fly me to the moon | kate

Harlan just had to let his sense of obligation get the better of him.
 
A certain sense of anxiousness seeped in as the second dimming of the lights draped over the foyer and signified that intermission was nearly out.  He hadn’t figured when he urged the older woman who had approached the concession at the same time to go ahead of him that it could quite possibly take so long to make her decision. There were few things he hated as much as tardiness and in the current predicament, it meant that he could potentially miss the second portion of the ballet. Worse yet, Audrey would be without her martini.

Harlan carefully adjusted the sleeve of his button-down that had been meticulously folded a quarter up his forearm, offering a grimace of a smile as the woman eventually turned away from the table with a god-damn-Bordeaux in hand and a vaguely apologetic, half-drunk look painted on her face. He hardly even noticed as she raked her hand up the side of his arm on her way he was so quick to move to the bar.

The bartender offered a sympathetic smile but made no haste with the order as the third and final dimming of the lights fell over them, darkening the deep blues of Harlan's eyes along with his demeanor. "Thanks, mate," There was a fresh harshness in Harlan's tone. He left entirely too many coins on the countertop and rushed to the entrance to the private boxes just as they were magically shut on his face.

"Fuck," He breathed. For a moment he just studied the ornate double doors that stretched to the high ceiling before turning on his heels, a familiar face catching his attention. "Kate," Her name tasted like a question on his tongue.

@Kate Baker

Parallel with her life, the Series of Unfortunate Dates continued. Each time she’d been out with a person since her divorce it hadn’t worked out, and the times it had gotten close she’d either been distracted because of her own bad choices or been overcome with an overwhelming, momentous sense of guilt. Moving on, as in, being okay without her ex was a far different concept as opposed to moving on as in being with an entire, whole human, especially as a serious consideration rather than a finite distraction.

Of course, going to therapy helped, but there was only so much that could do in terms of progress, and Kate wasn’t always as good at addressing mental blocks as she pretended to be.

That was sort of too deep for this particular instance, though, because the guy her sister had set her up on a date with for this ballet was specifically loathsome even separate from those issues. He never stopped talking, his English accent was annoying rather than soothing, it didn’t look like he’d flossed his teeth in weeks (months?), and Kate had every suspicion that Francesca had plucked him straight out of the blithering band of idiots she partied with every weekend whilst staying in London. At her house, of course. Without asking.

Kate loved the ballet, though, and she loved her sister, so she made a mental note that she’d come to the Sunday matinee and explain herself later if she had to make a quick exit. Her date, Robert, “Rob” as he introduced himself--but it felt too familiar--made for the restroom as soon as intermission was called and Kate took advantage of her opportunity.

She stole away up the velvet stairs to the next-nearest exit and slipped out the large wooden double doors to clack rapidly down the marble hallway, not giving a single care how unladylike and trashy that was, until she could ensure she was completely out of sight and lost from… Rob.

It was easy waiting throughout the twenty-minute intermission and remaining concealed in the swaths of well-dressed people, because she wasn’t sure Rob was intelligent enough to remember what she looked like after five minutes, let alone twenty.

She made a trip to the bar and several tequilas later, Kate squinted sharply at the someone who called her name from the nearest entrance to the auditorium, noting the way his silhouette was cut much more sharply than most other fat, aging men here. “Harlan,” She smiled as soon as she recognized him. “I didn’t think I would see you here, if I’m honest.”

There was a muffled hush of the crowd from beyond the doors followed by the subtle swell of strings— the show had resumed right on time. Somehow, even through the physical barrier, the sound of the music pulled at him from somewhere tucked deeply away in his chest. As if there had been any doubt, Harlan knew then there was no way he could make his way in at that stage, no matter how much sweet-talking he could conjure up and no matter what his name was.

At least he wasn't the only one, he thought to himself.

Harlan found that he mirrored Kate's smile with a grin of his own, a look of surprise washing over his face as he made his way over to her with a drink unabashedly held in either hand. "Why's that?" He prompted. "I'll have you know I'm something of a regular at the ballet..." He clicked his tongue, the posh in his accent coming entirely too easy and more than he cared to admit.

