Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Mar 5, 2008 11:22:31 GMT -5
Title: A Twisted Turn of Events
Cast: Esmé Squalor; Jerome Squalor; Emma Squalor; Carmelita Spats; Vice Principal Nero; (more characters to come).
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of the characters or places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Emma Squalor belongs to me.
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Genre: Alternate Universe/Drama/Romance
Story-Type: Multiple-Chapter
Status: Incomplete
Summery: When a mysterious stranger makes an attempt to contact Emma, suspicions start to arise and the past that Esmé believes she buried thirteen years earlier comes back to haunt her…
As the spring rain pelted against the full-scale windows of the sixty-fifth bedroom in the penthouse apartment at 667 Dark Avenue, Esmé Squalor rolled over in her grand bed. Sleeping peacefully beside her was her husband, Jerome, and she nuzzled affectionately into his bare shoulder.
“Wake up, sleepy-head,” Esmé whispered into his ear, and Jerome grunted. “You know what day it is.”
Once more, he grunted and slid himself deeper beneath the covers. His wife followed and pressed herself firmly against him, the only thing separating their bodies from one another being her thin silk nightgown and his boxer shorts.
“Jerome?”
“Hmm?”
“You do remember what today is, don’t you?” Esmé asked.
“Of course I do, darling,” Jerome replied drowsily without opening his eyes. “It’s Saturday, the day I sleep in and arrange my ties.”
Esmé rolled her eyes. “Sleeping in has been out for weeks. And you just arranged your ties the other day. Think harder, Jerome.”
Jerome couldn’t help but smile to himself while he waited to see how long it took his wife to become frustrated with him for his ostensible incompetence. It usually didn’t take longer than a few seconds before Esmé grew angry enough to result to drastic action, and Jerome was interested in seeing what would happen.
A moment later, he felt her snatch the pillow out from underneath his head and hit him with it. Laughing, Jerome wrapped his arm around Esmé’s neck and pulled her down into a headlock. He kissed her on the cheek before rolling over and yanking her down into the bed with him. He threw the comforter up over their heads and was just about to start tugging off his boxers when they both felt something leap onto the bed.
“Good morning!” a cheerful voice echoed from outside the blankets. “Guess who?”
“Emma,” Esmé said as she lowered the comforter to reveal her thirteen-year-old daughter kneeling at the edge of the bed. “Darling, we’ve talked about this many times. You really must remember to knock before entering another person’s bedroom.”
Emma grinned sheepishly and looked down at her hands in the same way her stepfather did every time he was embarrassed about something. “Sorry,” she replied. “I’ll remember next time. I promise.”
Jerome was quick to change the subject. “So, Emma,” he said. “Are you excited about tonight?”
Unable to contain her excitement, Emma bounced up and down on her parents’ bed. “You bet I am! I’ve only been looking forward to it for months and months!”
“You know,” Esmé said modestly as she laced her long, sharp-nailed hands around her husband’s arm, “I, too once performed the lead role in a theatrical production of The World is Quiet Here, and so I can’t help but feel that you’re actually following in my footsteps, Emma.”
“Walter Dali is going to be my leading man,” Emma replied proudly. “Who was yours, Mother?”
Immediately, the smile faded from Esmé’s pretty face and she hung her head. It wasn’t often she said something pertaining to her daughter’s biological father, but when she did it always reminded her of that hollow feeling in her life that she had never quite been able to fill.
Emma had grown up believing that her father had been a firefighter who had died in the line of duty nine months before she was born. She knew it hurt Esmé to speak of him, and so Emma made an effort to never bring up the subject.
“I— I’m sorry,” she said, and it was evident from the way she spoke that she was genuinely confused. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, sweetheart,” Jerome told her quickly. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you run along and get dressed? Then we can all go someplace nice for breakfast. How does the Veritable French Diner sound?”
“It sounds smashing.” Emma turned to her mother, who was clinging to Jerome as if she was a small child rather than a grown woman. “What about Mother?”
“I’m alright, Emma,” Esmé said without looking at her daughter. “Just do as Jerome says.”
“O… Okay,” replied Emma, as she slid slowly off the bed and tracked back towards the door. “You’re sure you’re—”
“I’m fine.”
Jerome waited until the door had closed and he was certain that Emma was out of earshot before turning to his wife. “Are you alright, Esmé?” he asked.
Without lifting her head, she nodded. “Positive,” she said.
Jerome had a sneaking suspicion what it was that was making Esmé so uneasy, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud. Instead, he pried his arm out of her grip and slipped it around her. “Emma won’t be back for a while,” he said. “You know how she takes after you when it comes to fixing herself up in the mornings.” He had hoped that would at least get a smile out of Esmé, but when his attempt failed he frowned. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Oh, darling, please don’t do this. You know how it makes me feel.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Jerome.”
