Chateau Michaud, Entrance: Damien's Coming Out

[The Exodus]

Chateau Michaud is situated outside of Paris and is home to one of France’s most renowned, private vineyards. The building cuts a majestic figure in the French countryside. The trees lining the stone entry-way are said to be a just as old as the chateau itself. The old-world charm of the place draws in tourists and private parties nine months out of the year and it serves as a landmark and reminder of grander, old-fashioned times.

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As you drive up tonight, you will see people milling about on the lawn and in the entrance of the chateau, speaking in mingled French and English. All are friends of the family (or friends of friends, anyways) and all are welcome to partake in the festivities. Just remember, the real fun is inside the property…

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar & Toddy St. James


Okay, this was a little much. Like, Princess Barbie's Demonic Castle much. It was something that if Myron Bolitar ever had a daughter, he would be skeptic to buy her the doll house version of this for Christmas because it screamed spoiled brat. Myron was one of the wealthiest men in Paris, from that came intelligence. From intelligence came the knowledge of knowing the definition of the words: gaudy and subtle. The Michaud estate, plain, state, continent- whatever it was, potrayed one of those terms quite well.

So this was bitchy. Standing in front of the entryway, his hands in his dress pant pockets, squinting and sizing the godzilla sized hotsy totsy whatever up. He shouldn't be dissing it. These were people that meant a lot to Toddy St. James. He had met Lucian awkwardly, and Damien too. So that said a lot about his social track record, didn't it? Both seemed nice in their own respects. Myron had accused one of being Chester the molestor, and helped the other one plot out Toddy's heart attack.

Myron should be the one to talk anyways- he was the one with the modern day technology in every corner, and he once had fish in his damn toilet. The Michauds probably had golden dolphins in their toilet.

Myron Bolitar couldn't help but outwardly grin at that one.
The vibrating sound in his pants made him come out of his witty moment. Looking at the screen, he sighed-

"Toddy, where the hell are you?"

Because, you know, a nice simple 'hi' first couldn't suffice.
Toddy St. James, already sweating like a damn wh*re in church, stopped in mid-tracks with a flipped wirst on his waist, his breathing heavy. He was late. Like, beyond fashionably late. So what did that make him? A drop dead diva. Dead because of all the glares he was going to get. He was one of the VIPs of the night. Damien was expecting him to be there supporting him, and Toddy was his boyfriend. So, Toddy St. James was the proof of what tonight meant. The fact that he was running late... may have been intentional.

"I could have been calling you to tell you I was kidnapped or dead, and this is what I get?"

Toddy St. James, ladies and gentlemen. Drama queen extrodinaire, and somehow, Myron Bolitar's best friend. He would have to be or he sure as hell would not be here tonight. With a roll of the eyes that the fairy would never see but could probably feel on the other line, Myron sighed, rubbing a fist over his eyes.

"Oh, if only..."

Toddy continued on walking, looking every which way. He had decided to meet Myron there. Not the most brilliant of ideas. Somehow, along the way of getting dropped off by a cab, Toddy St. James had lost track of where he was going. He was so not going to roll up to his boyfriend's classy party in a cab. That would be pulling a Britney Spears trashy moment. Especially if he had no panties on.

"Do not start with me, Myron Bolitar." Toddy snapped, looking all around him frantically, trying to balance the gift in his hand he had gotten Damien. Which, the wrapping with the sparkly slateblue paper and white bow was to die for. "This is my night, and I cannot handle your smart *ssity."

"Technically," Myron began, smirking. What an anxiety attack his best friend was having. Somewhere in the pit of all morbid and cold hearted, he found much amusement in this. "This is not your night. Because you came strutting out of your closet a long time ago."

"Honey, I strutted out of my mother's womanly walls when I was born and I was out."

Toddy screamed out loud in aggrivation.

Myron held the phone out a few feet, cringing at the three year old girl sound coming from his cellphone. And he couldn't help but realize he heard it not just in his earpiece ...

"I cannot find this-"

"Toddy."

"Wha?!"

"Turn around."

Toddy St. James and Myron Bolitar met full on. They looked at one another for a moment. A moment where Toddy St. James' eyes met the building behind him. The moment where Myron glared at him, 'I know'. The two friends remained in this position, cellphones still up to their ears, Toddy staring at the castle, Myron staring at his friend.

