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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 13, 2008 18:07:01 GMT -5
It didn’t matter that Emma had already heard the whole story the night before from her mother of how she had first met the Baudealaires. The fact that Sunny and Beatrice were sitting beside Emma now, reading along with her, made her feel as though they were all learning about these events for the very first time.
When, in fact, they were simply receiving a refresher course.
“Last November, three orphans named Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire,” Emma read aloud, “were adopted by a wealthy couple named Jerome and Esmé Squalor. Jerome is a stockbroker who recently purchased the penthouse apartment at 667 Dark Avenue where he lived with his wife, Esmé, the city’s sixth most important financial advisor.
“Just a few days following the Baudelaires’ adoption, Esmé Squalor conspired with Count Olaf and concealed two orphans— Duncan and Isadora Quagmire —inside of a statue in the shape of a red herring at the In Auction, which was held at Veblen Hall. The statue was purchased by an associate of Olaf’s— Fernald Widdershins, then known as the Hook-Handed Man. He had disguised himself as the doorman of the building in which Esmé lived with her husband, Jerome Squalor. Count Olaf’s plan succeeded, and he, Esmé, and Fernald managed to escape with the Quagmires and are still at large.
“The whereabouts of the three Baudelaire orphans are currently unknown, though it is believed they are currently being pursued by Count Olaf and Esmé Squalor on the basis that the three siblings have inherited a vast fortune from their late parents, who died tragically in a fire. The two Quagmire children are also heirs to a fortune of their own in the form of the famous Quagmire sapphires.”
Emma sat back, unable to look either of her friends in the eye for a moment. Did everyone really believe her mother— the one person she loved more than anyone in the entire world —to be nothing more than a criminal?
Who was Geraldine Julienne, and why did she insist upon publishing such cruel and awful things about Emma’s family?
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Post by Jenny on Feb 23, 2008 9:51:09 GMT -5
Sunny looked up, and held her breath. What could she say? She felt as if the words on the screen hadn't sunk in--as if they hadn't gotten past the surface. Vaguely, it all started to make sense.
Klaus had made no secret of disliking Esmé upon arrival at the penthouse, and even level-headed Violet had been more than wary of Emma's mother. Sunny had never imagined such a betrayl to have caused their feelings. What was even stranger was to think that she herself had been involved in these events, but was unable to remember them.
Beatrice's eyes were wide and almost frightened. She had never been told this story in any detail, and it was certainly a shock to learn that Esmé had been the cause of so much trouble for her elder adopted siblings.
Beatrice knew her biological parents, and they had tragically died--her father shortly before she was born and her mother shortly afterwards. Kit Snicket and Dewey Denouement. She knew that they were noble people, and that they had worked to stop fires. So, when Emma found an article detailing Count Olaf's supposed criminal career--though many of the accusations were never confirmed due to his disappearance in the year of Emma's birth (this did not go unnoticed)--and it mentioned arson so many times, she did--naturally--start to wonder whether Olaf had in any way been the cause of her parents death.
'Attempted murder,' Emma said to herself, reading from the screen. 'There are so many counts of that.'
'Murder,' muttered Beatrice, vaguely horrified at the prospect. 'There are...too many counts of that.'
All sources confirm several aspects of the Count's personality: he was arrogant, selfish, greedy and extremely bad-tempered and typically over-confident. He can be traced to the Hotel Denoument, which burned to the ground a week after he checked in along with his two last remaining accomplices: ten-year-old Carmelita Spats and thiry-year-old Esmé Squalor (it's thought the two met through their acting careers and had dated since she was a teenager). The hotel fire trapped a hundred or more guests (these including, notably, Esmé and Carmelita themselves, along with Jerome Squalor, who Esmé had been previously married to)--half of which, or more, lost their lives. This, it seemed, was the last time Olaf would ever be seen. It is possible he could have been trapped in the blaze similarly to the other guests, but it is more likely that he escaped and then disappeared (possibly disguised), never to be seen again.
This ended his career of murder and arson--and, of course, kidnapping and repeated attempted murder as well as fraud on the three Baudelaire children (who all live currently in the city they were born in, mnutes away from the charred remains of their childhood home).
The fire at the Baudelaire mansion is still being investigated--Olaf seems the most likely candidate to have started it, but it's thought by the police that Fernald Widdershins (missing) and Esmé Squalor might have also had a hand in setting the fire.
'Wha-- Emma, I didn't know you had homework to do.'
The three girls were so shocked by the words on the computer screen that Jerome had walked up right behind them before they even noticed his presence.
And. by the time Emma recovered enough to attempt to close the window on the computer, he had read a significant portion of the text, and was very much frowning.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 23, 2008 13:51:07 GMT -5
Turning slowly around in her chair, Emma looked guiltily up at her godfather. “Jerome,” she started. “We… that is, I… um…”
“Sunny,” he said, “Beatrice, why don’t the two of you go and get ready for school? I’d like to talk with my daughter in private.”
“But the bus—” Emma started, only to have Jerome cut her off.
