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churroandchocolatte · 6 years

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The claws that clicked upon the windowsill slid in and out of the sheath of skin near the subject’s pads in a slow rhythmical beat.

Their owner’s head was lowered and pressed to the window. His well-built back faced away from the door unconsciously blocking out the sun’s light better than most curtains on the market.

The darkness of the room put his body into sharp silhouette, but despite the focus, his inherent stillness made it difficult to discern the small telltale signs that marked what was very nearly the only evidence the room’s sole occupant still drew air.

Instead, his dark, sharply dressed foreboding form made him seem more shadow than a man.

An observer would hardly have been blamed had they wrongfully mistaken the figure as a statue or some abandoned fixture placed by a much-beleaguered staff member at the behest of one of the more eccentric member’s of the club before it had been forgotten entirely in favor of newer and more trendy paraphernalia.

A sharp knock caused the subject to glance up, his claws ceasing their motion.

Then, sensing his moment of weakness would be observed, he settled for partially sheathing the claws once more beneath his furry paws.

Taking a step forward, the figure withdrew from the window, throwing the orange, black, and white patterned outline of the fearsome Shere Khan in sharp contrast.

The servant was quick, polite and to the point, leaving the mail and the morning paper before refilling the tiger’s morning tea, and if he noticed the small limp in the feline’s proud gate that years of psychical therapy could not fully recover, nothing was said.

However, as professional as the servant tried to remain, it was clear from his master’s stiff and unyielding posture that he was on edge and less than pleased to have been interrupted.

The tense silence stretched between them before Khan raised a stark eyebrow which the servant gratefully took as the dismissal it was.

Yellow eyes glanced at the front page headline–

Cape Suzette bombing victims: Two dead, several others injured–

And took a sip of the tea that had been set aside for him.

Outwardly he no longer seemed interested in pursuing anything besides the consumption of the foul-smelling brew of Nepeta cataria and Teucrium marum leaves infused with Valerian Root.

But internally… internally he was cursing Douglas Benson to Naraka for as long as Yama would keep him.

Shere Khan was neither a practicing Hindu nor was he a personal believer in the afterlife.

However, the idea of some mystical death god of divine justice tormenting Mr. Benson after death as compensation for the wrongs he had committed against others that had forced Khan to play nanny before the gray cat was reincarnated into something particularly embarrassing appealed to him on a number of levels.

He had cleaned up the mess Benson had made and had bribed those he knew would remain silent. Fortunately, those few had been the only witnesses to the event, so he had not been forced to do anything more extreme than that.

As things currently stood, the most he could do, short of killing his current kink in the tail, was arrange to have the former executive tried in secrecy, with the likelihood of lifelong incarceration hanging over the gray feline’s head.

There was no reason to believe the irrational behavior of a former associate would not generate any negative press.

The solution rid him of one problem, but it didn’t solve the most pressing on his mind:

Obsolescence.

With advances being made every which way, he worried that his company would become a mere footnote, or worse, a steppingstone for someone else.

What he needed was new blood, new ideas, and new solutions to appeal to the average consumer.

He’d spent too much of his time building up his company, building up himself, to lose to the onslaught of time.

But, there was a problem, one that, to his own annoyance he could not repair on his own.

He had developed, what Dacher Keltner, a psychology professor at UC Berkeley described as an “empathy deficit.”

He was well aware that there was a disparity between those of his social status and the average middle-class citizen, he just…could not find it in him to lower himself to their level.

Admitting defeat, he had resigned himself to the fact that this was one thing he could not do on his own.

What he needed was a missing link to bridge the economic split between higher castes and the common man to attract the public’s attention and generate new positive interest in his company.

Mr. Benson’s sudden and inexplicable retirement had opened a void for some fortunate soul to occupy, he just needed to find someone suitable to fill it… and that was a task far easier thought than successfully completed.

He placed the now drained cup back on the saucer but did not call for another, opting to raise himself up and open the door that seperated him from the other club members instead.

“–have $100,000 of cold, hard cash in this case. Four chefs get $25,000 each. If they want to leave this kitchen with any of the cash, they have to survive three culinary challenges—and each other—in a game where sabotage is not only encouraged, it’s for sale!”

He gave a quick assessment of the recreation hall, noting only three other occupants.

Scrooge and Glomgold were surrounded by a verifiable fortification of bonnets.

Each duck circled each other, their hands were tightly clasped together, and their eyes were locked with the same gleaming antagonistic spark of challenge in their eyes.

Meanwhile, the newest addition to the club, an African gray parrot who’s name escaped him, was tapping rapidly on his cellular phone’s keyboard(the action, an aide had told him, was referred to as ‘texting’) and excitedly taking pictures of the two elderly ducks making utter fools of themselves.

In the din, a lone television program played on the elaborate projection screen before him, apparently abandoned by whoever had set it up in favor of the spectacle before him.

idiots.

Looming in the doorway in what would appear to others as intimidating, but in reality was merely indecision, he reached into the pocket of his expensively made suit and frowned at his list of contacts, a padded finger hovered over a line reading

‘Personnel.’

A pensive look threatened to cross his features before once more smoothing out. He had his dreams of the ideal employee dance across the feild his mind’s eye but the cat had been in an executive position and one that needed filling soon.

He could and would send word to the appropriate parties to begin the search for a suitable and more than likely, superior replacement.

He employed a well-trained team of what some might disparagingly refer to as ‘yes men,’ who would jump at the chance of locating, interviewing, and hiring new hopefuls to sacrifice on the altar of their notoriously difficult to please boss’ favor for just such a purpose.

he just wasn’t certain he was ready to start looking for someone to replace Benson because a large portion of him wanted to wait until he was more certain whoever chosen would fit his vision

But that delay, he decided, would ultimately serve no purpose.

He wanted something he had doubts even existed outside C rated Hollywood films, but, quite frankly, he didn’t feel like setting himself up for failure at present.

Recruiting and training employees was always a tedious affair, and ended in disappointment far more often than not.

Khan was so very tired of disappointment.

Decision made, he fired off a quick text message to the recruiters.

He gave a quick survey of the room, and to his chagrin noticed that mnothing had changed between the competitors.

Khan sighed and decided it would appear cowardly to freeze at the sight of the two rivaling Scotsmen playing a game of Bonnety, and then turn tail and flee.

“Anyone” the rational side of him argued “who had ever spent even five minutes with those two in speaking distance would understand all too well if he had fled”

the problem was, he Shere Khan, could not be allowed to be seen as merely anyone.

