Chasing the Green Fairy


Art Nouveau decor throughout the main lounge pays homage to an era when architecture and interior design were the perfect marriage of form, function and art. The walls are purples and pinks that blend into more subtle hues with the constant green lighting. Small tables with four tall chairs can be found scattered about the room. Large purple couches can be found nestled between the table sets, and in front of a smaller stage used for poetry readings.

The bar itself is long, taking up the entirety of a wall. Tall chairs are scattered on the patron side, and behind the bar is a beautiful greenish glow. The glow comes from the shelving where the majority of the alcohol is stored. The nearby glass racks reflect the glow splendidly as well.

Please Note: This scene was begun before my arrival, but I do not have the poses.

Steve smiles more brightly. "I'm not surprised," he says. "We're not that close. We just used to work together." He sips his drink again. "I just happened to look her up and we had lunch." Michael and Steve are sitting near one another at the bar. Steve's got a glass of whiskey and cola and Michael seems to have his usual.

Michael nods still the perfectly formal vampire, even if he does seem to have developped something of an interest in peoples drinks. "I see." He takes a sip of his drink. "That would explain it. I suppose you hear it a lot, but you played Captain Sunshine didn't you?" He smiles a little. "I can't say I ever approved of the name, but the… morality of the show always amused me."

Steve has another deep drink before he answers. "I did," he admits. "And I can't really say a lot about the name or the morality. Didn't write the thing. Just put on the spandex and stood on the little tape Xs." It seems he's been over this a number of times with people who have been less than thrilled by his show. "It's a living."

Like a breath of frozen Texas winter, the door opens to admit four people. Two are men in evening wear, the other two women, also dressed to the nines. One of the women is dressed completely in white, her long dress reflecting the lighting in the bar. Tall and slender, she moves like a dancer, while the other woman trudges along like a beast of burden. The four part company shortly after entering the bar, with three heading to the bar, and the fourtha familiar face in Absinthefor a table in the back. She likes it there, where she can observe the world and sip her absinthe in shadowy mystery. Only, once she's seated, she realizes there are familiar faces present tonight. An absinthe set up is on her table in a moment or two. She's a regular, you see.

Michael turns as soon as the doors opened, he's aware of Desiree in the group, his expression remains impassive as he spots the group, and Desiree. He doesn't head over just yet, his attention turning back to Steve first. "Yes, well I found it amusing like I say… and I didn't think it needed that much writing, it was aimed at children after all." He shrugs. "I just remember the morals being taught a little… different when I was younger." One of the few things to remain constant about Michael over the years has been his fondness for children. He then turns his attention to the trio at the bar, his smile becoming bright, as he raises his voice, fairly confident that his past investments, and help in having identified things no one living could know the details of will get him an invite to the group. "Ah, my friends so good to see you. It's been too long… but then I find my interests tend to shift, it's the only way I can avoid boredom with the amount of time I have after all." He takes a few steps closer, although he does motion to Steve. "This is a new aquaintance of mine. Steve Hawk. Steve this is Doctor John Hastings, his wife Gertrude, and Mister Sam Andrews Johnson." Even this is said with little more than strict formality though he's not quite the vampire calm he wore before.

Steve doesn't seem to notice that Desiree has arrived when Michael does. "Well, it had a bunch of writers whether it needed them or not," Steve comments. "But a lot of people took it pretty seriously. For a kids' show…" He gets down to about half his drink with the next sip. At first he averts his attention when Michael greets the others, but since he's being introduced, he turns toward them and smiles. "Nice to meet you."

Upon hearing Michael's voice, conversation between the three stop and they turn in unison to look in his direction. "Good evening, there, Michael," the oldest member of the group, a tall, white haired man replies. "Gertrude and I were just saying we hadn't seen you since March. How're you doing?" At the mention of Steve, the woman looks at him through her glasses. She's as old as her husband, and has a pleasant enough smile. "Hawk? Didn't you play that superhero? Captain — something or other? My grandchildren loved that show. They'd be thrilled to know I've met you," she says, adding pensively, "If you're that Hawk, of course." As for Mr. Johnson. He's a taciturn man who's main objective seems to be drinking the whiskey in his glass. He gives a nod to both Michael and Steve, but says nothing.