“I know that, Esmé,” he replied patiently. “I never insinuated any such thing.”
“I know you didn’t,” Esmé said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But please. Let’s just drop the conversation before I say something I’ll regret.”
“Well, I don’t want to argue with you.”
Smiling a little, Esmé lifted her head and kissed Jerome on the cheek. “Listen— I’m going to go ahead and hop in the shower. Will you do me a favor and telephone Carmelita to remind her of Emma’s recital? It’s just that Carmelita’s become so unfocused since the twins were born, and as much as I like him you and I both know that we can’t really rely on Nero to give her the message. This is Emma’s first theatrical performance of the year, and it will break her heart if her sister isn’t there to see it.”
“I certainly will, darling,” Jerome said, and kissed Esmé on the nose. “Now, go get ready and leave everything to me.”
“Thank you, honey,” she said, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she was getting up, she felt a slight tap on her rear.
Turning back, Esmé couldn’t help but smile at the innocent look on Jerome’s face. Her eyes traveled from his face and down to his stomach, which curved over his boxers in the sweetest, most perfect way one could possibly imagine. Combined with the innocence of his expression, this was enough to send Esmé diving across the bed where she landed on top of Jerome.
“Well, maybe I can spare a few minutes,” she said.
“What changed your mind?” he asked.
Instead of answering, she decided to show him by way of pressing her palm against the softness of his stomach.
“Oh…”
“I love you,” Esmé said, and Jerome tugged off his boxers.
Half an hour later, while Esmé was in the shower and Jerome was shuffling through the drawer of the bedside table for Carmelita’s telephone number, Emma was just finishing up in the bathroom at the other end of the hall.
The youngest Squalor was busy combing out her long, dark hair when the doorbell rang. Setting down her comb, she dashed out of the bathroom and down the hallway to answer the door.
When she got there, she was surprised to see the postman standing there with a bouquet of two dozen red roses. “Emma Squalor?” he asked.
“Yes?” she replied.
“These just arrived for you,” the postman explained, and handed Emma the flowers.
Emma’s eyes widened. She had been given roses before— mostly on the opening night of a performance and for her birthday. But never this many! The only time she had ever seen two dozen roses in the penthouse was when Jerome gave them to Esmé as a gift. When he gave Emma roses, it was never more than a dozen.
“Who are they from?” asked Emma.
“I haven’t a clue,” replied the postman as he handed her a pad of paper and pen. “I just deliver the mail. But I will require your signature.”
“Sure, no problem.” Quickly, Emma scribbled her name down onto the paper and then handed it and the pen back to the postman.
“Have a nice day,” he said, and left.
Emma closed the door behind him and then flopped down into one of the extra comfy chairs in the hallway, completely speechless. When it finally occurred to her to see if there was a card attached to the roses, she was surprised and even a little frustrated to find there wasn’t one.
Who would send her flowers and not even bother to attach a card?
“Weird,” she said.
“Emma, who was that at the door just now?”
Emma turned to see her stepfather standing halfway between the hallway and the entrance to the rest of the apartment in his robe. In one hand he held the cordless telephone he and Esmé kept in their bedroom, while in the other he clutched a piece of paper on which was written Carmelita’s telephone number.
“What pretty flowers,” Jerome added as his eyes caught sight of the bouquet in his daughter’s arms. “Where did they come from?”
“The postman brought them,” Emma explained. “But I have no idea who could have sent them because there isn’t a card.”
Jerome sat down on the loveseat across from her. “Maybe Walter sent them. Or Mr. St. Clair. After all, you are his star pupil.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, let’s not worry about it now,” Jerome said. “Your mother’s almost ready to go and if we don’t arrive at the diner before ten they’ll refuse to serve us breakfast. And I’m looking forward to my pancakes.” He smiled. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll find out at tonight’s show who sent you the roses.”
“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “You’re probably right, Jerome.”
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen and pick out a vase to put your roses in?”
“Okay.”
Emma got up, and together she and her stepfather headed for the kitchen.
Jerome and Emma had just finished arranging the roses inside a white ceramic vase on the countertop when Esmé walked into the kitchen.
“I’m ready to go,” she said. “I hope I didn’t keep the two of you waiting long.”
