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paralleljulieverse · 4 years

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Darling Lili in New York, or Where Were You the Night Julie Andrews Played Radio City Music Hall and Stole Manhattan’s Heart?

This is the second in a series of commemorative posts to mark the 50th anniversary of Darling Lili, the last of the 1960s Julie Andrews screen musicals. In the preceding post, we looked at the film’s fraught production history up to and including its World Premiere at Hollywood’s Cinerama Dome on 23 June 1970. Here, we turn attention to the film’s New York bow which took place a month later on 23 July at the city’s fabled Radio City Music Hall.

Nicknamed “the show place of the nation”, Radio City Music Hall was for much of the mid-twentieth century the venue of choice for big event film releases. The theatre’s monumental size, architectural opulence, state-of-the-art technology, and pre-show stage spectacles made it “the quintessential motion picture palace,” and Hollywood studios jockeyed to secure bookings at “the Hall” for their most prestigious pictures (Goldman, 97-98).

During the late-60s, Paramount, the studio behind Darling Lili, enjoyed a run of extremely successful summer bookings at Radio City Music Hall. Its 1967 release, Barefoot in the Park broke house records for the longest run at the Hall with a 12-week season, only to be bested the following year by another Paramount comedy, The Odd Couple which ran for 14-weeks (”Trouble”, 114). It was something of a PR coup, therefore, when, in January 1970, Paramount announced with much fanfare that Darling Lili would make its official premiere as the summer attraction at Radio City Music Hall later in the year (”Par Gets”, 3). The deal even made the front cover of Boxoffice magazine with a photo of Frank Yablans, Paramount general sales manager, proudly signing the booking contract with Music Hall president, James F. Gould (″Sign of Summer,”, cover).

Barely had the ink dried on the deal, however, when Paramount changed tack. Hit by the toughest industry recession in decades and spooked by a precipitous downturn in the market for big-budget roadshow films, Paramount execs implemented a wholesale revision of studio operations, including a brutal hard-prune of their production and release schedules (Dick, 120ff). By April, earlier plans to give Darling Lili a high profile release had been ditched and, in its stead, Paramount decided to offload the film cheaply as part of a bundle of eight titles slated for saturation release during the summer off-season. Dubbed the “Big Summer Playoff,” the aim was to issue the films widely and quickly so that they could “saturate every major and minor market with single-house firstruns and key city multiples” (“Paramount’s Summer Playoff”, 5). In an era when important films were typically given carefully staggered roll-outs, it was an unorthodox move that fuelled advance perceptions of Darling Lili as a bomb of such magnitude that even its own studio had lost hope. As one newspaper commentator put it, Paramount “seems to have dumped the expensive movie rather than spend any more on it” (Taylor, 21-E).

Radio City Music Hall, by contrast, stuck to its original plans to exhibit Darling Lili as a high-profile summer spectacular. With Paramount having started to issue the film haphazardly to theatres across the nation in June, the opening of Darling Lili at Radio City on July 23 would no longer be a world premiere -- that honour was hastily devolved to Hollywood’s Cinerama Dome -- but the Hall persisted in proudly billing its run as “the New York premiere”. As Variety wryly noted: “Music Hall has never played a pic which hasn’t been a New York first, although perhaps someone there thought the tourists may have thought Lili was otherwise in that the film opened nationally a month ago” (”New York”, 20).

While not strictly a roadshow presentation, Radio City Music Hall exhibited Darling Lili with all the trappings of a hardticket prestige release. Seats were available via a mix of both premium reserved and general admission with special complimentary programs issued to patrons at all sessions. The theatre screened the film in wide-gauge 70mm with 6-track stereophonic sound, one of only two US venues to do so. Projected on the Hall’s 70′x40′ motion picture screen -- the largest indoor screen in the world at the time -- the film would have looked and sounded amazing (Goldman, 99). As an added point of appeal, screenings were supported by one of the Hall‘s famous live stage entertainments: in this case, a Spanish-themed spectacular with symphony orchestra, flamenco dancers, guitarists and, of course, the legendary high-kicking Rockettes (Jose, 54). In addition, the Hall lavished Darling Lili with a solid promotional buildup, taking out full page ads in key newspapers, and using strategically-placed billboards and transit ads around town.

It was an old-school approach of event-style cinema showmanship that paid off handsomely. Even before Darling Lili opened at the Hall, there was “an unprecedented advance demand” for tickets, leading the theatre to double the number of reserved seats from 900 to 1,800 for all sessions. “We’ve added reserve seats on a few occasions previously,” observed a theatre rep, but “only during the heavily crowded Christmas and Easter holiday seasons” and never...during the summer,” adding that he had “no idea” what had generated the extraordinary advance demand (Weiler, 37).

The good news continued when the film opened on July 23 with a box-office rush that broke all house records, prompting the theatre to increase reserve bookings even further to 2500 seats in an effort to accommodate the clamour for tickets (“’Lili’ Hitting Peak,” E-2). As Variety commented:

“Radio City’s Darling Lili...is the summer blockbuster all the auspices hoped it would be, with $285,000 or close expected for kickoff session. Pic is curious in that its longtime postproduction shelving had spurred rumors of disastrous artistic results. But film has shown legs in crosscountry openings and both critical and word-of-mouth opinion in Manhattan has been mixed at worst. Some response is downright enthusiastic” (“’Lili’ and Revue,” 9).

Darling Lili continued its bullish box-office run in New York, long after any initial novelty buzz should have subsided. Weekly grosses inched higher for a few weeks before settling into a very healthy $200K+ per week plateau. Come mid-August, Variety noted with thinly-veiled surprise that:

“Radio City Music Hall is experiencing a slight phenomenon with its current Darling Lili attraction. It’s not unusual during the summer tourist season for popular Hall programs to maintain or build grosses...but few remain in such a narrow range as has Lili to date. First week tally of $280,000 was a non-holiday record. Second was upped to $288,000. Now third session is headed for $280,000....70mm projection and sound are plus-values in a package which Hall president James Gould predicts will run until late September” (“N.Y. Full,” 9).

In the end Darling Lili did run at Radio City Music Hall until late-September -- September 23, to be precise -- when it closed to make way for the pre-booked Sophia Loren-vehicle, Sunflower. Across its 9-week run, the film grossed in excess of $2million in ticket sales, making it one of the theatre’s biggest summer hits to date (“Picture Grosses,” 15).

The commercial success of Darling Lili at the Hall was music to the ears of the film’s star who, in a rare moment of unguarded hubris, admitted to a measure of self-satisfaction at news of the booming box office receipts:

“‘I’m not so interested for myself,’ she explained, ‘but I’m happy for Blake. He has been so maligned about this picture that I am delighted he is receiving some vindication...I think he managed to make a vastly enjoyable film...People are entertained by it; the Music Hall figures seem to prove that.’ [T]he actress had mild reproof for the releasing company, Paramount, over its handling of the film: ‘Three weeks before the opening, there was no advertising campaign. None whatsoever. Paramount didn’t seem to know how it was going to sell the picture--or if. I simply can’t understand an attitude like that’” (Thomas: 13).

Julie’s chiding of Paramount for its poor handling of Darling Lili was not mere sour grapes. Once the studio had decided to issue the film as part of a summer saturation bundle, it effectively abandoned any semblance of cogent or even halfway organised marketing. As outlined in our earlier post, there was little rationale to the film’s distribution. Lili appeared suddenly and briefly at second-run theatres and drive-ins across disparate suburban and provincial areas, while major metropolitan venues didn’t get the film till much later, if at all. In many markets, the film was booked for a fleeting season of a week or two – in some cases, just a few days -- and it was frequently paired as a double-bill with a host of poorly selected partner titles (Caen, 6-B).

The studio’s approach to promotion was no better. A generic pressbook and merchandising manual was issued, but it was very bare-bones and perfunctory. In the absence of a clear marketing plan, local exhibitors were left to promote the film more or less any way they liked. Advertisements were frequently altered to pitch Darling Lili in diverse, and often contradictory, ways. The main advertising art provided by Paramount -- with its central image of Julie in mid-song set within a sepia frame of art nouveau swirls -- positioned the film principally as a nostalgic star musical with touches of adult romance. Many local exhibitors took a very different approach. Some tried to reframe it as wholesome child-friendly fare: “This summer’s one and only total family entertainment;” “It’s Julie at her best! It’s for your family” (“This Summer,” 24). Other theatres pegged it as “a man’s movie,” stressing the action and warfare elements with taglines like “See the Best Dogfights of World War I” or “If you enjoyed Blue Max you’ll love Darling Lili” (“Man’s Movie”, 13; “Palms”, 64). Some exhibitors even openly recycled graphics from The Blue Max and other WW1 action films, with one Florida venue going so far as to revive the film’s original working title: Darling Lili, or Where Were You the Night You Said You Shot Down Baron Von Richtofen? (“Amusements,” 11A).

Elsewhere, exhibitors implemented a rash of dubious promotional incentives such as “twofers” or free entry to "one child under 12...with the purchase of one adult admission to Darling Lili” (“Capri”, 2D). A theatre in Fort Lauderdale offered “free admission to World War I veterans in uniform during matinees Monday through Friday” (“’Darling Lili’ Ducats,” 5D). Possibly well-intentioned gestures but it was bottom-barrel marketing that fostered an unfortunate aura of abject desperation around the film that likely turned off more patrons than it enticed.

Against this sorry backdrop of shambolic distribution and ham-fisted marketing, the meticulous handling of Darling Lili at Radio City Music Hall served as a strikingly singular counterpoint. The remarkable commercial success of the film at that venue -- which, if reported figures are to be believed, represented well over a third of the film’s entire US grosses (“US Films,” 184) -- can only be attributed in good part to the care and professionalism with which the Hall managed the film’s exhibition. One can’t help but wonder, therefore, how different the overall commercial fate of Darling Lili might have been had Paramount exercised a more discriminating distribution plan, affording the film the kind of special-event release it enjoyed in New York. It’s unlikely Lili would ever have been a major hit -- it was simply too narrow in appeal and out-of-step with the rapidly changing times -- but it certainly could have gone much further in recouping costs and might even have realised a modest profit. At a minimum, it would have helped redeem the film from its unjust reputation as the “Edsel that almost bankrupted Paramount Pictures” (Rosenfield, 5).

