#the black family's ridiculous real estate portfolio

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Poshest Bedstead in Islington part 14

Black House – Islington

Inviting the Weasley family and Miss Granger to stay remained the correct thing to do, Sirius thought as he glanced through his morning post. Their friendship with and defense of his godson certainly put a target on the lot of them, and especially on the Granger girl. Sheltering them against threats was the least he could do. Just…he, like so many others, felt stuck in The Servant Problem.

The Problem being, of course, that he couldn’t decently expect Kreacher and Dobby to handle the entire house, catering for a dozen (at least), laundry, the garden, teaching the children, and so on. Kreacher would want to devote his time to the children, as any Nanny Elf would. Dobby seemed to want to deal with the laundry and be left in peace otherwise. And neither of them would countenance the Black Duke or his guests doing the work. He wondered…

“Kreacher, could you spare a moment?” he called, setting his letter down.

Kreacher popped in. “Your Grace?”

“Are any of the houses staffed, and do you think any of them would be willing to send a few people over to help out for the next little bit? As competent and resourceful and you and Dobby are, it isn’t fair to expect you to do triple duty.”

“Kreacher knows that Buckingham House is fully staffed. His Grace Arcturus would have it ready for visitors, always.”

“D’you think the Black Duke being, well, me, would be a problem? Madame Bones seems to think I should be exonerated in the very near future, but I wouldn’t want to put anyone in a sticky situation. Would be bloody awkward, really.” Sirius set his letter from Madame Bones down.

It actually said “If Sirius Black isn’t cleared within the fortnight then I’ll eat my own monocle and resign” but Sirius thought Kreacher’s sensibilities might be a bit delicate for that. Amelia, of course, still thought his position filled by a previously unknown claimant. And still had a delightfully blunt way of speaking. She’d been a bit above his year…more Frank Longbottom’s crowd…but she’d been a fair Prefect.

“Kreacher can pop over to Buckingham House and speak to Mrs. Harris. She is the current housekeeper and is a woman of intellect and refinement.”

Decoded: Kreacher thought her the bee’s knees and she probably wouldn’t balk at concealing the whereabouts of a fugitive. She’d probably consider it part of her regular job, knowing his House.

“Thank you, Kreacher, that would be most helpful. Mrs. Weasley and the children are set to arrive tomorrow morning. I believe she wishes to make a few side-along trips and will send the luggage through the Porter’s Floo.”

“Kreacher will go now. Kreacher will also go tomorrow and assist Mrs. Weasley. The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black will not have guests succumbing to magical exhaustion! Not even secret guests!” He popped out at the last word.

Sirius loathed when house elves did that. Always had to get the very last word. It struck him that Kreacher didn’t even ask which positions he might want filled. Sirius blinked at his tea service. Well, he supposed Kreacher would know. Still, it would be nice to be asked. That was the problem with Nanny Elves—they rarely realized their charges were grown. Ever.

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Buckingham House Kitchens

Kreacher popped into the Buckingham House kitchen pantry, startling a kitchen maid mangling a pastry crust. Kreacher sniffed. In his day they had a proper pastry chef, not a half-grown girl doing something unspeakable with flour, butter, and ice water. That would never make a proper crust at all…whatever she meant it to be.

“Head House Elf Kreacher wishes to speak with Mrs. Harris. Kreacher apologizes for the fright. The pantry is usually empty.” Best to be polite, he supposed.

The girl turned wide eyes on him and wiped her hands on her pristinely white apron. He noticed her giving the pastry a sidelong look of total despair before she spoke.

“I could go and get her, Kreacher. Er, I’m meant to be making a pie for the servant’s luncheon, though. Poor Cook is ever so unwell.”

“Your name?” Kreacher resigned himself to fixing her abomination. Thankfully he now didn’t need to ask why the kitchen seemed so abnormally quiet.

Illnesses swept through kitchens just as they did through the nursery.

“Oh, I’m Lissy, Kreacher. I’ve only just started in the kitchen.” She looked to be just out of school. “They didn’t teach us pastry making in school, you know. I can strip and polish a stove in no time, though. I rather expected I’d be a scullery maid to start with.”

Why she felt the need to explain anything to him he’d never know. He remembered when the kitchen maids just bobbed a curtsey and scuttled to do one’s bidding. This one seemed to have been dosed with a jabbering draught.

“If Lissy will fetch Mrs. Harris, then Kreacher will fix…this. How many for luncheon?”

“Er…about forty-five, I think. I’ll go and get Mrs. Harris.” She sped off, seeming much happier to be away from all things pastry.

Kreacher looked into the bowl and sighed. She’d got her proportions all wrong. They ought to have an under cook doing this, not a kitchen maid fresh out of school. Probably one of those new-fangled domestic economy colleges where they learnt to strip and polish a stove but not how to make a pastry worth eating.

She’d probably learnt the theory of pastry, Kreacher sneered to himself and vanished the mess. He set about concocting a delicious series of pies: cheese, vegetable, and onion; steak and kidney; beef and onion; and ham, cheese, and onion. He considered the larder once they were in the giant oven and made a crisp green salad to accompany the pies. He had that covered and in the cold storage with a perfect vinaigrette by the time he heard heels clicking against the floor. He looked up to see Mrs. Harris accompanying Lissy back into the kitchen.

“You’ll be a housemaid in a fortnight if you keep getting others to do your work, miss.” She scolded as they walked.

“I’m just so hopeless with pastry, Mrs. Harris. I can follow other recipes and do all the preparation Cook wants, but pastry is just the outside of enough. I wanted to be a scullery maid and work my way up.”

Mrs. Harris stared just as Kreacher had. Lissy might be the first person in the history of scullery maids to want to be one.

“Well, be that as it may, you’ll do as you’re told for now. Go and set the table.” Mrs. Harris sighed as the girl scampered off. “Now, Kreacher, how can I be of help?”

She tapped the big kettle with her wand, starting the water boiling again, and took down the kitchen tea set. She spooned tea and set it to steep as she listened.