"I've gotten this for you," He teased, glancing at the martini—extra olive as per Audrey's not-so-casual instruction— before his gaze flicked back up to Kate and lingered there for a moment. "Well then, go on, what's your excuse?" He pushed the glass over with a sigh, shooting a look over his shoulder to where they had been left to their own devices.

On second thought, he hoped his little act of kindness hadn't landed her there as well.

Her eyebrow arched as she noticed the extra olive in the martini. Martinis were a little snotty for her; she preferred to drink more carefree things, but she was drunk enough already after her many tequilas she knew it would slide down the hatch with no problem. She was developing something of a problem with alcohol, another issue of hers she’d shelved and promised to herself she’d revisit at a calmer time in her life.

“Extra olive,” Kate cleared her throat noisily, “That’s what Audrey drinks.” She nodded slightly toward the doors. “You come with her?” Wouldn’t necessarily come as a surprise if he had. If she remembered correctly, Harlan and his sister were fairly close, after all, it’s how she’d stumbled upon him the last time. Seeing him now made her think about what might’ve happened if she’d stayed in that bar with him for longer, had more to drink, eaten more positively revolting oysters. Could be either the loneliness or intoxication talking, maybe both.

“Not gonna say no, though,” She made sure to comment soon after, not wanting him to think she was refusing his gesture, although it hadn’t been meant originally for her. How could it have been, if he’d really intended on actually making it back before intermission ended? It certainly appeared that way. Kate was sneaking around and making sure she got stuck out here.

“I appreciate it nonetheless. Bad date.” Her little face scrunched up to communicate her discomfort.

Harlan's gaze narrowed on Kate at her admission— she knew his sister's drink of choice. Did she also know that she snuck cigarettes when her husband was asleep? "That's right," He mused thoughtfully though the hint of the question still lingered in his eye. Harlan knew that Audrey had been doing a piece about up and coming writers and that the woman in front of him happened to be one of them, but she had failed to mention anything about them sharing their lists of likes and dislikes.

There was an unsettling feeling knowing that Audrey had forged that kind of relationship, for whatever reason. It wasn't that he actually knew Kate. But at the same time—

"The whole family," He nodded with something of an exhale in the process, a clear weight on his shoulders. The ballet after Christmas was a Bellamy tradition. And if there was anything about their traditions, they very rarely deviated.

"Oh, don't tell me you hate olives as well?" He wondered briefly if she would remember the oysters from that first (and only) night that they had met. Then she said she wouldn't say no and he was left feeling smug. "Ahh.." Harlan hummed a thought, taking a sip of his own drink, making himself comfortable at the uninhabited bar. The whole place looked a bit like a ghost town on second thought. "Bad enough to 'miss the doors'?" He teased, half sitting on a barstool to face her.

The whole family, he told her, and Kate remembered the first time she’d met Charlie’s parents--and he’d told her, literally on the doorstep, that they didn’t know she was coming. She’d made a decent impression nonetheless, because she still wrote to his mother every so often, and still heard from her occasionally by telephone. Her eyes pricked with tears and she hid her trembling lip with a grin, shaking her head at Harlan. “Family man, it seems.”

Not according to the papers, but Kate was the first person to know and understand that a lot of things in the Daily Prophet and likewise publications could be completely farcical. She tried to avoid reading them, really, and had done so since she’d left her publicist days (and divorcing someone famous) behind her. Each time she thought about how she’d worn so many hats for that band she nearly fainted. How had she done that for so long?

The things people did for… hmm. Even thinking the word was too confronting.

“I actually like olives, so you’re in luck there.” She stirred the drink with the toothpick and took as big of a swallow as she could without looking piggish. “I love ballet too, but. My sister is actually the principal ballerina in this show and she wanted me to show up with someone instead of depressed and alone,” Kate grimaced at her own pathetic transparency. “So I agreed but he’s kind of scuzzy and gross.” She held up air quotes with her bony fingers, “‘Missed the doors’ indeed.”

A family man?

Harlan nearly laughed at the accusation. He set down his glass on the bar that he was pressed up against and shook his head in disbelief. "Something like that..." An eyebrow quirked without thought. In truth, in those days he might have had even himself fooled. An uncle, a brother, a fucking son— titles he never truly had a good grasp on seemed all the less distant as time went on.