Jerome’s breath caught in his throat as soon as he turned to see Esmé standing in the entranceway. She was dressed a skin-tight white hoodie with a pink pleated skirt that reached several inches above the start of her knees and a pair of white high heels. She had tied a black and white pinstripe kerchief around her head like a headband to keep the bangs out of her eyes. Around her neck she was wearing the fourteen-karat gold locket in the shape of a heart that Jerome had given her for her birthday in which she had placed a picture of him along with another of Emma and Carmelita.
“Oh, darling,” Jerome said as if he was looking at his wife for the very first time. “You look positively ravishing.”
Esmé smiled, all too aware of the blush creeping into her cheeks. “Thank you,” she replied.
Emma smiled to herself as she watched Jerome sweep Esmé into his arms and kiss her passionately on the mouth. While most people Emma’s age would have thought it disgusting of their parents to behave this way in front of them, Emma couldn’t help but feel quite the opposite. She adored the idea of her parents being so much in love that they didn’t mind showing it.
“Mother,” Emma said as she watched Esmé’s and Jerome’s lips detach from one another a moment later. “Look what came for me this morning.”
Esmé glanced over her husband’s shoulder at the display of roses on the counter. “They’re lovely,” she said. “Who sent them?”
“We don’t know,” Jerome explained. “There was no card… right, Emma?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, that’s rather strange,” replied Esmé thoughtfully. “Don’t you think so, Jerome?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is strange, but… but I suppose the card could have gotten lost during the delivery.”
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” Emma said, “but I am getting pretty hungry, and it is nearly fifteen minutes after nine, so…”
“So let’s get going,” Jerome finished, slipping his arm around Esmé’s waist. “I don’t want to miss their five for a dollar pancake special.”
“Oh, Jerome,” Esmé sighed. “You and your pancakes. There’s no question about where this came from.” As she said this, she pressed her finger against his belly, which was noticeable even through his shirt. “Have as many as you like,” she added in a whisper, and kissed him on the cheek.
Jerome felt himself blush just as Emma asked, “Is it alright if we take the stairs?”
“Why bother to take the stairs, darling,” Esmé said, “when we can take the elevator?”
“Because sliding down the staircase is much more fun, that’s why!”
Esmé chuckled. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little too old for that, Emma?”
“Not at all,” answered Emma as she skipped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, her parents following close behind. “Jerome does it, so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to.”
“Well, you can take the stairs if you like,” Esmé said as they came to the front door. “But I think I’d much rather prefer the elevator. They’re very in this week, and being the city’s sixth most important financial advisor it’s necessary for me to keep up an appearance.”
“Are you coming, Jerome?” Emma asked, turning the knob and pulling open the door.
“I will tonight when we leave for the theater,” he said. “But you go ahead.”
“Sure, I know the deal. Just remember: I’m on to you. And that goes for you, too, Mother.” With a sly smile, Emma scampered out the door and down the hallway in the direction of the spiral staircase.
After they had watched her disappear around a corner, Esmé and Jerome took each other by the hand and walked over to the pair of elevators. Smiling at his wife, he pressed the top button of the second elevator and together they stood back, waiting for doors to slide open.
“Is that tie new?” Esmé asked, noticing the pattern of what looked like some strange species of insect on her husband’s tie.
“Oh, this?”Jerome asked, holding it up. “Nero gave it to me. I don’t care much for the pattern, but I’ll feel guilty if I don’t wear it. As well as risk an argument, and I certainly can’t have that.” Jerome shivered at the very thought of arguing with his son-in-law.
“What are those things all over it? Caterpillars?”
“I think they’re slugs.”
“All the more reason to throw it away,” Esmé said right before the elevator doors slid open and the two of them stepped inside.
“Oh, darling, be reasonable,” Jerome replied as he pressed some numbers and the elevator started downwards. “It was a gift. I can’t just throw it away.”
“I would. And I hope you aren’t planning to wear that to the theater. The dress code specifically states tuxedo and evening dress only.”
“That’s a relief.”
They soon arrived at the lobby and stepped out of the elevator to find Emma sitting at the bottom of the spiral staircase. “Well, it looks like I beat you,” she said.
“I can see that,” Esmé said.
“How was the ride down?” Jerome asked.
“Smashing,” Emma replied. “And yours?”
“Uneventful.”
“Come on,” Esmé said, and held out her hand to her daughter. “Let’s go before your father starts going through pancake withdrawal.”
“Esmé!” Jerome said.
“Only kidding, honey.”
Taking her mother by the hand and her father by the other, Emma walked with her parents to the front doors and out of the apartment building.
The Veritable French Diner was packed with its usual Saturday morning crowd, most of whom were there to partake of the five for a dollar pancake special. The Squalors would have had to sit and wait along with the rest of the customers had Esmé not taken advantage of her position as the city’s sixth most important financial advisor to get herself and her family seated just seconds after their arrival.
