wars did more than merely change Hollywood’s commercial ecosystem, infantilizing movies. It became a cultural Death Star, Haney contends, whose puerility pervaded society, reducing adults to Peter Pans who are not ashamed to line up at the box office for movies that would once have been considered strictly kid’s stuff and to buy “adult” coloring books.

In the powerful conclusion of “Dinosaurs,” Haney recalls his childhood self going to see a movie (When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth [1970]) for the first time:

I can picture him now, about to see a movie alone for the first time. He walks up the long corridor, carpeted in red, of the Paramount Theater, pausing at the concession stand to gawk at thumbnail photos of the posters for sale, and a voice in his head says, Don’t look. God doesn’t want you to look. But the voice is quiet in the darkness of the auditorium, where the boy watches a girl in a fur bikini cavort anachronistically with a dinosaur, and the boy thinks, Man, I would love to be that dinosaur, never dreaming that, when he’s a man, a dinosaur is just what he’ll be.

Someone once wisely said that participation in sports doesn’t create character, it reveals it. The same can be said of the effects of fame and its pursuit, something personified by Marilyn Monroe and Lee Harvey Oswald, Haney’s most famous subjects. They were both pathetic wretches who thought that fame would enable them to escape the pain of anonymity. Monroe was a perpetually unhappy woman who never knew her father and whose mother had a disordered mind. The response she got for modeling for some rather chaste cheesecake photos set her direction. With considerable effort, she became a worldwide sex goddess, but her fame only exacerbated her unhappiness. She finally found release in a bottle of Nembutal one lonely night.

In “Golden State Girl,” Haney argues that Monroe was a genuine artist whose greatest creation was her inimitable screen persona.  “There’s no pathos in the image they propose,” Haney writes, after describing several instances of her hateful behavior,

but there’s pathos aplenty in the image of Marilyn as a wounded stray, as the candle in the wind of Elton John song, as a martyr of celebrity, of Hollywood, of men and patriarchy and the male gaze. This image — and it’s finally a single image — excludes those traits it can’t, and doesn’t want to, accommodate: opportunism, toughness, willfulness, petulance, all of which, and then some, can be found in a convoluted woman with a genius for appearing the opposite.

Lee Harvey Oswald was born two months after his father died. His mother was a kook. He believed that he deserved to be a major actor on the stage of history, not just some nobody sweating his life away stacking boxes of schoolbooks in an old warehouse. The secret delight he must have enjoyed after making himself the focus of the world’s attention lasted only two days before a .38 bullet in his belly ended his life. In “Oswald Has Been Shot,” Haney explores the possibility that three movies that Oswald saw — We Were Strangers (1949), Suddenly (1954), and The Manchurian Candidate (1962) — may have inspired him to kill the president.

As his essay on Oswald demonstrates, outsiders fascinate Haney. And that fascination extends to Hollywood’s outsiders, the nearly forgotten actors who were deserted by fame in their own lifetimes. Haney is their champion. In Superstars, he tells the stories of Sean Flynn, Mark Frechette, Steve Cochran, and Christopher Jones in captivating detail and provides us with the most complete biographies these men are ever likely to get. 

Sean Flynn inherited the handsomeness of his father, legendary screen swashbuckler Errol Flynn, but lacked his casual élan in front a movie camera. Sean sought adventure as a photographer in war torn Vietnam and Cambodia, where he disappeared in 1970. Steve Cochran possessed a kind of oily charisma that suited his portrayals of shady characters in films like White Heat (1949) and Private Hell 36 (1954). He was an uncomplicated man who cared only for masculine luxuries — exotic sports cars and boats — and women: he had an insatiable sexual appetite. He could also be physically violent with them. He died horribly when a mysterious disease suddenly struck him as he was sailing his yacht Rogue in the waters off Guatemala, while a crew of barely legal Mexican women he had hired to help him promote a film project could only look on helplessly.

Mark Frechette never wanted to be an actor. He didn’t know what he wanted to do until he fell under the spell of cult leader Mel Lyman in Boston. After a talent scout for director Michelangelo Antonioni spotted Frechette in New York, Antonioni cast him as a campus radical running from the law in Zabriskie Point (1970). Frechette often sparred with Antonioni during the shoot. It didn’t matter; he was only doing it for Mel. Frechette’s misbegotten idea of a revolutionary political statement was to rob a bank, which got one of his accomplices killed. Frechette died in prison when a barbell fell on his neck, asphyxiating him. He was only 27.

