#jewel's darl 1987

[celluloidrainbow]

JEWEL'S DARL (1987) dir. Peter Wells Drag queen Mandy describes her love for her trans girlfriend, Jewel. Jewel's Darl concentrates on the fine details of their relationship: tea and biscuits in bed, Jewel's belief in staying strong against other people's mockery, and Mandy's memories of a troubled childhood. (link in title)

[broadwaydivastournament]

Broadway Divas Tournament: FINAL

So. It's all come down to this. Were any of us truly surprised? Are any of us really prepared?

Six-time Tony winner Audra McDonald (1970) holds the record for most Tony acting awards a person has ever won. She is one of five actors to be nominated across all four respective acting categories and the only person to win every one (and the only actress out of the three who is still living...). Her stage work includes: Ragtime (1998), Porgy and Bess (2012), and Lady Day at Emmerson's Bar and Grill (2014). Internationally acclaimed concert tours, Tony host, crown jewel of the American Stage. Grammy winner, Tony winner, Emmy winner. Get this woman an Oscar, stat. This is a BROADWAY Diva tournament, and Audra Ann McDonald is BROADWAY.

Seven-time Tony nominee, two-time winner Bernadette Peters (1948) has a sixty-plus year stage career of monumental proportions. Considered the foremost Sondheim interpreter, their collaborative works include Sunday in the Park with George (1984), Into the Woods (1987), Gypsy (2003), and Follies (2011). She has a thriving concert career, and was a co-founder of the beloved Broadway Barks event each year in Shubert Alley. She has an honorary third Tony (Isabelle Stevenson Award) for her outstanding advocacy and philanthropy. This is a Broadway DIVA tournament, and I mean come on, look at her. That is the quintessential DIVA right there.

NEW PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT

"I don't know what to tell you if you're somehow on the fence here. Audra Ann McDonald is Broadway's most beloved darling, and that's a quantifiable fact. Look at her award shelf. Her voice could resurrect the dead. She is an Oscar away from EGOT status. She has overcome almost insurmountable racism on the Great White Way. She is everything to me. A triple threat of acting, singing, and dancing where not one takes a backseat and she looks and sounds amazing at all times. "

"I have been besotted by Bernadette Peters (and her bosom) for more than two decades. Her name is synonymous with Broadway. She is THE Broadway Baby. She started in showbusiness as a child and has not left in seven decades. Her voice is emblematic of a time when we let people with unique, fascinating, wildly different voices star in shows rather than have everyone bow to the BA-ification of Broadway where everyone sounds the same and no one is distinctive."

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

12. Shooting for Someone - Part 2

If you’re reading as a one-off, this part (2/2) is set at a shooting weekend at Balmoral in 1987 with both Camilla and her husband of the time attending. Charles has been staying in Scotland for some time on his own.

If you’re reading as part of Tea Time - this is chapter 12 - part 2.

Breakfast was easier. They were both in a better mood, rested and more at ease with each other. Back to joking, laughing. Some of their friends commented on it, much to her embarrassment and he made a lude remark which usually wouldn’t bother her, but certainly did now. Shooting was dull. And freezing. The snow had melted into small patches so it wasn’t even beautiful. Just cold and bleak. It was probably dull because of how cold it was. Nobody was really talking although Andrew was on a roll with his hits. She welcomed the break round a wood burner, trying to warm her hands.

“Andy, you should give Mills a shot. Then we’d at least have a chance to hit something.” “She’s actually a pretty decent shot herself.” “Give Mills a gun, then!” “Not a chance. My hands are far too cold. And he’s set your expectations too high.” “I didn’t know you could shoot.” “She’s had plenty of practise. She needs some way of keeping her husband in check. It’s like whack a mole of mistresses.” She laughed with everyone else because it was meant in jest but it wasn’t funny. Nor did Andrew find it amusing. “She doesn’t need to shoot them now.” “Not now she has her own.” “One with a penchant for exquisite jewellery.” “Andy doesn’t buy you diamonds like those you were wearing last night.” “Shame, Shame!” The chorus was taken up by a few others as they laughed. She looked at Andrew for help and he shrugged, adding, “No need. HRH keeps her supplied with them.” That caused a stir and a bit of whooping from the men. “I hope my Sarah doesn’t start getting ideas!” “Your wife’s not called Sarah.” “Exactly!” “Ouch! Don’t hit me, Darling! It was a joke!” That made everyone laugh although they went quiet when Charles came to join them. “What did I overhear about diamonds?” “Wales, you old dog!” “You’re putting us to shame!” “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” “So Milla wasn’t wearing Grandmama’s diamonds?” “How on earth do you know that?” “Dickie’s wife recognised it.” “You know what she’s like.” “Positively green with envy, weren’t you Eleanor, darling?” “I just particularly like diamonds! And Dickie here’s a Scrooge.” “Eleanor, really? You keep a tabs on my family jewels?” “Only the particularly priceless ones. If I drool enough, he might take the hint.” That made him laugh. “Well, I thought it went exceptionally well with her blue dress so it was loaned for the evening.” “Loaned?!” There was a collective groan. “That’s not how you do things, Wales.” “You’re not meant to take them back at the end of the night.” “That’s not the way the world works.” “Milla, you really need to insist the tight bugger treats you, not loans to you.” “Stop living vicariously, the lot of you. When you all buy me diamonds, you can insist Charles does too!” “Charles?” “Oh, it’s Charles now.” “Charlie-boy!” They were incorrigible. The lot of them. Completely irreverent, half of them mad and the other half at least bordering on insanity. She could see Charles’s eyes pleading with her not to add her nickname to the mix. She smiled and shook her head at him. She’d never do that. Yet, somehow the teasing brought a bit of normality back to the party, lightened the atmosphere.