So, his own mind protesting loudly at his choice, he padded over to an empty couch. At least this time Glomgold was not singing.

it seemed it was not in his fate to remain unnoticed as he was very nearly straddled by one Mark Beaks in his (pathetic, really) haste to introduce himself.

Fighting back the internal reflex to strike out at an unconsciously perceived threat, the tiger was gracious enough to tolerate the avian’s aggressively cheerful invasion of his personal space.

He gave the customary polite greetings despite the offense.

He’d once read so-called alpha males tended to have a lower personal space than anyone else, while others, with respect to that person, would, therefore, clear the area around that person.

Apparently the bird thought, even if it was on a subconcious level that he was superior to Shere Khan.

The tiger was not here to have a bird attempt to metaphorically knock him off his perch, so to speak, even in something like this.

He scooted closer to the parrot so that their thighs had been brought together, his firm and well-built were nearly caressing the other’s bony knees, before he unleashed a slow and almost sincere smile as he visibly watched the confidence in the prey animal confidence splutter then die a painful death.

His unwanted companion return to his side of the room.

feeling smugly assured, he went back to ignoring the pest in favor of the evenings preferred entertainment, glancing up at the projector.

It was just one of those reality shows that catered to basest competive drives in their audiances.

The entertainment lay watching strangers prepare culinary creations made from everything they were as a chef and a person, only to have their entire self worth ripped to shreds on national television before an entire audiance.

All the while capitalizing on the safe and comforting nostalgia of childhood and food preparation.

it was insidious. he respected them for that.

“And,” he added mentally, “the thrill of watching danger from a safe distance.”, As one of the participants, a black-back Jackal who had been hugely unlucky to have been situated near a bubbling deep fat fryer, scream, and collapse in a ball of pain and agony after one of his fellow contenders, a black duck with an aggressive streak a mile wide, had thrown Labrador tea flowers into the deep fat fryer, drenching a good part of the hapless entrant’s face and upper body.

Regrettably for the wretched canine, his misfortune was not yet complete.

Drops of the hot liquid hit his heating station, and the entire area erupted in a roaring fireball of orange.

Shere Khan had to fight back an empathetic flinch, as the unexpected appearance of the flames triggered an unfurling well of terror within him, THEN…

the show went to commercials.

He nearly growled under the weight of his own self-directed exasperation.

How long would the same event continue to haunt him? He desperately wanted to move on. It had been years.

The red blaze that had danced across the screen, beautiful as any flower, hadn’t even been present in the same room with Khan, and he’d still felt that cloying clinging restrictive weight in his chest and head.

He chanced a surreptitious glance at the bird sitting on the couch opposite of with him, looking for any sign that the other had noticed anything afoot. His temporary companion hadn’t seen, and he had to fight off genuine relief that followed, but he was glad for it.

He wasn’t altogether…fond… of fire, and he had no desire for anyone else to realize the fact as well.

So, it was imperative that he changed the channel.

And to do that required locating the remote.

He frowned, surveying the room with a critical stare, before preparing to raise himself out of a warm and entirely too comfortable couch to fetch a servant.

He was not going to ask any of his compatriots if they had the remote or knew where it might be located.

He wasn’t paranoid to think they would automatically divine his issue with fire from a small hint such as channel surfing when there were so many other reasons he might disapprove of the show, not to mention acknowledging his weakness would demeaning besides.

The help, however, would likely possess a universal remote and he could change it, or better yet turn the blasted thing off that way.

The show returned all too soon and with it came the realization.

One of them was none other than Flintheart Glomgold.

The bird was paranoid to a fault. Out of any individual of their social station on khan’s social radar would believe that something as commonplace as channel surfing would be a telltale sign that what was an apparently normal reaction was anything but.

Perhaps even going so far as to claim the individual hunting for the remote had a morbid fear of fire. in this case, he’d absolutely correct, and knowing Flintheart as well as he did, the duck would attempt to test his little theory.

And then Shere Khan would have to kill him.

Fortunately, he’d been prescribed medication to help him control his symptoms.

Unfortunately, he would have to wait to take them.

In order to remain inconspicuous to the three billionaires in attendance, he remained seated. he only partially listened to the testimonials of the other three contestants as they shared their own opinion of the accident that had befallen the pitiful jackal. the show had chosen to include graphic play by play footage and multiple view shots of the incident in question.

by the end of that show’s segment, he had plotted the downfall of the series in over a dozen increasingly elaborate ways as his heartbeat increased and the pressure pounded at him along with it.

He just that he needed to get to the bar located in the far left corner of the room fill his glass with 16 ounces of something that was non-alcoholic and with any luck healthy as well.

He managed to make his way over unassisted and nodded to Beaks when the gray parrot requested a mango puree. His own drink came first, putting together various ingredients before blending in the medication and the ice. He was careful to avoid placing the pill in eyesight of any of his fellow room member’s eye view, before dropping it in the mixture and blending it all together.

He started the parrots order less out of politeness, and more as a method of hiding his own shaking hands.

When he felt more in control of his necessary faculties, he brought the drink over to its destined owner, but the parrot was now in the middle of a call with someone from his research and development department.

He intended to return to his own room to sleep off his personal distress before heading off to his home.

But first, he had to force himself to linger a few minutes more to keep up the charade of normalcy as he waited for Beaks to notice his drink was ready.

It seemed the program had changed while he’d busied himself behind the bar.

The show still involved competitors. it also included food. but this time those competing were significantly younger.

The camera focused on the soft childish faces of the competitors.

They seemed impossibly tiny among the crowd of adults.

Their eyes were round with excitement, terror, adrenaline, or a combination of all three.

When the judges strutted imperiously into the room, a title tag appearing by each one as they entered. They came to a standing rest before calling the contestants forward and having them introduce themselves.

One little boy, a small Eurasian lynx, seemed as if he were about to cry.

Not seeing anything worthy of his notice, he turned to leave.

He was not prepared for the gentle feathered hand patting his own when he’d tried to hand him the mango puree.

“it’s okay you know,” the parrot said in a conspiring voice obviously intended to be soothing but only managing to be irritating. “ I totally get you.”

”indeed”

Shere Khan did his best impression of amused confusion. He hadn’t thought he’d been too noticeable but if even the newbie had noticed his behavior was off then it would not be long before the others took stock of it. He had no desire to see it used against him by men such as Glomgold.

He felt pressure in the sheaths of his hands. his sharp claws driven by instinct to be unsheathed and attack what they viewed as a potential threat. He managed to keep them contained, but the urge remained.

“Yeah,” beaks said, clearly not realizing the danger, his eyes turning back to the projector. “it’s hard to be a dude who gets his chill watching cooking stuff.”