As a coda to this account of the exceptional history of Darling Lili at the Radio City Music Hall, it is interesting to note that the film fared well in New York not just commercially but also critically, Some of the film’s best US reviews came from New York critics -- a surprising turn-of-events given how notoriously hostile the East Coast critical establishment had been to Julie Andrews’ earlier screen musicals. Wanda Hale of the New York Daily News gave Darling Lili three-and-a-half stars out of four, writing:

“Radiantly beautiful, elegantly turned out, Julie Andrews graces Radio City Music Hall in a burst of song and dance, adventure and romance...[I]t’s Darling Lili everybody loves, so will you, you Music Hall patrons--you and the family” (Hale, 39).

Vincent Canby (1970) of the New York Times found Darling Lili “a pure if not perfect comedy” with “a lot of perverse charm and real cinematic beauty.” He continued:

“Although Julie Andrews (the film, not stage, star) has always struck me as a very mitigated delight, she may be the perfect centerpiece for this sort of fantasy. That is, her angular, aggressive profile, combined with her coolness and precision as a comedienne and a singer, give the immediate, comic lie to the adventures of a supposedly irresistible femme fatale. She thus is immensely funny...” (16).

In a rare honour, the New York Times afforded Darling Lili a second review from Roger Greenspan (1970) who argued for the film as a minor masterpiece of refined, borderline philosophical, sensibilities. “[O]ne very bright critic I know...has already compared the film, ecstatically, with Max Ophul’s great Lola Montes,” he remarked before launching into his own rhapsodic paean:

“To her characterisation, Miss Andrews brings a precision of gesture that matches Edwards’s directorial precision and that constitutes one of the most excitingly controlled expressions of theatrical presence I have ever seen in a movie. Not cold; elegant, finely drawn, perfect of its period--and yet inward, self-sustaining, as if already committed to that gorgeously contemplative state of transport that is the subject of the movie within the movie to look for in Darling Lili” (S2-10).

In a similar move, the inaugural issue of the New York-based cinephile journal, On Film devoted not one but two essay-tributes to Darling Lili from Stuart Byron and Mike Prokosch respectively. The former gushed:

“Darling Lili comes at the end of the big-budget musical cycle, and it [is] one of the only...good things to come out of the whole rotten effort to reduplicate The Sound of Music. But in any case, a masterpiece it is--Blake Edwards’ most beautiful film to date and surely his most meaningful. ... Edwards is the first director to utilise Julie Andrews’ full resources. Her rapid manner of speaking becomes the neutral fulcrum of her moods--it is sincerity hiding danger, or bitterness hiding love. Her singing, however tender on the surface, always gives the impression of concealing a quick intelligence ready to spring forth when needed” (Byron 1970, 31, 34).

Prokosch (1970) was equally smitten, calling Darling Lili “the only work of art Hollywood ha[s] released in 1970″:

“First. one must forget one’s preconceptions of Julie Andrews and look at the way Blake Edwards, the film’s director, casts his wife with remarkable shrewdness: Lili Smith is a young British singer caught in a situation she cannot master. What more natural part could Julie Andrews want? ... Darling Lili is really gutsy in its formal expression...Edwards’ control of the...formal means at his disposal--stylized lighting and colour, split-up background compositions, and especially cutting--displays a...complete knowledge of their emotional effect. What makes Darling Lili unique among recent releases, though, is its careful structuring. Almost every sequence...takes a clear place in the design of the film” (96).

If it sounds like these critics were a little woozy on the then new wine of auteur film theory, a measure of sobriety was served by none other than Andrew Sarris, chief architect of American auteurism, who filed a somewhat more reserved, but nevertheless appreciative, review of Darling Lili for the Village Voice:

“Darling Lili is cinema a la folie, a rhapsody of romantic madness amid the current cacophony of absurdist dissonances, a sentimental valentine from Blake Edwards to Julie Andrews complete with gypsy violins and a Snoopy sub-plot about the Red Baron and the Dawn Patrol...but I’m afraid it won’t work for most audiences on any level. Its ingredients -- romance, satire, musical comedy, deadpan farce -- mix without blending. The song numbers don’t soar high enough and the prats don’t fall hard enough. But Darling Lili is never less than likeable, and its graceful professionalism is especially refreshing in this long hot summer of assorted crudities” (Sarris 1970, 47).

Despite his reservations, Sarris still included Darling Lili in his end-of-year list of the best films of 1970 -- as did several other Village Voice critics: Stuart Byron, Richard Corliss, Stephen Gottlieb, and William Paul (Sarris 1971, 59).

Now, if only the critics and audiences west of the Hudson had shown Darling Lili half-as-much love as the crowds at New York’s Radio City Music Hall, who knows how different the course of Hollywood history -- or at least that of the Julie Andrews screen musical -- might have been...

Sources:

“Amusements Today.” Florida Today. 2 October 1970: 11A.

Byron, Stuart. “Darling Lili.” On Film. 1: 1, 1970: 30-34.

Caen, Herb. “It’s News to Me.” Hartford Sentinel. 5 August 1970: 6-B.

Canby, Vincent. “Screen: ‘Darling Lili’ Sets the Stage for Pure Comedy of Romantic gestures.” New York Times. 24 July 1970: 16.

“Capri: Florentines! Something Wonderful! Has Happened to the Movies!” Florence Morning News. 12 August 1970: 2-A.

“‘Darling Lili’ Ducats Pared for Retirees.” Fort Lauderdale News and Sun-Sentinel. 27 June 1970: 5D.

Dick, Bernard F. Engulfed: The Death of Paramount Pictures and the Birth of Corporate Hollywood. Louisville, KY: University of Kentucky Press, 2001.

Francisco, Charles. The Radio City Music Hall: An Affectionate History of the World's Greatest Theater. New York: E.P. Dutton, 1979.

Goldman, Harry. “Radio City Music Hall.” Journal of American Culture. 1 1, Spring 1978: 96-111.

Greenspan. Roger. “Oh! What a Lovely Spy.” New York Times. 9 August 1970: S2-1, 10.

Hale, Wanda. “Darling Julie Sparkles as Musical Spy.” Daily News. 24 July 1970: 57.

Jose, “House Review: Music Hall N.Y.” Variety. 29 July 1970: 54.

“’Lili’ and Revues, Tally Darling 285G.” Variety. 29 July 1970: 9.

“’Lili’ Hitting Peak.” Boxoffice. 10 August 1970: E-2.

“Man’s Movie.” Winona Daily News. 7 August 1970: 13.

“N.Y. Full of Tourists; Divided Between ‘Darling’ and ‘Denmark’.” Variety. 12 August 1970: 9.

“New York Sound Track.” Variety. 29 July 1970: 20.

“Palms Advertisement.” Arizona Republic. 31 July 1970: 64.

“Par Gets Hall’s Summer Spot for its ‘Darling Lili’.” Variety. 21 January 1970: 3.

“Paramount’s Summer Playoff Strategy: 5,000 Bookings for Eight Major Films.” Variety. 3 June 1970: 5.

“Picture Grosses: Broadway.” Variety. 23 September 1970: 15.

Prokosch, Mike. “On Film/Feature Film: Darling Lili.” On Film. 1: 1, 1970: 96-97.

“Radio City Music Hall’s All-Time Boxoffice Darling.” Variety. 5 August 1970: 12.

Rosenfield, Paul. “Reconcilable Differences.” Los Angeles Times-Calendar. 12 July 1987: 4-5.

Sarris, Andrew. “Films In Focus: ‘Darling Lili’.” The Village Voice. 13 August 1970: 47, 52.

________. “Films In Focus” The Village Voice. 21 January 1971: 59.

“Sign of Summer.” Boxoffice. 26 January 1970: cover.

Taylor, Robert. “‘Lili’ Can Be Charming.” Oakland Tribune. 27 June 1970: 21-E.

“This Summer’s One and Only Total Family Entertainment.” Tucson Daily Citizen. 5 August 1970: 24

Thomas, Bob. “Julie Andrews Praises ‘Lili’.” Courier-News. 15 September 1970: 13.

“Trouble in Paradise.” Newsweek. 25 October 1971: 113-115.

“U.S. Films’ Share-of-Market Profile.” Variety. 12 May 1971: 36-38, 122, 171-174, 178-179, 182-183, 186-187, 190-191, 205-206.

Weiler, A.H. “Big ‘Darling Lili’ Advance.” New York Times. 23 June 1970: 37.

#julie andrews #Darling Lili #blake edwards #radio city music hall #old hollywood #musicals #film premiere #new york #1970

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kate-sinclaire · 5 years

Text

thief (m raleigh x mc)

Part One // bad reputation (raleigh x mc)

Book:  Platinum Pairing:  (m raleigh x mc) (Ella Andrews) Rating:  PG-17; sexual themes and language Word Count: 2,273

TAGS: @zodiacsign1 @owleyes374 @lovedrakewalker @averysheart-raleighsdick @cordoniasmost

NOTE: All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios (minus, for the most part, Ella Andrews), I’m just borrowing them. I also do not own the image. Image found on weheartit.

Summary: This takes place in Chapter Seven of Platinum where MC and Raleigh attend the charity gala, and then sneak off to an abandoned building (which later turns out to be Raleigh’s).

DISCLAIMER: Some of what happens in this story is not the same as what happens in the Choices version (example: in this adaptation, what Ella wears is different than what she wears in Choices). This is just a creative adaptation rather than a direct copy. ALSO: I know that they escaped on a motorcycle to the abandoned building, but since Raleigh was drunk in this chapter, it was a no go.

A gala. A fucking gala. How had he been convinced to attend a GALA? He pursed his lips and swept his hair back, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He leaned over the sink, his strong biceps holding up his weight against the porcelain. His dark eyes stared back at him, as though awaiting his decision to speak.

"You are Raleigh Carrera," he nearly growled. "You are God's greatest punishment to women, you are every woman's biggest regret, you hate commitment, and you do not have feelings for Ella Andrews." Even he didn't buy it. Shit.

He took another swig of whiskey from his flask. Was he really going to show up drunk to this thing? Abso-fucking-lutely. Right on brand.

Ella stood outside the building, posing for pictures and offering autographs to anyone who wanted them. She had nothing better to do as she waited for her very late fake boyfriend, and the summer air was nice and warm against her skin. Letting out a shaky sigh, she gave another smile, blew another kiss, and made her way to the entrance one slow step at a time.

"Ella, how's songwriting going?" "Are you writing any songs about Raleigh?" "Ella, what was your inspiration for the gown?" "Ella, what made you choose to sponsor a wildlife conservation charity?"

