Helter Skelter


dirk_icon.gif nicole2_icon.gif

Scene Title Helter Skelter
Synopsis Nicole:Linderman :: Dirk:Kristen
While Nicole is out looking for her missing fiancé, she runs into the riskiest of the business… His name is Dirk.
Date January 18, 2011

Studio K

He doesn't call, he doesn't write. It's like Bradley Russo isn't taking this engagement thing seriously at all.

At least, not nearly as seriously as Nicole Nichols is taking it. Given that it's like a job to her, being fiancée and campaign manager, she really is probably taking this engagement too seriously. When she pushes past the door to Kristen Reynolds' outer office, it's sans overcoat. Or really anything terribly warm. Though anyone who's seen her around knows this isn't uncommon for her. The woman seems impervious to cold. A short sleeved, cream mohair sweater, a knee-length skirt in the same colour dotted with tiny read poppies, and tinted nylons shouldn't be enough. She's shaking out her umbrella just outside the door, evidencing the light rain outside.

Red Chuck Taylors slap against the floor impatiently, as Nicole waits for someone to realise she's waiting.

The offices are unusually quiet for a weekday, it's creepy. Not a soul is in sight where there's usually two or three people hanging out near the water cooler, chatting about this or that, others loitering in the halls catching up on the latest gossip. Today there's nothing. No one. Not even the ring of a phone to echo through the empty lobby.

There's the fizz-pop of a little overheard speaker as Nicole approaches the desk of one Dirk I'll-Have-To-Kill-You-If-You-Know-My-Last-Name. Seriously, that's what it says on his nameplate. Today. He's got a million of them.

«Welcome to the offices of Studio K, it's our goal to serve you as quickly as possible. Please take a number and a seat~.»

The soft male voice from the black overhead sounds somewhat effeminate, as though the owner is trying to soothe and relaxes… Like a self hypnosis CD or yoga DVD.

Nicole's jaw juts outward in a display of her annoyance. Her eyes roll upward to the speaker before her head tilts back so she can properly glare at it. Then, she turns her attention to the door to the interior office, where Kristen herself should be. Not waiting for an invitation, Nicole heads for it.

«crackle-snapple Hey! Where are you! No! Ignore the door! There's nothing to see there! You can't just— fizz»

Upon throwing the door wide open, Nicole is greeted to what could possibly amount to as the best (or most horrific) sight one could possibly ever imagine seeing. Rewinding about ten minutes before the Electric Mama stormed the offices, Dirk was getting his Risky Business on in hopes of attracting some of the Playboy Bunnies that were in that commercial that one time. He has tickets to a party at the mansion and he is not going to let them go to waste. Unfortunately, there aren't any hardwood floor in the studio aside from a few sets and those are a bugger to change all by yourself. Plus… he's in his boxer shorts.

The petite man is standing on the top of Kristen's desk in a pair of socks, a button down dress shirt, boxers, and dark shades. There's a microphone in his hand and as he looks down at Nicole, he speaks calmly into it. "Don't you know that's rude?" «Don't you know that's rude?» His voice comes through in stereo, both in front and behind her.

There's a sharp gasp.

Really, how else does one respond to these sorts of situations?

Oh, right, but letting one's jaw hit the floor. Nicole's got that down, too. "Get down from there and put your pants on or I'll tell your boss, Dirk." Despite the order, she's rapidly losing the war against cracking a smile at the assistant's antics. "Are you, like, fantastic in bed or something?" Which is another way of asking how do you still have a job?

Raising the microphone to his lips again, Dirk lets out a suggestive 'OoOooOOoOOoOoo' and waggles his eyebrows at the dark haired woman on the floor. Of course it comes out in stereo. Tossing it up in one hand, he flashes his own brand of star quality smile (no he didn't moon her) and leaps off the desk to land on his two feet right in front of that guy that he hates' fiancée.

"You must be Nicole," the assistant positively oozes with smarm as he slips his palm underneath one of Nicole's and lifts it gently to his lips. He dots the back of it with tender little kisses (as many as he can get) while murmuring, "Enchante~" His French accent is 'tres magnifique'.

