Stranger! Be my Child’s Father

Stranger! Please be my Child’s Father

.

Chapter 1: A Team

.

“Alright, we’ve got a few things lined up for you. Chanty is asking for a track--you remember her from that mixer a few weeks before, right? She’s good, she has a good and stable vocal range, and she’s willing to accept anything that you give her. She respects your work, an avid fan for years. And she’d be a good boost into the pop circuit--there are certain people who still think that you make music that isn’t meant for the charts.” His manager since he had signed onto the entertainment company so many years ago, tapped on his ever present clipboard, not quite looking up at him.

“And there’s Vogue, they want to do a shoot with you about one of their collections. I think it suits your style, lots of monochrome looks. That’s less intensive, more of a you go and pose in front of the camera for a few solid hours, and then they’ll edit the shit out of you and you can grace their cover. Or even--”

Gael groaned, tossing his head back onto the chair. He missed when Louis Avian was less of the overbearing manager and more like his actual best friend.

“Why do I have to do any of this? Can I say no to all of it? I just want to sit and work on my own album and spend some time on certain tracks. For some reason, track seven isn’t just...coming along well. So why can’t I sit down and focus on my own music? I told you when I signed on that my main focus was my craft, why do I have to go pose in front of a camera for a few hours?’ Gael groaned, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

While he knew damn well that he was acting like a spoiled child, if his best friend didn’t listen to him, who else would?

Louis finally, finally, looked over his clipboard, raising a cool brow. “I’d love for you to sit down and focus on your album, especially since you’ve been struggling with track seven for months now, but these are all charisma and image boosting activities, that someone wouldn’t have to do if they didn’t just have a scandal.”

Right. The scandal.

It seemed a bit odd terming it that, especially when it hadn’t come close to anything that the other musicians went through. No, he didn’t get caught with drugs, with a party, didn’t cheat on his imaginary significant other.

It just so happened that he got really irritated with someone who had been hitting on the cafe worker for more than twenty minutes, and pulled him aside and yelled and yelled until his ears rang.

In his defense, he was doing the world a social service: he was hitting on the other without consent, and who wanted to listen to such corny pick up lines when trying to grab your morning dose of caffeine?

But the media didn’t see it that way.

They took the fan-recorded footage and twisted it into their own narrative, of how Gael Laurent was mentally unstable and evil, rude and shouting at innocent people.

“They all think of you as unapproachable since then. These are the things that have been worked out for you. I even did my job and filtered out the interviews, you should be thanking me.”

Right. His PR team had an absolute nightmare of a time trying to get the situation under control, and they pleaded, begged him to go up and give an interview and clarify the situation. Gael had refused, much to their dismay, and they had had to find other ways to clear his name, but the damage had been done.

Louis was being generous: everyone’s lives would be so much easier if he went up and gave an interview, but Gael just didn’t want to bend that way, didn’t want his scandal to be the reason why he addressed the nation.

“Thank you,” He grumbled sullenly. “Fine. I’ll take the Chanty offer and the modelling shoot. There’s no harm in doing both.”

The clear display of Louis’s dimples shining through alongside the big grin the taller man gave him was kind of worth it.

His best friend always did make him kinda gooey around the edges. If anyone else got that information, he’d hang himself.

***

***

“Alrighty, Bud-Hud.” Arabella Miller sank to a crouch in front of her five year old son, hating the way the little boy’s lips had pushed out into a pout.

Adorably dressed in his school uniform, Arabella resisted the urge to reach for her phone and take picture after picture (if she succumbed to the urge, there would be no releasing Hudson from his mother’s obsession with photographing every single moment.)

“What are we, Bud?”

Hudson’s tinier fist came out, bumping Arabella’s extended one. “A team.” The boy quietly answered, peeking out from his curly, unruly hair that Arabella tried to tame earlier in the morning but ultimately failed.

“That’s right, bear. We’re a team. And that means we both have to work together, right? Can we do that?”

Hudson nodded, and it took every cell in Arabella’s body to not bend down and scoop the little one into her arms and squeeze her son so tightly and promise to never send him to school again, but education was important.

“So, when someone tries to bother us or be mean to us, what do we do? We act calm, we use our words, or we ignore. We most definitely don’t use our hands, right?” Arabella murmured, gently pushing back some of Hudson’s dark curls out of his eyes.