“His Grace has taken up residence in the Islington town house and will be hosting…guests soon. Kreacher was tasked with asking if we might borrow a few servants for the next while.” He spoke carefully.

“And why he didn’t simply come here in the first place I’ll never know.” Mrs. Harris shook her head over it. “And all of us just waiting…well, I wasn’t here while he grew up, but His Grace Arcturus wanted the house kept open for him.”

Kreacher allowed himself a thin smile. “Kreacher believes His Grace thought himself disowned but that he could possibly reside in Islington. Madam Walburga blasted him off the tapestry.”

“Disowned? Didn’t he know how His Grace Arcturus felt toward him?” She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat suddenly. “And His Grace Arcturus being so particular to order everything the way His Grace preferred…before...”

“His Grace will be touched by this, Kreacher believes. Once the current…difficulty is resolved, Kreacher will ensure His Grace visits regularly. And Lord Buckingham.” Hopefully the hint of An Heir would keep her from becoming overly emotional.

Mrs. Harris had never yet failed him. She pulled herself together, a curious gleam in her eye, and went to pour tea for both of them. Kreacher stared down at the elf-sized teacup for a moment, oddly touched.

“That would be well-appreciated, Kreacher. Now, I want to make certain you’ll have all the support you need. How many are currently servicing the house?”

“Just Kreacher and one other elf. With only His Grace and His Lordship to see to, it worked. With seven arriving as guests tomorrow and the possibility of more, His Grace worried that he would ask too much.”

“Of course he did, with your main duty to the children of the house. Will you be needing a Steward, do you think?”

Kreacher thought for a moment. While someone in that position would take some stress off His Grace, he could fulfill the role just as easily.

“Not for the moment, Kreacher thinks. A butler and housekeeper, two valets, footmen, housemaids, a cook, kitchen maids, and a scullery maid should suffice. The children coming are all fourth years and up.”

“Will you need a Lady’s maid? We have a few here who would like to try.” Mrs. Harris spoke off-handedly while pouring milk into her tea.

“There will be two young ladies in residence and one matron. Kreacher isn’t certain, but a lady’s maid or two may be appreciated.”

Far be it for him to stand between a young person and advancement. In any case, it would be good for his Lordship’s friends to become accustomed to service.

“I’ll send two, and the girls can share between them. His Grace and His Lordship will each require a valet?”

“Yes. His Lordship, especially, will need to become accustomed to such assistance. He isn’t yet out of the schoolroom, but he must learn.” His Lordship might possess some democratic feeling that magic made servants and service unnecessary, but Kreacher knew better.

In any case, the Black Family had always paid well and ensured proper working conditions, including a dowry and private accommodation upon marriage or bonding and a healthy pension (cottage or small city flat included).

“Four footmen, I think, especially if the young people would like to go out on occasion. Five housemaids, too, so one can wait on the schoolroom floor. And…three kitchen maids?” Mrs. Harris had summoned a tablet and a quill and made a list as she spoke.

“Three would be appreciated. Five young people would strain any kitchen.”

Mrs. Harris smiled at her tablet. “That they would. Should I call those I think would be the best fit?”

“Yes, Kreacher would meet them, first.”

----------

Arriving back in time to make tea, Kreacher felt the happy glow of a day well spent. A full staff would arrive within the hour so as to be ready for the guests. He lost no time in sending up a full tea tray to His Grace and sending a fresh basket to His Lordship. Both of them needed to eat more and regularly.

Kreacher sighed over that for a moment before he pulled himself together. With Dobby’s help, they could get the servants’ quarters opened again before anyone arrived.

He felt especially smug over snaffling Lissy as a scullery maid. He’d never seen anyone that pleased at the prospect of scrubbing before and likely never would again.

[persephonestourrp]

Jackie Puckerman Williams | 23 | October 17 | Hoboken, NJ | Dancer/Back-Up Singer | Riley Lynn

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♫ I don’t look for trouble, but trouble looks for me ♫

Tanisha Williams was a promising, young real-estate agent who found herself fooling around with a young man. A young married man named Elijah Puckerman. She knew it was wrong and she knew it needed to stop, but, well, he was charming. And sweet. And he made endless promises to leave his wife, and she was foolish and in love and fell for it, only for him to back up those promises when Tanisha got pregnant. Tanisha decided to keep her baby and ultimately gave birth to Jacqueline on a cold October day in New Jersey. Since Tanisha still put Elijah down as the father, little Jacqueline ended up with the last name “Puckerman”.

This proved to be rather unpleasant for young Jackie -- she was never going to go by “Jacqueline”, come on now. See, Jackie never knew her dad by face, only by name. Every now and then she’d hear snippets of phone calls where her mom talked in a snappy whisper and she knew her “father” was on the other end, but who really cared? While Jackie had a small part of her that wanted to know him, she figured she didn’t need him if he didn’t want her.

Tanisha was a great role model anyways. She was super successful in real estate, like the kind of real estate agent with her face on benches around town. Being a single mother never seemed to slow her down. Jackie loved her mom with her whole heart and was more than okay with their little two person family.

Tanisha was also the one who got her to dance. It was typical to sign girls up for it, and when Jackie was just four years old, Jackie walked into a ballet class with a big tutu on and fell in love with it. She kept taking lessons, soon expanding to tap, jazz, and hip hop along with ballet. It just came naturally to her and she loved every moment of it. And Tanisha made sure her daughter could keep pursuing it, even when money got tight.

So, yeah, the money thing. Remember how Tanisha worked in real estate? Yeah, and remember how the recession hit that particular market hard? Despite Tanisha’s skills and past success, she ended up losing her job. To make ends meet, she moved her and her daughter to a cheap neighborhood in Jersey City and took on a waitressing job, primarily working double shifts. Jackie would walk to the restaurant after school and work on her homework there, and sometimes a family friend would take her to her dance classes so her mom could keep working.

