|Arrival date:||October 19, 2008|
|Birthdate:||July 22, 1973|
|Portrayed by:||Rufus Wainwright|
|Journal:||Can you smoke in here?|
Jeremy comes from the oft overlooked film Heights, based on the play of the same name. Spoilers within, sort of, though not for the main plot of the film.
If you want the truth about Jeremy, just watch him, rather than ask him. If you ask him, you're almost guaranteed to get a lie. He's slightly taller than average, with a slim build, though not too painfully thin. He's got messy brown hair and eyes that are blue or green or somewhere in between. Even when he dresses down, he still dresses impeccably. Those wrinkles in his trousers are there on purpose. While he's 32, he usually passes for younger, which suits him just fine. He speaks in a bored drawl, accent fluctuating so much that you wind up with no idea where he's really from, which is just how he likes it.
If you ask Jeremy to tell you his life story, he'll probably skip over the details and instead talk about his time in New York and London, working hard to make a name for himself in the theatre world. Or maybe he'll tell you about some nomadic childhood in New England, or perhaps a very quiet, unexpected life in the country's heartland, or even of growing up practically on Broadway, with fate leading him towards stardom. Whatever he tells you, it will probably be a lie. He's an actor, he's good at being whoever you want him to be.
At the end of the day, though, it doesn't really matter from where Jeremy came. All that matters is that he's another thirty-something New Yorker, searching for those elusive fifteen minutes of fame. Jeremy could be any determined-yet-jaded young actor in the city. Beautiful and talented and charming, and oh, you'd best believe that he knows how to use every last charm he's got to his advantage.
He spends his time carving out a place for himself in the theatre world. He's worked his way up from the bottom, gathering more attention in New York than perhaps he ever thought possible, he's done London's West End. He's got enough on his resume that he's no longer the new kid struggling to get auditions and waiting tables in the meanwhile. Getting parts comes easier now, and sometimes they find him rather than the other way around. Knowing Diana Lee, a renowned and respected actress, has helped some, too.
Jeremy's good and he knows it. He'd say that he was brilliant, really; some people would disagree. One of those who would disagree is photographer Benjamin Stone, who draws his inspiration from his models... and then sleeps with them. Jeremy put Benjamin out of his mind and out of his life a long time ago – really, a fling like that doesn't deserve any attention, no matter how good it was – but it all comes back when he least expects it, brought on by a phone call from one intrepid writer, Peter. He feels sorry for the poor guy, posh little writer having to go around and interview all of Benjamin's conquests, when he's really just another notch on the bedpost himself. It must be just absolutely excruciating. He invites poor Peter to a party Diana's throwing. Benjamin probably fucked half of the people there, anyway; it would be a great angle for the story. He'd invite Peter to more than just a party, but the guy doesn't seem to take hints very well.
He knows how parties like this go. Arrive late and make an entrance, stay long enough to get a bit buzzed on the free liquor and maybe pick up a few phone numbers – jobs, hookups, after a while, it's all the same – and then head out to the next party. Jeremy's on his way out of Diana's building, but instead of finding himself on the concrete sidewalks of New York, he finds himself on the dusty trails of Canyon Ridge.
And there's not even a goddamn canyon.
Jeremy's saucy like no other.
Inventory Upon ArrivalEdit
- One blue t-shirt
- One black sportcoat
- One pair of blue jeans
- One black leather belt
- One pair of black leather dress shoes
- One red patterned scarf
- One pack of cigarettes, four remaining
- One lit cigarette, in hand
- Three rings on fingers
- One lighter, almost empty
- One cell phone, Motorola Razr V3, 85% charged
- One black leather wallet, containing:
- One New York driver's license
- One MetroCard (NYC public transportation)
- Two credit cards and one debit card
- Three condoms
- Thirty-eight dollars
- Various business cards, receipts, and scraps of paper
- One black messenger bag, containing:
- Three manuscripts for plays, well-worn and marked up
- Two packs of cigarettes, unopened
- One lighter and one matchbook
- Assorted pens and pencils
- One bottle of water
- One pair of sunglasses
- One set of keys to his apartment
- One phone charger (the kind that plugs into walls)
- One travel-sized tube of hand lotion, half full
- One empty plastic bag
- Various bottom-of-bag type detritus: empty gum wrappers, crumpled receipts, crumbs, pen caps that have no pens, a few paperclips
In Canyon Ridge...Edit
- For Christmas 2008, Jeremy received an armoire full of designer clothes (suits, ties, shirts, jeans, shoes, etc.). This makes him far, far happier than you could possibly imagine.