Shere Khan blinked.

It had not occurred to him that the bird might misinterpret his reaction.

The thought that the other believed his response was somehow due to doubt in his own “manhood” so to speak nearly surprised a laugh at him.

“I suppose so.” he allowed. Some men might feel somewhat emasculated by the thought, but he was not among them.

It did explain some of the ridiculously overly masculine commercials he’d seen.

they’d practically dripped machismo.

“Right-o!” Beaks said brightly. “I think this tiger’s got it!”

The Bird’s smile faded. “But, seriously, like I was saying, man, don’t worry.”

his hand tapped rapidly at his cellular phone and then in a flash of gray feathers jumped upon the couch to thrust the device in his face.

“Forty-six percent of men say they watch cooking channels often, so like, you’re good, ‘kay?”

Shere Khan nodded, somewhat off-put by the repeated incursions of his personal space, and waited for the other man to sit down again.

Which he did in a clumsy sort of sprawl that spoke of a young man who likely never thought of what such positions would do to his back as he aged.

He looked away from the bird, who had seemingly lost interest in him as quickly as he had gained it and then looked at the screen again.

those were some impressive stats.

Beaks hadn’t said it, but on that same link, he’d seen fifty-four percent of women had answered ‘yes’ to the same question.

It was a sizable market and one he’d yet to take advantage of.

A whistle sounded from the speakers, and each child began to hurriedly gather supplies needed for their creations.

Khan thought back on his most pressing problem. What he needed was something new, and this was something he’d never tried before.

An idea began forming as he watched the children work diligently in their assigned areas.

He wasn’t fond of putting children to work for a number of reasons that related more to practicality and pragmatism than morality, but—his mind was suddenly tumbling over the idea, smoothing out the rougher edges and polishing the remains behind his eyes- this could work.

He could start a reality show.

Setting up a little broadcast of his own would be simple for someone of his resources. He could create a challenge, examining each contestant to find the most efficient.

Hopefully, the individual would also possess the most mental maturity, mold the winner to his designs, and avoid any of the messy emotional backlash from adults often created when they saw children populating a workplace that outweighed any benefit that employing them would provide.

The plan could prove interesting, but even as he thought of the potential benefits, the expenses of such a stunt began swiftly piling up unbidden in his mind’s eye.

Khan had to bite back a groan.

The undertaking would be expensive.

Too expensive for his own comfort.

It wasn’t that he didn’t possess the necessary funds to make the idea a reality. With a few quick calls and a touch of harmless blackmail, he could shave his production costs by a few million.

The problem was more internal than that.

He just wasn’t the sort of man who would throw his own money into a project if he could have others sacrifice their personal assets first. He hadn’t become the rich and powerful man he was today be overindulging his pet projects any time the whim struck.

Ultimately that was all this would amount to. It was a publicity stunt and nothing more.The plan would have to be changed to minimize costs.

His thoughts were interrupted as Glomgold was thrown backward into the bonnets, his graceless careening knocking every bonnet to the ground.

Scrooge’s face was absurdly smug for someone who apparently disliked spending time with his stout compatriot, watching Gomgold struggle like an overturned tortoise.

The duck’s brief paralysis was enough time for Scrooge to gather the fallen bonnets and begin pelting his downed opponent with them, as per game rules. (and Beaks to quickly vacate his spot on the couch to take selfies over Glomgold’s fallen form.)Glomgold managed to the right himself and, in a surprising burst of speed throw himself through the ornate wooden doors.

Scrooge, arms laden with bonnets of all sizes and designs made a move to go after his archnemesis, but khan, unimpeded by an excess of weighted hats was faster.

“Mr. McDuck,” he said, after he’d followed the duck into a nearby alcove, and, more importantly, out of Mark Beaks’ hearing.

“A moment of your time if you will.”

Scrooge paused and glared at khan.

If the duck had intended to be intimidating the effect was very much negated by his colorful and sparkling load.

“khan”

he acknowledged with a nod though his tone was anything but friendly.

It seemed the tiger would be forced to bear the brunt of the burden of sociability.

“I’ve heard your family has recently taken to living with you?” he said, a smile crossing his face. “it must be quite the change to have three additional little ones underfoot.”

A crisp, No nonsense, “aye” was the answer Khan was met with.

The voice had turned into a decidedly frosty growl. Khan ignored it. “Excellent,” he said, face still set in a crooked grin.

“I’m sure the whelps are a regular chip off the old block, full of promise, and–”

“Khan.” Scrooge said again. Interrupting the tiger as his voice grated out impatiently. “What do ye want?”

the tone brooked no room for further discourse.

The hostility was so thick you could have broken a claw attempting to cut it.

Shere Khan nearly rolled his eyes at the venom in the old duck’s words. Somehow despite his best efforts, he had accumulated the reputation of being somewhat untrustworthy.

Shere Khan considered himself a fundamentally fair boss.

He had simple, clearly defined expectations he wanted to be met, and if they weren’t, employees would be replaced with someone new who could do the tasks he had outlined for them.

clean, neat, and tidy. that’s how he preferred his life and that’s what he wanted for his workspace.

But it seemed, in his mind, that the average person had very little understanding of such a simple process.It wasn’t that people, on the whole, disliked the prospect of being employed.

No, they were very attached to the notion of earning money and spending it as they saw fit.

And yet, the most common issue he’d from the new employees tended to inevitably be that they disliked actually arriving to work when there were other opportunities to enjoy themselves elsewhere, and he simply could not tolerate a young employee taking more than four days off.

It was strict but fair as far he was concerned.

You’d think it would be obvious. Going to work inevitably meant more money in a worker’s pockets and the ability pat for whatever it was that brought them the most pleasure in their off-hours.

Sadly common sense was rarely ever as common as what was supposed.

And recently deposed employees had a proclivity towards trash talking the establishments that had fired them.

Contractual gag order be damned.

“well,” he began ”I’m thinking of setting up a little game.”

”A game” the other repeated raising a sardonic eyebrow. “well you can straight up count my grand nephews out of it then.”

Scrooge declared continuing on as he had been, murmuring something about how his family managed to get in enough trouble on their own without receiving any help

“what if I told you the purpose of the game was to give them a better understanding of running a business?”

the bonnets dropped and Scrooge said something quite rude that would have made the Scotsman’s nephew, Donald give him a stern lecture on the topic of words he could and could not speak in front of the children.

On the topic of business, he and Scrooge had more in common than the old duck wanted to admit. Even if Scrooge had a tendency of letting sentimentality occasionally rule his actions.