He's still not wearing any pants.

Perhaps to his surprise, Dirk is indulged for the space of several seconds before Nicole takes her hand back. "Could you please put your pants back on, Dirk?" She pulls Kristen's door closed behind her, if only so she can drown out the sound of the man's voice in stereo. "I take it my reputation precedes me."

"I'm a fan, what can I say?" The light reply to her question is voiced as he rounds the desk and takes a seat in the large leather chair. No, he's not putting on his pants but Nicole is spared any more chicken leg since she can't see below his waist now. "I have all your television appearances on video," he continues. He's a little distracted by something and as he shuffles around the desk, his lips form into a little 'o' before stretching back into a brilliant smile.

"Can I pleeeeeaaaaaase have your autograph?" A little booklet is held up to Nicole alone with a pink sparkly pen with some of those feather thingies at the top. "You can even use the special pen." His eyebrows lift and his head turns slightly to the side as he says that one word, special. It's like he's practicing for a cheesy commercial of some kind and trying to sell the pen as a bonus feature.


Is this really happening? Is this even real? Nicole stares incredulously at Dirk for a long moment, not sure if she really wants to cross the space between door and desk to fill his request. "A fan?" She narrows her eyes. A sceptic behind a fan of dark lashes. "You're making fun of me," she surmises.

"Moi?!" Dirk feigns hurt, he feigns desolation with the back of his hand over his forehead and his other over his heart. A little dot of ink gets on the fabric of his very expensive shirt. Doesn't matter though, he used the company funds to get his entire wardrobe, he'll just get another one.

Straightening and sobering, he drops the book, the pen, and (most importantly) the act. His voice takes on a more serious tone, one that Nicole may never have heard before. "No, not making fun of you. Just…" he stares at her for a moment or two, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Why?!" That word is somewhat unexpected. "WHY?!" Again. "I mean… sure he's good looking, a million dollar smile, an ass that you could watch walk away from you fore— nevermindthat~" He coughs into his hand and shrugs. "It's just— He's such an asshole."

Hah. Caught you. Nicole's lips twist upward into a smirk as Dirk finally cops to his act. She's actually mildly amused by his confusion, but more importantly she's appreciative of his candour. "He treats me well," she tells the assistant.

He doesn't. He doesn't mistreat her, but Bradley Russo doesn't exactly treat Nicole Nichols well. Their relationship is more akin to a business partnership than it is a romance. One doesn't treat one's business partner like a princess, but nor does one treat one's business partner poorly. "What do you care?" She has to wonder if his concern isn't for his boss. She wouldn't be able to blame Dirk one iota if it was.

Giving the woman a good once over, Dirk shrugs one shoulder lightly and grimaces just a little. "Yeah, whatever sister," he smirks, jerking his chin toward one of the chairs at the desk. "Have a seat, we'll chat. Can I get you a snack? I'm supposed to walk the bitch around noon or so, but we can have something ordered in~." It's like he's inviting her to a party instead of just a chat.

Leaning back in K's chair, he adopts a posture that's been observed on his boss near constantly since they took these offices. He's poised, confident, and to look at him, you wouldn't recognize him from the dufus that sits just outside the door. Except he's not wearing any pants. "As for why I care… I like my job."

Nicole actually glances over her shoulder once as if to make sure they aren't about to be walked in on, and then she finally approaches the desk and takes a seat, the picture of calm. "That much is obvious. Your reputation precedes you as well. You make your job look like the easiest slacker position." Hence her crack about sleeping with the boss.

Legs cross primly at the knee. Nicole might look more sophisticated if she were wearing heels, or even sensible pumps, instead of the red tennis shoes. Even with her stockings. "You're worried about Kristen," she supplies, a brow quirking upward to indicate the question mark absent in her tone.

With a flippant wave of his hand, Dirk gives Nicole a sly smile when answering her first observation. "It's a talent," his candid manner is something as carefully guarded as Kristen's privacy. "Aaaannnnddd you could say I'm worried about her, she's not as well put together as many people might think. Or, you could just say that I like my job."