“Esmé,” Jerome whispered once their waiter had hurried off to fetch their drinks. “Don’t you think it was a little impolite to just push yourself to the head of the line like that? It seems to me that many of those people arrived long before we did.”
“Oh, Jerome, don’t worry so much,” Esmé replied as she unfolded her napkin and set it in her lap. Emma did the same. “They’ll be seated eventually.”
The waiter soon returned with their drinks (coffee for Esmé and Jerome, and a glass of orange juice for Emma). The Squalors then gave the waiter their orders and he disappeared once more.
While they sat waiting for their food, Esmé listed for her husband and daughter all the things that were said to be “in” within the next month.
“Remind me to buy you a lava lamp for your room next week,” she told Emma. “They’re supposedly going to be the innest item of them all, and will therefore be impossible to find later on. If we buy you one now, we can put it in one of the empty rooms and take it out again once lava lamps are in.”
“That sounds fabulous, Mother,” Emma said, her own excitement as difficult to contain as her mother’s. “May I really have any color that I want?”
“Of course you may, darling.”
Jerome, who was too bored to follow let alone participate in the conversation going on around him, was the first to notice another waiter as he approached their table. He carried a tray containing a steaming cup of hot cocoa where a folded-up piece of paper had been tucked beneath it.
Setting the tray down on the table in front of Emma, the waiter said, “Compliments of the gentleman at the other table.”
The waiter nodded in the direction of a booth located at the far end of the restaurant where a man in a hat and trench coat was sitting before hurrying off again. The brim of the hat was pulled so far over the man’s eyes and face that it was impossible to tell what he even looked like. Curious, Emma stood up and was about to rush over to the table when her mother pulled her back down.
“No, darling,” Esmé said.
“But why not?” Emma demanded. “He was nice enough to order me some hot cocoa. The least I can do is go over there and thank him.”
“Your mother’s right, Emma,” Jerome said. “That man is a stranger. We can’t risk the possibility of you going over there only to have him kidnap you.”
Emma just rolled her eyes. “Oh, give me a break. Nobody is going to kidnap me.”
Frowning, Jerome turned to Esmé. He and Emma didn’t often have arguments, and he really didn’t like the idea of starting one in the middle of a public place. So, naturally, he relied on Esmé in the hopes that she would be able to settle things before they got too out of control.
Esmé nodded. “What does the note say?” she asked, referring to the piece of paper on the tray.
“Let’s see,” Emma said, sliding out the piece of paper from underneath the cup and unfolding the note.
“‘I am looking forward to seeing you perform tonight in the theatrical production of The World is Quiet Here. Look for me after the show as I would very much like to speak with you. Hint: I will be the only one wearing a pinstripe suit.
“P.S.: I hope you enjoyed the roses.”
When Emma glanced back over at the booth where the man had been sitting less than a minute before, she was surprised and a little shaken to see that he was no longer there.
“How bizarre,” was all she could say before turning back to her parents. “I wonder what he wants to speak with me about.”
“So do I,” Jerome replied, his voice suspicious.
“Well, one thing is for certain,” Esmé said, and placed her hand on her daughter’s. “Jerome and I are certainly not going to leave you alone in the theater unattended.”
“So,” Emma said, looking from her mother to her stepfather. “What are you proposing I should do?”
“What we are proposing,” Jerome said, “is that if this man is as intent on speaking with you as his letter proclaims, then your mother and I must insist that we be present as well.”
Their meal soon arrived, and I am sorry to say that Emma Squalor was the only person who was really able to enjoy it. Esmé’s and Jerome’s stomachs felt as though they had balls of lead sitting inside of them, and so it was very difficult to swallow more than a few spoonfuls of pancakes. Their minds whirled continuously with thoughts of what could possibly happen if they turned their backs for even a moment and Emma disappeared. The Squalors would never forgive themselves— particularly Jerome, who had nearly lost his wife in the terrible fire that had destroyed the original Hotel Denouement and claimed the lives of so many innocent people.
After Jerome had paid the bill and left the Veritable French Diner with his family, he and Esmé could not help glancing over their shoulders as they walked back across the parking lot to their car. They half expected to see the mysterious man dart out from behind a bush or corner and attempt to grab Emma.
Both Esmé and Jerome heaved a huge sigh of relief the moment they climbed back into the car and had slammed the doors, with Emma safely situated in the backseat.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing, darling,” Esmé assured her. “Is your seatbelt on?”
“Yes.”
“Then we can go,” Jerome said, and started up the engine.
Reason for Editing: Had to change the rating from "PG" to "PG-13".