So olives were a go, but not oysters? Harlan pulled a half a face but let her off, at least for the time being.

He mirrored her drink and had a sip of his own. It was his first drink of the night and he could feel the burn as it carried down his chest, relaxing his shoulders, opening up his posture. "Is she?" Harlan couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "That's impressive," It was an oddity enough that she had found herself in London, but her sister, too— in the ballet. Vaguely he wondered if he knew her.

"Reckon he'll come looking for you?" His eyes were hazy with a hint of mischief. There was something alluring about the prospect of hiding away somewhere, no matter what the circumstances were.

Kate’s eyebrows sat fixed, curiously arched as she peered over the rim of her martini glass, listening intently to Harlan’s remarks. If he was that (blissfully) unaware of her family, and of the connotations being in such family carried in the music industry--not to mention how hard it was to get out from under the expectation that all of Kate’s accomplishments were thanks to nepotistic practice by her father--perhaps it was a cleaner slate than originally thought.

People who did know about the family business were often ignorant to how hard she worked and even if they did know how hard she worked, they thought she was arrogant, insufferable to be around or worse, that she’d slept her way to the top. A rock dropped into the pit of her stomach when she considered how that could technically be an accurate statement, and how her ex had made considerable allusions to it before as well. His mind had been poisoned not only by drugs, alcohol and an entitlement-fueled stubbornness, but by others’ opinions of Kate and how she apparently sought to “change” who he was.

“Well, music is uhh… our family is kind of. Into that. It’s our thing.” Kate grinned. “I’m surprised Audrey hasn’t told you,” That had been the main source of contention with the award Audrey presented Kate with months ago, where she’d seen Harlan last: that she was too young to have possibly earned all her accolades and the public recognition must’ve come from other places. As they’d gotten to know each other and built up a better professional relationship, Kate hoped that her colleague thought differently and better of her. Then, a second after that weakling thought penetrated her mind, Kate wished with no real expectation of change that she didn’t care so much about what certain people thought.

“But my dad owns a major record label and books most major shows for touring bands in the United States, especially on the West Coast. He did that for Banshee years ago when the British wizarding war happened,” Kate explained, pleased she wasn’t becoming too tongue-tied even after mixing alcohols, “That’s. Sort of where my interest started,”

Better clarify you mean in music, Kate, and not in older men.

“--in music. I was helping out at the label when I was pretty young and I can play the piano and do some other stuff.” Her shoulders, suddenly feeling quite cold, shrugged. “I like managing better because I can fly more under the radar, but my sister, she’s a dancer. So,” Her lips pressed firmly together. Hearing nothing but her own voice in the last couple of minutes was making her feel like she was talking too much. “That’s. Kinda how that got going.”

“And I hope he doesn’t come looking for me.”

His eyes narrowed, the deep blues cast in the warm light of the foyer, laden with interest. Harlan couldn't stop the grin that mirrored Kate's as she delved into the intricacies of her family dynamic and how that had shaped her profession, her interests, her sister's interests. In the midst of studying the way that she lit up at the subject— and Merlin did she— he couldn't help but notice the dichotomy between the two of them.

Personally, he ran as far away from the family business as possible, though the question always lingered— what if?

"She doesn't share much about work..." Harlan commented, not unkindly, setting his drink down and settling into the barstool more casually than he had been before. Something about knowing more of someone put him at ease in a conversational setting. It became less about small talk and more about actually learning what made them the way that they were. And in his mind, that was what really mattered.

"She likes you, you know?" He had a sneaking suspicion that Kate didn't. Audrey had a way of treating the people she was championing the worst. In some way her own upbringing had something to do with that, he imagined. They were raised to test people. To push them to the best of their ability. A tough love.

"That's interesting," Harlan added, genuinely. He didn't have much to add as far as the music industry was concerned. He knew people in in it, by proxy, but it hadn't particularly pertained to his interests. He was much more attuned to the classical side of things— in fact, he figured he wouldn't mind picking her own sister's brain if given the chance.

"Well if he does I know a good place to hide, " He mused over the lip of his drink thoughtfully. And he truly did, know a good place to getaway.