I should at least answer this one, she thought, standing a little straighter. "Wildlife conservation has always been important to me. No one seems to focus enough on preserving our world or the life that lives in it. Animals go extinct every day from poaching, several tons of plastic are dumped into our oceans, destroying the life that lives in them. Coral reefs are dying and, in the meantime, we're just letting it happen. There needs to be more awareness on the matter, and so when I happened upon the charity, giving back to it was a no-brainer."

"Can I quote you on that?" Ella nodded briefly, gave one last smile, and decided to head toward the entrance. Just as she made it past the foyer, she ran headfirst into her "lover's" arms. Something about their last day together had diminished her feelings; not by much, though, and especially not when looking at Raleigh's muscular physique in a tuxedo. Her eyes met his, and she cocked her head as she noticed the tint of red in them, and the rose color to his cheeks to match.

"Nice of you to join," she commented wryly, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. How did something so innocent send waves of electricity shuddering through her body? He seemed to drink in her presence, his eyes trailing down her collarbone to her heels, and back up again. There was something else hidden in those deep brown irises; heat, maybe?

"Sorry, I was occupied," he slurred finally, offering her his arm. "Shall we?" They walked in through the foyer and to the gourmet food stands nestled in the back. Ella filled up a plate of rolls, honey baked ham, and chicken. At the end of the line, she grabbed a heaping cup of coffee along with a glass of water and tugged Raleigh along to find their assigned seats. It was a good thing waitressing had given her such a talent. "God, can you really eat that much?"

She shot him a look and pushed the food over to him, along with the giant mug and large glass. "This is for you. Something tells me you need to sober up."

"Pshh, I'm not-I'm not drunk," he stammered, ending the sentence with a hiccup. He chuckled and not-so-politely shoved the bread into his mouth.

"Ms. Andrews, how lovely to see you!" Ella turned to a smaller, older man in a dark blue suit. She stood and held out her hand, keeping up her poised and etiquette performance. "Pardon me, I'm John Tellar, one of the creators of the project." She did everything to avoid her wince as she felt Raleigh clumsily rise behind her. "Ah, and Mr. Carrera, it is an absolute privilege that you would grace us with your presence."

"That sounds likely," he agreed.

"What he means," she replied, grabbing onto his hand and giving him a warning squeeze. "Is that it is such an honor to have been invited to an event like this. Wildlife conservation is an issue so close to my heart."

"Ah, yes," he replied. "Conservation is a great thing. Anyhow, I believe I see someone waving me over. So lovely to meet you both." He dismissed himself with a grin and made his way through the crowd.

"What the hell was that Carrera?" she asked, spinning on her heel. As she did so, she instantly regretted it, seeing as though there was hardly an inch between them. His cologne seemed to cloud her senses, faltering her angry expression.

"Ella," his voice was calm and patient. "Where do you think they received the money for this event?" She looked around her; down at the marble floors, up at the gold accents, around at the gorgeous tables, also accented with marble and gold. Her eyes widened, realization dawning on her for the first time.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "How much of the proceeds even go to wildlife conservation?"

"Less than 10%," he replied, his voice growing angry once again. "Remember that scandal that came out about me a few months ago? About how I don't support charities or some shit like that? This is why." She swallowed hard. How had she been so stupid? Before she could react, Raleigh began to make his way to the stage, determined. While her nerves remained, she decided that she wasn't going to stop him.

"Hey," his voice boomed into the microphone. Everyone stopped, turning their attention to the slightly swaying Raleigh Carrera. "You all are frauds, you know that? You want to know why I don't contribute to your shitty charities?" Oh, God. "Because you don't fucking care. And...you. You tried to turn my girlfriend into a fraud. But you know what? She does care. She does give a fuck." The way he said girlfriend without hesitation nearly brought Ella's jaw to a drop. But he had had so many fake relationships, he was used to them. Right? Her cheeks flushed as the audience turned to look at her.

"She's too good for you," he said. "She's too good for all of us." He stepped down and stormed out the exit. Ella followed, her thoughts racing. What the hell did that mean? Did he just reveal some trace of his feelings connected for her? She bit down on her cheek and stopped just short of him when she found him leaning up against a tree, his eyes staring at the sunset. Nothing was said for a while until he let in a deep breath. "Ella-I...I'm sorry if I embarrassed you up there."

Instead of saying anything, she walked over and wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes flickering to his lips. He pulled her in hard and kissed her, his tongue exploring her mouth and then pausing to kiss down her neck and to her chest. She let out a small moan and pulled back, pressing her forehead to his.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

"Oh no, this is where you kill me, right?" she laughed as they pulled up to an abandoned building. Everything about it said, "Will fall on top of you and crush your dreams; figuratively and literally." Raleigh grinned and nodded at the limo driver, prompting his leave.

"Nah, I don't plan on killing you. You're my fake girlfriend, after all," he winked. There was that word again. Fake. She tried to hide her disappointment with a small smile. Clearly, it had worked because he walked straight on past her and to the door. The knob refused to move as he attempted to turn it. “Shit.”

Ella stood beside him and fumbled with her hair as she glanced up at the now dusty grey sky. She nudged him and slid a bobby pin in his hand. He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re going to help me break in?” She shrugged.

“Why not? Worst case I’ll just cut my hair short and date a goodie-two-shoes celebrity to boost my image,” she smirked, her thoughts relaying to their first conversation.

“You certainly live up to your reputation as a jerk,” Ella had smiled coyly, tugging her guitar at her side, as though shielding her from this alternate world set before her.

Raleigh flashed that million-dollar smile of his and hooked his thumbs into his back pockets. “So you do know who I am.”

Ella shrugged. “I’ve heard your songs and seen the tabloids. The lightbulb went off after I put your face to the name.” He eyed her curiously and flicked his tongue across his bottom lip. “You’re kind of notorious, Raleigh Carrera.”

“Notorious,” he repeated slowly.

“I’m used to your hair being longer, though.”

He chuckled, “My crisis PR team made me get it cut. Going for a more...responsible image. Do you like it?”

Ella paused before answering. She liked it. She liked it too much. “Pretty sad that you have a PR crisis management team, Carrera.”

She shook herself from the memory and watched as he meticulously unlocked the door with a few turns of the pin. “Got it in one.” Raleigh held out his hand to Ella, and she took it as they rushed up the broken steps and out onto the flat roof. The view stopped her in her tracks.

City lights spanned on for miles, twinkling romantically and winking at all who watched. Cars buzzed by in the distance and the honking of angry cabs echoed out in front of them. Raleigh paused and pulled out a bottle of liquor and two glasses before taking a seat on the roof’s edge. He looked back at her and patted the spot beside him.

“This place is yours, isn’t it?” Ella asked with a smirk, taking the glass in front of her and pounding it down. She winced as it burned down her throat.

“Guilty,” he grinned. She gazed out and sighed blissfully. “I used to come here a lot. You know, for nostalgia purposes, after they plucked me from Peurto Rico to join Sunset Skatepark. Things were...crazy in New York.” He took a swig from the bottle and grimaced. “This was where I’d escape.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortably. “I uh...” he paused. “I don’t take anyone up here.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly sober. “No, I uh. I don’t.” She looked at him, her heart suddenly racing. The winking lights reflected beautifully in Raleigh’s eyes as he stared at her with...longing? “You make me want to tell you things.” Heat flared as he closed the distance between them, holding her carefully against his side. The kisses were tender, yet passionate and desperate; as though they held the answers both were desperately seeking.

Raleigh swung his legs over and jumped down from the ledge, his desire growing as Ella jumped into his arms, gown flowing as she wrapped her legs around his waist and arms around his neck. The kisses persisted, harder and faster. He lowered the both of them to the warm concrete and slid a blanket out from behind a box, laying her down onto the soft fabric.

He kneeled on top of her, caressing her exposed legs as his mouth sought her collarbone. She let out a quiet moan as she guided him up higher, needing him to touch her; needing him to make her quiver. Her hands played with the hem of his pants, gently stroking the skin below. His breath hitched, and he abruptly stopped her. “Before we do this,” he whispered. “I...I need you to know that it can’t mean anything.”

Her heart dropped. “Can’t mean anything?” Was he serious? What about how he looked at her? How he held her? How he...how he touched her? God, she was so stupid. Of course. She was just another notch on Raleigh Carrera’s belt.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he repeated, but the meaning of the words didn’t quite meet his eyes. She was such an idiot. Ella pushed him off of her, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. “Ella, wait-” She shook her head.

“I’m not just a bit of fun, Raleigh Carrera,” she replied to behind her, her voice breaking. Shit. The stinging became too much and she wiped her eyes, knowing that the mascara had smeared over her perfectly made-up skin. She quickly dialed Hank’s number, the need to get away from Raleigh tearing her insides apart.

Though he called for her, Raleigh didn’t follow as she made her way out of the building and down to the sidewalk. He stood watching her shoulders heave up and down as sobs began to choke out of her. He wanted to hold her; wanted to be there. Wanted to apologize; wanted to say he didn’t mean it. Wanted to say he was scared, no, terrified of how he felt about her.

But instead, he just watched as her limo driver came up to the sidewalk, pulling him into his strong arms and glaring up at Raleigh. He rubbed his hand down his face, wetness spilling down from his eyes to his cheeks. It was for her own good, he told himself. I’m no good.

#playchoices fanfic #playchoices #fanfic #raleigh carrera fanfic #male raleigh x mc #raleigh x mc #male raleigh carrera fanfic #platinum #playchoices platinum #platinum fanfic #platinum fanfiction

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jostenminyard · 7 years

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Signing on the Line - Ch. 1 & 2

Summary: When Neil Josten is offered a position as a starting striker for a professional Exy team, he feels like all of his dreams are coming true. He signs the contract, not caring about the strict morality clause that controls who he can and can't date in the public eye.

Then he meets Andrew Minyard, the top-ranked goalie of a rival team, and then Neil thinks he might just have to care after all.

A/N: Detailed tag list and warnings on AO3. I’m posting around twice a week there, and will round up the chapters once a week here!

Chapter 1 on AO3 | Chapter 2 on AO3

The contract was read by his manager first, then his lawyer, his manager again, and then finally given to Neil.

He had a week to read it over, and he took to every word like they were something sacred, like he needed to memorize all of it. He hardly understood a thing, but was fortunately smart enough to not let his eagerness of being signed cloud his judgement.