"Psssttttt." Myron whispered into the cellphone, watching his friend a few feet from him drop his jaw. "You might want to close your mouth. You're giving me hot ideas."

Toddy, not even hearing him, waved his hand, and shook his head. Toddy St. James could not quit looking at the thing. Was this some sort of joke? Did they somehow get Queen Elizabeth's place mixed up with this?

"It's official. I'm dating Bill Gates."

Myron shrugged, tossing over his shoulder to look at the estate again. Looking back to Toddy he pursed his lips, "Meh, I was gonna' say Princess Dianna."

"True." Toddy agreed, "Way more glam."

Then, the air turned serious. Myron saw it in Toddy's features. The way his shoulder slumped over. The way the pretty packaged, what looked like three year old Cindy sprinkled her glitter glue all over- drop about an inch or two- and his knees bend a little bit. It didn't take a genius to know that Toddy St. James was freaking out, but it did take a best friend to understand why.

"Toddy..."

Myron Bolitar began walking over to him.

Toddy St. James swallowed hard, speaking into the phone, his eyes round. "I-I can't do it Myron. I can't-"

The phone was taken away from Toddy's ear when Myron flipped it shut, shoving it into Toddy's dress pant pocket. Turning on his heels, Myron looked to face it the same way he was. Toddy St. James could feel his heart pounded, the sweat bubbling on his hairline, and his knees wanting to give out.

"Look at what his life is, Myron." He murmured seriously. "He has everything, and look at me-"

Myron snapped, getting right in front of him, gripping his shoulders. "Hey." He hissed. "You say anything bad about my best friend I'll have to turn this into a hate crime."

"Please," Toddy St. James huffed out, suddenly collapsing to the ground in a pout, and sitting on the ground. Not really caring about his black designer dress pants. Just, defeated.

That's how they both knew something was really up with him.

"Just lynch me."

Myron Bolitar squinted in concern at his friend on the ground, watching as Toddy's chin dropped down on the present. He looked like a small kid. It was sad. It was rare that anyone saw him like this. Myron sighed, thinking what the hell. If Mcprisser could sit on the ground so could he.

"I would, but I'm afraid I didn't renew my KKK membership."

Toddy laughed, and then thought, thank GaGa for Myron Bolitar. The man was crazy, but he was all Toddy had. Yes, he was jealous of anyone else he talked to, but it was only because Myron was the only family Toddy had. Like, root family tree material. Madeleine was beautiful, but she hadn't always been there. There are things she didn't know. Damien too. Here Toddy was, going to be introduced to his family. Who could he introduce Damien to?

Well, he was sitting right next to Toddy.

Myron sat next to Toddy and wrapped an arm around his shoulder and gripped it lovingly. It was insane, but they weren't only best friends, but Myron Bolitar looked at him sometimes in a fatherly way. Not that he was the age of one, he acted like it sometimes that was for friggin sure- but Myron Bolitar knew that Toddy St James deserved what he never got. The role of a father-ish figure.
"Toddy, stuff like this doesn't matter." Myron told Toddy- the one who purchases all designer things, judges girls for the smallest details of their outfit, and won't buy a fake if someone were holding a knife to him. Hm. This would be more difficult than he thought. "Really, it doesn't."

"Easy for you to say, Daddy Warbucks."

"Hey, I am not bald." Myron murmured, then seriously- "But Toddy, it's like this ... I could have bought my way to Madeleine's heart, right? I could have gotten her furs, jewlery every week, the works. But I didn't. Because that's what real relationships are. They're about the person, not the friggin- " He waved a hand at the castle, "Hunchback of Notre Dame tower."

Through this little breakdown Toddy St. James was having, he looked over at Myron's eyes, who were looking out past everything, past this moment and the things around them, and somewhere else. Toddy saw something sad.

"You'll get her back, babe."

Myron took a moment with tight lips. He didn't mean for it to turn into his own soap box, but even the name was getting hard to say without getting all Hallmark-esque.

"I'm trying." Myron murmured, diving into his suit jacket and getting out his pills.

Toddy St. James sighed, putting a hand under his chin.