A tiny wave of relief surged pleasantly in Kate’s stomach when Harlan mentioned that his sister didn’t tend to disclose information surrounding her work. She preferred people to form their own opinions, go in blind, so to speak--instead of relying on thoughts that others relayed to them. Everyone was going to have a different experience from the next person, right?

Kate didn’t regret not having listened to people, no matter what the consequences of not listening had been.

Harlan commented that Audrey was fond of her and Kate knew she looked incredulous. “What?” Her tone was questioning and sharp, coming out of the corner of her mouth as it twisted into a funny sort of grin. “You’re kidding.” The base of her martini glass made a soft clunk as she set it down on the bar, as though she could pay better attention to her conversation partner with both hands free and open.

“Audrey does not like me,” Kate insisted, “She had a bunch of bad things to say about me at that awards ceremony. I’ve mostly been, like, trying to do damage control since then. I guess she’s been less obviously displeased with me but--” She shook her head and frowned, rustling her brown curls in her ears, “You were there, you heard what she had to say about the… unlikeliness of me being self-made.”

If he does I know a good place to hide. Her eyebrows shot up again into an arch from their furrowed position, and she surveyed his expression for another second, trying to deduce whether or not he was being serious--and if he was being serious, whether or not that seriousness was suggestive.

“Do you.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it framed like one. “You took me to a bar with uhh… oysters. Last time you said that.”

Briefly Harlan considered whether other not he'd overstepped his boundaries. He didn't actually know for a fact the pen name belonged to Kate but he had his suspicions. And he could all-too-easily read between the lines as far as Audrey was concerned. Either way, he had no intention of outing Kate. If she wanted to bring up her professional endeavors she needed to on her own terms.

"She does," He countered with a grin, running his thumb over the lip of his glass, working through the best next step. Harlan couldn't exactly admit his suspicion but at the same time, he felt an affronting need to alleviate her concerns at the same time. "Audrey is exclusively cruel to people she likes..." He settled on matter-of-factly. The same could be said for most of the Bellamys.

"I do," Harlan was thankful the conversation had seemed to flow onward and away from his near slip, even if it meant a bit of added embarrassment for him. "I've been coming here since I was a kid," He started with half of a shrug. "Can't expect me not to have picked up something by now..." His brow quirked as he took a sip of his drink, nearly saying at his age.

"Yeah, you're welcome for the recommendation, by the way," He leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle of something more closely to examine it, planning the next round. No staff was in sight, anyway. He wasn't naive enough to believe that Kate's tastebuds had changed overnight— they never did— but he liked the idea that he played some small part in expanding her palate, if only for that night.

“Well, I’m sorry, Harlan, but I just won’t be able to believe you without proof.” The protest was delivered good-naturedly, with a signature, toothy, California-girl smile, but the message was true. “But if that’s the case, she’s become a little nicer to me, so maybe I should be worried now.”

He continued to surprise her. Kate knew British people appreciated fine art more than Americans did as a general rule, but it was still quite curious (she sounded English now) that someone who played sports for a living, and who was pretty well known for it and the captain of his team at that, would enjoy attending the ballet on a regular basis. “Wow,” Kate swallowed another sip of her martini to finish the last of it and felt the alcohol blaze a numbing trail down through her stomach. She was too drunk.

“You know it’s really unlikely for someone who’s a diehard sports person to be into classical music or theatre or. Anything like that in the United States,” Kate slid clumsily off the sticky leather of the barstool to lean on the bar itself with her elbow. She should get a feel for how mobile she’d be if she tried walking anywhere, especially in the case of Rob figuring out where they were.

“So that’s like. Weird. Good weird, but weird.” She laughed a second later, too loud for this snotty wet bar next to the private box seats at the ballet, and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oysters are… not good weird, though. I don’t know if I’d ever eat them again. I’m sorry if that’s a friendship dealbreaker.”

"Or," Harlan began as he set down the bottle of gin he'd so casually plucked from behind the bar. He still had a nearly full drink of his own and was surprised by the haste in which Kate had made her way through the martini— but then again, who the fuck was he to judge? He would have been doing the same if he were seeking refuge from a bad date. Worse, even.