After that, those snappy-voiced phone calls became more frequent and a lot louder. Jackie’s mom didn’t want to have to beg for money, but she needed help -- her daughter needed help. So she constantly called Elijah to get child support, often getting yelled at by his wife who referred to her as “the slutty waitress”. One day she called to find out Elijah had left. She never heard from him again.

Stuff like that made Jackie a bit of a cold and abrasive person. She figured she didn’t need anyone but her mom, because no one ever wanted her but her mom. Jackie just wanted to spend time with her mom and dance, not that she would tell anyone that, of course. She sort of put on this persona of being a “bad girl” despite the fact that she really wasn’t that rebellious at all. It was easier than trying to make friends. It was already hard for her to make friends seeing as she was one of the few black people at her school. Well, half-black. Some of the black kids thought she wasn’t black enough. And she had no interest in embracing her Jewish heritage past getting out of dissecting a pig’s heart because it wasn’t Kosher, so she wasn’t really befriending the Jewish kids, either.

So Jackie was more or less a loner, spending most of her free time improving her dance skills or riding her scooter versus making friends. It wasn’t until high school when she finally managed to find people who appreciated her for who she was. All of her. She tried out for her school’s show choir at her mom’s insistence and ended up getting a spot. And she befriended those geeks who loved her dancing and singing abilities more than she ever thought possible. She slowly started to ditch that obviously fake persona and started to work harder in her classes and have an actual social life.

Even better, her mom got a well paying receptionist job and they were finally starting to get financially stable. In fact, they were financially stable enough that Jackie’s mom got very particular about Jackie going to college. Now Jackie knew she wanted to dance and didn’t think college was necessary, but she still applied to some schools to appease her mom and, amazingly, made it into all of them. Even Juilliard. And with the financial aid packet they gave her, it was an easy decision to make. She couldn’t shoot down freaking Juilliard, now could she?

♫ And it's been waiting around corners since I was seventeen ♫

Jackie loved studying dance at college more than she could say. It felt like she was finally doing things right. It was refreshing not having to worry about science or math or English. Sure, she had to take some basic liberal arts classes, but that was it. Most of her time was devoted to dancing, and that was all that mattered to her.

She was required to live at the dorms her first year, which turned out to be a bit of a blessing. Jackie loved her mom, but being able to spend her weeks in New York City was a pretty sweet deal...especially since her friends got her a fake ID. It wasn’t like she went out and partied every night, but Jackie did have a lot of fun.

Jackie continued to live in the city after her first year, even though money was a bit tight. She was used to growing up without much, so it wasn’t a huge deal, but work studies could only get her so far. But another blessing seemed to come to her when she was “discovered” in Macy’s. Some modeling agent handed her a card and Jackie was almost positive it was a scam, but it turned out to actually be pretty legit. She got to appear in a few local ads and the extra money was definitely helpful.

Though the checks were made out to “Jacqueline Puckerman”, she basically had changed her name by that point. Her Facebook profile listed her with her mom’s last name, “Jackie Williams”, as did her portfolio and résumé, and she never brought up her real last name to her friends. The only people who knew it were the faculty, and that was fine with her. She was officially “Jackie Williams” and that was the name she told everyone. Jackie knew she had to get it changed at some point, but it wasn’t something she was in a rush to do. There wasn’t a reason to ever acknowledge the “Puckerman” side of her again.

In her junior year, that changed.

The year was 2015, and she had spent a whole summer hearing songs from this new girl band on the radio. She never really looked into them, but she thought their music was fairly decent. But one day she fell down a YouTube hole while bandaging up her feet after a long day of pointe. She watched several videos on autoplay until eventually one of The Sirens’ music videos came up: “Desire”. Jackie watched and felt an eerie feeling about the singer of that song. Something about her seemed familiar.

So Jackie turned to google. Her mind told her it was ridiculous to look her up, but something was telling her to go ahead and do it. The Sirens’ Wikipedia page came up quickly and soon Jackie found the girl’s name: Norah Puckerman.

Her blood ran cold as she looked at the computer screen and a million emotions ran through her. Before she understood what was happening, Jackie was clicking on every link she could about Norah, finding out that she was from Hoboken, too. She was a bit of a bad girl. She was Jewish. Her father had left her at a young age. Oh, and she had a brother. They had a brother.

So there Jackie was, 21 years old and just finding out about a half-sister and half-brother, and the half-sister was quickly gaining fame and followers along the way.

She honestly didn’t know what to do with this information. Jackie did her best to try to forget it, but she found herself curiously watching every interview that popped up and every video they put out. She even saw some fan videos and art and shit about “Puckerose” which confused her. Was her sister dating the other singer?

After her junior year ended, Jackie finally broached the subject with her mom by casually asking if she had heard of The Sirens. Of course she had. When Jackie asked if she knew the name “Norah Puckerman”, her mom froze. For a brief moment, Tanisha tried to say she didn’t know the name, and Jackie would’ve accepted that. She really would’ve. But her mom soon confessed that she knew that name as well as the name Jonah Puckerman. It turned out that her mom had known the whole time that Jackie had two siblings and never told her.

It was only then that Jackie realized how much she had wanted to know her sister, and her brother for that matter. Hearing that her mom had kept them a secret broke her heart. She felt hurt and betrayed and upset beyond all belief that her mom had hidden such an important thing. Her mom explained how she thought she was doing the right thing because Naomi, Elijah’s wife, never would’ve let them meet anyways. She didn’t want Jackie growing up knowing she had siblings that she couldn’t have a relationship with. She wanted Jackie to understand that and try to forgive her.

And Jackie did forgive her, but she didn’t forget.

Jackie’s senior year started to have more questions than most did. While she also constantly wondered what she was going to do with her life once she graduated, she also wondered a lot about her half-siblings. She knew she wanted to meet them, but how? She figured contacting their mom wouldn’t work well -- Jackie remembered the screaming phone calls. Jackie also figured going to the paparazzi with some news wouldn’t really help build a positive relationship.

But, thankfully, some things fell into her lap.