“I’d ask to know what sort of business we were talking about. “

Scrooge asked, turning back to give Shere khan his full attention now.

“and what aspects of it in particular?”

“everything they’d need to know.”

Shere Khan said glibly, enjoying how the emotions played across the old man’s face, before settling on disbelief.

”Really,” Scrooge said. He drew the word out like he half expected the tiger to stuff his grand nephews into a stove, bake them until they were a golden brown, and then feed them to their own great uncle as a hearty meal.

“yes,” he answered simply, voice steady and unperturbed. “everything that can be taught at any rate.”

Scrooge frowned at him.

“and what possible benefit would that give you?”

“I’ve heard rumors that you were attempting to teach one of your nephews the value of a dollar,” he said, as the duck drew his arm to his own chest defensively. annoyed confusion still marring his face. “I intend to create a reality show built around giving children the ability to study under award-winning economists and the finances to start their own business.”

“Again I’m forced to ask, what’s in it for you?”

There was a note of warning in the duck’s tone now. Even someone unfamiliar with the man could tell that if the continued tiptoeing around the answer, there would be no convincing him to see things khan’s way.“I shan’t do it again,” he added, unnecessarily in the tiger’s opinion.

Shere Khan sighed inwardly.

They had reached the part of this conversation that he was looking forward to the least.

”sharing project costs.”

Scrooge laughed openly, mirth evident in every line of his feathered body.

“oh that is too good,” he shook his head still chuckling, “even here, all anyone sees of me is a walking money bin.”

“I really d–”

Khan was rudely interrupted by the older businessman shoving a black cane in his face.

“my answer to you is no, you’ll not be seeing a single dime from me, and that’ll be the end of it”

the Scotsman turned back, stance proud. even his fluffy white tail, negligible as it was, stood higher than usual.

“ I hate to be contrarian, dear fellow,” Khan began masking his chuckle under an attempt to sound sincere. “but I did not mean money.”

That caused the other to pause mid-step.

Good.

“from such mundane necessities, such as feeding participants to obtaining licenses to film in certain locations” he shrugged, muscular shoulders wide. “the sort of project I’m thinking of would generate a good deal of secondary expenses.”

there was a pregnant pause as the old man deciphered what the tiger was hinting at.

“you want to hold this competition in Duckburg” Scrooge realized, eyes wide.

“Indeed, I do.”

Shere Khan answered, forcefully keeping even the slightest hint of condescension from his voice.

While he was confident even a small cub would realize the city was the most logical location to host the affair. Scrooge owned the entire property, so if he were to obtain permission from Scrooge he would avoid a good deal of paperwork, licensing laws, and bribery.

Treating the man in question like he was an infant would not aid him in achieving his goal.Scrooge remained uncertain, his feathered face was scrunched up in consternation.

”I’d like some time to think this over,” he said slowly. his voice was more sedated than it had been before.

“take all the time you need.”Shere Khan waved his words off airily as if he felt the other’s participation meant little to nothing in the grand scheme of things.

He smiled pleasantly, doing his best to avoid showing his teeth.

”I hope to see you soon.”

“Shere Khan”

the tiger had been moving in the direction he’d last seen Glomgold, and raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued at the seriousness of McDuck’s tone.

“yes?”

“why did you think this offer would appeal to me?”

The unspoken ‘Don’t you think I m more than qualified to teach my family the basics of economics and business on my own’ remained silent between them. Scrooge’s face was full of repressed sadness and something else he could not place.

“sometimes experience is the best teacher.”

Shere Khan opined voice softened to match his conversation partner’s.“ I believe this is a belief the two of us share.”

Scrooge closed his eyes, face suddenly looking weary and weak behind his pez nez glasses, as years of memories seemed to flicker beneath those lids.

“aye, we do at that.” he acknowledged.

The eyes snapped open and regarded the other businessman with a guarded frown Shere Khan didn’t entirely trust himself to speak.

“I’m not saying yes to this crazy idea of yours," Scrooge said finally. ”But I’d like to go over the specifics with you tomorrow.”

“And bring your lawyers.” the duck raised a finger as if tell off a misbehaving child. “I want everything to be official.”

Shere Khan bowed.

“I shall indeed.”

Scrooge didn’t have to say ‘yes’ they both knew a guarded affirmative response when they heard one.

In what he felt was a remarkable feat of self-control, Shere Khan managed to keep the smirk he felt off his face. He left Scrooge deeply in thought as he left the room quietly, his gate predatory, as he stalked down the corridors in hunt of Flintheart Glomgold.

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47burlm · 5 years

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July 23, 1984- the last time I bought Penthouse- while maybe not the last time *wink*

On this day in 1984, 21-year-old Vanessa Williams gives up her Miss America title, the first resignation in the pageant’s history, after Penthouse magazine announces plans to publish nude photos of the beauty queen in its September issue. Williams originally made history on September 17, 1983, when she became the first black woman to win the Miss America crown. Miss New Jersey, Suzette Charles, the first runner-up and also an African American, assumed Williams’ tiara for the two months that remained of her reign.

Vanessa Lynn Williams was born March 18, 1963, in Millwood, New York, to music teacher parents. She attended Syracuse University and studied musical theater. In 1982, while working a summer job as a receptionist at a modeling agency in Mt. Kisco, New York, photographer Thomas Chiapel took the nude pictures of Williams, telling her they’d be shot in silhouette and that she wouldn’t be recognizable. After Williams became Miss America, the photographer sold the pictures to Penthouse without her knowledge. Williams later dropped lawsuits against the magazine and photographer after it was learned that she had signed a model release form at the time the photos were taken.

The Miss America pageant, which prides itself on projecting a wholesome, positive image of women, began in 1921 in Atlantic City, New Jersey, as a stunt developed by local businessmen to extend the summer tourist season. In 1945, the Miss America Organization handed out its first scholarship. Today, it provides over $45 million each year in cash and tuition assistance to contestants on the national, state and local levels. In 1954, the competition was broadcast live for the first time. Beginning in the 1980s, contestants were required to have a social platform, such as drunk-driving preventionor AIDS awareness, and Miss America winners now travel an estimated 20,000 miles a month for speaking engagements and public appearances. In 2006, following a decline in TV ratings, the pageant moved from Atlantic City for the first time in its history and took place in Las Vegas, where a new Miss America was crowned in January instead of September.

Vanessa Williams rebounded from the Miss America scandal and went on to a successful entertainment career as an actress and recording artist, performing on Broadway as well as in movies and television and releasing a number of popular albums.

