DAMEN, merrick hassim

[mary]

EIGHTEEN. LOCAL. HETEROSEXUAL. SINCERE. JACK BARAKAT.
( MERRICK HASSIM DAMEN )

I SEE YOUR EYES, YOU'RE BARELY SOBER.
I HEAR YOUR VOICE, YOU'RE CALLING OUT FROM ME TO YOU.
the character

Merrick: English. The name of the doctor who informed Nayal Damen that she was expecting--for the eighth time. Elias promised him that if the baby made it to term, they'd name the child after him. Hassim: Arabic. A family name, misspelled by a distraught Elias as he filled out his son's birth certificate and his wife's death certificate.

DAMEN
The fashion designer broke onto the scene in 1991. His designs were new, different, but still simple and workable. Celebs wanted them, average people wanted them, they were enviromentally friend and animal safe. In nineteen years, Elias Damen has become a household name, close to names like Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein. His empire ranges from jeans, slacks, suits, wedding dresses, swimwear, underwear, bags, shoes, perfume--you can't go to a fashion event or open a magazine without seeing something by Elias Damen. Openly muslim but hardly political, you know this man.

Then there's his son. Raised mostly by his grandmother, Mary Damen (as his friends call him, but make no mistake--he is all male) makes no mistake of where he comes from. He knows who his father is, he knows he's fabulously wealthy. He has lived in New York, Paris, Milan, Venice, London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Dubai, Los Angeles, Miami, Vancouver, and has rubbed elbows with (and had his cheek kissed by) some of the most glamorous people on the planet. Since his tenth birthday, his father has been sending him cheques for ten thousand dollars every single month, half of which he saves, a quarter of he donates to the mosque, and then the other half he spends. His wardrobe is bigger than yours ever will be, his father bought him a prius for a sixteenth birthday, and he should be a diva.

But he isn't. To first look at Mary is to see a spoiled rotten brat. He has a two thousand dollar rolex on his wrist, a pair of sneakers that cost more than your first car, an outfit picked out from the finest boutiques. Then you talk to him. He's verbose, sweet, genuine, kind. He works as hard as he can to climb to the top of his class, planning on attending Harvard Medical school to specialize in obstetrics/gynecology. He volunteers at the food bank, works at the hospital, helps out with everything he can. He always knows who you are and he'll always talk to you. He's shy and awkward around girls he likes, and he's an (almost) devout muslim. He follows all the big rules, but a few westernized customs caused him to break some. Case and point, his ex-porn star fiancee is pregnant with his child.

SO SAY THAT YOU JUST WANT TO RUN AWAY.
AND REPLAY ALL THE THINGS THAT I TRIED TO SAY.
behind the character

hhey bitches, it's Theresa and i've been pimpin' these hoes for about eight. i know right, it's great isn't it? need to get a hold of me? hit me up by PM, AIM, MSN. i'm also in the mountain time zone just so you know. don't need to be telling you people twice. also meet the rest of my lovely babies, Jackie, when I make him.!

For the first time in what seemed like a while, Jackie had a day off. A real day off--not one where he sat at home in his office all day working on a case. No, when he woke up that Saturday, he felt a sense of relief unlike anything. He didn't have to do anything. He didn't have to get dressed, or get out of bed, or shower--no, scratch that. Showers were needed. There wasn't any way the twenty-seven year old lawyer was going to let his trademark hair sit in unwashed fallow for a day. His hair was actually one of many secret weapons that he used in the courtroom. His appearance was constructed specifically to make him look weak and innocent. He already had a tiny frame, a long slender body stacked precariously on much too skinny legs, and having overly done hair made him look incompetent. That was his goal. If he looked incompetent in a courtroom, the other lawyer and their client would get lazy, let down their guard, and Jack would sweep in for the kill shot. Yes--Jackie was one hell of a shrewd lawyer. He inherited it from his father. Nicholas Wilson had lost maybe three cases in his entire career, and Jackie knew he had thrown one. Jackie had never thrown a case. He never would.

Another perk of having a day off was that he got to spend the day with his lovely wife. She was incredibly beautiful, smart, sweet, funny, genuine--the exact thing Jackie would fall in love with if he liked women. If he liked women...it was a thought that plagued him constantly. He wasn't physically attracted to his wife. He knew he should be...he had to send nasty glares at enough men whenever they went out anywhere. Ella was stunningly gorgeous. More than once she had taken his breath away when she had stepped out in an outfit, or with a new haircut, but it was never the right kind of sexy to him. He could play all the right cards, say all the right things, touch all the right places...playing straight was something Jackie had always been exceptional at. He could even play straight where it mattered most. And he did. Constantly. And that performance was worthy of an Oscar. Or at least, Gabriella's was, but he read enough Cosmopolitan magazines and watched enough Manswers to know when a girl was faking it. Jackie was a beast in the sack, regardless of what was between the other person's legs.

So he had woken up that morning, at exactly 6:15 without an alarm clock, placed sweet soft kisses on Gabriella's shoulders as he buried her face in her hair (as gay as he may have been, he adored his wife. He still wanted to spend constant time with her, but it was more like spending time with one's best friend.) Before he crawled out of the bed, slipped his pajama buttons off and walked into the shower. He showered as quickly as someone who manickedly washed their hair twice and conditioned it could,, before wrapping a towel around his waist and blowdrying his hair. With his morning ritual completed (including taking a minute to rub at his almost stubbly chin and deciding he'd be good on shaving for another week) Jackie wandered back to the bedroom to dress in non-work attire (oh skinny denim, how he had missed you) before making his way to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

As Jackie was sitting at the island sipping his hot drink, he took a moment to check his blackberry. The lack of messages from Elias (so far) was a slight bit of comfort to him, meaning the nasty rich man who liked to use Jackie wasn't in the mood for his body. No messages from Josie meant the woman who allegedly had photographic proof of his...ahem...nighttime affairs was enjoying the cheque he had given her. He hated this. He wondered how long it would be until everything began to fall apart. Elias would call, Ella might answer Jackie's phone. He'd be left with bruises that would be impossible to explain. Josie would tell. He was afraid of a little bitchy nineteen year old girl. He sipped his drink again, running a hand down his face. Maybe Ella would notice the sudden disappearance of ten thousand dollars. Jackie was well off, but he wasn't that rich. Balancing the chequebook following that little withdrawal had ached.

Part of him wondered if Ella knew he was this stressed. If she did, he knew he should be expecting divorce papers.