Participants:
| Scene Title | The Hangover |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Nadia tries to play nurse after Brad goes on a binge. |
| Date | September 20, 2010 |
Brooklyn, Russo's apartment
The cab ride had been rather uneventful — save for the bottle of whiskey he'd insisted they stop to purchase on the way home. And while he was purchasing it? That blueberry vodka looked good. So did the bottle of peach schnapps — which is, in no way remotely manly.
This morning? He's been talking on the porcelain telephone to ralph. The splitting headache in his blindingly white condo makes his head throb, the pain searing through him in a mixture of nausea and pain.
The apartment itself is decent, if empty. There's little furniture — a small table with a single chair — lawn furniture, evidently he doesn't entertain often.
A small love seat sits in the living room. Along the floor, the bottles of varying amounts of liquor lay tipped on their side in a small mess of clutter along the floor.
Brad stumbles into the living room, an ice pack pressed to his forehead. He bends down and picks up the bottle of peach Schnapps, "C'mon man… did you become a woman last night?" shaking his head in disgust, he shuffles back to the kitchen, groaning loudly before depositing the bottle on the counter. "He need to pace yourself…" he mutters with another groan. His white t-shirt and blue jeans just make him feel lazier, more spent — like butter spread across too much toast, thin.
Nadia has come, bright and early, with mover types and a truck. The first indication of visitors may be the dull roar of the large truck, which carries a myriad of statues and paintings for delivery. Russo didn't get anything huge, on Nadia's advice, but she did ensure he got a nice array of artwork for his place. The second indication may be the slam of three doors as Nadia steps out of her newly leased Volkswagen Golf, and the movers step out of the truck.
The third indication, however, is the sharp rap of Nadia's knuckles against Bradley Russo's front door, followed by her voice. "Brad, I brought you some artwork!" This is said in a sing-song voice through the door. Then, she stands back, motioning for the movers to wait until she tells them it's okay to start bringing things in.
"Coming!" his voice calls loudly, sending reverberations of pain through his own skull.
"Efffffff," Brad murmurs to himself as he allows his sock-footed staccato'd steps back to the living room to pull the bottles into the kitchen. His head pounds under the pressure of movement, each small twitch, nudge or step taking its toll on the pounding headache he suffers from. When he passes the fridge, however, he realizes something — he has a black eye, "How the hell?! Geez, Bradley."
Shaking his head, he shuffles back to the door, and takes a deep breath, pressing the ice pack firmer to his forehead. With several loud clicks — three to be exact — the door is unlocked and then opened. "Hey," his voice croaks around the words, gruff and scratchy with dehydration and the gruffness that comes from vomiting.
Nadia seems taken aback by Brad's appearance at first, one hand flitting up to her mouth as an expression of surprise forms on her features. "Oh— oh my." The surprise is quickly replaced, however, with concern, the woman stepping forward and reaching out to gently place a finger under Brad's chin, to get a good look at that black eye. "Bradley Russo. You look a total mess." She frowns, and if he'll allow it, gently strokes her fingers over his cheek. "What kind of trouble did you get into last night?" Despite the chiding nature of her words, they're said in a gentle, worried tone.
She takes a step back, then, pointing to one of the movers and gesturing for him to come up. The man comes forward just as Nadia is pulling $50 from her wallet, which is then thrust toward the man. "Here, go get me some mint tea, some honey, some orange juice, crackers, and some Alka Seltzer Morning Relief. Keep the change. Then, you can go do the rest of your routes, and we'll get to Mister Russo's apartment at a later time." With a wave of her hand, she shoos off the mover fellow, who scampers off to do as requested.
Then, the woman turns back to Brad, a concerned look on her face. "May I come in?"
He pulls away at the touch and forces a very small albeit strained smile. Brad steps back to let her in, he isn't surly, not even in his hangover. He does, however, manage amusement at the notion of what happened and how he looks, a bright flash of white teeth showing themselves at the curl of lips — his voice is still ragged around the words, "The better the party the bigger the effects." He manages a rough chuckle; even off-stage and off-screen, he's performing with impression management higher than most people's.