Steepling his fingers in front of him, he gives Nicole a look that could be construed as a leer, if their conversation weren't so serious. "What about you? You can't possibly be falling for all this romance on Christmas eve crap. So dish it sister, this people wants to know."

"That much is obvious," Nicole says of Kristen's being put together, or otherwise. "As for what is or isn't between Brad and myself, why should I share that with you? You're obligated to tell your boss. I would expect nothing else from someone in your position." The grins, tipping her head to one side. "I hold your position for Linderman. I know how this works."

She's enjoying this exchange.

"I have no incentive to be honest with you." Leaning back in her seat, Nicole looks extremely comfortable with the situation. "But don't misunderstand me. I like you." She can appreciate, perhaps better than most, Dirk's position. Even if it means they're at odds.

With a little roll of his eyes, Dirk flatly denies the claim. "I'm not obligated to tell anyone anything, sister. I do what I need to to keep my job. Show business~ is a cut throat business~ and I really don't think there's another spot open with anyone as… hmm…" he taps his steepled index fingers to his lips as he considers his choice of words carefully. "Let's just say, I like my boss too. I mean, how many other bosses do you know will keep a college drop out who rides a Vespa around the sets?"

There's another light shrug of the shoulder as the man swings the chair into a position square with the desk, rather than slightly skewed. "As for you holding my job… Well.. heh…" The skeevy little laugh from the man punctuates his amusement. "You don't think you have incentive to be honest with me, but~" he sings the last word as he flicks his wrist to check the time. Not close to bitch walkin' time yet. "But! If you want this little 'arrangement' with you and Russo to work, you're going to need someone in your corner. I want you and the ass to work… Don't bother asking why, it's not important… And to make that happen, I need the most important of the gory details."

Now, Nicole leans forward to mimic Dirk's posture, her elbows resting on the desk and her chin resting on the bridge of interlaced fingers. "He doesn't love me and says he never will," she dishes. "Don't cry for me, though. I don't love him, either." Her posture is supremely relaxed, her grin coming easier than before. "Don't get me wrong, I care a great deal for him. He's not the man he pretends to be on television, but I don't have to tell you that."

Then, she tips her head back to peer through half-lidded eyes. "As it happens, your reasoning is very important to me. I'll continue to be honest with you if you're honest with me. If you want this to work out, then we have the same goal, and little reason to hold back with each other."

"Because so far I've managed to keep them apart." It's simple enough though it really doesn't answer the question of why. Dirk's lips twitch at one corner as the brunette eyes him and he parts his lips just a little to give her a disgusting pick up line but to his credit, he holds himself in check. "K doesn't need to be saddled with the baggage he keeps picking up. This whole… instant family.. thing he's got going on? Well.. heh…. you can probably handle it better than she can. What Bradley doesn't need to see is K cracking under the pressure of the familial variety. It's like her kryptonite, you know?"

Swinging the chair around in a full circle, he skews it a little off center again to watch Nicole out of the corner of his eye. "Besides, I couldn't imagine her changing the Ginger Snap's diapers… You either.. but I have a feeling she wouldn't dare poop herself if you were babysitting her."

Ginger Snap. "Delia is a good kid," Nicole asserts. "Brad's family's a little fucked up, but so is mine. And if he wants to connect with them, that's his choice, and I'll support him. Family is something he needs right now." And apparently not something Kristen needs.

"Do you like your boss, Dirk?" And she doesn't mean get along with or enjoy working for. "Is that why you want to keep them apart?"

"Of course I like my boss, Nicole." His answer is emitted with a sly smile on his face, "She's like a cute little kitten with two broken legs. She needs someone to be there for her no matter what. Someone that doesn't bite the hand that feeds him, savvy?" Pirate lingo, it somehow suits him.

