Chapter Text
Belle glanced at her watch and then at the line ahead of her at Starbucks. She should have known better than to think this would be a quick errand. The shop was filling up quickly for so early in the morning, the chatter rising as people met for coffee.
Her eyes flicked towards the list of coffee orders in her hand and then once again at the moving line. When she moved from Villeneuve to Los Angeles a year ago, she certainly didn’t expect it to be easy, but she also didn’t foresee retrieving coffee nearly a year later. She was lucky enough to have landed a job as an assistant at a small production company. That luck didn’t extend to her seven completed scripts that had either been turned down or she couldn’t get anyone to look at.
She stepped up the counter and rattled off the five coffee orders to the sleepy-eyed barista. She moved aside and looked around the shop absentmindedly. Three people were already taking advantage of the free wifi, a man was half asleep in his breakfast sandwich, and a young woman was glued to a magazine that sported a blond man with bold yellow letters that read, “Adam’s Spat with Cadenza.”
She rolled her eyes at the last one. Adam Bête had been in the tabloids a lot recently. His selfish behavior, bad temper, and his (admittedly) good looks often wound him up on the cover of a magazine one way or another. Despite being a talented actor with an impressive roster of movies and TV shows, his worsening reputation was making it more difficult to acquire roles, magazines reported. She was quite sick of seeing him.
Another barista handed her the order and she thanked him, juggling the carriers. She walked towards the door, prepared to push it open with her hip when someone pulled the door open for her.
She looked up, startled. “Oh, thank you.”
“Belle!” a voice boomed grandly. A voice that belonged to Claude Lumiere, one half of the publicist duo for the aforementioned movie star. Perhaps not the best publicist, Belle thought as she recalled Adam’s spiraling reputation.
Belle had the fortune of meeting Lumiere a few months ago, working on the set of a smaller movie production for another one of his clients. She had nearly taken him out with a sound mic she had been carrying. He was a kind man who had a flair for the dramatic and an odd obsession with the color gold. He was much nicer than most of the people she had encountered in LA, even offering to read her unfinished screenplay at the time.
They moved out of the doorway as another customer came in, the woman grumbling at them under her breath.
“How have you been?” she asked, smiling.
He fluttered his hand and started to speak when his gaze zeroed in on something behind her. Catching his grimace, she turned and once again saw the woman reading her magazine.
“Busy,” he finally answered with a slightly strained smile.
She nodded sympathetically.
“But enough about me,” he plowed on with a grin. “How is that script of yours? You must be overwhelmed with offers already, I’m sure.”
She could tell he expected good news by the tone of his voice and the brightness of his smile. She barely suppressed her frown.
“It’s finished,” she offered. He raised an eyebrow at her, prodding her for more information. She tried to smile optimistically, but she was sure it came out as more of a grimace. She would not allow herself to be embarrassed that she had seven finished manuscripts collecting dust. These things just take time, she assured herself mentally. “It’s slow going,” she finally admitted aloud. “Everything in LA is so fast-paced and busy,” she continued, “It’s difficult getting the right set of eyes on the script, but,” she trailed off, shrugging half-heartedly.
“Don’t give up hope just yet, ma chère,” he assured. There was a glint forming in his eyes that Belle quickly learned was dangerous.
“It was nice seeing you again,” Belle said with a kind smile.
He nodded in agreement, slightly distracted. He held the door open for her and she rushed to her car to deliver the coffee in her arms.
—
Engrossed in her writing, Belle nearly jumped at the intrusion of her ringing phone. Her dad’s face flashed on the screen and although she missed him terribly and looked forward to talking to him, she also felt a certain amount of dread. She never wanted to give him bad news, so she embellished...but only slightly. She pushed her laptop aside and grabbed for her phone.
“Hi, Papa,” she answered.
“Belle,” he replied warmly. She could envision his happy smile as he spoke.
Ever since she was young she longed to escape her small French town. Villeneuve was just the right size where everyone knew everyone. It was what drew her father there after her mother died. Something quaint, he always told her, something small and safe. It never felt right to Belle. The citizens of Villeneuve were a judgemental type and they always viewed Belle as a little too curious, a little too bold, a little strange. They couldn’t fathom Belle’s desire to escape, for adventure. Her dream of moving away and becoming a writer was met with derision. She knew her father received questions about her often, but they were more interested in her failure than her success.
She had told Maurice about recently submitting a script to a production company and as he steered the conversation that way, she grimaced. Needless to say, she hadn’t heard back from them yet.
“Just a little while longer, I’m sure,” she assured him in the most confident tone she could muster. “These big Hollywood types run on their own schedule.”
The longer she talked to him, listening to his soft voice, the more homesick she got. Leaving him was the hardest part about moving to the United States. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to France and she knew he wanted her to have her own adventure. She missed him so much and although she longed for adventure, it was always nice to have someone to share it with. She knew now that he would be ready to move to LA, so they could be closer. Maurice was an aging artist, whose hands shook from arthritis. His retirement fund was small, his clientele dwindling, and she worried about her father being all by himself. She needed to make a name for herself so she could take care of both of them.
