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Post by Hanna Squalor on Sept 29, 2007 15:33:10 GMT -5
Olaf's wonderful mind worked quickly. He was an actor after all."Esme, Darling. I' so sorry. You know I love you so much. I would never really mean to hurt you." He kneeled infront of her wiping away her tears with one hand and stroking her leg with the other. "I just get so upset when I think you might leave me. I don't know what I wouldnd do without you."
Esme melted into his arms until they were a bundle on the floor. Beatrice was in mild shock. Esme forgot about her for a few seconds before looked up at her disheveled friend.
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Post by Jenny on Sept 29, 2007 16:03:20 GMT -5
Esmé stood, happier than before, and pleased the argument was evidently over (at least, that's what he'd led her to believe so far.) 'Let's go,' she said quickly, but softly. She didn't want him to get angry again. She almost belived his excuses for his own impatience.
Olaf looked like he wanted to argue, but Esmé smiled down at him so sweetly and hopefully where that Beatrice girl just glared furiously down at him. He knew she wouldn't be fooled. Not a clever girl like Beatrice. He wasn't pleased she and Esmé would be spending time together at all, not when she was so angry.
'I'll come,' he offerred feebly, mind searching for a reasonable excuse. 'I need to go...down to the bank...and I could give you two a lift if you'd like.'
Beatrice wanted to tell him that she had no interest in being driven around the city by what was clearly a very volatile man, but thought better of it. Esmé would be more upset if another argument was started.
'That would be lovely.' Esme lied. She daren't disagree. She was still shocked and still upset, but wouldn't show it. Years later she would learn so well how to deal with him.
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Post by freeeagle on Oct 3, 2007 15:39:47 GMT -5
REWRITE:
Esme gave her a look somewhere between pleading, insistence and threatening, and Beatrice understood with a sickening realization. The price of their friendship was her silence, and, feeling as though she was selling her soul, Beatrice smoothed the anger and hatred out of the lines of her face. She spread on a fake smile so perfected that it would have looked genuine had she not been spitting fire mere moments earlier. I am an actress, she reminded herself, and this is a role I am playing.
"Lovely," she echoed, spinning a careful web of fake smiles and cheerful tones, "And while you take care of your business, Esme and I will grab a bite to eat. We could meet up again at, say two o'clock?"
Olaf understood the game they were playing; time alone with Esme used as payment for her silence. He knew that this would not keep her contented forever, but he would settle for placating her for now, as much as he hated giving her the upper hand, if only temporarily.
"And where will you lovely ladies be dining this afternoon?" he asked, knowing he had contacts in almost every restaurant in the city. There were mo rules in this reckless game of give and take, so he would be using every advantage he had.
Beatrice turned to Esme. "How about at the Hotel Denouement? It may not be as fancy as the Franz, but the food is just as good." she said in her new cheerful tone, as convincing as the smile worn on her face.
Esme nodded in agreement. "And hon, its close to the Financial District," she reminded him, all memory of the violent moment concealed.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 5, 2007 11:38:57 GMT -5
The drive to the Hotel Denoument was mainly silent on Olaf's part, although Esmé and Beatrice, who sat together in the backseat like children (which, he supposed, they really, actually were), chatted merrily all the while, fake smiles almost turning real with the effort put into their acting. He would have been proud, had he not been so occupied with thoughts of how and who to contact at the Hotel Denoument to check Beatrice didn't say anything too convincing, and to perhaps check Esmé's responses for him. The last thing he needed was a VFD spy on his tail all the time.
The moment he had considered the possibility, he thought it ridiculous. For one thing, she was too sensitive, too real for that. No one acted that well, not even Olaf himself.
'You can stop here,' Beatrice told him, and only now did Olaf realize he'd driven staright past the hotel without paying any attention. He saw the two girls exchange glances, and for a moment was tempted not to stop. But he rationalized effectively--this time--and smiled.
'Sorry,' he said hollowly, pulling over and letting the two teenagers out of his car. They clasped hands, and he half felt he ought to give them some instruction--"Don't cross the road without looking twice each way, Beatrice,", "Don't talk to strangers, Esmé." and laughed at himself for contemplating it.
'Have a nice time,' he settled for in the end, before speeding off.
What was it that was bothering him so much? It couldn't be the idea that Esmé might switch sides--she couldn't now, not after people had been made aware of her. She'd be 'dealt with' if she so much as contemplated the idea, and would no longer be his problem.