From that first day in little league, to his last day at the University of Arizona, he’s been working towards a contract like this all his life. Playing for the pros, he’d be larger than his own existence. His name would grow to be bigger than his body, no longer associated with anything else, attached to Exy and only Exy, longer than he’d ever be alive.

In the heat of the moment, the fruition of a dream, he almost signed the contract before he even read the opening statement.

But thankfully, he didn’t, so now he sits here in his manager’s office with his manager, his lawyer, the head coach of the team, and one of their recruiters.

The lawyer goes over all the parts Neil had highlighted, the parts he couldn’t quite grasp. The salary he understood and thought of as unimportant, but the sponsor part, not so much, so his lawyer helpfully explains the process; a proceed of any profit made from a sponsorship or ad goes directly back to the team’s management.

His lawyer says the percentage is negotiable, but Neil waves it off. Money is the last thing he’s playing for.

When they get to the public relations section, everyone in the small room grows tense, aware of who Neil is, who Neil was.

He was a Wesninski, but Neil had left that name in his past long before he ever attended UOA. He hadn’t known what that name even meant until a camera crew showed up at his stadium and deemed him ‘The Butcher’s Son’.

Neil’s mother never did explain it, never told him why he had to be Alex, Stefan, Chris and then Neil Josten, of all names, and that he could never again be Nathaniel Wesninski after his father passed away. He was too young to ask why, so it was a new name and a new home every few years until his mother too, had to move on from life.

She died with her sickness and with every secret and with the very strict order to be anyone else but himself.

It made for a very interesting start to Neil’s final year of university, to be cut from class so he could be interrogated by the FBI. But Neil didn’t know anything; who his father was, what his father did, what his mother told him, where the money went.

Mary hadn’t told Neil a thing, so he could never be incriminated.

But the name stuck - Nathaniel Wesninski, the son of a murderer - and it made captaining his team all that much harder. Working with a team that refused to listen to him and was sickened by the sight of him made for some very easy losses, and prevented them from entering semi-finals.

It had every recruiter turning their gaze away from Neil, writing him off as unimportant, even though he was fighting with every tooth and nail to rally his team together.

Somehow, however, one pair of eyes stayed on him, and those eyes weren’t able to deny his talent.

Those eyes brought Neil here, to the San Francisco Seakings.

Here, to where he’s about to sign the contract of his dreams, except for one little thing:

The contract is a story, a script, and his freedom of speech has been stripped.

Every interview, TV spot and paparazzi picture will all be handled by someone above Neil’s head. He’ll be assigned his own publicist to go over media training with him, to create plans and strategies, and to control all his social media accounts from here on out.

But . . . he doesn’t care about any of that, not really. He’s here to play. He’s used to being anyone but himself.

They go over a few more things about his image clean up. It’s already been decided how Neil will be marketed - the official partner of Kevin Day. The rookie that’s going to help Kevin bring his team up the ranks, the same way Neil was able to run UOA up until his fifth year.

Kevin’s eyes were the ones on him, apparently, when Neil was sure nobody was watching him.

The talk of PR naturally brings up the part in the contract that had Neil scratching his head in confusion the most, because he didn’t understand how ‘dating and relationship(s)’ could be associated with playing for the pros.

It’s apparently a very big association, as it takes up a large paragraph in his contract.

Like everything about his own life so far, who he dates can only be shown in the limelight if it’s beneficial for him, the team, and the sponsors. As if Neil is nothing more than a special-edition trading card.

Any celebrity, from A to Z, could end up on Neil’s arm at some point. If it’d help his image, bring in sales, increase viewership, the Seakings’ PR team will be signing a check to whatever starlet’s name is most popular at the time.

It’s about image.

A morality clause; saying that his name must be publicized a certain way, and if he acts against it, Neil will be, in other words, slapped with a legal fee to cover the cost of potential damage, and be forced to forfeit his contract.

The black words on the paper don’t say he can’t be anything outside the ‘norm’, but they do say he can’t be perceived as such. Neil scowls at the wording, sending a scathing look at everyone in the room, hoping it’ll somehow reach whichever airhead wrote that and felt that they got to decide what normal is.

He stares down at his dream contract and suddenly sees it as a pair of handcuffs.

“I’m not comfortable with signing that,” Neil explains, and waves a hand at the thick binding of paper.

“It’s not real, Neil, it’s a show. It brings in the viewers and the ticket holders, which then raises the amount the sponsors are willing to put in,” his manager explains, as if it’s all obvious. “Every player you’ve ever seen in a game has signed this part of the contract. It’s nothing.”

“This basically says you’re forcing players out of their orientations,” Neil says, one eyebrow lifting. “That’s nothing?”

“Listen, kid, nobody’s forcing anybody. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, whatever, because we’re not saying you can’t be,” Coach Mullens suddenly says. “The world just can’t know and that’s how it is. If you want a career, then you’ll keep your secret love a secret and away from my court. If that’s gonna be a problem, then you’ll never find your footing in this world, I can promise you that.”

Neil hears the click of metal, the handcuffs sliding into place. “For the rest of my life?”

“You wouldn’t be considering this contract if you didn’t want to play Exy for the rest of your life.”

And that’s what it all comes back to, the handcuffs sliding off, the room tilting back into colour.

Exy.

It doesn’t really matter to him anyway, does it? He’s yet to encounter anyone electric enough to spark up his skin. Nothing will shock him as much as this sport does.

If they want to control who he holds hands with just to make a profit, then he won’t stop them, because it won’t stop him from his game. It won’t stop him from winning medals and trophies and championships. It won’t stop him from standing on an Olympic podium one day.

So he picks up the pen, signs the contract, and doesn’t think another thought about it.

He can’t believe he ever thought it was as easy as just playing Exy.

The season officially starts in October, training starts in August, but now, mid-July, he stands in his manager’s hotel room as a stylist yanks him into a black velvet suit. The first step to playing for a professional team, it seems, is attending charity event after sponsorship dinner after press conference after banquet after charity event. And repeat.

Tonight the NEL hosts its debut banquet, with every team attending, with every sports journalist in the country going to try and snatch as many first-time interviews as they can.

His manager and his publicist have been drilling him all week, preparing him for whatever questions may be asked and how he’s supposed to respond. His publicist will never be more than ten feet away, and in case that fails, and in case Neil’s mouth gets away from him, Kevin Day will be attached to his hip.

Neil would complain that he doesn’t need a babysitter, but he understands the role he’s playing now.

The Exy world knows who Neil is, knows that Kevin’s the one who saved his career. They’ve only exchanged the barest of words so far, but Kevin and Neil are far past the point of being teammates now. They’re to be a pair.

One of the dynamic duos that fans go crazy over. If successful, their names will be on shirts, hats, signs. When you hear the name Day, Josten will never be far behind.

It just sucks that nothing in his life is under his control. He doesn’t even get to choose the colour of his socks tonight.

A town car arrives to pick Neil up, Kevin already sitting inside, dressed in a similar suit. His tie is aqua, Neil’s is silver; the two colours of their team.

“All this for a game?” Neil asks, as they draw closer to the banquet. From the car he can see the red carpet, the security guards, the paparazzi and the news teams and journalists and the flashing cameras. “We’re athletes, not celebrities.”

Kevin hasn’t said a word to him all throughout the ride, and he doesn’t bother to meet Neil’s eyes, choosing instead to look out the window at the awaiting media frenzy. “In this world, it’s the same thing. Most people like it.”

Neil swallows roughly, and wonders for a split second if this is what he was really made for. “Are you one of them?” he asks, his voice slightly shaking.

Nothing in Kevin shakes. He’s been playing for this team for two years. He’s walked this red carpet before.

“I get paid to play something I would pay to play. It works for me.”

The words effectively stop the race to Neil’s heart. The words latch onto him and pull up the corners of his mouth, releasing the smallest of smiles. The words are exactly what Neil needed to hear.

“Then it’ll work for me.”

There’s a roar of a crowd once they step out of their car. Immediately they’re met by flashing white lights and their names being called, security trying to hold back aggressive reporters from crossing their line.

Kevin smiles, tight and clipped but somehow wide, his signature look. Neil’s publicist instructed him to leave behind the hard, jagged, bitter mess of what he was at UOA. His script tonight says to smile, smile, smile, be warm, be forgiving.

If Kevin can do it, then he can do it.

Their publicists push them past certain reporters, usher them closer to others, and Neil answers the questions that come his way as best he can, actively trying to be on his best behaviour, to be the face they want him to be.

Kevin’s partner; the untapped potential that Kevin saved, pulled from the rubble of a crumbling career and given another chance.

If that’s the story they want to portray then he��ll play it, as long as he gets to play his own game. That’s the one thing they can’t control; how hard he hits and how fast he runs and how many goals he gets to score will be all his.

Still, once they’re finally inside the dimly-lit banquet hall, with fewer reporters and more athletes, Neil lets out a breath of relief. Event workers direct them to their table where their other teammates are seated.

Neil’s met a few of them before, and has played against a few of them too. Laila Dermott was the goalie for the Trojans when Neil’s team went up against them in his first and second year. Matt Boyd, who greets Neil with an eager handshake, played with Kevin for the Foxes, but he graduated before Neil could ever get a chance to play in the championships against him.

Small talk ensues, most of the team happy to be reunited after the off-season, eager to get back to their stadium next month and begin practices.

But he’s been directed to talk only to Kevin in public for the time being, so unless he’s spoken to, he doesn’t open his mouth.

There’s a loud commotion near the entrance way, a flood of reporters flocking the doors, lights going off and names being called. Another team has arrived.

Beside him, Kevin goes tense.

Then his hand is on Neil’s arm, and he’s beckoning him upwards. “Come on.”

Their publicists remind them the entire walk over of what they should and shouldn’t say; Kevin has to flaunt his new partner, and if Kevin and Neil are to be the duo that dominates the country, they’ll have to find a way to best the current duo that holds top status.

Riko Moriyama and Andrew Minyard, of the New York Nighthawks.

They stand next to each other like they’d rather be anywhere else in the world, faces stony and cold, eyes sharp and on anywhere but each other. They allow their pictures to be taken, but their patience doesn’t last, and Riko raises a finger to the nearest photographer in an immediate order for them to disperse.

The season hasn’t even started yet, but the pair’s presence has fear and rivalry hot in the air, soaking into the skin of every team present. The two stand there in their matching black and metallic suits and strike the atmosphere like a bolt of lightning.