“I promise you’ll be the first one I tell when I hear from them.” She congratulated herself for remembering to say when and not if. “I’ll call you soon with good news,” she assured before they exchanged goodbyes. Her people of Villeneuve didn’t admire her stubbornness either, but as she hung up the phone, she knew her resolve would help her establish a career one way or another.
She pulled her laptop closer to her to resume writing. Her eye caught on the notification of her open email tab. Switching tabs, her eyebrows rose in surprise as she spotted Lumiere’s name. She opened the email and couldn’t stop the grin from breaking across her face as Lumiere requested Belle to meet him for a business opportunity.
Maybe things were already looking up.
—
Excitement clenched in her stomach as a red haired secretary led Belle to Claude Lumiere’s office. Lumiere hadn’t mentioned exactly what the business opportunity he was offering her entailed, he just requested her to meet with him. There was a strong possibility that he wasn’t getting eyes on one of her finished scripts, but asking her to write for something completely different. Regardless, she was finally getting her writing out there.
The woman held the door open for Belle and she thanked her. She walked into an office that was lavishly decorated, something she would have expected from Lumiere. High windows covered by blinds lit the space, the sunlight catching on the accents of gold scattered on the large wooden desk and embroidered in the chairs surrounding it. Lumiere sat casually at his desk while an older, balding man stood tersely next to him.
“Belle!” Lumiere greeted, reminding her of their runin at the coffee shop. She idly wondered if this was how he greeted everyone. “It’s so nice to see you again. I don’t believe you’ve met my partner, Jean Cogsworth.”
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you.” She stepped forward to shake the older man’s hand. His handshake was gentle and delicate. His name sounded familiar, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Her nerves grabbed at her stomach once more as she thought maybe he was the head of a production company.
“Cogsworth and I,” Lumiere continued, “Are both publicists for Adam Bête.”
“Lord knows he needs more than two,” Cogsworth grumbled as he crossed his arms.
Belle’s nerves died down and confusion took its place. Her eyes flicked between the two men. Lumiere must have seen the hesitation on her face because he plowed forward.
“As you may know, Adam’s reputation has been—”
“Unseemly!” Cogsworth barked.
“Word has gotten around that his actions on set...leave something to be desired,” Lumiere said. She knew he was sugarcoating the situation. Cogsworth harrumphed. “This image of—”
“Of a selfish, vain, short tempered little boy,” his partner once again interrupted.
“Has had the effect one would expect,” Lumiere continued, unfazed. “Roles have been harder to secure, particularly since the unfortunate incident with Cadenza.” His eyes flicked towards Cogsworth, seeming to expect him to interrupt. The older man stayed quiet, surprisingly. “What Adam needs is an updated image. One that casts him in a better light.”
Belle’s eyebrows furrowed. This certainly wasn’t what she expected. “Do you,” she paused, unsure, “Do you want me to join your publicity team?”
Cogsworth laughed, short, wheezy little laughs that had Belle offended and made her temper flare.
“Not quite,” Lumiere said, catching the ire that flashed across her face. He paused, trying to figure out the best way to say it. “We have a proposition. We would like you to...pretend to see Adam for a year and in exchange, we’ll get your work in the hands of producers. It all works out, right?” he said, almost proud of his ingenious. “Adam gets the image of a devoted boyfriend and you’ll finally get your scripts produced.”
The words finally settled for Belle. The anger that had calmed down when Lumiere interrupted Cogsworth’s laughing came back quickly. Her hands curled in fists once before releasing. “You want me to-to prostitute myself!”
Lumiere looked at her in alarm. “Prosti—”
“As if that’s the only way I can get a producer to consider my script!” she continued, outraged. “By selling myself.”
“Selling yourself?” Cogsworth began to question. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“By being in a relationship with some insolent celebrity,” Belle fumed. “For a year. A year of my life…” she trailed off, far too angry to even find the words to continue.
“Belle,” Lumiere placated, “Ma chere. No one’s asking you to ‘sell yourself.’ We’re asking for you to simply fake a relationship.”
“This is Hollywood, dear,” Cogsworth explained. “This happens all the time.”
“We’ll pose a few outings, you’ll go to a few premiers, answer some interviews.”
“I thought you asked me here because you valued my writing. Not because you wanted me to make some spoiled actor look better,” Belle said, almost defeated. Did he even care for her scripts? Or did he offer that only to get her to say yes, to use her. Was this the only way to make it as a writer?
“I do!” he assured, putting his hands up in earnest. “You’re a talented writer, Belle. Hollywood is a tough game. I want to help you, Belle. I just thought—”
“We could help each other,” Cogsworth offered. He gestured towards her. “You have a sweet face, dear, and a kind disposition. If Adam ‘dated’ someone like you, everyone will think he’s a changed man.”
Belle ran a hand through her hair, stressed. Her eyes caught on the vibrant golden flowers in the corner of Lumiere’s office, recognizing the roses. She suddenly thought of her father and how desperately she needed to succeed in Los Angeles, so she could support both of them.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Lumiere finally offered, seeming distressed himself.
“I,” Belle hesitated. She felt frustrated. Frustrated that this was her best chance, that she couldn’t do it on her own. She glanced once more at the flowers and she clenched her fists, already knowing the answer. “I’ll do it.”