First of all, after some particularly high profile modeling gigs after her graduation, Jackie got an audition for a spot in the music video for a newer band, Divine Influence. Her looks and dance abilities got her the part in “Hey Beautiful Angel”, and it also got her in contact with Sabrina Smythe, the woman who also managed her sister’s band.

Second of all, she overheard a pretty important conversation. She was flown out to LA for the filming of the video, which was pretty sweet, since she figured she could go hit up some auditions and find more work while she was there. But after the filming, Jackie was trying to find a restroom on set, and she accidentally overheard a conversation between Sabrina and Sam Evans. That conversation told her a big secret about their past - you know, that whole Sam was a stripper and Sabrina was a pretty constant client of hers thing? Before she could try to sneak away and pretend she never heard it, Sabrina and Sam caught her.

Before Jackie could even apologize, Sabrina was throwing offers of money and contacts with big names at her in return for her silence, all while Sam was still in the room. After a few minutes, Jackie came up with a better offer. She told Sabrina if she gave her a job on Persephone’s Tour, plus a little bit of cash to hold her over until the work started, she wouldn’t say anything. Sabrina was confused at first, but when Jackie said her full name so she could write the check, Sabrina and Sam instantly knew why she wanted to be on the tour so badly. Despite their better judgment, Sabrina and Sam both agreed to keep it a secret at Jackie’s insistence. 

And that’s how a need for dancers and back-up singers on the tour came about.

So now Jackie is touring with the girls under her stage name of “Jackie Williams” along with fellow dancer and back-up singer Blair Anderson. The two of them made their own choreography and have spent hours learning harmonies for the more intense songs that the bands sing - hey, it’s hard to do back up vocals and play an instrument live, so sometimes they need a little help. She thinks it’s a pretty sweet gig since now she gets to see the whole world, do what she loves, and get paid for it.

And, of course, she’s doing her best to get to know her sister, even if Norah doesn’t know who she is.

♫ They say "Here comes a hurricane! Trouble is her middle name!" ♫

Norah Puckerman: Okay, look, Jackie feels bad for deceiving Norah, she really does, but she wasn’t sure how much Norah would want to get to know her if she knew who she was. She’s still not sure if Norah would want to know her if she knew. It’s not too hard to realize that her mom asking for money was what drove Elijah away from Norah and her family. And Jackie thought maybe they wouldn’t get along anyways, and there would be no need for Norah to even know she had a sister. Jackie had planned on telling her by now, but the two of them have been getting along so well, better than she had ever imagined. Now she’s worried that when she tells her, Norah will freak out and not just on her, but on Sabrina and Sam and Santana, too, and, knowing her own Puckerman tendencies, Jackie wouldn’t be surprised if she freaked out on, like, everyone, even people not involved. Which would make her feel even worse. But every time she hangs out with her sister and they laugh and talk and gossip and find out more similarities, a small voice tells her that the longer she waits, the bigger the blowout will be. She’s good at ignoring that voice, but she’s not sure she’ll be good about it forever.

Sabrina Smythe: Jackie feels bad about putting Sabrina in the position she’s in. She really hadn’t planned on blackmailing someone, and she really has no plans of telling anyone anything about what she heard. She probably wouldn’t have said anything even if Sabrina hadn’t started throwing things at her desperately. But Sabrina did just that and Jackie didn’t want to get paid for not doing anything anyways. Sabrina’s been mostly chill about it, but Jackie can tell she’s stressed out, and probably for more reasons than what Jackie caused. But, hey, at least the semi-blackmail thing led to a job that got their tour great reviews.

Sam Evans: Again, Jackie is pretty torn up about making Sam keep a secret like this. It’s especially bad since both Sabrina and Sam are the closest to Norah out of the girls not in The Sirens. Sam doesn’t really understand why Jackie’s keeping her identity a secret, but she understands wanting to get close to her sibling. So while Sam has been keeping that secret, she’s been trying to persuade Jackie to tell Norah the truth. And despite Sam’s promise, Jackie’s not sure she’ll keep it. So when she sees the trio of Norah, Fiona, and Jackie together, she gets a little concerned.

Blair Anderson: Even though Jackie did a bad thing, at least it led to someone else getting a job, right? After some auditions, Blair Anderson was hired as an additional dancer and back-up singer on tour. While both bands do their own back-up vocals whenever possible, Jackie and Blair help provide more sound on some of the more difficult songs. Hey, live music is hard. Jackie and Blair spent a lot of time together and created the dances and some of their own harmonies themselves, all while learning a lot about each other. Blair even played some of her demo for Jackie, and Jackie honestly thinks she has one of the best voices she’s heard. But maybe she’s biased from all the times she’s danced so close to her.

Fiona Hudson: It’s kind of nice to have someone else on tour in a little bit of a  similar situation as Jackie. Fiona also has some sibling drama, but this time it’s step-siblings drama -- or, well, technically step-sibling and step-cousin drama, but Kat and Marley are basically sisters anyways. And, okay, Fiona’s isn’t a secret, but it’s been interesting watching her interact with these sisters she doesn’t really know that well. But it sucks to see them not get along, since it really makes Jackie even more nervous about eventually telling Norah. Obviously suddenly becoming sisters doesn’t work out too well.

Marley Rose:��It was a huge relief when Jackie realized that Puckerose wasn’t a real thing because wow. Marley is stunning. Really stunning. And sweet. And talented. And easy to talk to. So easy to talk to in fact that Jackie has almost revealed her secret to her. With how close Marley is to Norah, that’s something she really has to stay quiet about around her. But whenever her secret does come out, she hopes Marley will understand why she hid it, since Jackie would hate for her to be mad at her, too.

Rachel Berry: Jackie didn’t get to interact with Rachel too much on set of the music video, but all of their passing interactions were nice - especially when she seemed to hold Kitty back from saying some rude things. When Jackie started joining rehearsals for the tour and working on harmonies with the bands, Rachel even provided some tips. Since Jackie never considered herself an amazing singer, she appreciated the help (even if Blair didn’t seem to), and she’s really excited to join the tour.