The box was waiting on her dresser when they went up to get changed for dinner along with a much smaller one. He didn’t warn her about it this time and the first box was enormous. “Andy…” He came over as she opened it. “Jesus, Mary, mother of God…” “I’ve never seen so many diamonds in my life.” “I presume this is a loan again?” She whacked him gently on the chest. “Of course it’s a loan. He’s taking the piss.” “I thought these were meant to be in the Tower of London.” “He’s got access, evidently.” They both giggled. “You’ll need a very low cut dress for that. What did you bring?” “A very low cut dress. He’s had fun with this. Bastard.” “What earrings are you going to wear with that?” She looked at him peculiarly. “What? Because I’m a man I can’t make comments about earrings?” “No, because you’ve never once in twenty years made a comment like that.” “I’ve never seen anything like that before. And I don’t think you have anything to go with it.” She shook her head at his sudden interest in jewellery. “I think there’s earrings in the other box.” She opened it to find a drop set of diamonds, complementing the necklace. They looked newer than the necklace. “Fortunately. Because you’re right. I’ve nothing that would go with that.” “Be careful with them. They might rip through your earlobes.” “Overly dramatic.” “Put them on.” “No. I won’t be able to move in them. I’ll get dressed first. They went down to dinner in a much better mood than the previous night. “I think you outshine everyone here, Mills.” “Yes, I think I do.”

She hit him when she saw him, making him chuckle. “This is ridiculous.” “You look incredible.” “It’s so heavy.” “Another one from my Grandmother’s collection. But the earrings are yours.” Before she could say anything, he kissed her neck and walked off to talk to someone else. She kept that a secret as people fussed over the necklace, knowing this time it was a loan and therefore feeling able to comment. It had five drooping layers of diamonds which sparkled in every light. She felt a bit like a disco light herself. And as much as she tried to convince herself that she didn’t want the earrings, she knew she wouldn’t give them back. They were already too special and she was too attached to them.

“Did you plan on giving me this to wear?” “No. Not tonight. I had something else but seen as everyone had made such a big deal out of the bracelet, I decided I might as well go large! That necklace was meant for tomorrow night when I had you to myself and I was going to undress you, every single item of clothing, apart from that, and make love to you.” She laughed. “I thought we were going to the dark sky park?” “Would you prefer to do that?” “Yes. I don’t want to get dressed up for dinner when it’s just us two.” “What about making love to you? I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.” “Tomorrow. When everyone’s gone.” “About three? Everyone will be gone by then.” “I can’t believe you’re scheduling this in. There is something to be said about spontaneity. No. I’m not arranging a time. I might not feel like it at three pm.” “What about five past three?” He bit the top of her ear. “Might not want to then either.” “Ten past? Wearing the necklace?” “Give over.” He stuck his tongue in her ear, making her squeal. “Stop it! Someone might come in!” “Well don’t squeal, then they’re less likely to.” He very gently tugged at her ear lobe with his teeth, making her smile before she grasped his chin and pulled him to kiss him softly on the lips. “Thank you, very much.” “It was my pleasure.” He meant it. She could tell. One of those rare moments where he was as happy to give her the gift as she was to receive it. “Don’t make a habit of it.” “Very expensive habit.”

As lively and as entertaining the evening was, the draw to each other was stronger. Whilst they listened to friends belting out ‘Hey Jude’ and leaning on the piano, banging on the top in time with their imaginary drums, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. It made the music quieten into the background as she could feel his breath on her neck and his cheek brushing against her ear. By the time the others were singing the refrain she had pushed back and tilted her head so he only needed to push down to kiss her and it was agony to resist the urge to reach and to chase that rush, that rush her body was tempting her with now. A rather large shove of an elbow in her side pulled them both out of the trance and they pulled away enough to try to join the rest of the room. But it set the tone. His eyes followed her and she couldn’t stop reaching for him, stroking his back, patting his knee, squeezing his fingers. Getting distracted by each other and withdrawing from the rest of the world. Sitting on a poof later, they were in a conversation with others until she placed her hand ever so lightly onto his. And the conversation took a backwards lurch as fingers slowly traced the other’s. Each delicate movement like a like wire through her skin. “Camilla.” She didn’t hear her name, wasn’t really aware of anything other than the sensations shooting through her. “Camilla. Come and join me for a cigarette.”