"You could trust me at my word," A controversial idea all things considered, he was aware. "I know Audrey," He reiterated, hoping that was enough to satiate any lingering fear Kate may have had regarding his sister. "It's indifference you should be concerned about," He grinned. When it came to her, love and hate existed on the same plane of existence.

Something he could relate to.

Harlan didn't jump to offer Kate another drink. She was perfectly capable if she saw fit. Besides, who was he to tempt her to stick around so close to potentially being uncovered by her leech of a date. If the shoe were on the other foot, he would have been out the door the moment he saw any semblance of an escape. Not that he was complaining, of course.

"Good weird?" Harlan laughed. Miraculously he had stopped himself from mimicking an American accent— Merlin did he hate when people did that to him. "It was much less of a choice when I was younger," He protested, despite the fact that he genuinely enjoyed it at present. In fact, he hated to be missing it. "Pleased to not meet your expectations, then," Harlan added over the lip of his drink with a grin.

At the mention of oysters and her disdain, his mouth twisted into something of a disappointed frown. "To each their own, I suppose..." He clicked his tongue. "I'll let it slide this once," Harlan added as if he had any right.

The bottle of gin somehow nestled in his hand startled Kate; how had she not seen him steal--steal? that, had he been too adept at swiping for her to notice or was she really that drunk? She was too embarrassed to ask, so she gaped like a fish instead, communicating very effectively that something swirling around in her otherwise foggy brain (the gin predicament) was truly befuddling her.

“Yeah, good weird,” Her ears perked at the sound of his voice and reminded her that hearing him talk and not responding would have been rude. She’d sort of fallen into the attractive trap of tuning out a bunch of things men had to say after her divorce. There were some exceptions, of course--ones who seemed more developed than to have a knuckle-dragging habit might have been worth paying attention to, but she’d been wrong before. Maybe the knuckle-draggers were simple enough to figure out in mere minutes. Maybe that was really what she needed; something cut and dry would certainly be more straightforward, even if it wasn’t nearly as entertaining.

It struck her he hadn’t imitated her American accent when repeating her words, or even spoken in a stupid falsetto, which was halfway a shame because Kate really enjoyed speaking in an “English” accent and now she had no clue as to whether or not it would be funny. She would keep a lid on her more obnoxious jokes for the time being.

She grinned. “I still do things that were much less of a choice when I was younger, too. Family gatherings, most of the time. Been staying away more than usual, though, because it’s a lot to explain to your cousins who already have multiple children that you’re divorced and live by yourself,” Too much information, Kate, you weirdo. He doesn’t care about that. When was her next therapy session, again? She was apparently bursting at the seams to air some grievances.

“You know,” Kate offered nervously, her eyes squinting down the hallway to note the figure approaching, but thankfully to the bar on the other side of the double door entrance, “pretty sure that’s Rob down there. Maybe we should make ourselves scarce.”

Good weird, Kate confirmed but didn't elaborate any further than that. His eyes narrowed. At least it wasn't the bad kind. "Hmm," Harlan hummed thoughtfully as an amused smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as if to say I'll take that.

Harlan watched her as she spoke about her family dynamics, past and present. Briefly, he wondered what was worse— having to justify a divorce or having to explain why you never wanted to get married in the first place. The more selfish part of him assumed the latter, but then again how could he be so sure?

It struck him how young Kate was to have already been married and divorced, to have made her way through all of those milestones inevitable or not. And Merlin were they inevitable. Objectively, Harlan liked to think that a bad divorce was better than a bad marriage.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Living alone, single. At least he didn't believe so. Her family, if they were anything like his own, probably didn't so much agree. Thankfully, the topic of conversation shifted though the reprieve was short-lived. Her date. Harlan shifted instinctively to look in the direction Kate had indicated, putting himself between them though keeping a safe distance from her still.

It hadn't been part of his plan for the evening to handle that.

Harlan glanced back at her. "About that hiding place..." He finished his drink and set down his glass with more a sense of urgency than he had before. He paused at the bar, allowing Kate a moment to decide whether or not she wanted to simply just leave. Either way, he figured she needed to get out of the line of fire, at least in the interim.