Santana Lopez: Santana, due to Sabrina’s interfering, knows about Jackie’s true last name and her real relationship to Norah. Santana is now ready to spin the news when it leaks...if it leaks. She’s also trying harder than anyone to get Jackie to tell her the truth since it’s better to have it happen now than for her to keep lying forever. Santana is all about honesty, after all, and she has warned Jackie that there are people out there who know her last name and could easily spill the beans, which does concern her. She’s just not sure she’s willing to tell Norah just yet, especially not with how it could effect the tour in a real bad way. Funny enough, Santana does seem to understand and has even bit a been sympathetic. Part of Jackie wonders if it’s because all of her fighting with Norah could be a cover-up for actual feelings, even the sexual kind, for her sister. And, no, Jackie doesn’t know why the thought of that bothers her. 

Kat Hummel: Jackie’s always been good at telling when people wanna hook up. It’s a Puckerman thing. Or, well, she assumes so. What also seems to be a Puckerman thing is having feelings for Kat - but in this case, it’s solely a Norah Puckerman thing. She doesn’t know if everyone else is just blind or if she just has some sisterly connection with Norah, but regardless, Jackie’s older sister totally wants to get with Kat. And, for once, she actually seems awkward and weird about flirting. That’s something Jackie hasn’t seen from her and it’s kind of funny. She thinks Kat may have some interest back, too. So maybe Jackie can help her out some day...and maybe that’ll help smooth things over when Norah finds out about her true parentage.

Quinn Fabray: Jackie normally doesn’t just like stalk people or anything, okay. Let’s get that out of the way. But she’s been watching Norah over time to try to figure out who she is and what she’s like. And most of it has just been finding out they have a lot of things in common, like movies and music and their tendency to flirt. But one things she’s noticed is a few cases of Norah sneaking off with Quinn. And that’s a little confusing given how Norah’s totally into Kat. Like, so into Kat that she’s ridiculously tongue-tied around her. So Jackie’s a little wary of her for stopping the whole Puckat train that she’s on. Plus she’s related to Kitty, and seeing how similar she is to Norah without even growing up with her, she’s not sure the apple ever falls far from the tree. Or maybe it’s more like the apples from the same tree never fall far from each other. Either way, it’s enough to make Jackie a little bit concerned about her. Add in the weird energy Quinn has with Santana, and Jackie’s not sure how to feel about her at all.

Kitty Wilde: While working on the video for “Hey Beautiful Angel”, both Sam and Rachel were fairly welcoming to her. Kitty, however, seemed pissed off and definitely played up some Diva with a capital D cards. Jackie eventually found out that Kitty, who nearly pursued dance herself, was pissed that someone else took her spotlight. Kitty thought if Rachel wasn’t doing something dance-wise, it should’ve been her. Thankfully Kitty got to dance in the next video and she seems to have forgotten her rudeness towards Jackie, or at least she’s being extra nice for whatever reason. Jackie, however, hasn’t, and as a Puckerman, Jackie’s not the best at forgiving and forgetting.

♫ But I don't look for trouble, yeah trouble looks for me ♫

How do you plan on telling Norah about being her sister?

[answer here]

Have you talked to your mom at all recently?

[answer here]

JBI asks: What’s it like dancing for a band after years of classical dance training?

[answer here]

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 28

“I’m a man in love with an amazing woman, and while that argument will not hold weight in a court of law, in a court of public opinion, I think it makes perfect sense. The purchase of Homegrown was meant to be a surprise belated wedding present for my new wife, so I acted quickly, and perhaps without thinking things through in my normal logical fashion, because I wanted to do it before my beautiful, intelligent bride realized what I was doing.” I’m pretty sure every female in the crowd is now sighing. Glancing up from the podium, I see Selena standing in the back corner, and she’s lifting a hand to her face and dabbing at the underside of her eye. I don’t try to hold the smile back. “So, there you go. That’s the explanation I have for you. Now I’ll take your questions.” The flurry starts, but a booming voice cuts through the din. “You really think that ridiculous explanation is going to matter? Not likely, Justin. I thought you were smarter than that.” With that, my uncle Damon turns on his heel and leaves the room. I spend over an hour answering investor questions before my portion of the presentation is over. Selena is waiting at the back of the auditorium, and I stride to where she stands and pull her into my arms. “You know how to give one hell of a speech, Justin,” she says, speaking in muffled words into my chest. “I meant every word of it.” “Is Homegrown really my wedding present?” I loosen my grip and step back a fraction so I can look down into her eyes. “Yes. It was always for you.” Her brow furrows, concern shading her eyes. “Does that mean you expect me to run it?” “If you want to; you can do whatever you want. The management team I’ve got in place now is starting to turn things around, but if you want to get involved with the business side of things, you’re more than welcome.” I pause to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I think that’d be sexy as fuck, if you want to know the truth . . . my wife, the CEO, running her own empire.” I groan as my dick jerks against my zipper. Not the time or the place, buddy. A small smile spreads over Selena’s face, which doesn’t help matters. “Justin.” The sound of Cannon’s voice, however, deflates my hard-on. Selena called it when she referred to him as a cock-blocker. Releasing Selena with one arm, I turn. “What do you need?” “What are you going to do about Damon?” “Besides take a hit out on him?” Cannon’s eyes widen only slightly. “I know a guy.” “Jesus. Fuck, Cannon. I’m joking.” He shrugs. “Desperate times.” “And that’s called conspiracy, and I don’t care to find out the New York prison system’s policy on conjugal visits.” At this, Selena snorts. “Can I second that?” A tall, thin black man approaches us. He’s the associate from the conference room who made the “Oh no, he didn’t” comment when Selena walked in. “Mr. Karas, Mr. Cramer wanted to run one more idea by you, given your uncle’s latest outburst. Could we have a few minutes of your time in the conference room across the hall?” I look to Selena, and she says, “Justin, do your thing. I’ll be waiting. I’m feeling an epic song about revenge coming on, à la Carrie Underwood’s ‘Two Black Cadillacs’ or maybe ‘Good-bye, Earl.’” Leaning down, I brush a kiss across her cheek. “I love you, woman. I’ll be right back.” “Give ’em hell. And I love you too.” I follow Cannon and the associate—I really need to get his name—to the conference room across the hall from the auditorium. My lawyer, Cramer is waiting, and he looks less than amused. I suppose it’s lucky that he works for me and not the other way around. “Save your breath, Cramer. You didn’t approve before, and you don’t approve now. I also know you’re not going to approve of what I’m going to do next.” “And what’s that, Mr. Karas?” he asks, the skepticism in his tone thinly veiled. One of the largest negative aspects of this suit is the element of fear that has slipped away from my persona. This will be remedied. I’m Justin fucking Karas, and the world will not question my judgment again when this is over. “My uncle may be brave enough to take me on in front of a crowd, but we’ll see how he feels about taking me on man-to-man.” The lawyer’s silver eyebrows hit his equally silver hairline. “That’s highly inadvisable.” “Consider it a family matter and none of your concern.” My words carry the unmistakable weight of authority. He swallows. “Mr. Karas, we have your best interests in mind here. I’m sure you understand.” “Of course, Mr. Cramer, but sometimes the only thing a bully understands is a bigger bully. It’s time the gloves come off. I’m done with his bullshit.” “You’re not going to listen to a logical, reasoned argument, no matter what I say, are you?” “There’s no reasoning with my uncle, so no. Save your breath.” “Fine.” Cramer nods. “We’ll leave you to it. Please call us if we can be of further assistance.” I turn and head for the door. “Cannon, walk out with me?” He’s on my heels as we hit the threshold.