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

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You all are so talented. This one is for the Modern Glasgow world. We've seen a few of Jamie's incidences from the books in this story and how Claire helped him through it. Could we see one of Claire's and how Jamie reacts and helps her?

anonymous asked: Hi! Love Modern Glasgow! We’ve seen some of Jamie’s misadventures from the book get translated into this story. Could we see one of Claire’s? How does Jamie and the family react?

Modern Glasgow AU

“And ye’re sure ye dinna need some extra help? There’s noshame in asking – the drought this year has made it hard for everyone.”

“I ken that – but I’ll manage.” Joe Fraser extended hiswork-roughened hand to grip Jamie’s. “And I thank ye for yer offer. But Rosieand me – weel, we always plan for this. The coos will have a bit of a leanyear, but nobody will starve.”

Jamie nodded and opened the driver door of his batteredLand Rover. “We’re settled at the Big House now – I’m just a phone call away.”

“Oh, that’s right! Ye and the missus and how many bairns,now? Three?”

“Five,” Jamie laughed. “Can ye believe it?”

Joe slid his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. “Mary,Michael, and Bride! Yer poor wife.”

“She had more of a say in it than I did, Joe. She kentweel what she was I for when she took up wi’ me. And she’s the head doctor atthe clinic in Broch Mordha now – but I’m sure ye’ve heard already. Brokenbones, cuts, you name it and she can fix it.” He slammed the door shut andturned on the ignition, leaning out through the open window to wave goodbye.

“I’ll be back in a week or so – and let me know how theanimals are getting on, aye? We always plan for this as weel.”

Joe waved a final hearty goodbye and trudged back to hisbarn, the setting sun striking the dust brought up by his boots.

Jamie sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and reachedfor the glove box, fishing around for his phone. Thumbing it to life, he couldn’thelp but smile at the lock screen – a selfie Fergus had taken of him and hisfour siblings. They all had massive grins on their faces, even ten-month-oldJulia, proudly showing her five teeth.

It hadn’t been easy adjusting to life in the ScottishHighlands when living in their cramped Glasgow flat – or in Paris, in Fergus’case – had been the only life his children had ever known. But he and Claireknew they had made the right decision – right for their family, and right forthe two of them. Selling his stake in the printing business had netted quitethe tidy sum, and she was more than willing to give up her high-pressuresurgery job for a quieter pace at the rural clinic. That they both spent muchmore time with the children – watching them grow, guiding them, showing themhow to live – made every single sacrifice worth it.

But now Jamie frowned – ten missed calls, just in thehour or so he’d spent with Joe.

Four from the Big House’s number. Two from Fergus. Twofrom Jenny. One each from Ian and Murtagh.

Christ.

He swallowed and quickly called Murtagh.

“Thank God,” his godfather’s voice crackled through theline. “Ye need to come home.”

Jamie’s heart stopped. “What is it? The bairns?”

“No, lad. No. They’re fine. It’s Claire.”

With shaking hands, Jamie activated the Range Rover’sBlueTooth and tore out of poor Joe’s driveway.

“Tell me everything!” he desperately shouted into thespeakerphone, swerving around the potholes in the dirt road connecting Joe’sfarm to the motorway.

“She got a call, around midday. An old woman having hearttrouble – perhaps a stroke. She left the number here and drove out to make ahouse call.”

Jamie roared down the motorway, limbs shaking.

“When she didna come back an hour ago, we started callingher mobile. No answer. And then Jenny called the woman’s house – her son saidshe was fine, and that Claire had left two hours before that, and said she wascoming straight home. So nobody has seen or heard from her for three hours.”

“We need to go find her!” Jamie screamed, passing twosedans full of tourists and simply not caring that he was at double the speedlimit.

“Aye, lad. We do. Calm down. I’ve got Ian and Jenny andSuzette here, waiting for ye. We can each drive out and search. Fergus wants togo – ”

“No. Put him on the phone. Please. I’ll be there in fiveminutes.”

Muffled sounds – then Fergus’ surprisingly deep voice.Jamie blinked, remembering that his eldest son was now eighteen. A man grown.

“Papa?”

“Listen to me, Fergus. Do yer brother and sisters kenwhat’s going on?”

“No – they’ve been playing with their cousins. I want tohelp you search - ”

“No, Fergus. You must stay behind. They canna know what’sgoing on. Do you understand?”

“But –”

“Damn it, Fergus. You need to protect them. They need anadult to watch over them – to keep them safe. And that adult – that *man* -that’s you, *mon fils*.” Do ye understand me?”

Silence. Then – “Yes. I understand.”

“Good lad. I’m just turning off the road. Can ye ask themto meet me outside?”

Thirty seconds later, he pulled up to the main house andjumped out of the Land Rover, leaving the engine running. It was full dark now,but he recognized the silhouettes waiting in the driveway.

No time to feel, now. Just to think – and to act. And tofind Claire.

Five agonizing minutes to plan – four separate cars,driven by Jamie, Ian, Jenny, and Murtagh. Suzette would ride with her husbandand continue calling all the places where Claire could have gone – including Mrs.Crook in the main house, just in case Claire appeared at home.

Ian handed each driver their own walkie-talkie – the bestway to communicate, given the patchy mobile service.

Then their caravan crunched down the gravel driveway andback to the main road, tracing Claire’s movements.

So many memories flashed in front of Jamie’s eyes –Claire burning dinner in their first apartment; Claire bravely introducing herfamily to her ex-fiancee, just a few months before; Claire’s ecstatic smile asshe showed him William for the first time; Claire’s beautiful face, just thismorning, as he gave her what they had come to call a Full English Breakfast…

If she was gone –

No.

For the bairns’ sake, he would push on. But not for hisown.

So he prayed, fervently, in every language he knew. ForGod had brought them together – why would He dare to pull them apart?

Up and down the small country lanes, high beams bobbingin the pitch dark.

A light drizzle had started.

Was she cold? Was she shivering?

He kept dialing her mobile. Over and over. And every timeit went straight to voicemail.

“You’ve reached Dr. Claire Fraser. I’m not available atthe moment – ”

“You’ve reached Dr. Claire Fraser – ”

There was no life without her.

“You’ve reached – ”

And then he turned a corner – and she was there.

Face glowing with the soft light emanating from the bootof her Volvo, rummaging around for something.

It took everything Jamie had to not run off the road ashe slammed on the brake and fell out of the car, running toward his wife like aman possessed.

“Jamie?”

Then he caught her up in a tremendous bear hug, and didn’tlet her go.

“Are ye all right? For God’s sake, Claire, are ye allright?”