As for Desiree, she sits at her table, preparing her absinthe. The flame on the drink apparatus is adjusted, the sugar cube added. It takes some time, but eventually she has a pale, green liquid (not real absinthe, but a reasonable facimile) potent enough to need sipping. When she hears the conversation-acoustics are good, after allshe looks up, watching the proceedings with eyes only a shade or two darker than her drink.

"You should always take childrens' shows seriously." Michael shrugs with a sigh. "They shape the minds of their audiance far more than anything else, but I come from a more simple time… children were taught very… different and more direct morals." He nods to each of them, and his amusement seems to returns, because quite frankly even if he is somewhat 'nice' for a vampire he still has some degree of cruelty. "I was just discussing that with him myself Gertrude." He turns to Steve with a wider grin. "It would seem you have fans."

With that said Michael bows his head. "If you'll all excuse me." He picks up his glass heading over to Desiree. "Good evening, you seem less than cheerful?"

Steve tightens the corners of his mouth in a small smile. "I'm that Hawk," he confirms. He looks over toward Michael as he makes his excuse, even his weak smile fading.

At Michael's approach and question, Desiree looks up, twirling her tiny glass between her fingertips. "Not at all," she counters. "I'm simply enjoying the atmosphere. It's been a very interesting evening," she says, voice soft and low. A little husky. "I see you know the charming Doctor and his wife, and the former museum director," she comments almost dryly. "You should really join the board so you can suffer like the rest of us." A quirk of her lips, another sip. "And how did you meet Steve?" she asks, nodding toward Hawk, who has now been cornered by Gertrude, determined to get at least an autograph for her grandkids. "He's an old friend from Hollywood. I did four episodes of that show, you know? I was almost a recurring role of a villain, too, but it fell through last year."

Steve seems less than happy with the attention, but he does his best to be polite, and signs the autograph that is requested, making it out personally with the childrens' names. That concluded, he drinks all the rest of the contents of his glass in one go and orders another.

Nodding Michael chuckles. "I literally just ran into him while he was ordering a drink." He shrugs a shoulder. "He mentioned you were friends." He motions to one of the seats. "Mind if I join you? I couldn't afford to join the board these days, but honestly I've always found them easily manageable, I think they're afraid of me." He watches the trio and Steve for a moment. "Anything happen you'd care to share? My own evening has been as tedious as most."

"Not unless you consider endless debates regarding exhibits and vetoing of anything remotely interesting," Desiree answers. "This was more of a social evening. The board has one every now and then. Gives them an excuse to get drunk on expensive wine and wear their Sunday best." Now that Steve's done with the whole autograph thing, Desiree smiles, watching him. "I wonder what they'd do if they knew I was the big-busted, black-clad Villina in the final season. Thank God for masks!" She looks up at Michael. "Sure, but why don't you ask Steve to join us. We can protect him from Mrs. Hastings." Another sip of Absinthe, her green eyes watching the bar as she drinks. Afterwards, she inhales softly, her expression turning slightly mysterious and dark. "I loved being Villina…"

Nodding Michaels' expression becomes mysterious itself, just a faint touch of bitterness enters his tone. "Well there's something… appealing about being the villian, I try not to think about it too much." He looks over at Steve. "I suppose leaving him with Gertrude is a little cruel." He smiles faintly. "Although she was quite a different woman twenty years ago." He shrugs as he heads back over to them, offering Gertrude a smile that may just show a little fang he speaks in the overly civil tones of someone who's making it obvious that they'd rather be somewhere else. "Gertrude, I'm sure that Mister Hawk would love to continue your discussion, but I'm sure now's not the time." He looks at Steve. "Would you care to join us?" He motions towards Desiree.

No, time has taken its toll on Gertrude Hastings. She might have once been what people called "a handsome woman," but life has not been kind to her. No amount of skilled make up, or clever hair styling will give back what the years took from her. She nodds, slightly embarrassed, now. "Oh, of course," she says as Michael speaks to her. "I'm so glad to have met you, Mr. Hawk. You youngsters run off and have fun." She forgets Michael's age, apparently. Turning to her husband, she's dismayed to find him engaging the young bartender in a flirting conversation. Yes, life's been hard on Gertrude.

Steve looks up at Michael, blinking once before he nods. "Sure," he says, then looks at Mrs. Hastings with a brighter smile. "The pleasure was all mine, Mrs. Hastings," he says. "Just afraid I'm a little outclassed in your company." With that, he gets up, taking his drink with him toward Michael's table.