They’ve been a fascination of Neil’s since he started university. He knows all about the cracking partnership of what was once Riko and Kevin, and the intense rivalry between schools that soon followed.

But it was Andrew who was the focal point of Neil’s fascination.

Andrew signed with Riko’s team immediately after graduating from Palmetto State, and caused the whole world to disrupt into a maddening dark chaos.

Because he was supposed to sign with Kevin’s.

Spurned by two former teammates and partners, Kevin leads the way towards them, looking determined to wave his new partner in their faces. As they get closer, Neil becomes aware of the fact that he’s Kevin’s choice now, but he was never his first.

“Riko. Andrew,” Kevin says cooly, and it feels like the entire room goes quiet. “Welcome.”

Neil keeps a step behind Kevin, not using him to hide but letting him be the focus of whatever is to come.

Riko Moriyama is not what the TV makes him look out to be. Neil has spent a portion of his college career watching Riko’s every move, studying all his games religiously, taking notes and copying moves and techniques to use in his own game.

During a game or facing off against a reporter, Riko is venomous, dangerous.

Standing in front of Kevin, he looks a foot shorter. If he wants to meet Kevin’s eyes then he has no choice but to tilt his head up, a fact that only increases the hatred radiating off of him.

His voice and his presence have him standing seven feet tall, though. “Kevin, Kevin, Kevin,” he says easily, his smile glinting in the dark of the room.

And then there’s Andrew.

Neil wasn’t aware that Andrew was staring at him, and accidentally locks eyes with him when he looks over. It feels like a stab, and it takes everything in Neil to not jerk back. Andrew’s energy is just that; a knife held out, ready to slice.

“I wanted to formally introduce you to our new starting striker, Neil Josten,” Kevin says, and turns slightly to put a hand on Neil’s arm, beckoning him forward. It’s the last move Neil wants to make, feeling more like being shoved into a shark tank with an open wound than anything else.

“Oh, yes,” Riko says, nodding. “The one from Arizona. His team’s performance last year was quite miserable, so I understand why you had to beg for him. Good thing you’re used to begging, right, Kevin?”

Riko doesn’t shake Neil’s hand, and instead makes direct eye contact with him, as if that’s enough.

“You best get acquainted with Andrew. He’ll be blocking all your shots this season.”

Standing there in his silver and black suit, hair sleek and eyes sharp, Andrew says his first words of the night, and directs them all at Kevin. “Another pet, Kevin? What if this one tells you no, too? Where will you be then?”

“Andrew,” Kevin says, almost warningly.

It all goes above Neil’s head, words clearly holding message from a past that he wasn’t part of. It’s not part of his story, any of it, so he focuses on the story he has to tell now; being Kevin’s partner, starting striker for the San Francisco Seakings.

“I’m Neil,” he says brightly, or as bright as he can in the face of two devilish beings. “I played against you my junior year at Arizona.”

He thinks he hears Kevin’s breath hitch when he extends his hand out for Andrew. The atmosphere of the entire room slows and swirls with danger, but it’s too late; Neil’s hand is already out, presenting itself clear to Andrew.

Nothing changes in Andrew’s bored expression, but his eyes drop to the offered hand.

Then he takes it, gripping it tight in a firm shake.

“Odd. I don’t remember you at all.”

Immediately, there’s a flash of a camera near them, but neither pull away. Neil lets his hand be held for another moment, and when it becomes evident that Andrew won’t be the first to let go, he forces his hand to slide out and away.

“I can’t wait to get acquainted,” Neil says, going for simple and light-hearted, but it comes out more heated, more twisted, more teasing.

Andrew effortlessly slips his hands into his pockets and doesn’t take his eyes off Neil. “The pleasure will surely be yours. Or maybe not. Riko? Let’s go.”

Kevin grabs Neil’s arm tight and doesn’t give him a chance to try and respond, hauling him away from the duo and taking him back to their table. “That was a mistake.”

Neil is too busy looking at his hand to look at Kevin. It feels like it’s still being squeezed, tingling along his palm. “That was your idea,” he says pointedly.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Kevin says, gripping Neil’s arm harder. “Do you have any idea what you just started?”

Confusion weighs heavier on him than the impending fear of danger, so he frowns and asks, “What?”

Kevin groans, finally releasing Neil like he can’t stand to touch him anymore. Then, away from the table still and away from the whole world dying to catch just a few of their words, he leans in and hisses near Neil’s ear, “Andrew wouldn't have bothered to shake your hand unless he found you interesting.”

And at first Neil doesn’t understand.

But then, he does.

And he can’t help but feel like he just shook the hand of death itself.

After listening to a few speeches, hearing his own name come up a couple of times, posing for various pictures with various teammates and being asked the same round of questions over and over, he desperately needs to breathe.

Breathe in smoke that is, the scent reminding him so much of his mother, so he pays a server twenty bucks to tell him where the most discreet place to take a smoke break is. Kevin sends him a look when he pushes away from the table, but he ignores it, buttoning up his suit jacket as he stands, then takes off to follow the server.

He’s guided through a hectic kitchen, led down a hall and then another hall before being led out a large metal door. The loading docks, he guesses, judging by the packing boxes and the garage doors.

Neil says thank you, then quickly lights up a cigarette as soon as he’s left alone. One deep inhale to get it going, and the heavy weight of expectation seeps out of him, replaced by a temporary ease. He knows he’s being stupid, and that this is just how it is and that he needs to get used to it, but he just didn’t expect it all to be - like this.

Maybe when practice starts it’ll get easier, it’ll feel real, like he really is here to play a game and not pose for a picture with a practiced smile.

“Does Kevin know you smoke?”

In the empty loading dock, the sound of another voice echoes, rebounding off every wall, but even when the sound fades Neil’s heart is still racing. He immediately looks around, eyes narrowed and posture careful.

Across the way, shadowed by a stack of crates, stands Andrew Minyard. His regal suit and equally regal hairstyle contrast too sharply with the mess of crates and boxes and graffiti, but leaning against the wall with one leg propped, Andrew looks casual, relaxed.

Pretending his heart didn’t nearly just detonate from shock, Neil takes another inhale of smoke before crossing over to Andrew. He notes the cigarette in Andrew’s own hand, nearly burned down to a stub, and arches a brow. “I don’t, but does Riko know that you do?”

“Doesn’t matter. Riko doesn’t own me,” Andrew says simply, then crushes the end of his cigarette against the wall and tosses it.

Neil pauses, considering that, then says scornfully, “Kevin doesn’t own me.”

Andrew answers that with a bored look.

“He doesn’t,” Neil insists, not sure why that look riles up his every nerve. He takes another breath in and holds the smoke in his lungs for too long of a second, then slowly lets it out, but it does nothing to calm him now.

“When somebody is the reason for your very existence, they own you. Kevin got you your contract, yes? Well then he owns you.”

Anger flares in Neil’s chest, along with something he can’t place, something sharp and jarring. The truth, maybe.

Neil keeps it reined in, making his face blank as he can make it. He’s barely aware that he’s speaking, that annoying flaring feeling still bright in his chest, masking the increasing rate of his pulse. “Is that why you wouldn’t sign with him then? You didn’t want to be owned?”

Andrew considers that, it seems, by the way he tilts his head slightly to the side, but that illusion of confusion is snapped when he leans forward and grabs Neil’s cigarette from his fingers, bringing it up to his own mouth.

“A heavy question to be asking,” Andrew says slowly. “For a man who doesn’t know me.”

“I don’t have to know you to know your statistics,” Neil says, voice heavier now with annoyance over his stolen cigarette. Oddly enough, his lungs don’t ache without it, not if he can watch the ring Andrew’s lips make around the filter. “You’re not just the top-ranked goalie in the NEL.”

It only takes a few seconds for his mind to cough up the info he needs, the small facts and the large facts about Andrew Minyard, jersey number three, the New York Nighthawk’s starting goalie. Facts ranging from his speed to his aim to how many shots he blocked in total all of last season.

When he’s done listing the facts, the statistics, he expects something in Andrew’s face to change, expects to see some form of pride or triumph, but Andrew doesn’t even blink.

He blows out a cloud of smoke right into Neil’s face and says, “You’re straddling the border between obsessive and creepy. I should be calling security.”

“They’re facts. Everyone knows them.”

“Not like that.”

“I have to know,” Neil says defensively. “If I ever want to score on you.”

“Knowing all that won’t increase your level of talent,” Andrew scoffs, finally showing a sliver of emotion - judgement.

“I just don’t get it,” Neil says, backtracking to turn the subject to its origin point. “You and Kevin were a great pair. You’d do even better if you were on the same team again. Why’d you sign with his enemy?”

Andrew says, too easily, “Kevin’s enemy is not my enemy. I am my own enemy. Signing with the Nighthawks made that less so.”

Neil barely has a second to frown, to think about that, before Andrew is pushing away from the wall and taking a step closer into Neil’s space.

It’s strange, he thinks, in the brief few seconds he has before Andrew opens his mouth again, that he’s spent all night feeling suffocated but now, with a stranger breathing smoke in his face, standing toe to toe with him, all he feels is air.

“My answers come with a pricetag. You can compensate me with one of your own; why did you sign with the Seakings?”

The way he says it almost sounds like he’s implying that Neil had a decision, that Neil had other options to consider.

It takes a few seconds, but then it hits Neil.

Andrew isn’t implying that at all, he’s implying the opposite.

Rubbing dirt in the wound, running a highlighter across every word, shining a spotlight right on Neil’s still-aching heart.

He didn’t have any options.

“They were the only team to offer me a contract,” Neil admits, low and quiet, and even though that rage is back in his chest, he doesn’t push Andrew away.

“Then perhaps you should quit harping on what contracts I did or didn’t sign and focus on yourself,” Andrew says, and it’s venomous but it’s bright. “Like the real reason Kevin signed you. I bet you still think it’s because you’re his chance at finally besting Riko, right?”

Neil stares at a spot over Andrew’s shoulder, trying desperately to build his wall back up brick by brick, but every breath and word from Andrew has cement crumbling like dust in Neil’s hands.

“That’s one of the reasons, yes,” Neil says flatly, avoiding Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew leans in closer until his mouth is near Neil’s ear, and makes a buzzing noise, deep and grating, like Neil got the answer wrong. This close, a noise like that can’t echo off the walls, but Neil still hears it being repeated in every nerve in his body.