"I mean, I wear nice clothes. I can talk a talk. But this is like- talking a talk, walking the walk, doing the do-"

"Toddy," Myron put a hand on his leg, his voice muffled from the pill he swallowed dry. "Stop. You're better than this."

Toddy scoffed.

"No. I'm serious. Just the person you are is all of this put together. I sh*t you not. I rather have a friend like you over all this crap. So would Damien."

Toddy St. James thought about this. "True."

The two boys looked at the caslte for a silent moment in the same position.

After a long moment...

"And at least I know he's not using me for my money."

"Amen to that."

Toddy took in a deep breath, pride and confidence swelling in his chest. "Okay...Okay!" Leaping up with his present, Toddy dusted himself off. "I got this."

Myron took a moment but got up, fixing his jacket. "Good. And I'll be with you the entire night."

"Like my entourage."

"I wouldn't go that far."


Toddy breathed looking at Myron straight in the eye. "Thank you."

Then began walking off. Myron looked at Toddy walking and scoffed, calling him as he caught up- which wasn't that difficult.

Patting a hand on Toddy's *ss he smirked, "Don't get to excited. Just got some shmutz on your *ss."

Toddy grinned. "You just wanted to touch my *ss."

"Guilty as charged."

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

As Damien pulled her through the crowd jubilantly, Natalie couldn’t help but to catch a glimpse of her little boy as she remembered him. Her easily excited, happy son who always had some “cool” new art project to show her. She wondered how much an art project Damien’s relationship with this mysterious Toddy St. James was to him. Everything else was. This was the same boy who saw a tin can in the rubbish bin, yelled, “Mummy, wait!!” before snatching it up and taking it away for a few days and then—voila—he’d made a flowerpot. This was the same boy who saw the big, creaky, old tree in the backyard, told Lucian he wanted a tree-house, and before Natalie could say that she didn’t want her husband and son climbing around like monkeys with power tools and no plan, Damien whipped out a detailed design of exactly what he wanted—to scale and color coded—that would compensate for the weaker parts of the tree. He was as efficient and practical as Natalie could have hoped, but twice as creative. He found beauty in unlikely sources and all Natalie could do was hope that Toddy wasn’t the sort of fixer-upper project Damien so often sought.

“Where are we going?” she asked, having to raise her voice just a bit over the music from the DJ table.

“We’re gonna wait outside for him!” Damien told her.

“He isn’t here yet?!” Natalie tugged on Damien’s hand, bringing him to a halt. “What do you mean he isn’t here yet?”


Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Damien stopped and turned to face his mother.

“You were late, too,” he pointed out. “A whole fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, but… darling,” Natalie said. She smiled stretchily, tightly, and clasped both of Damien’s hands in her own. “Shouldn’t your boyfriend have come with you?”

Damien hadn’t thought of it like that. He had carpooled with Bill like he had when they were teenagers. In part because they lived together, but mostly because they needed both Bill and Lucian’s cars to bring over decorations and miscellaneous party supplies. Now, though, he was wondering if it would have been better to come with his boyfriend. Toddy could have helped set up; he could have met Bill. He could have seen the house and gotten a proper tour. But either they lacked that kind of foresight. Unless…

… What if Toddy wasn’t coming after all? Damien had given up hope on his mother showing up after ten minutes. Why hadn’t he worried about whether Toddy would show up? What if the prospect of a coming out party didn’t appeal to him? What if he didn’t want to meet Damien’s friends and family? What if this was considered too forward? What if--?

“Sweetheart, stop that,” Natalie said gently. “You’re going to make your nails bleed.”

Damien looked down and realized he’d been digging into his fingernails. They were pink from the pressure and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, embarrassed.

‘Let’s just go wait outside,” he mumbled. “If he’s not here in ten minutes, we can go back inside.”

Natalie Blackwood

She hadn’t meant to make Damien that nervous and for a moment, Natalie felt guilty. Once upon a time, she had been introducing boyfriends to her difficult-to-please mother. None of Natalie’s earliest boyfriends ever met Margret Blackwood’s expectations, but they were all better than Beatrice’s suitors. Never as good as Amelia’s though. Not until Lucian, anyways, and even then that was only because Amelia’s husband had died and his only competition was Robert, whom nobody much liked except Beatrice. It was always nerve wracking to show someone you loved to the people who meant the most to you; always a reflection on you and your choices. Natalie squeezed Damien’s hand apologetically. She’d been his age once, too.