Perhaps that was in fact what bothered him. Perhaps for once in his life, Olaf cared more for what happened to someone than for what use they could be to him.
Damn that girl.
Beatrice and Esmé disappeared from view,a nd he could no longer see them when Beatrice's face fell, and her perfect smile slipped to take her friends arm. 'What are you thinking?' she almost sobbed out, distressed beyond belief at how Esmé had taken this all without a tear or a split second of hesitation.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Oct 5, 2007 16:19:08 GMT -5
"I was thinking that he provides for me what I need. I am an orphan, Beatrice. There is no other spot for me. I'm not going to live with anyone else's family, they would be too appauled with what I did. I have feelings for Olaf and he is proving a roof for my head, food, and clothing." More or less.
"Besides that," Esme continued "He has feelings for me to." she said; matter-of-factly as she strode across the grass.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 5, 2007 16:44:33 GMT -5
Beatrice nearly burst. 'It certainly didn't look that way from where I was standing!'
Esmé smiled a little to herself. 'Well, then, you were standing in the wrong place. And besides, that was an argument. They rarely ever happen anyway.'
The look in Beatrice's eyes was a pitiful one. 'Whether they happen often or not is irrelivant,' she said. 'He isn't supposed to hit you!'
Esmé stopped suddenly and whirled around. 'You heard how he apologized!' she cried. 'He didn't mean to! We had a misunderstading about the Snickets. I should have known better.'
'Youshould have known better?' Beatrice cried incredulously. 'No! He should have known better, Esmé! Why can't you see it?'
They had arrived at the Hotel. Esmé didn't reply to the question, but just looked squarely at her friend. 'Let's have a nice lunch together. No more talk about this,' she said. Beatrice wasn't happy, but couldn't say much about it. She didn't want to upset Esmé, after all.
--
Olaf had taken a lot of time in getting to the bank. He had until two oclock after all, and didn't know what he planned to do with that time yet. He arrived, though, finally, and the first thing he spotted on walking in was a crying young girl in the corner with an adviser, dressed all in black. The face that looked up was not one he expected--Kit Snicket!
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Oct 12, 2007 18:28:31 GMT -5
Esme and Beatrice got a able and ordered garlic bread to start. That was one of their favorite snacks. Esme liked it because it was better for you than nachos or chips or something full of sugar.
"So. Tell me why you came in all wet. " Esme asked. Nothing had been said about why the girl had come in dripping.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 13, 2007 13:57:09 GMT -5
Beatrice blushed immediately and took a bite of her bread before beginning. She hadn't wanted to tell Esmé anyting about what had occurred previous to their meeting, and had thought she'd managed to get away with it before this.
'I was swimming,' Baetrice began hesitantly.
'Today?' Esmé cried. 'If it was any colder out it would be snowing, Bea. And you chose today to go swimming?'
'I think that's a little bit of an exaggeration, possibly,' Beatrice smiled. 'And---' her mind raced for a name that wasn't Jerome, anything but Jerome (she could just imagine the teasing now), and blurted out something too quickly.
'It was Jacques's idea!' she blurted.
'Jacques didn't come traipsing into The Franz dripping wet and shivering, Bea,' Esmé's eyes narrowed suspiciously, remembering the two figures she'd seen in the sea now, from the window. One of them must have been Beatrice--and whoever elsewas with her would have been just as cold and wet and miserable. Jacques had been dry, and from the sounds of things, arguing with the staff for too long beforehand.
'Well, he didn't escatly get wet--it's a long--'
'I daresay Jacques was too busy arguing with the Hotel receptionist to have been out swimming in the freezing cold with you, Baetrice,' Esmé laughed. Beatrice knew then she had made too big a mistake to go back now.
'Alright,' she sighed. 'Jerome and I were walking, and decided to go for a swim, for a bit. Happy?'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Oct 13, 2007 19:29:40 GMT -5
"Oh.... Interesting. I didn't now you liked nerds. Does he like you back?" she asked. She was slightly jelous now.
"No." Bea was upset.
"Oh... Poor Bea... What about Lemony? Bored already?" Esme teased. As long as Jerome still liked her she was fine. And she couldn't care less about if Lemony and Bea stayed together.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 14, 2007 7:42:56 GMT -5
Beatrice glared back over her bread, unhappy with her friends lack of support. Esmé, of course, was useless help in situations like these--she didn't care as long as everyone liked her best. She was so selfish and yet Beatrice had known it and still ended up telling.