“You’re not staying for the rest of Investor Day?” he asks. “You have a closing keynote.” I give him a sideways glance. “You think I don’t know that? I’ll try to be back in time. If I’m not, extend the dog-and-pony show. You’ve got promo videos and PowerPoints up the ass. Use something.” “And if that doesn’t work?” I stop, and my eyes cut to Selena. She’s curled up in a chair, scribbling in the journal resting on her knee. She’s so fucking beautiful, and I’d walk through a thousand shitstorms like the one swirling around us just to watch her like this. Not looking at Cannon, I say, “Improvise. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.” I take a step toward Selena, but pause when he lays a hand on my arm. “Justin.” I glance back at him. “What?” “Damon is fucking crazy. What he’s doing—his issue with you—that’s not based in logic. It never has been. Be careful. I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should either.” I inhale, long and slow. “I know. This has been a long time coming.” “Good luck, man.” Cannon peels off and heads back in the direction of the auditorium, and I cross the half dozen yards between Selena and me. She’s so involved in her writing that she doesn’t notice me until I crouch in front of her. “I bet if I were naked, you’d notice me quicker.” Her head jerks up, and her smile is quick and bright. “Damn straight, I would. That dick of yours demands attention.” “Later. Definitely.” “Count on it. After all, I hear I got a hell of a wedding present, which means you’ve got a hell of a thank-you coming.” “Maybe I should book the room at the Plaza?” “Screw the Plaza. Let’s go back to Vegas. I didn’t get nearly enough time to enjoy that villa at Caesar’s.” I smile, thankful she’s not losing her mind over the Homegrown acquisition. “Deal. We sort this out, and you and I are going to high roll it in Vegas.” Selena leans forward and threads her fingers through my hair. “I’m going to head back to the penthouse to finish this song and pack. So, hurry up and sort it out.” “I’ll consider those my marching orders.” Her lips press against mine, and while I want to seize control, I’m aware of the people moving around us, their eyes on us. I pull away. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m on my way.” “You better.” Another quick kiss and then I step away. I don’t realize that the next time I see her, everything I think I know about myself will have changed irrevocably. I go first to my aunt and uncle’s penthouse in the city, but I’m informed by the doorman, who has been a fixture in the building for as long as I can remember, that my uncle’s already been and gone back to Westchester. Thanking him for the information, I slide back into the backseat of the Bentley. “Looks like we’re headed to the estate, Michael,” I tell my driver. “Very good, sir. I’m assuming we’re in a hurry?” “Aren’t we always?” I catch his grin in the rearview mirror. “Of course.” Midday traffic is thankfully lighter than normal, and I cruise through the e-mails piled up in my in-box before I read through the top stories reporting on my impassioned opening remarks at Investor Day. JUSTIN KARAS: EXECUTIVE IN LOVE. THIS TIME IT’S FOR REAL, LADIES. This morning at Karas International’s annual Investor Day, Justin Karas publicly announced that his acquisition of Homegrown Records was an impulsive move fueled by his feelings for his new bride. He claims that allegations of self-dealing and breach of fiduciary duty leveled in a shareholder derivative suit filed by the executive’s own uncle are baseless given the company’s portfolio of holdings. Further, Karas claims that a purchase of Homegrown by Karas International would have been detrimental to the health of the company and the best interest of its shareholders, given Homegrown’s precarious financial situation. Homegrown, which has been hemorrhaging money since . . . I skim the rest of the article and several others like it, but it seems that the court of public opinion is indeed turning in my favor. Now, if I can get my uncle to take my offer and sell his shares in Karas International, then this problem will be solved and I can move on to taking Selena back to Vegas, and if I have my way, on a real honeymoon. I think she’d enjoy Europe after she gets her next record cut. The beauty of my solution of having my uncle sell his shares is simple—he can’t maintain his shareholder derivative suit if he’s no longer a shareholder. Clean and elegant. Even my lawyers would be proud.