“No,” she gasped. “Jamie – you’re crushing me.”

So he did let go – and her face swam with his tears.

“Hush,” she whispered, framing his face with cold hands. “Hush.It’s all right now. I’ve just got two flat tires and no mobile service. I’mfine.”

“Are ye all right? Truly?”

“Yes,” she said softly, patiently. “I’m cold and I’mstarving. You didn’t happen to bring any food, did you? I could murder someneeps and tatties right about now.”

He let out a strangled laugh, and kissed her long andhard.

“Ye gave me quite the fright,” he whispered against hertemple. “I did think ye were maybe dead.”

“Why are you so dramatic?” she teased, digging her handsin the back pockets of his jeans. “You know I can fend for myself.”

“Aye, I do. But – ” he swallowed.

“Hush, love. I know.”

Ten seconds – he counted and cherished every one of herheartbeats.

“I need to be inside ye now, Claire. I – I need to feelwhole.”

She kissed him gently. “Tonight. Let’s get home. I wantyou to take care of me. Can you do that?”

“Aye,” he pledged. “Aye, I can do that.”

She nodded. “Good. Now can you please tell whoever is onthe walkie that I’m all right, and I need a tow? I just want to go home, andkiss the children, and then be one with you.”

He inhaled the curls at the top of her head – damp withthe rain – and trotted back to the Land Rover. Murmured a few words into thewalkie – and Claire couldn’t help but smile when four cheers crackled back.

“And don’t think I won’t scold ye when we get home,”Jamie admonished. “I’m just too happy to have ye here wi’ me to say anythingelse. But don’t think ye’re getting off easy for scaring me half to death.”

She sauntered over and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ilook forward to it,” she whispered, grinding her hips against his.

He playfully smacked her bum, then wrapped her legs aroundhis hips and hoisted her up against him, leaning against the Land Rover,devouring her mouth.

Not even the beeps and high beams and cheers of Ian,Jenny, Murtagh, and Suzette broke them apart.

“Shall we leave the two of ye out here alone, then?”Murtagh jibed – silently sagging with relief against Suzette.

Claire pulled away, grinning. “If I knew it took medisappearing for him to get all riled up like this – I’d do it more often!”

“No’ bloody likely,” Jamie growled, pulling his wife backfor more.

#;mod gotham #modern glasgow au

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yosb · 9 months

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earlier this year, i did a bridgerton/regency larp! here are the silhouette portraits i cut from the ball put into a commemorative plate 🖤

(rip to my character her silhouette isnt included LOL)

#silhouette #regency #larp #bridgerton #19th century #silhouettes by suzette #larp costume #larp character #lies & liability #grimmoire productions #papercraft #paper art #silhouette art

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i-am-chandralynn · 4 years

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"To the Moon"

“To the Moon”

Moonlight Silhouette by Suzette R.

It’s Monday. It’s late and I have about three more hours of work to complete before I can allow sleep to find me. This seems a perfect time to share British Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley’s (1792-1822) “To the Moon.”

To the Moon Percy Bysshe Shelley

Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars…

View On WordPress

#lovenotesjb #British Romanticism #microblog #Microblog Mondays 2020 #moon #moon art #moon love #moonlight #National Poetry Month #night #Percy Bysshe Shelley #poem #poet #Romantic poets #tree silhouette

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oneguywithaniphone · 6 years

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July 23, 1984: Miss America resigns

On this day in 1984, 21-year-old Vanessa Williams gives up her Miss America title, the first resignation in the pageantâs history, after Penthouse magazine announces plans to publish nude photos of the beauty queen in its September issue. Williams originally made history on September 17, 1983, when she became the first black woman to win the Miss America crown. Miss New Jersey, Suzette Charles, the first runner-up and also an African American, assumed Williamsâ tiara for the two months that remained of her reign.

Vanessa Lynn Williams was born March 18, 1963, in Millwood, New York, to music teacher parents. She attended Syracuse University and studied musical theater. In 1982, while working a summer job as a receptionist at a modeling agency in Mt. Kisco, New York, photographer Thomas Chiapel took the nude pictures of Williams, telling her theyâd be shot in silhouette and that she wouldnât be recognizable. After Williams became Miss America, the photographer sold the pictures to Penthouse without her knowledge. Williams later dropped lawsuits against the magazine and photographer after it was learned that she had signed a model release form at the time the photos were taken.

from History.com - This Day in History - Lead Story https://ift.tt/OaeB6p

#IFTTT #History.com - This Day in History - Lead Story #this day in history #history channel #history

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rollingstonemag · 7 years

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Un nouvel article a été publié sur http://www.rollingstone.fr/nathalie-kosciusko-morizet-entre-janis-joplin-et-les-stones-son-coeur-vacille/

Nathalie Kosciusko-Morizet: entre Janis Joplin et les Stones, son coeur vacille

Chaque mois dans Rolling Stone, une personne du monde du spectacle, du sport ou de la politique dévoile sa passion pour le rock. Nouvel épisode avec celle qui était la seule candidate à la primaire de la droite, Nathalie Kosciusko-Morizet. Totalement décomplexée côté musique, elle aime les chansons anglo-saxonnes « à voix », plutôt pêchues et habitées. Comme le courant passe entre l’Amérique et l’Angleterre, elle a trouvé refuge musical auprès de Janis Joplin, ou encore des Stones.

Par Philippe Langlest

Soutien parmi les soutiens de François Fillon et déçue de la primaire de la droite, Nathalie Kosciusko-Morizet est en marge du milieu traditionnel de la politique française, qui est dominé par des hommes, et affiche un parcours qui force le respect (polytechnicienne spécialisée en biologie, Secrétaire d’Etat chargé de la Prospection et du Développement numérique, Ministre de l’Ecologie, du Développement durable, des Transports et du Logement…).

Candidate malheureuse à la Mairie de Paris face à Anne Hidalgo en Mars 2014, elle rebondit 8 mois plus tard quand Sarkozy reprend les rênes du parti. Adoubée par Sarko, elle occupera le poste de vice-présidente déléguée des Républicains pendant 1 an et 11 jours. Jugée trop rebelle par les Sarkozystes, elle est remplacée par l’ambitieux Laurent Vauquiez. Mais il en fallait plus pour décourager le soldat Morizet qui, regonflée à bloc, s’est lancée dans la course au parrainage pour la primaire à droite avant d’échouer dès le premier tour. Elle a dès lors affiché son soutien à François Fillon, et ne cesse de répéter qu’elle lui reste idéologiquement fidèle.