Desiree watches Michael invite Steve over, and smiles warmly. "Lunch and now after dinner drinks—-how lucky can a villainess get?" she says with a warm, throaty tone. Yes, the absinthe has already begun to work its magic on her. A gesture of her hand, and a second set up is put on the table in front of her by the waitress. "Care for anything?" Desiree asks, adding, "This round's on me." Her eyes settle on Steve; they're just a little darker green, now, and the pupils are slightly dilated. Her gaze then shifts to Michael as her hand briefly touches her neck. "You'll have to forgive me. I've just spent the last four hours being alternately pissed off and bored stupefied by the Museum BoD. I'm going to get drunk. I've worked for it, I've earned it, and I'm going to regret it in the morning, I'm sure. but I'm going to do it anyway."

Shaking his head Michael looks at Gertrude, he even offers something of a genuinue smile to the older woman. "Gertrude, it has been a pleasure seeing you again. Perhaps I'll have the pleasure again before… well soon." He bows his head a little before heading back to the table he joins the others, he notices the touch of Desirees' hand to her neck, his expression remaining impassive through the whole exchange. "No thank you, I might endure True Blood, but a bottle is more than enough to keep me healthy, for which I am more thankful than you'll ever know." Yes, Michael's not quiet about his distaste for synthetic blood. "As for board meetings… I'd suggest finding a proxy… I always needed a proxy, most board meetings take place in less than pleasant hours for me."

Steve's gaze settles on Desiree only after she speaks. "Oh, hey," he says. "I didn't see you there. Man, you'll end up getting sick of me before I even get that dinner," he jokes. He takes a seat, glancing at Michael. "I just met your friend." The offer of a drink is considered seriously. "What are you having?" He asks as he works on the drink he already has. Apparently he's not well acquainted with absinthe or its imitators. "So. Museum boards. Fancy," he declares, probably teasing.

"Wish I could, but I'm head of the Decoration Committee, and serve on the Selection Committee. I'm trying to set up the Salvador Dali exhibit last of this month, but I'm getting stonewalled by a couple of people." Desiree shrugs. "It's no matter. I'm free now, and I don't want to discuss it anymore." She waves a hand, putting out the long stemmed match. At Steve's arrival, she smiles. "Not at all. Ask Michael. I like to cook, and usually he's the only one sitting at the table while I eat. It'll be nice to have someone enjoy the slop I create." Eyes are teasing. She's relaxed. "Ever tasted absinthe?" she asks her fellow human. "It's unique… quite different from most drinks, albeit this is a synthetic. It's not legal here in the States." A pause. "Yet. I suspect that'll change soon enough."

Steve smiles at Desiree. "Well, okay," he says. "Long as you don't mind." He shakes his head on the subject of absinthe, swallowing the alcohol in his mouth before he says, "You mean there's something that's still illegal in America?" Another smile. "No, I've never had it." He glances at Michael while he's so still, maybe a little unnerved.

Michael smiles with a shrug. "I assure you I love the smell, unfortunately the act of digesting food… well considering my taste isn't what it once was, I rarely see much point." He doesn't comment on the dinner just yet, he nods slowly. "I've heard from some… friends that absinthe will soon be made legal, albeit they're planning to make it difficult to procure, I'm thinking of getting some in preparation. It will be valuable to the right buyer after all." Of course he's got little real imput to offer on the matter of food and drink, so he simply falls silent, seeming almost to freeze in place.

"I'm sure the politicians will figure out how to make a buck on it soon enough," Desiree repeats, nodding. Her eyes are half-lidded as she mixes up a third drink, and orders enough for Steve. "There's a process by which you have to prepare it," she explains, going through the motions of heating the liquid, letting it pour through the sugar and drip from the tiny green bottle into an even smaller green glass. "Ever see Moulin Rouge?" she asks. "Absinthe's the Green Fairy they're talking about. In some forms, it's damned near as hallucinogen as LSD."