By the time we pull up to the tall, ornate iron gates of the sprawling Westchester estate that was arguably my childhood home, I have my entire speech planned. The gate slides open immediately, and Michael drives through. A blanket of crisp white snow blankets what I know is a manicured lawn with perfect shrubbery. It has never been graced by a swing set. Tag has never been played here. The ornamental trees have never been climbed. Instead, Greer actually had tea parties, archery lessons, cotillion training, and etiquette instruction. Nine days out of ten, I was banished to my room when I was home, but sneaked out and stole books from the library on economics, finance, philosophy, and anything else that I thought could help me learn enough to make more money than my uncle. I studied him. Mimicked his moves in the foreign exchange markets. Cashed in and got out to invest in business with people and assets instead of numbers and paper. I took my company public and made billions. And then he came and bought chunks of my stock, and his ownership of a piece of my company was eating away at the rest of it like a cancer. It’s time for him to be excised. I won’t stand for it any longer. I built my empire with my own sweat, guts, and determination, and I defend what’s mine. My uncle has forgotten that I am just as ruthless as he is. I learned from his example, after all. His reminder will be fierce and swift. Michael slows to a stop in the circular drive of the ten-thousand-square-foot Georgian-style mansion. “I won’t be long,” I say, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open. “Yes, sir.” I make my way to the front door, and it swings open wide before I reach it. “Elisabetta, it’s good to see you again.” The housekeeper, who has served my aunt and uncle in near silence for as long as I can remember, nods. “This way, Mr. Justin.” She leads me to my uncle’s study and shuts the door behind me with a quiet click. Damon is seated in an oversized antique leather chair that looks like it held a Russian tsar. Knowing Damon, it probably did. The Louis XIV desk is the size of a pool table, and the top is spotless, but for a sleek laptop on a leather blotter and a single Mont Blanc pen. “Figured you’d show up. It’s always good to be proven right.” His eyes are narrowed on me, and his tone clearly says he’s not pleased with my presence. “Damon.” “Justin.” “I don’t expect you to offer me a seat. I always enjoy being proven right as well.” His mouth twists into a mockery of a smile. “I don’t know what you think coming here is going to accomplish, but you might as well say what you’ve got to say and get out. Know in advance that you’re wasting my time.” I imagine that my own smile is just as sardonic as his. I step closer and lower myself into one of his chairs for the sole purpose of knowing that it pisses him off. I enjoy towering over him, but I enjoy pissing him off more. His scowl gratifies every part of me. “I came to end this, because quite frankly, Damon, you’re wasting my time, and I’m fucking sick of it. I’ve got better things to do than dicking around with all this petty activist shareholder bullshit, and so do you. We both know it. You’ve hated me since I was a kid; I don’t particularly care why. But we’re both adults, and we’re both businessmen. So how about we talk in terms that we both understand and respect—money. I want your shares. What’s it going to take to get you out of my company and out of my fucking life?” Damon’s eyes, dark like my own, harden even more, but there’s something else there that I can’t identify. I’m reminded of Cannon’s comment because in this moment, my uncle looks more than his normal shrewd and cutting self. “You want my shares? You can have them.” He sits forward, pressing his palms on the desk, and stands halfway out of his chair. “All you have to do is change your fucking last name and take it off your goddamn company.” What the fuck? His request rings in my head, and my brain spins to find a motive or logic behind his words. He’s fucking crazy. “What the hell are you talking about, old man?” My words come out low and harsh. Damon pushes away from the desk and stands tall. He’s six foot one, which means I still top him by two inches. Feeling the need to establish dominance once again, I rise as well. His face has morphed into the most twisted expression of perverted pleasure I’ve ever beheld as he tilts his head and studies me. “You don’t deserve that name. You never fucking did. Your whore of a mother got it for you by seducing my little brother. She ruined his fucking life. Killed him.” I suck in a breath but my lungs are burning, as if all the oxygen in this room couldn’t satisfy them. What is he saying? “Explain yourself before I fucking beat it out of you.” The evil light of perverse pleasure burns in his eyes. “You’ve never wondered why Greer actually looks Greek and you don’t? Oh, you’ve got Mediterranean heritage, but it didn’t come from this family.” Everything inside me goes cold. I become intrinsically aware of every unconscious function of my body. Every tha-thunk of my heart. The whoosh of blood through my ears. Each blink of my eyes. Every shallow, indrawn breath and shaky exhalation. The sensation of my stomach on the floor at my feet.

“What the fuck are you saying?” I roar. Visions of my father—my swarthy, very Greek father—filter through my brain. My mother was a brunette as well. I always assumed I took after her more than him, but my looks never raised suspicion. “Don’t you get it, Justin? The only reason you weren’t born a fucking bastard is because your mother seduced my brother into marrying her before you were born. She got knocked up by a married man, and her family threw her out. My brother was a sucker. A good kid. A fucking junior in college. He was going to do great things—join me in the business. But he met her, and he wouldn’t listen. They got married six weeks later without telling anyone. When we found out and tried to talk him into annulling it, he dug in his heels. Joined that damn church and moved out of the city. Five years later, they ended up in Papua fucking New Guinea, and we all know how that ended. She as good as killed him herself. He never would’ve been there if not for her.” His words twist in a riot in my head, and I’m trying to make sense of them, but it sounds like complete fiction. It can’t be true. “You’re telling me that David Karas was not my biological father.” Damon is stone-faced. “No. He wasn’t.” My father was not my father. The realization pounds into my brain over and over. I turn and pace toward the door. Several beats later, I gather myself and face him again. “But he’s Greer’s father, because she was born in Papua New Guinea.” “Unless your whore mother—” I bolt across the room and my hand is at his throat, slamming him against the wall. “Shut your fucking mouth.” “Get your hands off me,” he forces out through the chokehold. “Tell me who my father is.” “Let me go.” “I said—” I wrap my fingers tighter around his throat. “Tell me who my fucking father is. You have to know.” Damon’s face is turning purple, but he snarls out, “A capo in La Casa Nostra.” I release him, and he stumbles back into the wall. What the fuck? The Mafia? “You’re lying.” “No reason to lie.” I lift my hand to my face as I try to let it sink in. “You have proof?” He nods. “DNA test. Pulled strings when you were a kid.” The man either has bigger balls than I could have ever suspected—or he’s stupid. “How did you not end up dead?” Damon tries to chuckle, but it comes out as a grunt. He rubs his throat. “I know people.” “Well, you can go fuck yourself. This stays between us. I’m not changing my name. You take that request and shove it up your ass.” “Then get ready to lose your entire company. I will drag you through court and destroy your reputation by dissecting every move you’ve ever made. I’ll be so far up your ass, you’ll taste me with every breath.” I have no doubt that he will attempt everything he’s saying. The crazy light in his eyes has settled over the expression on his face, and it’s clear that logic has fled his mind completely. “You’re going to cost yourself everything. You won’t walk away clean from this.” “I don’t care,” he roars. “I’m going to be a thorn in your side for the rest of your fucking life, like you’ve been a thorn in mine!” My hands curl into fists, and I ask the question burning within me. “Why? And if all you want from me is to change my name, why wait until now? Why not earlier?” Damon’s face twists into a sneer. “Every time I miss my brother—his birthday, our annual fishing trip, the World fucking Series, every time I see your goddamn picture in the paper, it makes me sick. If you didn’t exist, I’d still have him. It would be a fair trade, in my mind. And since I can’t have him back, it gives me some small measure of satisfaction to know that I can make you even a fraction as miserable as I am for losing him.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat as a wave of grief hits me. Because the man that my uncle still mourns is one I miss just as much, and had even fewer years with. “There’s something so fucked up about that, I don’t even know where to begin. You need help.” He chuckles humorlessly. “No one can bring him back. And now you’ve proven that blood will always tell. Your mother was trash, and now you’ve married trash. You’ve tarnished the family name with your stunt, and I’m done sharing it with you. I won’t stop until I win.” His last statement is a vow, and I know that all the words in the world won’t change his mind. The man has been buried in the grief of his loss for so many years, it seems to have twisted his mind. So I don’t respond to his dig as I cross the room and rip the door open. My time will be better spent developing a new strategy now that I know what I’m facing. My eyes have reduced to tunnel vision, and I barely notice Elisabetta wringing her hands as I stride for the entrance.