Sa passion pour le rock grandi à 18 ans avec la découverte de Janis Joplin. Sa voix l’émeut sur « Mercedes Benz », la fascine sur « Me And Boby McGee ». Pour elle, face à la voix de Janis, plus rien ne tient. Au Lycée Louis le Grand, elle découvre les Beatles et les Stones et l’incontournable (I ’Can’t Get No) Satisfaction ». Séduite par la poésie ourlée des Kinks, elle craque sur « Sunny Afternoon » et aime taper du pied sur « You Really Got Me ». Plus tard, elle naviguera entre les Red Hot, Indochine et Amy Winehouse. Aujourd’hui, elle se retrouve sur les sonorités pop-sixties du deuxième album de La Femme.

Septembre 2016: alors en piste pour la campagne des primaires de la droite, NKM accueillait Rolling Stone dans son QG parisien situé au cœur du quartier latin. Silhouette aiguisée, élégante, Nathalie Kosiusko-Morizet tournait en rond. Elle s’asseyait puis se relèvait et finissait par s’installer sur une petite chaise. Face à son bureau, une demi-douzaine d’albums et de singles qu’elle affectionne : Stones, Kinks, Janis Joplin, La Femme…Bien loin de son image de bobo chic parisien, elle nous livrait son panorama rock qui compte autant de fortes têtes que de songwriters inspirés…

Adolescente, comment avez-vous construit votre éducation musicale ?

A la maison, mes parents écoutaient très peu de musique. J’ai juste le souvenir de mon père, qui écoutait en K7 la bande originale du film La Guerre des Etoiles dans la Renault 16 familial quand on partait en vacances. (sourire). A vrai dire, mon éducation musicale, je l’ai faite en compagnie de ma grande sœur qui écoutait dans sa chambre des trucs un peu plus chouettes comme « Waterloo » ou « Gimme Gimme Gimme » du groupe Abba. Questions mélodies, le quatuor suédois maitrisait parfaitement son sujet. Vocalement, Abba possédait une touche vocale très pop, très mélodique, immédiatement identifiable encore aujourd’hui.

Je découvre le rock avec Janis Joplin quand je rentre en prépa’ au Lycée Louis Le Grand à Paris. Sur place, il y avait des internes qui étaient des vrais passionnés de rock. Musicalement, ils étaient majoritairement tournés vers le rock anglais et écoutaient surtout les Stones, les Kinks et les Beatles. Quand j’ai fait mon école d’ingénieur, j’avais pas mal de copains qui apprenaient à jouer de la guitare sur les partitions des Beatles notamment. C’est à ce moment-là, que j’ai commencé à acheter régulièrement des disques de rock.

A cette époque, au niveau des groupes de rock, vous êtes alors plutôt attiré par ce qui se fait en France, en Angleterre ou aux Etats-Unis ?

Quand j’étais étudiante, j’étais très fan des Stones et des Beatles. Il y avait dans le destin des Beatles quelque chose que je trouvais à la fois fascinant et attirant. Le groupe sort des albums essentiels comme Revolver ou Sgt.Peppers et puis soudain en Avril 1970, tout s’arrête pour des problèmes d’égos. Quel gâchis !

En fait, musicalement, je n’ai cessé de faire des allers-retours entre l’Angleterre et les Etats-Unis.

A 20 ans, je vis une période un peu sombre et je suis fasciné par le club des 27 dont font partie Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix et évidemment Janis Joplin. Outre-Atlantique, si Janis Joplin a toute de suite ma préférence, je reste partagée pour le reste. La musique des Doors a un côté hypnotique, troublant mais sans la voix de Morrison, le groupe n’aurait sans doute pas connu cette carrière. Le grain vocal très animal de Jimi Hendrix m’interpelle, mais étrangement je n’ai jamais été une inconditionnelle de ces démonstrations guitaristiques. En fait, musicalement, je n’ai cessé de faire des allers-retours entre l’Angleterre et les Etats-Unis.

Revenons à Janis Joplin: avec quel album découvrez-vous sa musique ?

Janis Joplin arrive dans ma période sombre, celle du destin. A ce moment-là, j’avais 2 passions : Jean Anouilh pour le théâtre et Janis Joplin pour la musique. Je découvre son univers musical sur un Greatest Hits puis je me mets à écouter l’album Pearl. Pour moi, Janis Joplin c’est davantage un choix philosophique qu’un choix musical. « Mercedes Benz » et « Me And Bobby McGee » bercent mes journées. Il y avait quelque chose de fascinant dans la vie de Janis, entre cette personnalité public assez punchy, assez acide, réputée forte tête et la personne qu’elle était dans la vraie vie, beaucoup plus fragile et réservée.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfjon-ZTqzU

Qu’est- ce qui vous plait immédiatement chez elle ?

Janis Joplin a une voix qui vous porte au cœur. C’est une voix déchirée qui porte une vraie souffrance. C’est évident, quand vous l’écoutez sur « Piece Of My Heart » ou « Cry Baby ». Quand elle chante ses chansons, elle n’est pas en train de vous faire mal mais elle vous dit qu’elle a mal.

Votre premier choc musical, c’est Janis Joplin ?

Oui. Mon premier vrai choc musical, c’est la chanson « Me And Bobby McGee » de Janis Joplin.

Passons à Bob Dylan. Artistiquement, vous le préférez à quelle époque ?

Je ne suis pas un dingue de Dylan aujourd’hui. Je préfère le Robert Zimmerman engagé des 60’s avec « Blowin’ In The Wind » ou « Like A Rolling Stone ». Ses paroles avaient du sens, ça sonne juste, il y a de l’émotion. On sent vraiment que Dylan a mis ces tripes dans sa musique. L’engagement politique dans le rock me touche et Dylan en reste l’étendard pour toute une génération. Indiscutablement, il y a écrit ces meilleurs chansons au début de sa carrière. Dans le registre folk, j’apprécie aussi Leonard Cohen..

Qu’est-ce que vous attire chez Leonard Cohen ?

Sa voix .Elle m’apaise, m’envoute. Elle ne triche pas. Dans ces chansons, il y a une part de mystère et de la vraie sentimentalité. Quand j’écoute la chanson « Sisters Of Mercy » par exemple, extrait de l’album Songs Of Leonard Cohen, j’éprouve un vrai sentiment de quiétude.

Au début des années 90, vous faites Polytechnique, en pleine période grunge et au début de la vague brit pop. Vous étiez plutôt Nirvana ? Ou Oasis ?