Cast: Esmé Squalor; Jerome Squalor; Emma Squalor; Carmelita Spats; Vice Principal Nero; (more characters to come).
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of the characters or places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Emma Squalor belongs to me.
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Genre: Alternate Universe/Drama/Romance
Story-Type: Multiple-Chapter
Status: Incomplete
Summery: When a mysterious stranger makes an attempt to contact Emma, suspicions start to arise and the past that Esmé believes she buried thirteen years earlier comes back to haunt her…
************************************************************************************************************************
Chapter 1
As the spring rain pelted against the full-scale windows of the sixty-fifth bedroom in the penthouse apartment at 667 Dark Avenue, Esmé Squalor rolled over in her grand bed. Sleeping peacefully beside her was her husband, Jerome, and she nuzzled affectionately into his bare shoulder.
“Wake up, sleepy-head,” Esmé whispered into his ear, and Jerome grunted. “You know what day it is.”
Once more, he grunted and slid himself deeper beneath the covers. His wife followed and pressed herself firmly against him, the only thing separating their bodies from one another being her thin silk nightgown and his boxer shorts.
“Jerome?”
“Hmm?”
“You do remember what today is, don’t you?” Esmé asked.
“Of course I do, darling,” Jerome replied drowsily without opening his eyes. “It’s Saturday, the day I sleep in and arrange my ties.”
Esmé rolled her eyes. “Sleeping in has been out for weeks. And you just arranged your ties the other day. Think harder, Jerome.”
Jerome couldn’t help but smile to himself while he waited to see how long it took his wife to become frustrated with him for his ostensible incompetence. It usually didn’t take longer than a few seconds before Esmé grew angry enough to result to drastic action, and Jerome was interested in seeing what would happen.
A moment later, he felt her snatch the pillow out from underneath his head and hit him with it. Laughing, Jerome wrapped his arm around Esmé’s neck and pulled her down into a headlock. He kissed her on the cheek before rolling over and yanking her down into the bed with him. He threw the comforter up over their heads and was just about to start tugging off his boxers when they both felt something leap onto the bed.
“Good morning!” a cheerful voice echoed from outside the blankets. “Guess who?”
“Emma,” Esmé said as she lowered the comforter to reveal her thirteen-year-old daughter kneeling at the edge of the bed. “Darling, we’ve talked about this many times. You really must remember to knock before entering another person’s bedroom.”
Emma grinned sheepishly and looked down at her hands in the same way her stepfather did every time he was embarrassed about something. “Sorry,” she replied. “I’ll remember next time. I promise.”
Jerome was quick to change the subject. “So, Emma,” he said. “Are you excited about tonight?”
Unable to contain her excitement, Emma bounced up and down on her parents’ bed. “You bet I am! I’ve only been looking forward to it for months and months!”
“You know,” Esmé said modestly as she laced her long, sharp-nailed hands around her husband’s arm, “I, too once performed the lead role in a theatrical production of The World is Quiet Here, and so I can’t help but feel that you’re actually following in my footsteps, Emma.”
“Walter Dali is going to be my leading man,” Emma replied proudly. “Who was yours, Mother?”
Immediately, the smile faded from Esmé’s pretty face and she hung her head. It wasn’t often she said something pertaining to her daughter’s biological father, but when she did it always reminded her of that hollow feeling in her life that she had never quite been able to fill.
Emma had grown up believing that her father had been a firefighter who had died in the line of duty nine months before she was born. She knew it hurt Esmé to speak of him, and so Emma made an effort to never bring up the subject.
“I— I’m sorry,” she said, and it was evident from the way she spoke that she was genuinely confused. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, sweetheart,” Jerome told her quickly. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you run along and get dressed? Then we can all go someplace nice for breakfast. How does the Veritable French Diner sound?”
“It sounds smashing.” Emma turned to her mother, who was clinging to Jerome as if she was a small child rather than a grown woman. “What about Mother?”
“I’m alright, Emma,” Esmé said without looking at her daughter. “Just do as Jerome says.”
“O… Okay,” replied Emma, as she slid slowly off the bed and tracked back towards the door. “You’re sure you’re—”
“I’m fine.”
Jerome waited until the door had closed and he was certain that Emma was out of earshot before turning to his wife. “Are you alright, Esmé?” he asked.
Without lifting her head, she nodded. “Positive,” she said.
Jerome had a sneaking suspicion what it was that was making Esmé so uneasy, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud. Instead, he pried his arm out of her grip and slipped it around her. “Emma won’t be back for a while,” he said. “You know how she takes after you when it comes to fixing herself up in the mornings.” He had hoped that would at least get a smile out of Esmé, but when his attempt failed he frowned. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Oh, darling, please don’t do this. You know how it makes me feel.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Jerome.”