Sliding in the backseat of the Bentley, I tell Michael, “Let’s go home. And hurry.” Because I sure as fuck didn’t get the answers I came for. No, I got my world rocked, and a completely new identity. Justin enters the penthouse, and it doesn’t take a genius to know immediately that something is very, very wrong. “Justin?” His hair is wild. His eyes are wild. His entire demeanor is wild. I’ve never seen him like this, and it sets my stomach on a high-speed churn. “What happened? Is it bad? He didn’t take your deal?” He walks past me to the window and presses a hand to the glass. His forehead follows next. “My father wasn’t my father.” His words are so quiet, I can barely make them out. “What?” I whisper. “My mother was pregnant when they met.” A lifetime of not knowing who my father is has had a massive impact on me, but just learning it? I can’t imagine how much it would throw a person’s world off its axis. “Oh my God. Do you know who . . . ?” “Not exactly.” I press both hands to my face before rubbing upward and dragging them through my hair. Holy. Crap. I cross to his side, wanting nothing more than to offer what little comfort I may be able to. His slumped shoulders look like they’re carrying the weight of the world. “But Damon did tell me he was married, and he was in the Mafia.” “What!” I don’t mean to yell, but if ever there was a time to yell, I think this qualifies. Justin pushes off the glass and turns to me. “Yeah. Apparently I’m half Sicilian and not half Greek.” I study him. “I guess I can see it. But holy shit, Justin. Holy shit. You can’t make this shit up. I mean, holy shit.” The edges of his lips curl up in the tiniest hint of a smile, and incredibly, he bursts into a laugh. “Fuck me, I know. Damon said he was a capo, and that was before I was born. He’s probably dead or in prison now. But Jesus fucking Christ. I went to buy back stock in my own company, not a place in the Five Families.” My eyes feel like they may bug out of my head. I’m sure it’s not an attractive look on me, but I can’t help it. This is so freaking unbelievable. “This is like real Godfather-type shit, isn’t it?” Justin shakes his head. “It changes nothing. I’m still exactly the same man. I’m a product of my experiences. The source of my DNA doesn’t change me. And I’m sure as shit not changing my last name.” “Why would you change your last name?” I’m totally confused now. “That was Damon’s price to leave me—to leave us—alone.” “What an arrogant asshole!” “Calm down, baby,” Justin says, reaching for my hand. I shake him off. “Fuck calming down. I’m about to go backwoods on his ass. I like my new last name. I may not be using it onstage, but I’m sure as hell not giving it up now.” Now Justin’s smile threatens to split his face wide. “You are an amazing woman. If anyone had told me that I’d be smiling this soon after having the foundation of my entire existence rocked, I would’ve told them they were insane. Because I remember, with startling clarity, you telling me that I was under no circumstances to call you Mrs. Justin Karas again, or I’d be at risk of being immortalized in a song about a nutless wonder.” “You do listen.” I’m grinning now. “And that was purely a matter of your this is my woman, and I own her like property tone at the time that I took exception to. It had nothing to do with your name.” Justin grabs me and hauls me against his chest. I swear I can feel the tension leave his body as soon as it connects with mine. “This is what I needed. You. In my arms. God, now I’m really tempted to consider Cannon’s suggestion about taking a hit out on Damon.” I crane my neck back and look up at him. “That’s the Mafioso blood in you talking now, baby. I like it.” “Well, right now I just want to forget this entire morning.” His lips descend on mine, and our mouths meet and devour each other. My tongue finds his and tangles, tastes, and teases. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself off my feet before twining my legs about his waist. Justin cradles my ass in both hands and heads for the bedroom. We’re two steps from the door before a knock interrupts us. I pull back, but Justin says, “Ignore it.” “We can’t ignore it. You know it’s Cannon, and if he left the Investor Day festivities, it’s got to be important.” “You’re more important.” I wiggle out of his hold and shimmy down his body, stopping to look down at the tent he’s sporting in his suit pants. “How about I get the door?” Justin shoves a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he says, scowling. “But tell him he’s an asshole for interrupting.” “I will.” He’s shaking his head as I turn away and head to the door. I’m still laughing when I pull it open. I stop laughing, because it’s not Cannon. I have to stop and smooth my hair because I think I’m about to meet my new sister-in-law.