Ni l’un, ni l’autre. Je me souviens d’avoir écouté des titres de Nirvana dans des fêtes mais sans grande dévotion. La fin du groupe s’est terminée tragiquement et Kurt Cobain a intégré lui aussi le club des 27. Je n’ai jamais été très porté sur Oasis, j’ai toujours préféré la copie à l’original. Mais, il y a bien pire qu’Oasis. A une période de ma vie, j’ai dû m’adapter à l’ambiance musicale locale…

C’est à dire…

Quand j’ai fait mon service militaire dans la marine à 19 ans, j’étais officier de quart à bord d’un bâtiment de guerre basé à Djibouti. Je me souviens que les militaires écoutaient en boucle Danny Brillant et sa « Suzette ».

Quand vous êtes loin de chez vous, sans Janis, ni Stones, ni Beatles avec juste Danny Brillant en fond sonore, c’est dur, très dur !

Une vraie punition! Quand vous êtes loin de chez vous, sans Janis, ni Stones, ni Beatles avec juste Danny Brillant en fond sonore, c’est dur, très dur (rire)!

Revenons aux Rolling Stones. Comment se passe le déclic ?

Comme j’ai toujours fonctionné, plus en singles qu’en albums, je découvre les Stones avec « Satisfaction ». A 18 ans, la voix du destin c’était Janis Joplin et pour le texte c’était «(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction » des Stones. On ne va pas se satisfaire de ce qu’on vous donne avec le son de guitare de Keith Richards et la voix sexy de Mick Jagger. Avant d’être une revendication, c’est une insatisfaction. L’insatisfaction est un message politique. En fait, c’est une revendication à l’égard du pouvoir.

Vous les avez vu sur scène ?

J’ai eu la chance de les voir sur scène au Stade de France, le 13 juin 2014. J’avais des places dans le carré VIP au milieu du Stade France. Dès les premiers riffs de « Jumpin’ Jack Flash », j’ai aussitôt abandonné le carré VIP pour me retrouver devant la scène.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQSGw0hMd_I

J’étais estomaqué par l’énergie de Mick Jagger avec sa chemise à jabot prune. Il était mince, sec et tenait la scène avec un sens du show incroyable. C’est un front-man hors pair, capable de créer une proximité avec chaque spectateur. A un moment, je me suis dit : « un jour, je veux faire un meeting politique qui ressemblerait en terme d’énergie à un concert de Mick Jagger ». Evidemment, il faut le faire à un stade politique de votre vie ou vous pouvez réunir 80 000 personnes, sinon vous risquez le bide (rire). Ce soir-là, tous les titres fonctionnaient à merveille, de « Paint It Black » à « Gimme Shelter » en passant « Let’s Spend The Night Together ». Jagger m’a vraiment bluffé !

Et Keith Richards ?

Bien sûr. Tous les deux sont indissociables de la griffe stonienne. Mick et Keith ont signé leurs meilleurs titres ensemble, c’est évident. Mais pour moi, les Stones c’est Mick ! Chez Keith , il y a beaucoup de tendresse Quand il déboule sur la scène du Stade de France, avec son bandeau dans les cheveux aux couleurs de la Jamaïque, on voit toute de suite qu’il est ravi d’être là. Quand il reprend son traditionnel « Happy », les gens l’applaudissent, scandent son nom. On aurait envie de discuter avec Keith, de sympathiser mais il ne dégage pas le même sentiment surnaturel qui se produit avec Jagger sur scène. Quoi qu’il en soit, c’était un concert vraiment fabuleux.

Pensez à un morceau en particulier pour animer vos meetings ?

« You Really Got Me » de The Kinks . C’est un morceau rock que j’adore, il est pêchu et vous donne envie de taper du pied dès la première rafale de riffs. Pour une entrée de début de meeting, ça le ferait. A fond !

Passons à votre panthéon musical, quels sont les albums rock que vous n’échangeriez rien pour rien au monde ?

En tête de peloton, il y a Janis Joplin et l’album Pearl, c’est sûr. Ensuite, un Beatles, donc Sgt.Peppers que j’adore dans son intégralité. Après, c’est davantage des singles comme « Sunny Afternoon » des Kinks par exemple. Il y a une grande qualité d’écriture dans les chansons de Ray Davies, comme un parfum de thé à la bergamote (sourire).

Juste à côté de Janis, il y a aussi la voix pleine de soul d’Amy Winehouse

Dans mon panthéon musical, je ne peux pas passer à côté de « Sisters Of Mercy » de Leonard Cohen, c’est un morceau que j’écoute régulièrement. Pour les jours sombres, il y a aussi « Walk On The Wild Side » de Lou Reed. Je conserve un petit faible pour le rock en fusion de Californication des Red Hot Chili Peppers qui m’évoque de bons souvenirs. Juste à côté de Janis, il y a aussi la voix pleine de soul d’Amy Winehouse. Encore une de plus qui s’est retrouvée dans le club des 27. J’ai suivi sa courte carrière, de l’album Frank à Back To Black. Tout comme comme Janis, elle aussi n’a pas eu une vie facile. A la fin de sa carrière, je crois qu’Amy a rencontré plus de tuiles qu’on n’en rencontre dans une vie entière.

Si je vous dis rock français, ça vous évoque quoi ?

Téléphone et Indochine forcément. Dans le répertoire du groupe Indochine, j’ai une préférence toute particulière pour « J’ai Demandé A La Lune ». Il y a un côté solaire dans cette chanson. Autrement, j’aimais bien les Négresses Vertes à une époque, leurs chansons sentaient la bonne humeur et le soleil. Dernièrement, j’ai découvert HK et les Saltimbanques. C’est du rock alternatif avec de très bons textes. On sent que le chanteur a mis son âme dans sa musique.

Vous n’avez pas eu votre période Noir Désir ?

Non. Je n’ai jamais accroché à leur musique.

Quelle est votre dernière découverte musicale ?

J’adore le groupe La Femme. A 6 ou 7 musiciens, ils composent des chansons rafraîchissantes , dansantes et fredonnables. Il y a dans leurs chansons une ambiance avec un petit côté yéyé sixties qui me va bien. En ce moment, j’écoute beaucoup leur chanson « Où Va Le Monde ? » par exemple. C’est une ritournelle pop parfaite qui a un pouvoir de séduction immédiat. Je suis très fan de leur deuxième album Mystère.

Si vous n’aviez pas été une femme politique, vous seriez-vous vu dans la peau d’une rock star ?

En toute objectivité, je rêverais d’ avoir la voix de Janis Joplin et la longévité de Mick Jagger (sourire).

#élection présidentielle 2017 #Janis Joplin #les républicains #Nathalie Kosciusko-Morizet #The Rolling Stones

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