2007-07-27: That's Serenpidity For You


Candy_icon.gif Desmond_icon.gif

Summary: Observe the beautiful people in their natural habitat.

Date It Happened: 27th of July, 2007

That's Serenpidity For You

Midtown West - Le Petit Theatre

Business has been doing well for the theatre formerly known as 'The House'. The first month has just flown by and ticket sales have been at a nice high. Then again, it helps that the opening show selection was a popular (haha) and highly sought production. Desmond Cusick is just that good at picking 'em.

Speaking of Mister Cusick, he's decided that tonight is a good night to check in on things. He's been there once or twice every week since the show and house opened, and tonight is just one of them. It helps that he's been seeing one of the understudies for Elphaba. The poor girl thinks she'll actually get to go onstage if she boffs the owner of the establishment. Naturally, she doesn't know Desmond all that well. The man himself, dressed sharply in a tux that quite compliments his build, is milling about backstage just near the entrance to the hallway that leads into the dressing rooms. He's got a single red rose in one hand and appears to be waiting for someone, as actors who have just finished their show for the night dash about to get dressed in their civilian garb and disappear into the slightly wet night.

Out of place in all kinds of respects is one Candy Cain. Considering how, well, cain'd the news has been of late, the former B-movie actress is garnering a few stares here and there as she negotiates (literally) her way through the theatre. She's dressed for the evening in a surprisingly sophisticated dress. Sure, it shows off her entire back, but it's practically made of money all the same. She walks with authority, flashing a smile and sometimes a pout at those that try to stop her, but in the end, well… Candy has an idea. And a teensy little thing like not being technically allowed backstage and suchlike isn't going to stand in her way.

Except she's kind of lost now. Who knew theatres would be this tricky? She gently bites a fake nail, before sharply turning a corner, and stopping as soon as she sees a man in a tuexedo— just the man she needs to see. Though whether Candy knows this yet or not is unclear. "Oh!" she says, smiling wildly. "Hello. Do you know where I am right now?"

About the only entertaining thing Desmond gets to participate in backstage is watching the rose wilt and, well, half-naked actresses (and actors, but we don't mention such things) running around. Most of the actresses know his reputation and have the decency to cover up, but there are the select few who don't know (or care) that the man is a walking tank of hormones that would make any horny teenager proud. And then! And then there's a woman in a backless dress and she isn't part of the usual after-show backstage scramble. Not that Desmond minds. She's pretty. He puts on a kindly and charming grin. "You're backstage, right at the dressing rooms," he replies. "Which you probably shouldn't be. How about I escort you back?" He offers an arm.

Oh, he's a sweet one. Not that Candy hasn't experienced her fair share of charmers, but not bad, not bad. Candy lifts a hand to make sure her hair is as wavy and shiny as it should be, and walks on over. "Probably not, no," she agrees with a slight nose wrinkle. "But it is where I wanted to be. I suppose you're allowed?" She extends a hand to shake, the one not holding a black purse that matches her shoes, bypassing that offered arm. "Candy Cain."

Desmond would have to live under a rock to have not heard that name, and he has far from lived under a rock. A brownstone on the Upper West Side, actually. His eyebrows go up with recognition, but he's too classy to drool or gush, so instead he maintains his cool and suave composure and takes that offered hand. "Enchante, Mrs. Cain," he murmurs before bringing that hand up to his lips for a chaste kiss on the back of it. "I am indeed allowed back here. I'm Desmond Cusick; I own the establishment."

Now there's a recognisable name also! In circles. Candy's circles? Hard to tell, because she just smiles in her sparkly way at the kiss to her hand, eyes rounding when he tells her that he owns the place. "Wow. I didn't expect to run into you right away," she says. "I guess that's serenpidity for you." Yes, that's. That's how she pronounced that word. "I loved the show. All my friends kept telling me to go see it while it was still showing here. Considering it's not out on DVD anywhere, I find myself here."

… serenpidity. And Wicked not out on DVD.

Well, she's not the brightest box of tacks in the ocean, but hey, she's gorgeous and she's rich. Just the sort of woman Desmond gets along with splendidly. His grin remains — in fact, it brightens with amusement and a strange sort of wily light — and he lowers Candy's hand from his face. "It must indeed be serendipity." He pronounces it correctly, but there's no emphasis or any sign that he's correcting her. "Wicked has not made it to the big screen, so no, it's not out on DVD. Personally, I think the experience of live theater is superior to that of film. It's more energetic." And fun.

Serendipity. That's the one. Candy raises an eyebrow at his conclusion, and just seems to smile wider. A sort of predatory smile, but her demeanor remains sweet. "In a different way," she says, lifting a bare shoulder in a shrug. "Goodness knows that's up for debate." And that the wicked die alone? Let's see how many Wicked quotes we can squeeze in. AND GO. "The stage brings something film can't, but there's something to be said for cinema. Kinetic expressivity, motion-emotion, close up, cut away, frame by frame… But perhaps that's a discussion for somewhere nicer than a hallway." Well she might not know the word 'serendipity', but she has a few others!

"You may be right. Why don't we discuss it over dinner? There's a nice little Indian restaurant on the Upper East Side that serves some exquisite food." Oh, and that person Desmond was waiting for? Forgotten. The rose is offered up to Candy instead, as well as his free arm and that same winning smile.

Candy takes the rose, brushing it along her jawline as she smiles up at Desmond. "In that case, I'm definitely right," she says, and finally takes the arm, more than happy to whisk him away from whomever the rose was first intended. Her's now. Nyah nyah.

Meanwhile, some unfortunate and very handsome calendar model who probably doesn't speak a lot of English waits for his date to return from powdering her nose. Whoops. Poor Sven.

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