The lady who pulled her aside to the smoking room, also incidentally called Camilla, offered her one from a packet and lit it for her, before lighting her own. “You need to cool it. Don’t embarrass Andrew. He won’t take it well.” “We’ve not done anything.” “I think that makes it worse. You melt. That’s what you do. You melt. Very visibly, very obviously. I think you’d be better off going and finding a room and getting it over with…” She took a long drag on her cigarette before continuing. “Darling, you can’t let everyone see how in love you are with each other. Perhaps you ought to see each other with a bit more regularity. That might…” She puffed a little more theatrically this time. “…familiarity breeds…” “…contempt?” Camilla proffered, her face in part confused and in part scornful. “Well no… perhaps I’m meaning it would remove some of the excitement, takes away the novelty. Darling, you need to be able to stand in a room with each other without making everyone around you supremely uncomfortable. Sometimes I think you’re managing admirably and then you spoil things by looking at him with those eyes. And your secret’s out. Discretion. That’s what I’m recommending.” “I thought the whole point was with the people here, we don’t need to be.” “No, darling, you still need to be. Take the staff, for a start. Keep all of them on your side, treat them well. It would only take one disgruntled ex-employee… and the Princess of Wales is a very popular character.” Camilla winced. “Do you feel guilty?” Camilla coloured and the elder lady laughed. “Oh, darling, don’t waste time with that. You’re very good for him. He’s so so low and you lighten up his life. Just be careful. And don’t push Andrew too far. You don’t notice him watching you. He doesn’t realise you love the Prince yet. He’ll be a lot more difficult to deal with when he does.” Camilla took a longer drag, not sure what to make of all this. “I’m sorry, darling, you must wonder how I know all this. My husband, Charles, is a good friend of the Prince.” “Camilla and Charles?” “Yes. Strange that, isn’t it! It may or may not be the reason why I’ve chosen to become your friend but I don’t like to speculate on things such as that. Nonsense really. Well my husband doesn’t agree but there we are and here we are. You know my thoughts now. Bare in mind, they’re only thoughts, now. Take them as you choose. Shag him on the piano if you really must…” And that made Camilla’s eyebrows raise. It was so unexpected given the long and rather proper monologue that it just tickled her. “Well, actually, I’d eyed up the rug, you know DH Laurence style, wrestling on the floor.” She delivered the line as flat pan as the elder Camilla had until they caught each other’s eye and started laughing. The sort of hearty cackle that only something rude can provoke. “If you like that sort of thing…” “You assume that he’s the bear?” But this was too much and the older Camilla choked on her own cigarette as the laughter snorted out of her. But Camilla was on a roll now, “or I was thinking about a goldfish…” That caused a new snort from the elder lady. “Ah, ‘Lace’, well, yes. You, darling, seem to go for famous men.” “Well I’m three quarters on the way to an orgasm with a famous man just by being alone together.” Camilla drawled. That made them both cackle and Camilla continued, pleased with the game. “‘Scruples’. Yes I know that one too. What about, I do enjoy him stroking the curve of my crouching loins…” “Chatterly. Too easy.” It took a while before either controlled their faces and they finished their cigarettes with a smirk at each other. “Darling, you’re my new favourite person. As of this minute.” She hooked her arm in Camilla’s. “I’m informing Charles you will both be staying with us.” “C4.” “Isn’t that an explosive?” “Sounds an apt description of us, really. I take it you’ve finished lecturing me about propriety?” “Yes. Not one more word. That’s over, thankfully. It’s out of my system now. Hi, I’m Camilla, how do you do?” She rushed them over to her husband. “Darling, darling. This is Camilla. She’s