There's almost a ritual to the way Desiree prepares the drink. In the dimly lighted bar, she could be a witch sitting at a cauldron, mixing up a potion of some sort. And she looks the part: beautiful, cool, frosty almost and … dark. "Prepared correctly, it tastes a little like licorice, I've been told. I've only had the real thing once, down in New Orleans. My aunt's cook was … well, she had all kinds of connections, and I was a very curious child. Bella-Mae let me have a taste once night, and I was … intrigued." She chuckles, the sound soft and throaty, oozing sensuality. "Here—-see for yourself," she says, offering the small glass to him. "Sip. It's not a toss-back drink like whiskey. It's more … subtle."

Michael sighs a little. "Ah… a shame. I was hoping you'd have a description I'd be able to relate to somewhat… I never had liquirce when I was in any state to enjoy it." He runs a hand through his hair taking another sip of his drink. "I haven't really appriciated anything but blood since… five sixty…two AD I believe."

"Don't worry," Steve tells Michael. "It doesn't taste that great. Licorice, that is. It's made from some plant or something. My dad loved that stuff." He reaches for the glass that's been prepared for him and sips it slowly. He puts it down and looks thoughtful. "That's pretty interesting. Of course, how good it is depends on how effective it is…"

"I'm not fond of licorice, and this really doesn't taste like it that much," Desiree says. "That's just what Bella-Mae told me to say if I was asked if she gave me something to drink. My aunt would've busted a gut if she'd known her cook served me something illegal." She chuckles again, preparing her own drink. Once she's through, she does allow Michael to smell it. His heightened senses should give him some indication of what it might taste like from the smell. "Here's to new beginnings," she says, lightly clinking her glass to Steve's before he sets it down. As for the effect? Oh, considering he's been drinking whiskey and taking a pain killer, give it about 10 minutes. Pain? /What/ pain?

Smiling Michael seems once again to feel more comfortable with the conversation, the idea of smell in the place of taste has worked well for the vampire over the years, allowing him to determine what would be suitable for others, and even having made him a surprisingly capable cook, he nods at the toast. "I think I would rather toast… happy endings." There's a very faint darkness to his mood, although it's hidden well behind that dead expression he's wearing. He looks to Desiree "Speaking of which… I had intended to ask for your company on the twenty fifth, but we got distracted last time we spoke." He finishes his drink.

Steve returns Desiree's cordial clink, and sips a litle more of the absinthe. "I think I prefer beginnings to endings," he weighs in, although he's careful to looks off across the bar while Michael brings up asking Desiree out. At least, that's Steve's interpretation. Drinking always fills those awkward silences.

Desiree's distracted, but Michael's voice brings her back. "The twenty-fifth?" she queries? "What's going on then?" She sips her drink, then sets it down. Time to let it take effect. Relaxed, she vaguely waves as the other three board members take their leave. Sighing, she smiles slowly, almost slyly. "I'm now officially free to do whatever bad things I wish," she says. "No one to see my … indiscretions." There's something very primal creeping out of Desiree now, something wild and reckless. To Steve, she nods. "Beginnings are optimistic," she agrees. "I don't mind happy endings, either, though."

"How a thing ends that defines what it had been… what we begin as matters far less than what we are when we end… I hope my end will be a happy one." Michael shrugs with a chuckle. "Of course, I may have more control over that than most." He looks at Desiree. "It's a somewhat personal date for me. I have things I'd like to discuss, things I've been considering for sometime. They're likewise personal." There's little hiding the darkness in his mood now, he turns his attention to Steve, nodding his head almost apologetically. "No offense."

Steve shakes his head at Michael and shrugs. "No problem, man. I can get lost, if you want. The grandma's gone." His smile is a little sloppier by this time, but friendlier as well. He glances to Desiree. "Should I head back to the bar?"

Desiree studies Michael for a few moments, then nods. "All right, we can go to my place when we leave here," she says. "I rode with Johnson, so I was going to take a cab. You can take me home." She glances to Steve, shaking her head. "No need for you to split. I'm not ready to leave yet, so you're welcome to stay." She's adamant about that, voice firm. However, she rises from the table. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to visit the powder room." Almost regal, she stands up, smiling at them both before moving away. There's a natural grace, and nearly a feline slink to her walk that turns the head of many a male (and female!) head as she passes.

Possibly surprisingly Michael's as quick as Desiree to respond to Steves' offer to leave. "No please stay, I didn't mean to get rid of you, I just wanted to mention it, while I had the chance." He nods to Desiree again with a faint smile. "Of course." He looks to Steve with a grin. "I hadn't known Desiree was in the show with you." Yes it's starting to sound like Michael was a little more familiar with the show than most vampires. "I can see that she'd have enjoyed playing the villian."