The little boy reached, fiddling with the pearly buttons on Arabella’s light blue button up, the one she had spent hours trying to iron and press into creaseless perfection.

Fingers playing with everything in reach was a clear indication of Hudson’s nervousness--the boy, while he was very mild-mannered and a good boy at heart, sometimes let his temper get the best of him in certain situations.

Most often than not, the other kids in Hudson’s class that came from richer, nobler families, tended to pick on the boy.

Arabella was no stranger to that sort of class divide and discrimination, and her heart ached that even her child would have to experience that as well. She had offered Hudson the opportunity to switch schools so many times, but he had settled and loathed change, and refused it each time.

Her boy was quite determined.

But that did nothing to soothe the issue--the other kids were still vile, still rude and looked down on him.

Recently, Hudson had started getting frustrated and there had been an incident earlier on in the week where Arabella had been called into the office: Hudson had pushed back after a child had tried to tug him down from the monkey bars, and the wealthy parents had demanded an apology.

Arabella had apologized for hours, despite her boy not doing anything wrong. (Okay, sure. Violence was never an answer, but Arabella was fucking mad--her boy hadn’t fucking done anything but defend himself.)

That was the way of the world, as much as Arabella hated it. Those who were richer and more in power had more of a sway in the world, and people like her, who struggled from day to day, were apparently considered inferior.

Pathetic--but what could she do? She barely managed to pay Hudson’s tuition--when her boy was done with education and was firmly established and secure in his life, then she’d complain about how the world wasn’t fair.

“No, momma. We don’t use our hands.” Hudson repeated softly.

Arabella leaned forward, pressing her lips in a gentle kiss to her son’s forehead. “That’s right, my little Bud. We Millers are good people. We say what we want, we’re calm when we say it, and we don’t use our hands. So as much as the kids bother and nag at you today, don’t use your hands, okay? You’re sinking to their level if you do. Be a good boy, Bud-hud. I know you always are. Momma loves you very, very much.”

Hudson nodded, then stepped and flung his arms around Arabella, who bent to accommodate the skinny arms flung around her neck, wrapping her own arms around her child tightly.

“Love you, momma.”

“I love you so much more, little bud. Come on now, let’s go to class.”

With a heavy heart, Arabella stood, taking the small hand of her son, leading him to his teacher that stood waiting. Regardless of how many times she dropped off her child, it would never get easier.

***

Right. No using your hands to solve issues. Two hours after dropping off her son, she was starting to think that going back on her words was sounding really good right now.

Arabella knew damn well that she had to set a precedent for her son, she was his mother, the one he followed, but if this lady didn’t stop screaming at her for getting her coffee order apparently wrong, she was going to reach across the counter and deck the goddamn living shit out of her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But you did tell me iced, it’s why I noted it down. But if you like it hot, that’s a simple fix.” Arabella kept her hands folded behind her back--one would think that she’s assuming a position of deference--but rather the opposite: she had twisted her fingers into the ties of her apron to refrain from lunging across and hanging this ugly ass woman.

The woman huffed, gaudy metallic jewelry clanking as she barked out a few more insults, before turning on her heel and storming out of the cafe, leaving Arabella with an iced chai that she most certainly didn’t want.

“Eesh. That sounded terrible, Bella.” Faye, the owner of the cafe and her best friend, came up behind her, shaking her head. “Sorry about that. I’m not quite sure why she thought it was appropriate to take her anger out on you.”

The usual heart-shaped smile that was ever-present on Bella’s closest friend since university was gone, and Arabella’s heart panged.

“Ah! Faye, don’t worry. This all is something small, don’t look so sad about it.” She soothed, reaching out to pat the younger’s shoulder. “I guess she really tested the truth of my talk with Hudson today.”

Her friend’s face softened at the mention of her son--everyone did have a soft spot for her little one--before tilting her head. “Are the other kids still picking on him?”

Arabella nodded, turning to tap a few things into the screen in front of her. “They still are. It’s so sad to see, and I can’t do anything because it’s clear that the school board is very tight with all the other parents. They probably pay for their word to reign supreme. I keep asking Hudson if he really wants to go to school there, and he says yes every time.”

“Hopefully things settle down soon and the teachers actually step in. But don’t worry, Hudson’s a good kid. I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

“I sure hope so, Faye.” Arabella murmured, before turning back to the line that had formed with a fake grin on her face, mentally hoping that her child hadn’t had a difficult day.

.

TBC