coming to stay with us.” “This,” he pointed at the both of them, “I can already tell, is a very bad combination. One cigarette and you come back arm-in-arm. Bodes badly.” “Oh be quiet. I’ve taken Camilla under my wing.” “Poor thing!” Charles mouthed at her before catching his wife’s eyes again. “I mean wonderful darling. Of course. Anything you want.” “I’ve decided we’re going to be the Prince and Camilla’s friends.” “Any particular reason?” “DH Laurence.” “Of course. Completely rational reasoning. How could I argue? I thought you were going over to give her a ticking off?” “Oh. I’ve done that. Slapped wrists. His turn now.” “I don’t want to know.” There was something generally amiable about both of them. They were both a little older, as many of Charle’s friends were and somehow a little more gentle than his university friends. She was a little like talking to a hurricane but was perfectly countered by the relaxed manner of her husband. It didn’t take Camilla long to ease out the majority of Charles’s life story once she sat down with him and by the time the elder Camilla came back with a worried looking Prince Charles, he was chatting to her all about their children and their issues at work and she was advising him on where to get the best puppies from as his dog had just died... and he was almost purring in her hands. The elder Camilla eyed her with respect, and both Charles were looking at her adoringly. “She does this to everyone. She really is the most wonderful listener.” “Okay drippy. I’m returning her to you. Aren’t you two a fine pair! Drippy and melt-a-lot. Enjoy your week together. And we’ll see you at some point soon!” “How do you know…” Charles started to say but Camilla took his hand and led him away. “You’ve had enough of socialising, haven’t you?” “God yes.” “Well why don’t we find somewhere to slip away to?” “Did you not get the same lecture I just had? About being discrete.” “I plan on being discrete. That’s not really what she meant. She meant quiet.” “You’re not good at quiet.” She ignored the rude joke. “Less flamboyant? As in, if we can’t keep our hands off each other, then go and be discrete about it. As opposed to failing to restrain ourselves in front of everyone. Not drawing attention to ourselves.” “That’s not what I want though. I want to shout to the world about you.” “But I don’t want that. I wouldn’t need you to do that even if I was married to you. You need to remember who I am too.” “Okay. But you’d have to kiss me publicly if you were married to me.” “You think I’d stand on that balcony with all those thousands of people watching…” “But you love me, wouldn’t you want to kiss me?” “Not there. You wouldn’t even get me up there.” “I think you’d be fine. You’re made of strong stuff, Milla. But I understand what you’re trying to say. You want our relationship to remain private, between the two of us. I agree, however, I’m going to reiterate the necessity of having friends who are kept in the loop. We may need them at some point. I never want you to be isolated like I was before you came back in my life.” “I want to go upstairs with you, quietly, just slip away without anyone noticing. It’s none of their business, even if they do know.” “You don’t need to talk me into this. I am absolutely okay with slipping away with you.” He changed their direction and started walking to his room. “I’ve been wanting to have you in front of me naked except for that necklace all night.” “No more loans.” “Anything you want…” “We can’t ever be the show.” “Darling. I just want you. Everything else is up to you.” “Everything?” He pushed open the door to his room and closed it behind them before he answered. “Everything. But,” He reached around her back. “I want you…” he tugged at the zip on the back of her dress and started kissing her neck. “I’ve wanted you all night. You’re far too calm about this.” “Am I?” She let herself sink back against him, enjoying the feeling of his fingers against her skin as he undressed her. “Yes.” He starting pulling at his own clothes, tugging them in his rush to remove

them. “You need to slow down.” “But I want you.” “Not in a rush.” She stepped away from him, away from his hands, and turned to face him, letting her dress fall down. He made a move towards her and she stopped him with a shake of her head. She enjoyed teasing him, making him do everything slowly, watching the frustration on his face relax into enjoyment, amusement. The two days of restraint heightening everything so that the slightest touch felt exquisite.

It was easier later to slip back into the lounge and join in with games. The touches were more relaxed and it was possible again to join in and laugh. He was so easy to crack. She could have him in tears of laughter with a glance and a giggle.

It was only at the end of the night when things got difficult again, when he remembered where she was sleeping and as Andrew came over to collect her, this hollow look crossed his face and he clung to her hand tightly. He didn’t resort to begging her. He didn’t need to. His face was enough to bring tears to her eyes. But she wouldn’t allow them and that hurt him more. As she took Andrew’s hand, she was struck by a grief which hit her heart and then throbbed with the impact and sent wriggling lines of pain through her. She didn’t look back at Charles. It would have been too difficult.

And then she had to make love to her husband, desperately trying to be normal. Crying inside. She didn’t know whether he was testing her or if he was just being himself. It didn’t matter either way. She’d said she wanted this marriage. The fear that he might realise she wanted to scream and push him away mixed with the pleasure of familiarity and became something too confusing. Afterwards she lay completely still, turned from him, sobbing silently and wracked from head to toe with agony stemming from her heart. His arms rested gently around her, his cheek nuzzled against the top of her head and his hand was ever so slightly stroking her thigh. She was trapped in an emollient cage, waiting for him to start snoring so she could get up and leave and then when he did, dressed hastily and fled the room.

The smoking room was the obvious place to go and she padded in her socks as quietly as she could downstairs. The fire was dim in the room and one lamp was left on. She lit a cigarette from the pack hastily stuffed into her cardigan pocket and breathed in heavily, waiting for the rush from the nicotine to hit and for her nerves to calm. She hadn’t finished the cigarette before her tears hit again and this time she let them come and let herself be overcome, dropping the remains into an oversized ashtray with unsteady hands. “Darling?” She started and looked up, seeing only a fuzzy silhouette rising up from an armchair by the lamp. She knew his voice though and the tears fell harder. “Daring, I’m sorry. I was giving you peace but I can’t sit and watch you cry.” She placed her hands over her face to shield it from him but when he wrapped his arms around her she sank against him, flooded with guilt, her heart harpooned with sorrow. She let him sit down and pull her down on top of him, cradle her legs and pull her closer to him. He was the one person she wanted yet the one person she could never talk to about this. And then she cried into his neck until the tears ran out and her chest had ceased convulsing with sobs. He never asked her what was wrong, nor attempted to console her, just held her tightly as she cried. However when she had rested against him, still, for a while, he ventured a question. “Did I cause this hurt?” “No.” He felt the shake of her head rather than heard her voice. “Is there someone else who did?” “No.” “So do I not need to hire an assassin?” “No.” “I would, you know.” He kissed the top of her head. “Is it the ‘situation’?” “Yes.” This time he did hear her, and sighed. “Next time, come and find me, ring me, come to me, whichever. But don’t be alone.” “They’re my words to you.” “Echoed. As they should be.” “Please just hold me.” He did. He held her until he could hear the soft sounds of her breathing, informing him that she was asleep. Then with difficulty, he lay her on the sofa and went to retrieve a blanket and switch off the lamp. Returning with a heavy tartan blanket, he eased himself next to her and wrapped her up in his arms, disturbing her. She just nestled in closer and he pulled the blanket over them both. Then he watched her, the slight movement of her lips, her eyes, the light from the fire slowly dying until he also succumbed to sleep. Him starting in his sleep jerked her awake and it took a few minutes to remember where she was. She knew who she was with straight away, his own particular scent comforting her. It took a while to untangle herself without disturbing him. Then she rearranged the blanket around him to keep him warm before kissing his cheek softly and leaving him to go back upstairs. Her head pounded, probably as a result of the crying and she slipped back into bed silently, but not undressing. Andrew was snoring heartily and had barely moved from where she had left him. The snoring didn’t bother her but she had to pull the duvet from around him gently until she had enough to sleep under without having to touch him. And then, exhaustion taking hold, she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