Steve lowers his voice a litte, leaning forward as Desiree leaves the table. He leans his forearms on the table. "Listen," he says, "She's one of the nicest people I ever met in Hollywood. That girl. I should'a made better friends with her back then." He may well be drunk. "You're nice to 'er, right?" His Texas accent becomes somewhat noticeable over the course of his speaking.

Michael nods to Steve, his smile genuine, the signs of amusement gone. "You should have, as for how I treat Desiree… well let us just say I treat her as well as she'll let me." He shrugs a shoulder. "I care little for most people, but those few I do care for I… care for deeply." He shrugs. "But I think you see more between us than there is… at least more than there is between us now."

Steve shrugs and lifts one hand in surrender as the other brings the absinthe to his lips. After a sip, he shakes his head. "Hey, that's not my business," he says. "I'm not trying to get involved. Just…saying." His focus seems a little iffy, but he smiles even so.

Noddng Michael still smiles, there's not much of a shift in his features, little more than a flicker, but it might just hint at respect. "I respect that. You are looking out for a friend, but there's no need to question my intentions with Desiree." He seems to catch the fact that Steve seems to be losing a little of his focus, the effects of absinthe more than familiar to the ancient vampire, if the drink itself isn't. "But like I say, I am curious as to Desirees' role on the show, I take it she enjoyed the part? I can see her liking the somewhat… role of the villain, especially if she got to play it… grandiose?"

There's a gentle stir in the bar as Desiree re-enters, traversing the room with the same regal posture and grace she left it. Heads turn, eyes follow, but she doesn't seem to even notice. Perhaps the absinthe has given her that detachment, or it could just be her way of distancing herself from the world. She is an accomplished actress, after all. Even so, there's just a hint of ruthlessness and stalking wickedness in her walk which would attract the attention of more than one patron. "I'm sorry," she apologizes as she sits. "There was, as usual, a line." Her eyes are a little unfocused, but she carries it well. "My ears are burning," she tells them. "What? me grandiose? Perish the thought!" That, my friends, is called understatement.

Steve smiles broadly at Michael. "Yeah, she sure did," he says. "She was young then. Fresh. Nineteen. At that age, it's so much fun…" He seems to focus a bit more. "Yeah. She had more fun than I did. She was good, too. But you prob'ly knew that." Not as subtle as he could've been, since Desiree is just about back by the time he's finished speaking. "Oh," he says, when he finally notices her. "Hey." A sheepish smile accompanies that greeting.

Michael smiles at the mention of her having been young, his perspective on the matter is of course different from most. "Yes, I can see that she would have enjoyed the role." He looks at Desiree, he'd known she was coming long before she returned of course, he's spent enough time with her to be able to pick out the sound of her feet, and even her heart from the crowd. He smiles faintly. "Although I doubt she was any more… fresh than she is now… I've met few people who seem as energetic in their work as Desiree." It seems the switch in conversation has improved his mood somewhat.

"It depends on your definition of 'fresh,'" Desiree comments, waving the waitress away when she approached with new setups. Apparently, the girl knows her limits. "I was married, so I wasn't an innocent, but neither was I jaded. I enjoyed the work, and learned a lot from Steve." Her eyes go to the older man. "He'd encourage me to try scenes different ways, especially those where he was hauling me around. That was when I was a victim." She smiles fondly at Steve. "Now, Villina—-that was another story entirely. She was supposed to be kind of like Catwoman to Batman, adversaries who couldn't help being attracted to one another in some strange way." She sighs softly. "But, things happen for a reason. I was heading into divorce by then, and then Steve got injured." There's a tiny bit of absinthe left in her glass. It's drained down her throat. "So, what shall we talk about now?"

Nodding Michael smiles. "If I'm being honest I often struggle to tell ages apart. I can tell young from old, but beyond that… well I suppose I'm not good at working in less than decades these days." He shrugs as he looks to Desiree. "I'd like to hear more about your career? I have heard little of it." He smiles faintly. "I always meant to ask, but we always seemed to find other topics to talk about." He shrugs. "Or we could talk about the new Medieval Resturant opening… I think I may visit. I always liked the middle ages."