Christopher Jones rocketed to stardom in only his second film, Wild in the Streets (1968), a political fantasy about a 22-year-old rock star who becomes president. He bore a striking similarity to James Dean, with the same mesmeric ability to seduce an audience. Jones quit acting abruptly after filming Ryan’s Daughter (1970) and became an enigmatic recluse until his death in early 2014 at age 72. In what may be the most fascinating piece in Death Valley Superstars, Duke Haney does much to unravel the shadowy mystery of Jones’ post-Hollywood years for the first time.

“I think Hollywood is the true Death Valley,” says Haney, “because it’s where dreams go to die, and sometimes the dreamer.” Fortunately, Haney is still with us — and we owe him our thanks for Death Valley Superstars, a dream of a collection.

¤

Peter L. Winkler is the author of Dennis Hopper: The Wild Ride of a Hollywood Rebel (Barricade Books, 2011) and the editor of The Real James Dean: Intimate Memories from Those Who Knew Him Best (Chicago Review Press, 2016).

The post Hell Down in Hollywood: On Duke Haney’s “Death Valley Superstars” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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Tower of power: A look at the big names buying at this Chicago condo

9 West Walton Street, Jason Heyward, Ken Griffin, Omer Asik, Steve Stratton, Todd Siwak, and Matthew Lawton (Credit: JDL, ESPN, JLL, ULI)

A 7-foot-tall Chicago Bull, a candy company magnate and the richest man in Illinois walk into the lobby of a luxury Chicago condo tower.

If you’re waiting for a punchline, don’t. There’s no joke here — just the possibility of what could happen once Omer Asik, Jason Heyward and Ken Griffin all have moved in to their units in the still-under-construction high-rise from JDL Development at 9 West Walton Street in the Gold Coast. The 38-story building was scheduled to open later this year.

The roster of soon-to-be residents at No. 9 Walton already includes hedge-fund managers, financial advisers, real estate execs, doctors, lawyers and other wealthy buyers who gave the building the record for most sales of $3 million or more, according to Crain’s.

And while it’s true there are many Gold Coast buildings boasting well-heeled leaders of Chicago industry living in multimillion-dollar homes, No. 9 Walton has dominated the list of most expensive residential sales in recent months.

Penthouses chicago

In addition to the usual luxury amenities, the building also features a house car and driver, private wine storage available, a covered dog run and two guest suites available to all homeowners. And Gemini restaurant owner Ryan O’Donnell bringing over Coda Di Volpe chef Christopher Thompson for a new two-floor restaurant inside the building, Eater reported.

A JDL executive declined to comment for this article, citing the privacy of the firm’s buyers. While a number of the units were purchased through trusts or LLC, The Real Deal was able to determine the identities of a number of the buyers:

Ken Griffin

The hedge fund billionaire behind Citadel made a splash late last year when he bought four unfinished floors at the top of the building for $59 million, shattering the record for most expensive home sale ever in Chicago. And even with the millions he’d have to spend to build out the home, it wouldn’t come close to the price tag of Griffin’s sprawling South Florida compound.

Todd Siwak

The Ferrara Candy Company CEO paid $4.6 million for a three-bedroom unit on the 17th floor. Siwak has led the Oakbrook Terrace-based firm since 2013 and plans to use the condo as a second residence, according to the ChicagoTribune. He also has a home in the St. Louis area.

Jason Heyward

The Cubs outfielder bought a 19th-floor unit for $6.9 million through an LLC. But the 29-year-old shouldn’t have many problems making his payments: He’s in the middle of an eight-year, $184 million contract with the Cubs.

Matthew Lawton

The executive managing director of commercial real estate firm HFF paid $4.5 million for an 8th-floor condo.

Steven and Sarah Stratton

JLL’s Steven Stratton is the firm’s Chicago tenant representation group co-lead and oversees its Midwest practice. He and his wife, Sarah, paid $3.8 million for the 10th-floor unit.

Omer Asik

The 7-footer from Turkey who is in his second stint with the Bulls paid $3.1 million for a seventh-floor condo with Wilma Wyngaart.

Paul Greenwalt

The partner at law firm Schiff Hardin paid $8.9 million for the 34th-floor condo, which puts it among the most expensive recent home sales.