They didn’t go to the dark sky park at any point during that week. The heavens opened and it rained solidly for the three remaining days, a bitter cold sleet with a wind which found its way through every crack and crevice in the castle. The first day was spent huddled under the covers, talking, enjoying each other and sleeping off the pervasiveness tiredness that accompanies anguish. It passed by in a haze with them only surfacing to eat before retreating together, back to the cocoon of the duvet, back to a slow, intense lovemaking that seemed to have no end.

The second day was spent in laughter. A very wet walk down in the glen, broken at one part due to the sheer force of the downpour where they sheltered, huddled together under a tree, only hearing the words spoken directly into the other’s ear. Being soaked through to the skin and struggling to pull off heavy wet coats and boots. Warming up in front of the fire after stripping off every item of sodden clothing, leaving them completely naked as she lay on top of him, kissing him on the giant rug by the chimney breast. It was like being in a dream. Everything felt soft and fuzzy around the edges. Everything she said made him laugh. Everything he did made her melt a little bit more. She stole his clothes to return upstairs and ran ahead to watch him try to cover himself with her clothing as he went up the stairs, berating her for leaving him, laughing at her naughtiness. They dressed for dinner that night, her wearing a tight black dress which ruched to a rose at the neckline and hung off her shoulders. It was short and she paired it with stockings with a pronounced glitter line down the back. Feeling him tracing the line up her leg when he asked for a hug, knowing he was having difficulty keeping his eyes off her cleavage. “Can you tie my cravat?” “If you fasten the top of my dress?” Her fingers wrapped the long blade round the shorter and tied it. She spent a little too long fluffing it before fastening up his shirt button. Not because it needed it, but because she knew he loved her fussing with him. He turned her around facing the mirror to fasten her dress and she scooped her hair up. As he fastened the hook, his lips traced up her neck and he kissed her. Then he slipped a two strand choker of pearls around her neck and fastened the clasp. She didn’t say anything, just raised one hand to touch it and tilted back so he could kiss her neck again and he did, looking at her in the mirror. “This is special. This one isn’t from my grandmother. It’s from me and it’s yours. It belonged to your great grandmother. I’ve been tracking it down for a while. It’s what I was going to give you to wear on Saturday.” He was expecting her to argue with him but she didn’t. She was still transfixed, looking at the choker in the mirror. “This should always have belonged to you. It’s home now.” He kissed her neck one more time before she let go of her hair. “Who gave her this?” “My great, great grandfather.” “And you’re giving me this now. Charles, this is the most wonderful gift you’ve ever given me.” He watched her, staring like she was in a trance, playing with the pearls with her fingers and then snapped back to the present. “I’ll thank you properly later.” She turned to kiss his lips softly. “You could thank me now if you wanted.” “No. I’m hungry.” That made him chuckle. “You say no to me very regularly.” “Sometimes I feel you need a reminder of real life. No… don’t start kissing my neck. It’s not going to work. Food. Dinner. Hands off.” But she couldn’t stop her body’s reaction to him when he kissed her and it took her a few moments to push him away again. “You’re all pink. I love it when you’re that colour.” “I want food!” He held out his arm to her and she took it, giggling. They’d fallen into another argument of the same ilk by the time they reached the dining room and both laughing, fell through the doors together, him still reaching to kiss her, biting her ear, making her squeal.