'No,' she replied quickly. 'Bored is something you claim. Lemony has been nothing but nice to me.'
'But,' Esmé laughed as she took a sip of her glass of water. 'You're bored. And you know it. You just won't admit it for fear of sounding like me.'
Beatrice shrugged. It was a half-truth. She wasn't bored of Lemony as such, but she could see why it might be seen that way. Ater all, things had been dragging on the same way for a long time. Besides she never could bear sounding too much like her superficial friend.
'Although if you're bored why on Earth you would have turned to Jerome in the first place is a puzzle,' Esmé chuckled to herself. 'I swear, that nerd never did anything but read.'
Beatrice hated Esmé like this. They both knew Jerome was nice, but Esmé was always so awful about him. It wasn't fair, but again Beatrice held her tongue. This silence was becoming a habit.
'He used to like you,' Baetrice told her.
'Really?' Esmé gasped, as if this was something new. It wasn't. Everyone liked her, apart from Lemony, at one point or another. 'I suppose that does rather explain his incessant attempts to eat lunch at a table whwere nobody knew him.'
Beatrice flinched, and opened her mouth to speak, but luckily the waiter arrived in time to stop them.
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Post by freeeagle on Oct 31, 2007 16:51:21 GMT -5
"What will you two be having?" he asked, concealing the tape recorder in the inside pocket of his fine silk jacket so smoothly that if you had blinked, you would have missed it.
Beatrice took a last look at her menu before handing it to the waiter.
"The scallops," she said decidedly, eying the waiter curiously.
"I didn't realize this was a sad occasion." he replied cryptically.
"And I didn't realize we were being recorded. If you wouldn't mind, we'd like some privacy. And a chef's salad for me, please." snapped Esme, dismissing the waiter with a wave of her hand. Looking somewhat bemused, he walked off in the direction of the kitchen, where he placed the tape in a sugar bowl. He placed the sugar on the table where Lemony Snicket sat.
"The tea is bitter today, sir." he said, walking out of the restaurant area. Behind a large, potted plant, he changed into a concierge uniform, and headed to the elevators.
Bea turned to Esme, her eyes narrowed.
"You could stand to tolerate him, at least. It's really cruel how you jerk him around, like a fish on hook. You keep him far enough to way to maintain your image, but close enough that he can go on loving you. Are you trying to break his heart?" she hissed, eyes fiery. She hated Esme, in this moment, for having his heart, even though she didn't really want it as anything more than a plaything.
"Of course not. It's not my fault that he wastes his time on unrequited love. Or that you're so desperately jealous."
Now she had done it. Esme hadn't meant to say that last part, even if it was the truth. Beatrice would probably stomp off in the childish way she aways did. The poor girl was so desperate for attention
Surprisingly, Beatrice stood her ground.
"I am jealous, but more than that, I'm appalled by how lightly you take having someone giving you their heart. They're fragile things, and you're constantly stomping his underfoot." she reprimanded her friend, her voice strained as it grew higher in volume.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 31, 2007 17:25:34 GMT -5
Esmé almost smiled slightly at that, and the looke of absolute horror on Beatrice's face did just succeed in stopping her.
'Beatrice,' she started, noting her friend's upset, and reaching across the table to take her hand. 'Beatrice, I never gave him any cause for it all. I'm sure he'll find someone else, and forget all about me, and it's hardly as if--'
'No, Esmé!' She cried unhappily. 'That's just the point. He won't, and he hasn't.'
'I'm not even around anymore,' she laughed, trying to lighten up the situation. 'I don't mean to hurt him, but--'
'That's a lie,' Beatrice whispered. 'You do mean to hurt him. You refuse even to humour poor Jerome. And you are so lucky to have him so enraptured. But you simply can't see it.' she sighed, and smoothed out her napkin. 'Anyway. I didn't come out to lunch today to argue with you, but to catch up with you.'
Esmé bit her lip and kept her eyes down. She hadn't meant to upset Beatrice, and she hadn't ever truly meant to upset Jerome, if indeed she had.
'I'll make it up to him,' she blurted. 'If I ever see him again.'
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Post by freeeagle on Nov 1, 2007 21:12:29 GMT -5
Kit had cried so hard that there weren't any tears left, just her stinging, red-rimmed eyes. The financial adviser with the austere bun and angular features was patting her awkwardly on the back, but excused herself to go hammer out the details of their inheritance with Jacques.
Her parents were dead. It was the single worst thing in the world.
And then, from across the lobby, she locked eyes with her former drama teacher.
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