“No. Kevin will never have faith, in anything or anybody, a lesson you need to learn quickly. He will give up on you if you cannot give him what benefits him,” Andrew says quickly, that venom in his tone stinging so much Neil thinks it’s paralyzing him. “You know what you are? His scapegoat. When your team inevitably loses, he can place the blame on you, and no one will question him.”

Neil is still, from head to toe, but some bright hot instinct kicks in a second later, giving him the strength to snap his neck down and face forward, glaring down the scant few inches between him and Andrew.

“You’re going to eat those words,” Neil promises, and without looking he reaches between them for his stolen cigarette.

Andrew jerks his hand away, holding it out of Neil’s reach.

“I’m not hungry,” Andrew says, then flicks the cigarette behind him and turns away to walk back inside.

Then Neil is alone, with nothing and nobody saying his name, with nothing but his thoughts and the truth of him and the weight of his reality, and a sudden burning promise fueling its way through him.

He suddenly doesn’t need to breathe. He just needs to prove Andrew wrong.

- Chapter 2

If that one brief interaction out by the loading docks supplied enough rage-induced encouragement to last a decade, the question that Neil answers on his way out of the banquet supplies enough encouragement to last a lifetime.

When he’s asked it, he doesn’t think of the repercussions, doesn’t think about the fact that every word said in public is a play in a game.

It’s the truth, at least, and maybe that’s why he says it.

Two security guards guide Neil and Kevin to their town car, the night having run its course on Neil and the effects of alcohol having run its course on Kevin. But the guards’ presence doesn’t stop the remaining reporters from flocking to their car, doesn’t stop the flash of cameras.

Doesn’t stop the question; “Neil, Neil! Now that you’ve met the opposing teams, how do you feel about your chances? Do you still think you can help Kevin bring your team to the playoffs?”

Neil stops, turns, and fixes on a smile that he doesn’t have to fake. He can see Kevin shaking his head from the corner of his eye, their publicists practically begging him to not answer this question.

He has to. He made a promise in his head to Andrew.

“Actually, if anything, I feel even more encouraged,” Neil says warmly, as if his words are pleasant opposed to cruel. “I know that with Kevin’s guidance, together we’re going to change how the playoffs are played. His enemies are now my enemies.”

He hopes that somehow, someway, Andrew watches this, and knows Neil’s words are for him.

“Are you referencing Riko Moriyama and his team?”

His smile deepens. “Andrew Minyard,” Neil says, and likes the way his tongue feels after saying his name. “He’s not as impenetrable as he thinks he is, and I’m going to take him down goal by goal. I’m going to score on him.”

Instead of prompting Neil for more, the reporter directs the microphone to Kevin, who stands there shell-shocked, as if Neil just reached into his chest and punched his heart. “Comments?”

Kevin glares at Neil, then faces the camera. “With enough coaching and practice, I fully believe in Neil’s future success,” he says dully, before motioning towards his publicist to clear out the reporters.

All in all, the question took less than a minute to answer.

Neil smiles to himself on the drive home, not knowing that one question will fuel the rest of his life.

It was an inevitable feud.

Long in the making, already in the process before Neil Josten was ever a Seaking. This feud was perhaps the main reason Kevin vouched for his recruitment. There hasn’t been a hype like this over a season since Kevin and Riko signed to the pros.

Because this feud started off between the Ravens and the Foxes, technically.

The Foxes lost the championships in Kevin and Andrew’s final year. That loss against the Ravens was only intensified when Andrew signed with Riko, and Kevin was forced to start his professional career on his own.

In Neil’s opinion, Kevin’s the best, but he was too used to having support. His first year as a Seaking, they made it to playoffs and were eliminated after the first round. His second year, they hadn’t earned enough points to qualify.

Losing three years in a row to someone he used to win with only had Kevin playing harder.

But now, Neil isn’t sure what Kevin saw in him that made him think partner.

Kevin’s Comeback Key, most articles had nicknamed Neil. It put a new spark in an old feud. Kevin had ammunition now - or, as most of the Exy world saw it, Kevin had no excuse not to win now.

With a new season, a new striker, a new attitude to Kevin’s playing style and a determination that nothing could cut through, it was an inevitable feud.

It was never meant to be like this, however, between the rookie and the goalie. Nobody ever thought it’d be Neil vs. Andrew, but now that it is, it’s everywhere.

Neil knows how press works, he’s seen his own interviews show up online as soon as they’re filmed, he knows better. Yet he still feels a bit stunned at how quick this - whatever this is - blows up. Everything and everyone, between the ESPN channel to the smallest online magazine, has something to say about it.

The picture of their handshake dominates every single article, with screaming headlines printed over top, their names flashing and bright. Minyard vs Josten, 03 vs 10, Rookie to Score On Goalie?

One news site tracks Andrew and Neil’s college career, and pulls up the footage of Neil’s deathmatch against the Foxes. In the video, Neil tries to run at the goal and score, only to have Andrew catch his ball and rebound it off Neil’s helmet.

It’s their only in-game interaction to date, but it’s more than enough to tip the scales in Andrew’s favour. Neil’s rookie image is painted even darker.

Statistics are compared, histories are recovered, stories are made up. The more gossip-run sites say Kevin only recruited Neil to replace the hole that Andrew left in his shield. Some sites say that Andrew’s going to use Neil’s inexperience to flaunt his own talent back in Kevin’s face.

It’s a mess, and Neil helped make it.

Unlike before though, there are people who want to support him. Neil almost doesn’t believe it when old teammates from Arizona are recorded vouching his name, saying their praises, citing his grim determination as an advantage over Andrew Minyard.

In August, the Seakings start preseason practice, often hosting open practices for fans and reporters to sit in and watch. Kevin pushes Neil to play harder, even if it is against his own team, reminding him that the world is watching.

The world is watching, and once they witness that grim determination in action, the scales tip slightly under Neil’s weight. Reporters begin to comment positively on his accuracy. Fans start to show up at their practices with signs.

Neil can’t remember the last time a fan held up a sign with his name on it that wasn’t followed by massive black X’s.

It’s inspiring, and has Neil fighting more aggressively during practice to prove them all right, that he deserves their faith.

It’s inspiring until the day it isn’t, when the feud hits its next point, and then even Neil loses faith in himself.

The whole team is gathered in their lounge after practice, sweaty and exhausted, but whatever’s about to play on the TV is apparently more important than showering. Coach Mullens stands by the television with his arms folded, face grim, remote control clutched tightly in one hand.

When he’s sure he has his team’s attention, he faces the TV and clicks play on the remote.

All the way over in New York, the Nighthawks are having their own open practice. A sportscaster from ESPN talks at the camera, commenting on the team’s impressive technique as a scrimmage plays out.

Any reporter who knows Andrew Minyard knows the risks of putting a microphone in his face, yet that doesn’t stop this reporter from approaching him as he walks off the court, helmet in his hands and eyes uncaring as he attempts to walk past them.

“Andrew, what do you have to say about the current buzz surrounding Neil Josten of the San Francisco Seakings? He says he’s going to score on you, what do you think his chances are?”

Andrew stops abruptly and turns to face the camera, fixing it with a look that could shatter glass.

“To say he has a chance would give him false hope. There is no chance and there is no hope,” Andrew says, cooly. “If Neil ‘Pipe Dream’ Josten wants to challenge me in public, then he better be ready to be destroyed in public.”

Not sparing another breath or word, Andrew turns from the camera and walks away, leaving the reporter stunned in their spot.

There’s something satisfying about hearing Andrew say his name, but Neil can hardly focus on that when his chest suddenly feels ten times heavier.

Coach is talking, the team is murmuring, Kevin is sending an angry, frantic glance in Neil’s direction.

Neil stares at the TV screen, still seeing Andrew on it. His heart turns in panicked circles, spinning faster every time he replays Andrew’s sharp words.

His heart stops spinning, and decides to land on a feeling Neil hasn’t felt in awhile, a feeling that Andrew’s rivalry ignites; the silent swell of hope.

“You shook his hand,” is Kevin’s explanation for ripping Neil from his apartment at 10:00PM and dragging him to the stadium. “You started this, now you are going to find a way to end it.”

It’s incredibly jarring to be two souls in a stadium that seats thousands. Loud and echoey and all-consuming. Neil almost prefers it. He almost doesn’t quite mind the sleep deprivation that will follow. He almost thinks he can tolerate Kevin’s harsh words and harsher critique.

“Andrew doesn’t do challenges; he crushes them. By putting yourself in his path you’ve single-handedly obliterated our chances of facing them in the playoffs.”

Neil glares up at Kevin through the faceguard of his helmet. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know Andrew, he works on spite or not at all. He’ll personally see to it that you never make it within ten feet of his goal. Lucky for him, it should be rather easy.”

It aggravates Neil, but that was likely Kevin’s aim, to get Neil to push himself the next step forward. His shots are forced to be faster, more aggressive, until Neil’s every cell is cursing the very second that Kevin Day was born.

Their private practices continue until Neil feels reformed, shaped into something - better.

That feeling of such elevation might have gotten to his head, because at their next open practice with the team, a reporter asks Neil, “Are you excited for the season to start?”

And Neil easily responds with, “More excited than I’ve ever been. Kevin’s an incredible captain, and he’s shaping us all into a weapon. The Nighthawks should be scared, and Riko should be sorry.”

“Why’s that?”

“That he ever doubted Kevin in the first place,” Neil says, frowning a bit, as if the answer was obvious. “But he can apologize on our court come November.”

To the viewers and the multiple news outlets that try to analyze Neil’s statement, it sounds like good-natured team rivalry. It sounds like the role he’s meant to play - the rookie to Kevin’s captaincy, partners, together, a duo.

That’s not how it sounds to the Nighthawks.

Not at all, Neil realizes, the next day during a closed practice, when Riko Moriyama steps onto their court all the way from New York City.

The entire team falls silent.

Riko’s dressed in a blue so dark it could be black. His eyes scan the lines of their well-worn court as if the floor is fouling his shoes. The Seakings stand around in their gear, scrimmage paused, looking from one to the other with a million silenced questions. Their coaches stand in the inner court, equally quiet, not making any movements to signal a stop to Riko’s presence.

Laila’s the first to speak up, storming out of her goal as she rips her helmet off. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you even get in?”

Riko doesn’t look at her, his glare trained on both Kevin and Neil.

“Your court is a shame to the very sport you play,” Riko says, crossing his arms over his chest. “My family invented this sport. It is not difficult for me to gain access to any and all stadiums.”