His head twitches to the side to beckon her in. "I'm fine. It looks worse then — " he shrugs, the motion is slow so as not to aggravate his headache more.
Nadia steps in, glancing around the place with raised brows. "You really weren't kidding when you said this place was bare-walled." She eyes the bottles in the kitchen, before spinning on her heel to peer at Bradley, adjusting her shirt— she's wearing a loose, comfortable outfit today, with jeans that are a little too big on her, and a loose t-shirt. Certainly not her standard designer faire.
"You don't look fine. You sound like you've been puking all morning, and you look dehydrated." She crosses her arms. "I may act like a goodie two shoes, but I've done my fair share of drinking, and I know the signs of a really bad hangover when I see one."
A small, warm smile forms on her face. "Don't worry, I'm making it my personal mission to ensure that you are feeling on top of your game before I leave. I hope you have no objections."
Brad's eyes narrow skeptically at the words, he doesn't let anyone take care of him these days aside from Kristen, and those needs are mostly professional. In fact, it's been years since he's let anyone into his home. He sucks in a quick breath as the foreign concept is considered. "I… guess?" His nose wrinkles as he shifts towards the wall.
"I… need to be at the studio in a few hours," a vague glance is given to the clock on the wall, one of the few things hanging on it at all. "If I can knock this headache before…" he shrugs, it would be helpful; beyond helpful.
Nadia smiles, reaching up and tapping the side of her nose. "Nothing that a good neck massage, a cool cloth, a dark room, and some tea and juice can't cure." She winks. "I used to have to clean my big bro up the day after his big parties. I'm like a master at getting rid of headaches." She glances toward the living room, rubbing her chin as she peers at the loveseat.
"Two choices. Either lay with your head in my lap on that tiny couch of yours, or let me venture into the wilderness that is Bradley Russo's bedroom so you don't have to put your head in my lap." A small smile is turned toward the man, the political starlet's cheeks flushing slightly.
"Uh…" there's another flicker of a smile, this one lopsided as Brad shakes his head. "No. I…" he shakes his head again. "No. Thank you… for… that. But… no." The fiance that he carries with him in his pocket, and more importantly, his heart just implores him to turn his answer that direction. "You know… this might've been a bad idea. Just… whatever magic elixir you use, okay? I tried my own and just ended up hurling it back." He clears his throat and issues her another strained smile.
"Well, there's a third choice. You could lay face down on the couch and I'll work that headache out. I promise, no funny business." Nadia raises her hands. "I promise, I'm not trying to push anything on you. I like you, and I want to be a friend." Her face falls a little, though, and suddenly she raises a hand, rubbing it over her face. "I'm sorry. I'm a bumbling idiot. I just…" She stumbles over her words, turning her look to the ground and shuffling her feet. "I didnt mean to make it uncomfortable or anything, I just want to help you…" She probably means more than just with his hangover, from the tone of it, but, subtleties.
Dumbfounded Brad stares at her a moment. The words from earlier and the notion of care eating at his insides before he shakes his head.
There's another glance to the clock, an almost panicked look on his face as he attempts to usher her to the door. If she has objections, they aren't going to be heard, not even in his state of disarray. "I need to get to the studio… uh…" his eyes dart about the room before he pulls his keys from a small bowl near the front door. "…sound check." There's a firm nod at these words, a decision has already been made, "I… can't be here…" whatever that means is left to Nadia's imagination before he's on the other side of the door, supposedly tearing off to work.
Nadia hardly has time to say a word as she's suddenly being ushered to the door, her brows raising in surprise. She doesn't quite fight it, though she does stutter a little in protest. Once he's on the other side of the door, she is left standing in the entryway, looking horribly confused. "But…" She raises a hand after him, frowning. "Was it something I said?" This is called after him, the girl carrying an almost crushed look in her face.