“Evening Charles.” They broke apart with a shock, both straightening their clothing, looking for the owner of the voice. “Evening Grandmama.” “Mrs Parker Bowles.” “Your Royal Highness.” “I’m sorry for intruding. Please sit down.” It took a few moments until Camilla recovered from her shock and started the conversation for dinner. They didn’t talk about any of the glaringly obvious things. Why she was there, what she thought. They didn’t mention either of their respective absent spouses, just chattered through benign topics. Camilla watched the obvious affection the elder lady displayed towards Charles and how he hung onto every interaction like a man starved. The bond between them was warm and it made Camilla want to embrace her to thank her. She also noticed how she was being observed, how her own interactions with Charles were being watched. Charles resumed his more formal manners whilst eating but he didn’t change his behaviour towards her; he couldn’t stop looking at her and smiling at her, making her laugh, getting caught in her own laughter. And he stared at her in a way that made her forget where she was. This longing yet loving look on his face when he caught her eyes and she would trail off whatever topic she was discussing, getting lost in his eyes, before shaking herself and resuming the conversation. At one point, he caught her hand under the table to squeeze it and she felt the pink rising in her cheeks at the illicit contact. “Cigarette?” The question caught her off guard and she pulled away from him to take one from the proffered case. They were long and thin with no filter and when she took a drag, she could feel how strong they were. “Charles loathes smoking. Don’t you Charles?” “I do. I wish you’d give up, Grandmama. People are saying how bad they are for your health.” “He’s always nagging me. ‘It’s unbecoming for a woman.’” “I’ve never said that. I just worry about you. About your lungs. They must be black with all that tar.” “There was a point when I’d come to visit and you’d have no ash trays. So I’d have to use a saucer.” “Diana was pregnant. You shouldn’t have been smoking around her.” “Women smoked whilst pregnant in my time.” “Well that explains Aunt Margo!” “Mrs Parker Bowles…” “Please call me Camilla.” She shot her a look, not exactly cold, but not warm either. “How is dear Andrew? Working hard is he?” “You know Andrew. He likes to have balance in his life.” “Yes. You’ve both been in a game with each other, long before you got married. I’m not sure you’re still playing by the rules.” She shot Camilla another look which seemed to pierce through her skin and Camilla found her cheeks burning in shame and embarrassment. “I’m not playing. I’m too old for these games.” “He doesn’t deserve games.” Camilla noted the slight glance towards her grandson and nodded. “I know.” “And the little witch? How is she?” Camilla almost choked. “Under surveillance?” “When the boys are there.” Charles responded. “You probably know I’ve been sent up by the family.” “By my mother you mean.” “No. The family. Charles, do you want Mrs Parker Bowles here whilst we have this discussion?” “I want Camilla here.” “Because I suggest we sit in the lounge, where it’s comfortable, and pour yourself a dram.” “That bad?”

The terms were not unexpected but contained a coldness Camilla could never imagine expressing towards her own children. It was a reiteration of the previous commands with several additional letters from his father expressing disappointment and disapproval with their terms and conditions. His mother didn’t bother with the letters, was content with a relay of her commands with no explanation. The final threat made her cry, as hard as she was trying to remain strong to help him, it cut through her heart and she couldn’t help it. ‘If Mrs Parker Bowles stays at Balmoral, we will know you are not in a sound state of mind. Therefore, upon notice of this arrangement, we will cease contact with you and your children until we are satisfied you are not a danger to them.’

It was like a scythe curving through and cutting through her heart from top to bottom. Charles stood up and started shouting, storming around in anger before kicking the door particularly violently and marching out of the room. She heard him yell out. Camilla sat, trying to breathe through the panic now rushing through her, through the pain quivering through every cell in her body. The unfairness that made her want to scream came out instead in tears and by the time he returned to the room and scooped her in his arms, she had been taken hold by these wracking sobs that showed no wavering. “I can’t give you up. What’s the point? What’s the point in anything?” “You don’t have to if you move back with your wife.” “I can’t. I can’t do that. Milla, I feel like I’m dying.” But she couldn’t say anything more as he held her so tightly against his chest and her sobs, silent and debilitating, stopped her speaking and made her take her breath in shallow gasps. “I don’t want to be alive without you.” “Please don’t say that, Darling, please don’t say that.” “But I can’t take it anymore. There’s three options. And I can’t live with any of them.” “If you go back…” “Darling, even with you, being able to see you, it’s not enough. It’s like slowly suffocating. Walking on eggshells, pretending to be a different person, on edge every waking moment, never knowing what’s going to set her off. And these fights… Last time, I got through the day by smashing my head against a wall. If I did that, sometimes that helped, sometimes it scared me against doing anything else. Sometimes I willed myself to do it harder to make everything stop. I can’t… I’m sorry. Not even for you. I can’t go back to that place.” That was like being washed on the inside with a black coldness. She pulled his head into her neck and held onto him as tightly as she could. “I’m sorry Darling.” “I’m so so sorry.” “Don’t say sorry. You don’t need to say sorry. But, Darling, you didn’t tell me. I’d never have said to go back if I knew.” “But that’s the option with you. And I can’t do it. And I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” “Don’t say sorry. It’s not your fault. I love you. I love you so much.” It was a long time before Camilla could disentangle herself enough to engage with anything other than him. He had stopped crying, they both had, and she pulled him so he could rest his head on her chest, her hand gently stroking his hair, his forehead, the nape of his neck. The room was filled with cigarette smoke, not from her, and she had a desperate craving for one to calm her. “He’s not cut out for this.” The words angered her. “He is. He’s so wonderfully gentle and kind. If his parents remembered that he was human… Why can’t they show him an ounce of compassion?” “They’re just trying to toughen him up.” “It’s abusive, he’s gone through it all and it’s not changed him and turned him cruel. He deals with it by showing everyone as much kindness as he has in him. He’s your grandson. How can you watch this?” “Because he’s not my son. I don’t make the rules.” “You’re going to kill him. You’ll never break him. He won’t become a stooge. He’ll die and it’ll be your fault.” “Careful Camilla.” “No! I’ll fight for him. Even if I’m the only one who does. I’m on his side.” “Camilla, it’s not as black and white as you’re making it. And you don’t win by fighting. You get squashed. It’s family politics with a very powerful head of the family but they’re only people. And they’re pushing him to see how resolved he is. With Diana. With you. They don’t know how upset he is with her. Did you?” “I knew he was unhappy.” “Did you know he was hitting his head against a wall, that degree of depression?” “No.” “Well neither did we. He doesn’t tell us.” “You don’t listen.” “We’re not great at listening.” The admission of fault startled her. “It’s a very good job you’re married to one of his friends, my god son at that.” “Why is that a good thing?” “Well because when you’re with Andrew, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be here. And when he’s away, it would be perfectly natural for you to visit me at