Ashley and Jennifer Keller

Ashley Keller is a co-founder of Keller Lenkner, a plaintiff-side litigation firm. He also was a co-founder of litigation finance firm GKC, which sold in 2016 for $160 million. The Kellers paid $6.8 million for their 20th-floor condo.

Stephen Madry and Valerie Vlahos

Madry, a plastic surgeon, and Vlahos, a director at PriceWaterhouseCooper, paid $5.5 million for their 16th-floor condo.

Dominick and Cynthia Mondi

The president of Mesirow Financial and his wife paid $2.5 million for their fourth-floor unit.

Imad Bazzi and Salma Shawwaf

Bazzi is CEO of Oakbrook Terrace-based ACH Food Companies, a manufacturer of cooking and baking ingredients. They paid $3.2 million for their ninth-floor condo.

Joseph Rotter

The former Citadel hedge fund manager is managing director for Neuberger Berman Investment Advisers and head of the Principal Strategies Group. He paid $3.6 million for his fourth-floor condo.

David and Laura Eikenmeyer

The couple behind the Urban Child Academy preschools paid $5.3 million for their 19th-floor unit

Kevin and Shoshana Vernick

Shoshana Vernick is managing director at investment bank Sterling Partners, while Kevin Vernick is president of commercial real estate firm Vernick & Associates. They paid $3.7 million for their 12th-floor condo.

Cary and Teri Cicurel

Cary Cicurel is managing director at Loop Capital Markets. The couple’s 17th-floor unit cost $4.5 million.

Steve and Ariel Derringer

Steven Derringer is partner at law firm Bartlit Beck Herman Palenchar. The couple paid $4.5 million for their 14th-floor condo.

Helaine G. Cohen

The broker for Berkshire Hathaway Home Services Koenig Rubloff Realty Group paid $2.3 million for her seventh-floor condo. Cohen’s online bio says she is creator of ChicagoCondoFinder.com.

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[nightmare-afton-cosplay]

Retired NBA Star Dwyane Wade Lists Miami Beach Home for $32.5M

Emma McIntyre/Getty Images

Former Miami Heat star Dwyane Wade is hoping to score a buyer for his Miami Beach mansion, according to the Wall Street Journal. He’s asking a hefty $32.5 million for the swanky digs.

The recently retired All-Star guard had been in the NBA since 2003, mainly with the Miami Heat. In 2010, during his championship run with the team, he picked up the 14,000-square-foot home for $10.46 million, property records show. The hoops star then proceeded to have the place completely redone.

Still, even after pouring money into a bespoke residence, he stands to make money on his investment if the listing sells anywhere near asking price.

The “East Coast-inspired Spanish architecture” is set behind private gates and offers “countless contemporary amenities and exquisite custom details,” according to the listing description.

Dwyane Wade’s Miami Beach home

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Living room with French doors

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Chef’s kitchen

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Master suite with private balcony

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Luxe master bath

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Covered patio

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Pool

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Basketball court in Miami Heat colors

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The luxe space includes six bedrooms and 9.5 baths, all set on a well-manicured acre. Inside, the layout includes a chef’s kitchen, multiple living areas, a formal dining room, a state-of-the-art theater, a wine room, and a family room. Details include arched doorways, walls of windows, and sets of French doors that extend the living space outside.

The sumptuous master suite includes an office, a luxurious bath with dual vanities, and a private balcony. Aspiring divas will find a salon room for hair styling and makeup.

Outside, along with a private dock, the space boasts a pool, gazebo with a bar, outdoor kitchen, and a Miami Heat-themed basketball court.

Wade, who is 37, played his last game with the Heat in 2019. The MVP also suited up for the Chicago Bulls and the Cleveland Cavaliers, but is now retired. He’s married to the actress Gabrielle Union, and seems to have shifted his real estate focus westward.

Last year, the two bought a home in Sherman Oaks, CA, for just under $6 million, according to the Miami Herald. Union is set to co-star with Jessica Alba in the police drama “L.A.’s Finest.” 

Brett Harris of Douglas Elliman holds the listing.

The post Retired NBA Star Dwyane Wade Lists Miami Beach Home for $32.5M appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

from https://www.realtor.com/news/celebrity-real-estate/dwyane-wade-selling-miami-beach-home/