“I know that, Esmé,” he replied patiently. “I never insinuated any such thing.”
“I know you didn’t,” Esmé said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But please. Let’s just drop the conversation before I say something I’ll regret.”
“Well, I don’t want to argue with you.”
Smiling a little, Esmé lifted her head and kissed Jerome on the cheek. “Listen— I’m going to go ahead and hop in the shower. Will you do me a favor and telephone Carmelita to remind her of Emma’s recital? It’s just that Carmelita’s become so unfocused since the twins were born, and as much as I like him you and I both know that we can’t really rely on Nero to give her the message. This is Emma’s first theatrical performance of the year, and it will break her heart if her sister isn’t there to see it.”
“I certainly will, darling,” Jerome said, and kissed Esmé on the nose. “Now, go get ready and leave everything to me.”
“Thank you, honey,” she said, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she was getting up, she felt a slight tap on her rear.
Turning back, Esmé couldn’t help but smile at the innocent look on Jerome’s face. Her eyes traveled from his face and down to his stomach, which curved over his boxers in the sweetest, most perfect way one could possibly imagine. Combined with the innocence of his expression, this was enough to send Esmé diving across the bed where she landed on top of Jerome.
“Well, maybe I can spare a few minutes,” she said.
“What changed your mind?” he asked.
Instead of answering, she decided to show him by way of pressing her palm against the softness of his stomach.
“Oh…”
“I love you,” Esmé said, and Jerome tugged off his boxers.
***
Half an hour later, while Esmé was in the shower and Jerome was shuffling through the drawer of the bedside table for Carmelita’s telephone number, Emma was just finishing up in the bathroom at the other end of the hall.
The youngest Squalor was busy combing out her long, dark hair when the doorbell rang. Setting down her comb, she dashed out of the bathroom and down the hallway to answer the door.
When she got there, she was surprised to see the postman standing there with a bouquet of two dozen red roses. “Emma Squalor?” he asked.
“Yes?” she replied.
“These just arrived for you,” the postman explained, and handed Emma the flowers.
Emma’s eyes widened. She had been given roses before— mostly on the opening night of a performance and for her birthday. But never this many! The only time she had ever seen two dozen roses in the penthouse was when Jerome gave them to Esmé as a gift. When he gave Emma roses, it was never more than a dozen.
“Who are they from?” asked Emma.
“I haven’t a clue,” replied the postman as he handed her a pad of paper and pen. “I just deliver the mail. But I will require your signature.”
“Sure, no problem.” Quickly, Emma scribbled her name down onto the paper and then handed it and the pen back to the postman.
“Have a nice day,” he said, and left.
Emma closed the door behind him and then flopped down into one of the extra comfy chairs in the hallway, completely speechless. When it finally occurred to her to see if there was a card attached to the roses, she was surprised and even a little frustrated to find there wasn’t one.
Who would send her flowers and not even bother to attach a card?
“Weird,” she said.
“Emma, who was that at the door just now?”
Emma turned to see her stepfather standing halfway between the hallway and the entrance to the rest of the apartment in his robe. In one hand he held the cordless telephone he and Esmé kept in their bedroom, while in the other he clutched a piece of paper on which was written Carmelita’s telephone number.
“What pretty flowers,” Jerome added as his eyes caught sight of the bouquet in his daughter’s arms. “Where did they come from?”
“The postman brought them,” Emma explained. “But I have no idea who could have sent them because there isn’t a card.”
Jerome sat down on the loveseat across from her. “Maybe Walter sent them. Or Mr. St. Clair. After all, you are his star pupil.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, let’s not worry about it now,” Jerome said. “Your mother’s almost ready to go and if we don’t arrive at the diner before ten they’ll refuse to serve us breakfast. And I’m looking forward to my pancakes.” He smiled. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll find out at tonight’s show who sent you the roses.”
“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “You’re probably right, Jerome.”
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen and pick out a vase to put your roses in?”
“Okay.”
Emma got up, and together she and her stepfather headed for the kitchen.
***
Jerome and Emma had just finished arranging the roses inside a white ceramic vase on the countertop when Esmé walked into the kitchen.
“I’m ready to go,” she said. “I hope I didn’t keep the two of you waiting long.”
