[ Professionally or privately says that little shit, like it isn't perfectly obvious that he could have meant nothing but everyone, everywhere, at every possible moment in time. Vincent stares up at the ceiling, waiting for the God he doesn't believe in to show his arse to him now that apparently, the whole world and life in general is all about that but as it were, nothing happens except his eyes start to water slightly.
Shit. ]
So everybody and their fucking horse. Thanks for your discretion, darling.
[ And thank you, Jean Louis, for being this randomly incompetent. It's honestly a new low. ]
Wise of Ardisson, though, props to her. Make space in your calendar between February 2nd and 5th. I'm gonna need you for a shoot.
Well. Look at the positives, I haven't gotten that tattoo across my forehead made yet, the one reading: "Jean Louis Girard's favourite dangerous liaison".
[ How's that for a headline?? It's the way Fortesqué assumes shit, like Claude has some random Friday and Monday he can just reschedule. Saturday and Sunday, cool, most people can pull those out of the big picture, but he actually works, okay. He's getting fucking paid to do a fucking job. He is no doubt gonna skip the internal party conference that Friday, if he -- goes to do a shoot. Where? France? Luxembourg? Plus, Mondays are officials' meetings, lined up.
So, it just blurts out of him and he immediately, very immediately bites his lip and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. Because just like him, Vincent Fortesqué has a job too, and presumably he gets paid. In spades. Liberal country down there.
A second, then - ]
I'm sorry. What I meant to say was, can you specify the date more?
[ A snort of laughter, dry and 97 percent unamused. He does give Claude time to recover, though - the man might be used to navigating the media business from the periphery, using what strings are available to him to climb that mountain he's currently climbing, one small precipice at a time. It's fine. It's what people tend to do. They also tend to specify dates because that's easy when you have one mountain to climb, rather than fifty at a fucking time. ]
No.
[ A pause. Fuck, but he's not gonna convince Jean Louis to give this guy up (considering the fact that he's kept him a secret since fucking Christmas and no doubt earlier, no, the chances of that are about as slim as Amélie's dream version of her own waist). No way. No way in hell. He sighs and adds, sounding maybe sort of slightly defeated here - like, there's a big pile of shit in front of you and you have to get through it, one regretful bite at a time: ]
Once I've talked to him, I'll get back to you. Sometime before tomorrow.
[ That comes out about as automatically as everything else his mom has taught him, manners, hello - goodbye, the polite you over the intimate you, all those things. So, when Fortesqué says he can't specify the date but he can promise Claude to get back to him relatively fast, so he can arrange his calendar accordingly, that's okay. That's good enough. Claude will take it, because he actually doesn't want to upset the no doubt crucial balance of Jean Louis' public relations. Between the two of them, Jean Louis is, after all, the one who has to rely on that most.
Then, because there's a defeated air to the other man's voice now, the lightness of his voice dropping a notch, two, Claude hesitates for a second before saying, remembering what his mother usually says: you never know when you might need a friend. ]
My apologies, you know, for the awkward position, evidently positioning isn't my forté. I'm more of a philosophy and chill kind of guy.
[ Evidently positioning isn't my forté and Vincent, who's actually half a slip of his finger from shutting down the conversation, pauses and blinks into the air for a second before he laughs. It's less dry this time, lighter, but predictably short-lived. He doesn't have time for much, Vincent. It's just how the world's turned out. ]
If I know him at all, I'd say you're more than adequate at positioning, darling.
[ Perhaps it's something about the softness in Claude's tone - the way he just keeps being kind, even in the face of Vincent's rudeness which, obviously, he needs to be curt in this job, how's anyone going to get anything done if he waffles about like he's permanently confused? No. But something about that softness makes him feel maybe slightly softer, too, like you'd be a complete monster not to mirror it, to take it in a little.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Shit. ]
So everybody and their fucking horse. Thanks for your discretion, darling.
[ And thank you, Jean Louis, for being this randomly incompetent. It's honestly a new low. ]
Wise of Ardisson, though, props to her. Make space in your calendar between February 2nd and 5th. I'm gonna need you for a shoot.
no subject
[ How's that for a headline?? It's the way Fortesqué assumes shit, like Claude has some random Friday and Monday he can just reschedule. Saturday and Sunday, cool, most people can pull those out of the big picture, but he actually works, okay. He's getting fucking paid to do a fucking job. He is no doubt gonna skip the internal party conference that Friday, if he -- goes to do a shoot. Where? France? Luxembourg? Plus, Mondays are officials' meetings, lined up.
So, it just blurts out of him and he immediately, very immediately bites his lip and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. Because just like him, Vincent Fortesqué has a job too, and presumably he gets paid. In spades. Liberal country down there.
A second, then - ]
I'm sorry. What I meant to say was, can you specify the date more?
no subject
No.
[ A pause. Fuck, but he's not gonna convince Jean Louis to give this guy up (considering the fact that he's kept him a secret since fucking Christmas and no doubt earlier, no, the chances of that are about as slim as Amélie's dream version of her own waist). No way. No way in hell. He sighs and adds, sounding maybe sort of slightly defeated here - like, there's a big pile of shit in front of you and you have to get through it, one regretful bite at a time: ]
Once I've talked to him, I'll get back to you. Sometime before tomorrow.
no subject
[ That comes out about as automatically as everything else his mom has taught him, manners, hello - goodbye, the polite you over the intimate you, all those things. So, when Fortesqué says he can't specify the date but he can promise Claude to get back to him relatively fast, so he can arrange his calendar accordingly, that's okay. That's good enough. Claude will take it, because he actually doesn't want to upset the no doubt crucial balance of Jean Louis' public relations. Between the two of them, Jean Louis is, after all, the one who has to rely on that most.
Then, because there's a defeated air to the other man's voice now, the lightness of his voice dropping a notch, two, Claude hesitates for a second before saying, remembering what his mother usually says: you never know when you might need a friend. ]
My apologies, you know, for the awkward position, evidently positioning isn't my forté. I'm more of a philosophy and chill kind of guy.
no subject
If I know him at all, I'd say you're more than adequate at positioning, darling.
[ Perhaps it's something about the softness in Claude's tone - the way he just keeps being kind, even in the face of Vincent's rudeness which, obviously, he needs to be curt in this job, how's anyone going to get anything done if he waffles about like he's permanently confused? No. But something about that softness makes him feel maybe slightly softer, too, like you'd be a complete monster not to mirror it, to take it in a little.
Ugh, what a waste of time.
Vincent straightens. ]
I'll call you back on this number.
[ And then, he hangs up. ]