Birkhall, our families are close, after all.” “Would that be acceptable?” “I’m her mother.” Camilla nodded at her before kissing the top of Charles’s head. He grunted and then whined about the cessation of her messing about with his head. She smiled and gently scratched behind his ears as he snuggled back down into her. “If you break his heart, I will destroy you.” She offered her cigarette case to Camilla. “Cigarette?” “Yes, please.” Camilla watched her light a cigarette and then she passed it over to her. It was too strong but she smoked it anyway, needing the relief, feeling like they had just made a pact of alignment.

[musiconanironingboard]

23 June 2022: What I’ve Learned So Far: Home Demos 1987-1997, Paul Kotheimer. (The Hand-Made Record Label, 1997)

I lived in Champaign, Illinois, when that town was hyped by Rolling Stone as the next hotbed for music, the heir to Seattle. That never really happened, but there was certainly no shortage of local music. I was never much of a local-scene guy, and as usually happens regardless of where I live I got sick of a lot of the bands that were local darlings. 

There’s no telling where I might have seen Paul Kotheimer perform—though I do remember him busking outside of Murphy’s Pub one night, and a passerby asking him to play “Little GTO” by Ronnie and the Daytonas—but somehow I managed to become a minor fan of a Kotheimer song or two. Before I left town in 1999, I intended to buy a copy of this album, but I was never in the mood. Decades went by and I could no longer remember his name. When Record Store Day happened in June of this year, I happened to look at the Instagram page of Exile in Main Street, a record store in Champaign. Kotheimer was one of the acts who performed at the shop that day. As soon as I re-learned his name, I went looking for a copy of this and found it sealed on eBay. The album has a whopping 23 tracks and I can’t be sure I’ll even like it, though I’m hoping the songs of his that I liked way back when are on here.

Above are the front and back covers, removed from the jewel case. I always liked that artwork.

Below is the back of the booklet. He looks like he’s really hollering in that photo, making me a little nervous about enduring 23 songs. You know this thing is gonna be 80 minutes long.

Last, here is the disc itself.

[suzannebyrne]

Donald Trump Really Loves the Met Gala

You already know that Donald Trump loves Twitter, self-tanner, big trucks, golf, walls, and Russia, but did you also know the 45th president is also a big fan of the Met Gala? Huge. Three wives ago, he started attending the big fashion event in NYC and he’s made many appearances in between. If nothing else, click through to see the evolution of his unique hairstyle through the years.

Donald Trump loves the Met Gala

It’s that time of year again — the Met Gala is upon us. As we ready for the stars to climb the ruby red staircase without tripping tonight, we pay homage to a man who truly loves the fashion event despite not being known for his style: the president of our great nation, Donald Trump. The lover of “MAGA” truck hats has attended the event more than 10 times with several different dates, including wives, girlfriends, and his eldest daughter, Ivanka. While he won’t be here this year (he hasn’t returned to his blue state since the inauguration), we look back at his many (Met) Baller pics… (Image: Getty/Illustration: Danny Miller)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald and Ivana Trump at the Met Gala in 1985

As we looked at in How Donald Trump Made Himself Into a Celebrity, the couple’s image was carefully crafted — the new money darlings were trying to get old money respect in the Big Apple — and part of that included attending the right events. The fundraiser for the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute attracted wealthy New Yorkers (long before it was a must for Hollywooders), so they jumped aboard in the mid-’80s as they made their ascent. The Czech-born blonde was known for her flashy frocks and big hair — perfect for an event described as fashion’s “prom” — and she brought both to the party in December 1985 while Donald looked debonair in his tux. (Photo: Tom Gates/Archive Photos/Getty Images)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald and Ivana Trump at the Met Gala in 1986

Ivana’s plans of becoming a celebrity included studying royalty and taking notes, according to Vanity Fair. Tell us they don’t look like they’re trying to be royalty here in December 1986. Ivana wore a look-at-me low-cut red gown with a white fur and jewels while Donald was back in the monkey suit, which could have used an adjustment in the wrinkly shirt area. (Photo: Sonia Moskowitz/Getty Images)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald and Ivana Trump at the Met Gala in 1987