They made their way outside onto the slightly overgrown front lawn. Cars of all sorts shone under the moonlight. Natalie was glad to be out of the city; it was the only time in France she felt like she could breathe. Paris was crowded the way London was crowded, which was why neither city held her for long. For a quiet moment, Natalie was at peace, holding her son’s hand and enjoying the night air. Her eyes slipped shut and she leaned against her bronze Bentley.

"Don't get to excited. Just got some shmutz on your *ss."

Natalie’s eyes snapped open and she dropped Damien’s hand. She looked over at him, wondering what sort of company her boy-man was keeping these days, or if, maybe the American voice she heard was someone hired on for the party or for they vineyards. Damien, though, wasn’t paying his scandalized mother any mind. Rather, he looked much like a hunting dog, standing erect and listening for something or someone.

"You just wanted to touch my *ss,” another American man volleyed back.

"Guilty as charged," said the first and two men came into view from between the parked cars.

One would have been handsome, if it weren’t for the foul-mouth. He had dark hair and dark eyes and a roguish scruff about his chin that exuded manliness. The second had mouse-like ears and a baby-face; he also lacked finesse to his clothes. Perhaps it was because he didn’t have a suit jacket. Whatever the case, neither wore a uniform, so Natalie could only guess—with mild dismay—that they were guests and not members of the catering company. She’d long ago resigned herself to Benjamin’s poor manners; his siblings made up for all he lacked. But it seemed that Damien insisted on surrounding himself with people that would invariably embarrass him in social settings. Worse still was that he squeezed her hand now and whispered, “That’s him, Mummy. That’s Toddy.”

“Which one?” Natalie asked, almost dreading the answer.

Damien sighed theatrically, as if Natalie had asked him to tell her his own middle name, and led her over to the two men.

“It’s about time you got here,” Damien said, a grin pulling across his pretty mouth. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

He released Natalie’s hand and kissed one of the men—the one without the suit jacket—on the lips briefly, as if deliberately trying not to make a show for Natalie’s sake, or maybe the sake of the other man there. Natalie’s insides twisted up just a bit and she thought, He’s dating the funny-looking one. At least he wasn’t dating the foul-mouthed “*ss”-grabber. Natalie contented herself with that small miracle and tried to smile. Her upper lip curled just a bit, which made for a rather cold, uninviting expression.

“Oh!” said Damien. “Sorry! Toddy, this is my mum, Natalie Blackwood. Mummy… This is my boyfriend, Toddy St. James. And that…”

He paused, smiled at the other man perplexedly, and looked over at Natalie again.

“…Is my boss, Myron Bolitar. Well, our boss, actually. Toddy works at the Moulin Rouge, too.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Natalie said. If she hadn’t been determined to get Damien into the Louvre’s art restoration program before tonight, she was now. She pulled her eyes away from Mr. Bolitar and looked at Toddy again.

He had big, bold facial features that somehow looked more like an anime cartoon to Natalie than anything else. Those big eyes; full lips; and ears that looked like they were preparing for take-off. Perhaps most redeeming was his complexion and coloration. Damien had inherited Natalie’s weakness for blue-eyed and dark-haired men. Still, when her son—who had Natalie’s delicate and feminine bone structure—looked like the manlier man in the relationship, Natalie couldn’t help but wonder why he was so adverse to girls, anyways.

And what sort of a name is “Toddy”? she asked herself. If that’s not short for Theodore, clearly his mother was an alcoholic, naming her son after a drink for a laugh.

Maybe Natalie was just destined to hate anyone her son brought home. Maybe it was instinct or the feeling that nobody, however well intentioned, would be good enough for her baby boy. Maybe she was looking for flaws.

Maybe.

She tried to see what Damien saw in Toddy. She went back to the blue-eyes and dark hair combination. There was something to that. Maybe there was more, deeper internal reasoning.

Maybe.

“It’s good to finally put names and faces together,” she said to Toddy. “I’ve been wondering who could possibly meet my son’s requirements in a man.”