Despite their hostile history, and despite the anger rippling across his face, Kevin remains wordless.

“This is a private practice,” Neil finally says, after sending a disappointed look Kevin’s way. “You’re in violation of the rules.”

“My family invented this sport,” Riko repeats, more viciously, turning all his attention on Neil. “You are a mockery to it. What makes you think a rookie like you has the right to speak against my team? Your name does not belong anywhere near mine.”

“It wasn’t you I was challenging,” Neil says, as calm as he can make it. It’s not that Riko unnerves him, it’s that Riko irritates him, and it irritates Neil even more that Riko has the audacity to say such things while standing on the Seakings’ logo.

“I didn’t come alone,” Riko says, and doesn’t turn around when the court door suddenly slams open. “You think you can score on Andrew? Prove it.”

The Seakings remain dead quiet as somebody else steps onto the court, footsteps like gunshots off the floor. Andrew comes up towards them wearing his own team’s gear, clashing harshly with the aqua of the Seakings.

Andrew stops right behind Riko and swings his racquet up to rest against his shoulder, looking like he’s contemplating taking a nap in the next five seconds.

“I’m not doing this,” Neil says firmly, taking a step back.

That only strengthens Riko’s grave smile. “Then we can give ESPN a ring and have a reporter here in minutes. I’m sure they’d love to hear you admit defeat.”

“You can’t -”

“This is what you get when you run your mouth off with foul and false accusations. Do not make promises if you have no way to make them true. You will practice against Andrew until you finally see how dim your chances are.”

Riko sends a look Kevin’s way, something dark and controlling in his eyes, and Neil’s stomach sinks, knowing fully well how Kevin will respond to that look.

With a small sigh, Kevin steps up to Neil and grabs his racquet, halting it. “Don’t use all your energy at once,” he says, a red-hot warning low in his voice. “Pace yourself.” Then he gives the racquet’s net a tug and walks away, following Riko and the rest of the Seakings off the court.

Then it’s just Neil and Andrew, and suddenly Neil’s knees feel weak.

Ignoring that, because nothing about Andrew unnerves Neil either, he steadies his face and turns a look on his opposer, souring his expression as best he can. Despite that sourness, he manages a smirk. “I thought Riko didn’t own you.”

Andrew says nothing but sticks his racquet out to roll a ball towards himself. Without breaking eye contact, he flicks it up and sends it flying right at Neil’s helmet. It bounces off with a sharp smack, then rolls away.

Neil doesn’t back down from that challenge.

He follows Kevin’s advice and paces himself, firing perfunctory shot after shot, carefully thought out and planned. Andrew responds to that by standing completely still and tilting his racquet whichever way he knows Neil is going to swing.

Irritation itches under Neil’s skin. He’s giving nearly every percent he has and Andrew’s barely turned his switch on, but Neil doesn’t fall for it, doesn’t give his one-hundred just yet. He waits for Andrew to break patience first.

Tens of minutes later, or at least that’s how it feels, Andrew finally stops moving to stare at Neil blankly. He leans down to pick up a ball, tosses it slightly, then smacks it with all his might, firing it at Neil at a speed that could hurt him.

Slow doesn’t exist after that. Fast, faster, fastest, Neil dodges every shot and shoots them back even quicker. He runs and leaps and tries from a different angle every single time, but somehow Andrew just knows where they’re going to land. Neil might as well be shooting at a brick wall.

His blood hasn’t felt like this before, never been so hot. It burns with determination, infuriation, some primal sort of need flowing through him to shoot and score and to wipe that stupid look off Andrew’s stupid face.

After trying every trick he knows, he thinks back to night practice, and shifts his body into a move he’s seen Kevin perform.

Andrew is expecting that, too, and flicks the ball away with a short snap of his wrist.

Neil stands a few feet back from the goal, panting and doubled over, watching his failure of a ball roll shamefully away.

“Remember,” Andrew calls out, the mocking in his voice sounding almost like a song. “All the night practice with Kevin won’t change a thing, he will never keep his faith in you. A few more shots and he’ll be done with you for good.”

“No,” Neil grits out, and snaps into action, investing his last percent into charging the goal with every ounce of passion and hatred he has. Except when he swings his racquet back to fire a shot, all his muscles twist to a stop. It forces his grip slack, has him skidding to a halt.

Without momentum, the ball slides free of the net and hits the ground with a low thud.

The only body part that doesn’t burn are his eyes, so he watches the ball roll away, physically unable to reach out for it.

A banging on the court wall has Neil fumbling to find enough energy to look over. Kevin is making a cutting gesture at his neck, while Riko stands next to him, arms folded and face expressionless. The lack of smug satisfaction across Riko’s face is somehow worse than any at all.

Neil gasps out in defeat and doubles over, and doesn’t dare look up at Andrew, not even when there’s a tap against his helmet, the large net of Andrew’s racquet in his face.

“At least you tried,” Andrew says, and taps Neil’s helmet again.

“I never said I’m giving up,” Neil says back, just barely, before finally looking up at him.

The rest of the stadium vanishes, disintegrating quickly as Andrew leans forward, too close, as close as he was the night they met in the docks. The sound of his breath and his voice right by Neil’s ear shouldn’t sound so familiar, but it is.

Their helmets are all that separates them physically, but nothing can stop Andrew’s words from touching him. “Then until we meet again,” Andrew says, and it’s too much of a whisper to be a threat.

Andrew strolls off the court looking as if he hadn’t moved so much as a muscle while playing against Neil. Without another word to the Seakings, he and Riko disappear.

Footsteps break up the world of silence. Kevin rushes onto the court where Neil is now kneeling, his every body part on fire. “Neil.”

For whatever reason, there’s a defiant part of Neil that doesn’t want to look up, to meet the eyes of somebody who isn’t Andrew. Staring at Andrew had forced Neil to look as honest as he’s looked in months - he means it when he looks at Andrew with intent. Looking at anybody else will force a mask back on, and he’s not sure if he can fake it right now.

Kevin tugs at him when he remains quiet, gripping him roughly until he’s steady on his feet.

“He’s good,” Neil says distantly, staring at the court doors.

“You can’t beat him alone,” Kevin says somberly, and then, after a pause, “We have to do it together.”

It’s far from the harsh criticism Neil’s accustomed to. It draws his eyes to Kevin’s retreating figure as he walks away, trying to piece it all together.

He stays alone on the court for a few more minutes.

Showing Neil just how unattainable something is won’t make him want it any less. There’s fire in his muscles, a stinging suggestion that perhaps he won’t ever score on Andrew, but if anything, it only makes him want it more.

Riko’s the one who failed tonight.

Neil’s alone on the court, but he feels the ghost of Andrew’s closeness, and now more than ever, he can’t quite quell the hope of it.

Even with his arms stinging and burning, he couldn’t quite make himself go home.

So now he stands alone in the Seakings stadium, out on the court, envisioning where the ball would go if he stood here, or there, if he lifted the racquet like this and not that. The only conclusion he can come to though, is that no matter how he throws the ball, Andrew will be there to block it.

Neil wants to find it strange that he only feels determined in face of such an impossible challenge, but he doesn’t. What he does find strange is what he can’t explain; how ontop of determination, he feels put-off, disoriented, like there’s an answer in Andrew that is right there but Neil just can’t see it.

He can feel it though, like pinpricks and frustration and -

Shock.

Because when Neil turns around after staring at the goal for an endless minute, Andrew Minyard himself is standing in the open doorway to the court, leaning against the plexiglass frame with his arms crossed and his expression cool.

Neil suddenly lets out his breath and begins to smile, and the urge to figure things out disappears as he lets curiosity take over. He was tired before, tired and sore, but for some reason, with Andrew right there, he no longer feels like sleeping.

“Hey,” Neil says, taking off his helmet as he steps closer. He looks over Andrew’s head for something or somebody in the distance, but Andrew is alone. “Where’s Riko? Did he finally loosen your leash?”

Andrew’s expression hardens, then fades into blankness. “One would think that with all the time you spend talking about Riko that he owns you, as well.”

“So he does own you?”

Andrew ignores that and steps further into the court, walking a circle around Neil. “Your determination to play could be admirable if it weren’t so pathetic,” he says, eyes drifting to the racquet still in Neil’s hands. “What’s keeping you here?”

“Uh, well . . .” Neil looks at his racquet and realizes then how much it hurts to hold it. “I want to?”

“You want to, or you feel you’re expected to?”

Neil frowns and plucks at a string in the net. “There’s not much of a difference if I like doing it though, right?”

Andrew scoffs and makes another lap around Neil, never making eye contact as he walks. “Let’s play a new game,” he says while nodding. “It’s called ‘let’s not talk about Exy for five minutes’.”

Neil frowns again, but it’s quickly won over by a smirk. “You want me to stop talking about Exy? When we’re currently standing on an Exy court, in an Exy stadium, where I am dressed in my Exy gear, while holding my Exy racquet?”

Andrew pauses, face falling even more blank. “Can you do it or not?”

“Do I win anything if I do?”

Andrew finally looks at Neil then, his eyes narrowed as he thinks, then says, “To be determined.”

For some reason, Neil laughs.

And even though he hasn’t gone more than a minute without thinking about Exy over the past five years, Neil has never been one to back down from an impossible challenge . . .

“Okay, you’re on. Starting now.”

Except Neil hasn’t ever been faced with a challenge quite like this.

Andrew stares at Neil for the first thirty seconds, as Neil’s mouth forms different shapes and half-muttered words escape his lips only to be bit back down - because everything and anything he has to say has to be about Exy, the game, his team, his sponsors, his statistics, press pieces for the media and pre-written answers to endless repetitive questions and -

And he hasn’t ever been asked to talk about anything else.

“I - uh -” Neil stammers, heat flooding his face. “What do you want to talk about?”

Andrew’s eyes look as if they’re about to roll back. “How did you manage to complete college with the vocabulary of a two year old? What do you want to talk about?”

There’s a force in Neil’s throat, like the hand of someone controlling a puppet, about to make him say what they want him to say. He grits his teeth in time to stop himself and then sighs, giving his shoulders a slight shrug.

He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but he wants to say something.

Because Andrew stands there calmly, willing to listen.

“. . . my running shoes are beginning to break down,” is what Neil ends up saying, face flaming crimson now that the words are out. “I’ve put off buying a new pair though. I guess I hate spending money.”