Having purchased Mar-a-Lago in 1985, the Donald and the missus, who are parents to three, had Palm Beach tans by the time the Met Ball rolled around in December 1987. You couldn’t miss them (though look at her dress … and bow). Also, how funny to see him carrying their coats. Now celebrities have people to do that for them, thankyouverymuch. (Photo: Sonia Moskowitz/Getty Images)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald and Ivana Trump at the Met Gala in 1989

Donald and Ivana’s final joint appearance at the Costume Institute Gala was a rather subdued one (for them!). In December 1989, they were there, but she drew less attention for her reserved gown — a strapless black number with pearl beading on the front. He still had problems with his tuxedo shirt. By the following February, they were headed for divorce court. No more galas for them. (Photo: Ron Galella/WireImage)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald Trump with date at the Met Gala in 1998

Wife number two, Marla Maples, didn’t get the invite to be Donald’s plus-one at the premiere fashion event, but after their brief marriage was finito (they separated in 1997), he squired a woman identified as Andrea Murray to the 50th anniversary of the ball in December 1998. No surprise that things between them didn’t work out, neither of them looked that happy to be there. (Photo: Ron Galella/WireImage)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald Trump with Martha Stewart at the Met Gala in 1998

The same year, Donald hung out with Martha Stewart inside the fashion party. (Again, it didn’t seem like he was having much fun with his date.) Donald’s suit looked better, but honestly we’re pretty distracted by how Martha’s head looks like it’s Photoshopped on someone else’s body in this pic, so it’s hard to really focus on Trump’s attire. (Photo: Richard Corkery/NY Daily News Archive via Getty Images)

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Donald Trump with daughter Ivanka and then-girlfriend Melania Knauss at the Met Gala in 2004

By the 2004 ball (which was being held in April), Donald had not one but two beauties on his arms — daughter Ivanka and his model girlfriend, Melania Knauss, whom he first asked out in 1998 — and gave them both kisses on the red carpet of the “Dangerous Liaisons”-themed event. Fun fact: His ex-wife, Ivana, was also there that night (with her short-lived fourth husband, Rossano Rubicondi). Sadly, there were no extended family photos, so we’ll leave you with this smooch. (Photo: Evan Agostini/Getty Images)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald and Melania Trump at the Met Gala in 2005

Just a few months after tying the knot, the Donald and Melania made the scene together looking matchy match at the 2005 event. She certainly had that newlywed glow. (Photo: James Devaney/WireImage)

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Donald and Melania at the Met Gala in 2006

The next year, in 2006, the pair were new parents to son Barron, whom Melania gave birth to a month earlier, but that didn’t keep them away from the fashion bash. The future FLOTUS, who infamously described giving birth as “very, very easy,” was glowing and voluptuous in her low-cut strapless dress. (Photo: Billy Farrell/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images)

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Donald and Melania Trump at the Met Gala in 2007

In 2007, Melania was all like: I’m back. She flaunted her killer body in a shimmery gold number — and even did a kicky pose. (Maybe she’ll do that in her next White House portrait.) Again, here’s a photo of the Donald in a tux. He looks kinda stunned, but we’re sure he was having a blast. (Photo: Billy Farrell/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images)

Source: Yahoo Celebrity

Donald and Melania Trump at the Met Gala in 2008

The following year, Melania went even bolder when she wore a bright pink gown to the superheroes-themed bash. The Apprentice host loved his finger gestures even then and flashed… a peace sign. Maybe he’ll soon start doing that with the press? Nah, #FakeNewsForever! (Photo: Stephen Lovekin/Getty Images)

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Donald and Melania Trump at the Met Gala in 2009

In 2009, it was back to black for Melania and they both looked tanner than ever. The theme was “Model as Muse” and that must have hit home for the Donald. (Photo: CHANCE YEH/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images)

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Donald and Melania Trump at the Met Gala in 2010

In 2010, they were back for more. While the Slovenia-born Melania isn’t an “American Woman” (she’s the second first lady born outside the U.S.), that was the theme of the party that year and she fit right in with her beautiful blue dress. Donald brought his smile — and, yes, his tan. He hasn’t left home without it since the ’90s. (Photo: Dimitrios Kambouris/FilmMagic)

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Donald and Melania Trump at the Met Gala in 2011

Donald looked really happy to be at the Met Gala in 2011 — and look at the fit of his tux (it has definitely improved through the years). While Melania appeared caught off-guard by photographers (there are a 1,000 there, so weren’t not sure how that’s possible), she still gave good face. She looks a little like Eva Mendes, no? (Photo: Evan Agostini/AP)

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Donald and Melania Trump at the Met Gala in 2012

The Trumps last celebrated the big event in 2012 with the model showing off her killer legs and the prez showing off… a scowl.Will this be the last photo of Donald and Melania at the Met Gala ever? Maybe. Now that he’s president, he can’t easily roll into the Met Gala (it would be a headache for everyone involved) and he has kept away from his hometown since the inauguration — not that New York City liberals have exactly rolled out the welcome mat. (His first visit will be May 4 to commemorate the 75th anniversary of the battle of the Coral Sea aboard the U.S.S. Intrepid.) So this photo may be the last of its kind. He’ll be home (in the White House) looking at red carpet photos and tweeting about it, just like the rest of us. (Photo: Charles Sykes/AP)

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