"You gave me a lot of encouragement, and you weren't doing it to get into my pants," Desiree says flatly. "That meant a lot to me, Steve." A sly smile touches her lips. "Not, mind you, I'd have minded you making a pass or … whatever you'd want to call it. You should've tried your luck. You might've been surprised." But that's teasing, and water under the bridge. "Yes, it is," she agrees about the absinthe. "If I ever get hold of the real thing, I'll let you know. It's not importable, and having it is illegal, even for personal use." She shakes her head. "Stupid laws. Antiquated jurisdictions handed down by Victorian prudes who didn't have the courage to admit humans are sexual animals, all while hiding their own depravity behind closed doors." She scowls at this, eyes dark. "Yes, I'd like to go there, too. You know how much I love history." She smiles at Michael. "If you're nice, I may let you take me sometime…." Such a teaser!

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, you probably wouldn't've wanted to get anywhere near /that/ back then," he says, tongue loosened slightly by the liquor. "I was probably running around with somebody or somebodies else." He tries not to laugh but fails. Quietly. He's clearly feelin' good. "Yeah, give me a call if you get the real stuff. I'd drink it in a minute."

With a wide, almost teasing grin of his own Michael looks at Desiree. "I'll have you know I spent many an evening behind those closed doors, so I'd ask you keep your judgements to yourself. In truth you only hear of the rare and extreme cases, but they certainly did know how to set a double standard during the Victorian era." He offers a faint nod to Desiree at the comment of going to the resturant getting a slightly less than enthusastic nod, but the mentions of the 'real stuff' gets a shrug. "I was actually going to offer to get Desiree a bottle or two, I can see about getting you one as well Mister Hawk?" Yep Michael's got friends in low places as well as high.

"Her name was Debra Lynnox, and she was Miss California," Desiree supplies. It wasn't that long ago, after all, and it was a big, splashy "affair" like many stars. "I recall something to do with a golf club and a Maserati, or am I thinking of someone else?" she inquires with a grin. It's good-natured teasing at any rate. To Michael, Desiree says, "Oh, could you? I wouldn't want you to get in trouble on account of me, though. It's a jailable offense to import it, Michael," she warns. "But, yes, I'd love it. You'd have to lock it up and hide the key, though. I'd go through it pretty fast, otherwise." Yes, she could get addicted to the stuff. "So, how about you keeping it at your place, and just bringing it over now and then?" Sounds good to her, at least. Back to Steve, she smiles. "I can teach you how to improvise this," she says, indicating the apparatus on the table.

Steve seems surprised by Michael's offer. "Well…okay," he says. "She'll still have to teach me how to do all the fancy stuff. But…yeah. That's real nice of you." He nods to show his appreciation for the kindness. He doesn't seem as worried as Desiree is about the jailing. He laughs at Desiree's suggestion, shaking his head. "Man, maybe the rumors were kinder to me than I thought…"

Shaking his head Michael waves away the comments of prison. "That's not an issue." He smiles faintly, not making any promises of keeping it at his place. He instead offers a faint shrug. "I happen to know a very good supplier… you rarely get in trouble when you can give proof that your supplier also supplies several important political figures." He sighs looking to Desiree. "I don't intend to ruin your evening out, but I have to be going. If you still want that ride then I we had best be going." He nods his head to Steve as he rises. "It has been good meeting you Mister Hawk." The nods a little deeper than before, his arm offered to Desiree, he seems to give it some thought. "Mister Hawk, I can drop you off first if you'd like?"

"When Michael makes noises about leaving, Desiree nods. "Yes, I really don't want to take a cab," she tells him, gathering up her purse and leaving a generous tip for the waitress. "Steve, it was wonderful seeing you again. Please call me—-or I'll call you. I can be forward and pushy like that, so watch out." A lazy, smoky smile as she rises, then maybe surprises the actor by leaning over to brush her lips on his cheek. There's a drift of exotic perfume in her wake. "Take care," she says, voice every bit as sultry as Villina's in the show. Rising, she continues to smile as she takes Michael's arm, waiting as he asks Steve if he needs transport. Either way, she'll go with Michael out the door.

"You two go ahead," Steve says, standing up like a gentleman. A slightly unsteady gentleman. He doesn't seem shocked by a kiss on the cheek. After all, he's been living in Hollywood. He touches her elbow. "Night, Desiree." He lifts a hand to wave at Michael. "See you."

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