"Russo ain't that guy. Sure, he's been there but he's got issues that keep him busy. Like this whole… Helsinki thing…" he flips his hand and rolls his eyes, "Colonel Mustard, whatever… The dude's bad news, right? K and Brad were both there." There's a pause as he glances toward Nicole, trying to gauge her reaction. "Don't bother trying to play hush hush… I know the scoop. Who do you think organizes K's files on her laptop? Me." Shaking his head, he wheels himself tight against the desk to get a little closer to the electric vixen. "Anyway… This Colonel Skully— Skeller— Helter Skelter— whatever~ K's shitting her shorts about having the pictures. You know who took care of them for her? Me, not him. Me."

Dirk's movements are tracked with an expression of only passive interest. Nicole shifts in her seat, tilting the chair to follow only marginally. Inside her mind, her thoughts are racing. Colonel Heller makes her blood pump, adrenaline kicking in and putting her on edge. Making her restless. Outwardly, nothing changes. She doesn't indicate that she recognises the name at all. Does Kristen know how she's involved? Surely not.

"Helter Skelter?" Dark brown hair with faded blue highlights spills over one shoulder with a quizzical tilt of Nicole's head. "What on earth are you talking about, Dirk?"

"Helter Skelter," Dirk replies cordially, steepling his fingers together in front of him. His elbows are brought up and he eyes the brunette with interest. "It's a song, you know… Helter Skelter~ Can't you see I'm burnin'~ Burnin'~" He's got a bunch of songs mixed up there, but that's really not his focus right now. Dirk's a scumball and a slimebag, not a singer for some pop band.

"Aaaaaanyway, my point in all this is… Russo's not the guy for K. She needs someone more…" He waves his hand around in a circle and shakes his head as he looks up to the ceiling in thought. "… she needs someone more shallow, less with it. For everything else, she's got Visa.. and me."

Without warning, Nicole is up on her feet (thank you, Converse) and reaching out to grab Dirk by the throat. "Give me those pictures!" she all but roars. Though her hands aren't crackling yet, her eyes are glowing. Not a good sign. "Now." The bitch can wait.

Dirk's eyes fly wide open as he's grabbed by the collar and pulled across the desk. Whoah glowing eyes! Freak alert! "Hey~ Hey~ Soul sister~" he says, there's a strained sense of calm in his voice. Apparently the Electric Boogaloo seated across from him can get his chain a little rattled (in more ways than one). "No need for violence~"

As he eases himself out of the woman's grip by plucking carefully at her fingers, he doesn't allow his eyes to stray … down … Nasty chicks are so hot. No wonder Russo likes this one so much. "Why are you so interested in the pictures anyway? I mean… you don't know anything about this Helen of Troy shit, do you?"

"That doesn't concern you. Just give me those pictures. You handle things for Kristen, I handle things for Brad." See? She told them they were in the same position. Nicole may ease her grip on Dirk, but she's no less threatening in her posture or her tone. "You give me the pictures and anything you've dug up on Heller."

There's a hiss as Dirk sucks in a deep breath and winces, it's clear, that his fear at this point is mostly an act. "Afraid I no can do, Sassy Molassy. Y'see, the way I see it… Sure you can kill me with that laser vision or whatever you have going on there with your funky eyeballs.. Buuuuut what would that accomplish? You have no idea if I have shit set up to explode if I die."

A silent huff of a laugh, a tick of his eyebrow, and a shrug of both shoulders precipitates the sad face and the little squeak of "oops~." His hand pats against his cheek a few times and he gives the woman a rather nasty little smile. "Tell you what, Sweet Cheeks, you come back in a day or two and ask the Candy Man nicely and maybe he'll fork over the goods. Until then? You'll have to do your worst, because there ain't nothin' I can do for you right now."

Nicole narrows those funky eyes dangerously. "You have two days, Dirk. If you don't deliver, I'll make you wish I intend to merely kill you." Nichols isn't going to find any answers here today. She turns on her heel and starts for the door.

Opening it, she pauses in the empty frame to turn around and bow a kiss to the insufferable man. The door shuts quietly in Nicole's wake, she gathers her umbrella, and she's gone.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License