Jerome’s breath caught in his throat as soon as he turned to see Esmé standing in the entranceway. She was dressed a skin-tight white hoodie with a pink pleated skirt that reached several inches above the start of her knees and a pair of white high heels. She had tied a black and white pinstripe kerchief around her head like a headband to keep the bangs out of her eyes. Around her neck she was wearing the fourteen-karat gold locket in the shape of a heart that Jerome had given her for her birthday in which she had placed a picture of him along with another of Emma and Carmelita.
“Oh, darling,” Jerome said as if he was looking at his wife for the very first time. “You look positively ravishing.”
Esmé smiled, all too aware of the blush creeping into her cheeks. “Thank you,” she replied.
Emma smiled to herself as she watched Jerome sweep Esmé into his arms and kiss her passionately on the mouth. While most people Emma’s age would have thought it disgusting of their parents to behave this way in front of them, Emma couldn’t help but feel quite the opposite. She adored the idea of her parents being so much in love that they didn’t mind showing it.
“Mother,” Emma said as she watched Esmé’s and Jerome’s lips detach from one another a moment later. “Look what came for me this morning.”
Esmé glanced over her husband’s shoulder at the display of roses on the counter. “They’re lovely,” she said. “Who sent them?”
“We don’t know,” Jerome explained. “There was no card… right, Emma?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, that’s rather strange,” replied Esmé thoughtfully. “Don’t you think so, Jerome?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is strange, but… but I suppose the card could have gotten lost during the delivery.”
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” Emma said, “but I am getting pretty hungry, and it is nearly fifteen minutes after nine, so…”
“So let’s get going,” Jerome finished, slipping his arm around Esmé’s waist. “I don’t want to miss their five for a dollar pancake special.”
“Oh, Jerome,” Esmé sighed. “You and your pancakes. There’s no question about where this came from.” As she said this, she pressed her finger against his belly, which was noticeable even through his shirt. “Have as many as you like,” she added in a whisper, and kissed him on the cheek.
Jerome felt himself blush just as Emma asked, “Is it alright if we take the stairs?”
“Why bother to take the stairs, darling,” Esmé said, “when we can take the elevator?”
“Because sliding down the staircase is much more fun, that’s why!”
Esmé chuckled. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little too old for that, Emma?”
“Not at all,” answered Emma as she skipped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, her parents following close behind. “Jerome does it, so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to.”
“Well, you can take the stairs if you like,” Esmé said as they came to the front door. “But I think I’d much rather prefer the elevator. They’re very in this week, and being the city’s sixth most important financial advisor it’s necessary for me to keep up an appearance.”
“Are you coming, Jerome?” Emma asked, turning the knob and pulling open the door.
“I will tonight when we leave for the theater,” he said. “But you go ahead.”
“Sure, I know the deal. Just remember: I’m on to you. And that goes for you, too, Mother.” With a sly smile, Emma scampered out the door and down the hallway in the direction of the spiral staircase.
After they had watched her disappear around a corner, Esmé and Jerome took each other by the hand and walked over to the pair of elevators. Smiling at his wife, he pressed the top button of the second elevator and together they stood back, waiting for doors to slide open.
“Is that tie new?” Esmé asked, noticing the pattern of what looked like some strange species of insect on her husband’s tie.
“Oh, this?”Jerome asked, holding it up. “Nero gave it to me. I don’t care much for the pattern, but I’ll feel guilty if I don’t wear it. As well as risk an argument, and I certainly can’t have that.” Jerome shivered at the very thought of arguing with his son-in-law.
“What are those things all over it? Caterpillars?”
“I think they’re slugs.”
“All the more reason to throw it away,” Esmé said right before the elevator doors slid open and the two of them stepped inside.
“Oh, darling, be reasonable,” Jerome replied as he pressed some numbers and the elevator started downwards. “It was a gift. I can’t just throw it away.”
“I would. And I hope you aren’t planning to wear that to the theater. The dress code specifically states tuxedo and evening dress only.”
“That’s a relief.”
They soon arrived at the lobby and stepped out of the elevator to find Emma sitting at the bottom of the spiral staircase. “Well, it looks like I beat you,” she said.
“I can see that,” Esmé said.
“How was the ride down?” Jerome asked.
“Smashing,” Emma replied. “And yours?”
“Uneventful.”
“Come on,” Esmé said, and held out her hand to her daughter. “Let’s go before your father starts going through pancake withdrawal.”
“Esmé!” Jerome said.
“Only kidding, honey.”
Taking her mother by the hand and her father by the other, Emma walked with her parents to the front doors and out of the apartment building.
***
The Veritable French Diner was packed with its usual Saturday morning crowd, most of whom were there to partake of the five for a dollar pancake special. The Squalors would have had to sit and wait along with the rest of the customers had Esmé not taken advantage of her position as the city’s sixth most important financial advisor to get herself and her family seated just seconds after their arrival.