He watches with his heart racing as one of Andrew’s eyebrows slowly lifts; clearly bored with Neil, and his pathetic attempt at normal conversation.

“I’m trying, okay?” Neil asks rather desperately, trying hard not to flinch as that eyebrow raises higher. “I’m not very interesting.”

All at once, Andrew smirks, and it transforms his entire face. He takes a step closer until he’s right in front of Neil, a powerful presence when compared to Neil’s nervous wreck of a body. He eyes the racquet that Neil’s still holding and threads his fingers through the net, giving it a quick tug.

“Your vocabulary is in need of a refresher, Neil,” Andrew says lowly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “I don’t think you understand what ‘interesting’ means. You win this round. ‘A’ for effort, and all that.”

He tugs on the racquet again before turning around to leave, and even when he’s gone, Neil doesn’t understand.

But he wants to.

#andreil #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil fic #lp writes

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soulcrazy2017-blog · 7 years

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Top seo tips on outsourcing for small businesses

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Top seo tips on outsourcing for small businesses

Many traditional roles that have been historically finished in-residence at the moment are being outsourced, and that could consist of something from being a PA to challenge dealing with. It’s an impressive manner for groups to maintain prices down throughout the modern-day monetary climate and it also enables those tips who have been made redundant flourish and develop their very own seo businesses. As workforces have turn out to be smaller, last personnel are all driven for a time, and the demands of the commercial enterprise can often suggest they lose music of preserving up to date with matters such as blogs, newsletters, and their website.

business

It’s tough to be a small enterprise owner and keep a hundred exceptional balls juggling at the same time. How are you going to awareness on sales when you’re now not doing any first generation interest? What about advertising and social media? A surge in people operating from the domestic manner that each one of these skills may be outsourced. But how does an SME understand that the individual they are outsourcing to is any proper, mainly if they don’t have any testimonials?

Let’s observe some of the basics you could study earlier than committing to an also assembly.

1. Google them: Certainly, kind their call and enterprise call into Google and notice what outcomes it brings. Ignoring their internet site and LinkedIn profile, for now, look to see if their name seems on any sites associated with their enterprise. This suggests that they’re now not just taking walks the stroll, they may be actively worried too.

2. Social proof: That is wherein seo LinkedIn, Google+, Facebook, and Twitter play their element. What does their LinkedIn profile say? Do they have got any guidelines? Do they proactively proportion content? This is even more critical in case you’re hiring a social media professional. If they may be now not sharing their stuff, how do they recognize quality exercise on the subject of sharing yours?

three. Time management: If they’re charging you by using the hour, will they be providing a time sheet or comparable to reveal the range of occasions they’ve labored? If you’re allotted 20 hours per month on different responsibilities, how are they splitting the time, and extra importantly are they doing 20 hours according to month? four. Price phrases: While will you be invoiced and what Payment terms do they offer? This can alternate from freelancer to freelancer, and if they do not carry it up, you must. Don’t expect It is 30 days or even that you may be paying VAT. Get this right from the begin, so all people knows in which they stand.

5. Sign a contract: Ensure everything is written down and agreed at the start. If a sudden invoice lands, it can fast turn an unusual dating right into a bad one.

Finally, Make certain they’re doing the work themselves, and no longer subbing it out to others who you don’t know.

So what type of roles can be outsourced effectively?

With a view to outsourcing PR, you need to be clear approximately what it is. Social media and virtual advertising have modified the role that PR performs. Historically for SMEs, it has intended press releases, editorial and recognition control. It has usually been about telling the tale of an enterprise, and never became that more applicable than in brand new digital communities. Tweets, Facebook updates or even LinkedIn profiles are all part of the PR role.

Content material introduction For the reason that Google changed its set of rules and stopped the unscrupulous use of key phrases, the emphasis has been on developing high quality, explicit content material that flows naturally and is within the proper context. Any freelance creator worth their salt should be capable of creating content it’s readable, shareable and may trigger a reaction along with a comment on a weblog post or using traffic to a touchdown web page.

Electronic mail advertising Sending a newsletter out as soon as a month is not sufficient. How do you recognize if your audience is engaged? Are they even opening and reading your e-newsletter? Are you telling anyone everything no matter wherein they’re within the shopping for the cycle? When looking to outsource this, a freelancer needs to have the ability to help you generate content so one can supply a return.

Search engine optimization(seo)

seo

There’s no reason to fear Search engine optimization. There are a few simple things that each internet site ought to have – meta tags, keywords, and a weblog or news web page just for starters. Think – if a person had been to look for my product or service, what phrases could they use? Once you have a cluster of these, it is time to paintings on including them in your internet site, and This is where the understanding of a freelancer can come in on hand.

Cellphone skills

Maximum business humans right now think of cold calling While faced with a Telephone But it can be beneficial in other methods too. In case you’re setting up an occasion then a observe up name to an e-shot can be very effective. There are masses of options accessible But try to keep away from the decision center approach. Attendees are likely to respond to a nearby accessory and greater non-public call.

Undertaking management

This may be something from a new product launch to a website redesign. Properly freelance venture managers will have to enjoy of coping with a wide variety of projects and will be capable of breaking down what to you may seem an impossible project into bite size portions and manipulate the whole technique – that means you’ve got just one factor of touch rather than hundreds.

Private assistant (or virtual assistant)

There are many skilled PAs accessible that both via redundancy or with the aid of preference at the moment are running as virtual assistants. Who said Pass over Moneypenny had to be office primarily based? With a Laptop, a diary and an organized thoughts virtual assistants can include paintings from everywhere. In any case, It is their revel in you are buying into, now not their office environment.

Human resources

Whether you have got one employee or 20, there will come the point while you need such things as contracts of employment, disciplinary strategies, and felony employment advice. HR is one of the Most commonly outsourced SME functions, and There is a wealth of enjoying out there. Even in the case, you plan to control 90% of the service in-house. It’s an excellent idea to have an HR contact reachable for any of these sudden incidents that want to be treated hastily.

Whichever characteristic you choose to outsource, you have every proper to call for the same attention to detail as you will your worker. The freelance market is awash with people of such excessive caliber you will be wondering why you didn’t do it years in the past. On 8 May 2013, Cooper Union college students frivolously walked into the president’s workplace and took up their house. They did not leave for the subsequent 65 days.

The months-lengthy take a seat in, that is every so often known as the Occupy Cooper Union, was staged to protest the college’s selection to impose tuition – something the school had never finished In view that it was founding in 1895. This fall, for the primary time since the arts and engineering school became hooked up, its college students will cover a component of their training on their very own.

Right here’s the harsh truth: colleges are an enterprise.

Andrew Rossi, the quality recognized for the journalism documentary page One, has written, directed and produced a new documentary at the growing prominence of capitalist management ideas at US faculties and universities.

Cooper Union’s selection to fee training and its consequences are at the heart of Ivory Tower, a documentary out on DVD on 30 September.

Ivory Tower takes a look at universities and their transformation from providers of education to enterprise ventures that try to be the largest and the best vendors of the “college revel in.”

The competition among those institutions of higher getting to know has had an unfavorable impact on the ones they think to serve. From less rigorous curriculums to higher tuition expenses, the colleges have modified the manner. Individuals think about educations. Students are now clients and university presidents are CEOs overseeing multiplexes of the college revel in. With the intention to pay for that enjoy, college students are doing away with a median of approximately $30,000 in pupil loans. The general student debt in the US has now surpassed $1tn.

Even Cooper Union, which became based totally on the belief that college education ought to be open and loose to all and became able to offer free training for over 150 years, was no longer capable of escape unscathed.

Welcome to this week’s blog, and our roundup of your comments and images from the final week.

Allow’s start with the sunshine and a self-proclaimed “gush” from BaddHamster:

I realize I’m a long time past due to the celebration, But I simply don’t want Tales of the Metropolis to give up! I’m at a loss as to how Maupin’s writing can be so mild and acerbic at the equal time. And the individual work is flawless… not a cipher in the bunch, indeed.

I’d say it’s by no means too late to advise Armistead Maupin. Persevering with the fulsome tips, ID1100766 has been enjoying Golden Hill by Francis Spufford:

tips

Set just earlier than the American Revolution, it tells of a young guy (‘Mr. Smith’) newly arrived in Big apple with an order for £1,000. But who is he? And what’s his plan? This novel plays with the conventions of the 18th-century novel and zippers alongside at a rollicking pace. I sense that I’m seeing an exceptional Big Apple thru his wide-eyed wonder although from time to time we are reminded it’s far a singular we’re analyzing. Incredible up to now. Sign on to our Bookmarks publication Examine more And Magrat123 has fallen for A Gentleman in Moscow through Amor Towles:

Glaringly it’s too early to rank it in 2017’s analyzing. However, I am aware of it’s going to be one among my lifetime Most interesting books. An overall virtuoso performance, now not in contrast to An Example of the Fingerpost However higher.

It’s far that unusual beast, a literary novel that still has an interesting plot, with an original ending which has been falling into an area, piece via unsignalled piece, from the very beginning, hidden in plain sight.

Speaking of endorsements. Meanwhile, it’d be irresponsible of me to inspire Chris135’s behavior Right here, even though I enjoyed the idea:

My boss is off these days, so I’ve spent the afternoon at work sneakily analyzing Graham Greene’s The Energy And The distinction. Nonetheless were given some pages to move, However actually enjoyed it so far, likely greater than any other Greene I have Examine (nicely… perhaps besides for Brighton Rock). Its an incredible tale approximately a “whiskey priest” seeking to avoid the government in the middle of an anti-clerical marketing campaign in Mexico. I’ve located with Greene that while they’re always really worth studying they may be a bit patchy – I like his prose, narrative, and outline However usually find the communicate a piece disappointing and wood.

Graham Greene has also been impressive Rex Bowan:

I finished a couple of books which were topical: American Overseas Coverage and Its Thinkers with the aid of Perry Anderson and The Quiet American via Graham Greene. The primary is a survey of the remaining hundred years of Yankee Overseas Coverage, after which brief tablets of some foremost modern-day thinkers who constitute specific developments (widely Wilsonian, liberal internationalism and realism, with the opposite traits being isolationism /republicanism and Policy primarily based on financial interests). I love the grip that Anderson has on his fabric and the immediately high and straightforward style. I also LOL-ed While he defined one e-book as typical New Yorker schlock. It activates a few inspiring thoughts about Trump and American protectionism.

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