“Esmé,” Jerome whispered once their waiter had hurried off to fetch their drinks. “Don’t you think it was a little impolite to just push yourself to the head of the line like that? It seems to me that many of those people arrived long before we did.”
“Oh, Jerome, don’t worry so much,” Esmé replied as she unfolded her napkin and set it in her lap. Emma did the same. “They’ll be seated eventually.”
The waiter soon returned with their drinks (coffee for Esmé and Jerome, and a glass of orange juice for Emma). The Squalors then gave the waiter their orders and he disappeared once more.
While they sat waiting for their food, Esmé listed for her husband and daughter all the things that were said to be “in” within the next month.
“Remind me to buy you a lava lamp for your room next week,” she told Emma. “They’re supposedly going to be the innest item of them all, and will therefore be impossible to find later on. If we buy you one now, we can put it in one of the empty rooms and take it out again once lava lamps are in.”
“That sounds fabulous, Mother,” Emma said, her own excitement as difficult to contain as her mother’s. “May I really have any color that I want?”
“Of course you may, darling.”
Jerome, who was too bored to follow let alone participate in the conversation going on around him, was the first to notice another waiter as he approached their table. He carried a tray containing a steaming cup of hot cocoa where a folded-up piece of paper had been tucked beneath it.
Setting the tray down on the table in front of Emma, the waiter said, “Compliments of the gentleman at the other table.”
The waiter nodded in the direction of a booth located at the far end of the restaurant where a man in a hat and trench coat was sitting before hurrying off again. The brim of the hat was pulled so far over the man’s eyes and face that it was impossible to tell what he even looked like. Curious, Emma stood up and was about to rush over to the table when her mother pulled her back down.
“No, darling,” Esmé said.
“But why not?” Emma demanded. “He was nice enough to order me some hot cocoa. The least I can do is go over there and thank him.”
“Your mother’s right, Emma,” Jerome said. “That man is a stranger. We can’t risk the possibility of you going over there only to have him kidnap you.”
Emma just rolled her eyes. “Oh, give me a break. Nobody is going to kidnap me.”
Frowning, Jerome turned to Esmé. He and Emma didn’t often have arguments, and he really didn’t like the idea of starting one in the middle of a public place. So, naturally, he relied on Esmé in the hopes that she would be able to settle things before they got too out of control.
Esmé nodded. “What does the note say?” she asked, referring to the piece of paper on the tray.
“Let’s see,” Emma said, sliding out the piece of paper from underneath the cup and unfolding the note.
“‘I am looking forward to seeing you perform tonight in the theatrical production of The World is Quiet Here. Look for me after the show as I would very much like to speak with you. Hint: I will be the only one wearing a pinstripe suit.
“P.S.: I hope you enjoyed the roses.”
When Emma glanced back over at the booth where the man had been sitting less than a minute before, she was surprised and a little shaken to see that he was no longer there.
“How bizarre,” was all she could say before turning back to her parents. “I wonder what he wants to speak with me about.”
“So do I,” Jerome replied, his voice suspicious.
“Well, one thing is for certain,” Esmé said, and placed her hand on her daughter’s. “Jerome and I are certainly not going to leave you alone in the theater unattended.”
“So,” Emma said, looking from her mother to her stepfather. “What are you proposing I should do?”
“What we are proposing,” Jerome said, “is that if this man is as intent on speaking with you as his letter proclaims, then your mother and I must insist that we be present as well.”
Their meal soon arrived, and I am sorry to say that Emma Squalor was the only person who was really able to enjoy it. Esmé’s and Jerome’s stomachs felt as though they had balls of lead sitting inside of them, and so it was very difficult to swallow more than a few spoonfuls of pancakes. Their minds whirled continuously with thoughts of what could possibly happen if they turned their backs for even a moment and Emma disappeared. The Squalors would never forgive themselves— particularly Jerome, who had nearly lost his wife in the terrible fire that had destroyed the original Hotel Denouement and claimed the lives of so many innocent people.
After Jerome had paid the bill and left the Veritable French Diner with his family, he and Esmé could not help glancing over their shoulders as they walked back across the parking lot to their car. They half expected to see the mysterious man dart out from behind a bush or corner and attempt to grab Emma.
Both Esmé and Jerome heaved a huge sigh of relief the moment they climbed back into the car and had slammed the doors, with Emma safely situated in the backseat.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing, darling,” Esmé assured her. “Is your seatbelt on?”
“Yes.”
“Then we can go,” Jerome said, and started up the engine.
Reason for Editing: Had to change the rating from "PG" to "PG-13".