“I’ll drive you.”
Emma nodded at her two friends to indicate to them that everything was all right, at least for the moment. Jerome waited until Sunny and Beatrice had left the room before closing the door behind them. He then turned to Emma, his face an illustration of disappointment and sadness. Just seeing her godfather looking at her this way reminded her of how he must have looked at Esmé when she had run off with Olaf from Veblen Hall, and Emma burst into tears.
“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I wasn’t trying to go against with what you and Mother made me promise. But I was curious, and I… I just…” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling in the same fashion her mother’s always did whenever she was upset about something.
Emma listened to the sound of Jerome sitting down beside her and felt his arms wrap around her in a warm, loving, fatherly embrace. “Ssshhh,” he soothed. “It’s all right. I’m not angry with you, Emma. Thinking back, I suppose it was only a matter of time before you and the Baudelaires uncovered the mysteries of what connects you all. And I’m sorry, too. It isn’t fair to ask you to keep secrets that are impossible to keep.”
“It’s no wonder why Klaus and Violet hate my mother and father,” came Emma’s choked voice from where her face lay buried in Jerome’s chest. “After all the horrible things she did while she was with my father.”
“Do you hate her?” Jerome asked.
Emma took this moment to lift her head and stare up at her godfather in shock, tears streaming down her little pointed face. “No,” she said. “Of course I don’t. But I…”
“What?”
“I can’t help but feel the complete opposite about my father. He hurt people, people who spent their entire lives doing noble deeds. And I… I’m just like him.” Fresh tears spilled from her sea-blue eyes as she said this, and she swallowed back a sob.
“What on Earth are you talking about, sweetheart?” Jerome exclaimed. “You’re nothing like Olaf.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Emma said. “But lately it’s been getting harder and harder for me to believe it. Last week I slammed Davey Foxworth in the nose with my locker just because he pulled my hair. When I looked back at him, his nose was bleeding.” She rubbed at her eyes, which were already red. “I’ve never done anything like that before in my life, Jerome! Don’t you see? It’s proof enough that I am like him, and that one day I’ll be him!”
“No, Emma!” Jerome insisted, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly. As he did, he remembered the time where Carmelita had blamed herself for the death of Dewey Denouement, and Jerome had been forced to shake her by the shoulders just to get her to calm down.
While Emma continued to sob, Jerome reached into his pocket and produced his handkerchief. Folding one corner over, he used it to wipe gently at the corners of Emma’s eyes before finally handing it to her. “You’re nothing like him, darling. Not in any way, shape or form.”
The “shape or form” part was cutting it a bit close, but he was desperate, and he hoped Emma wouldn’t notice. However, there was someone who did notice, and as he glanced over his shoulder at the doorway, his heart seemed to leap into his throat when he saw who was standing there.
“Esmé,” he said.
Clearly, she had already heard a significant portion of the conversation, judging by the shattered expression on her face.
“Sunny and Beatrice just left for the lobby to wait for the bus,” Esmé said in a soft voice, and it was obvious she was struggling to hold back tears. “They said you were speaking to Emma, and I came…” She swallowed hard. “I came to see if everything was all right.”
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Post by Jenny on Feb 29, 2008 13:39:37 GMT -5
'It is!' Emma cried quickly, trying to find a way to rectify the situation when she knew full well it could not be that simple. 'Everything's fine!' Esmé smiled softly at her attempt to cover up the conversation, but there was a strange shine to her eyes that betrayed her tears. 'Well--Oh, Mother I'm sorry!'
'It's alright, sweetheart,' she said, although it certainly wasn't.. Emma's mother's eyes darted up to Jerome's, as if she might blame him for her daughter's actions.
There was a long, awkward silence, and Emma dried her eyes on her sleeve. Again Jerome's eyes locked with his wife's, and she looked expectantly at him to end the situation and dismiss Emma.
'Emma, I think you might be able to catch the bus after all,' he said quickly, a ball of dread forming in his stomach at Esmé's well-hidden upset. Obediently, Emma nodded, and walked towards the door. She paused, as if to hug her mother on the way out, but Esmé had long since strode forward to speak with her husband.
Emma didn't make a fuss, and grabbed her books in order to catch up with her friends.
She had left now, and Esmé certainly wasn't smiling.
Jerome was used to her becoming upset over these things, but she didn't seem to be on the verge of tears any longer--instead she seemed very angry about it.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 29, 2008 14:50:53 GMT -5
“What the hell were you thinking?!” Esmé snarled as she slammed the two double doors shut so that Violet and Klaus wouldn’t overhear.
Jerome, who wasn’t at all used to his wife’s vicious tongue, stumbled backward and into the table. He suddenly felt himself being spun back into the past nearly thirteen years, and he didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
“Esmé, calm down,” Jerome reasoned, holding up both hands. Whether it was to try and get her to lower her voice or to defend himself, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he really didn’t want to telephone Dr. Leer and ask him to fill a prescription for tranquilizers.
Esmé lifted her own hands, only instead she pressed them against the sides of her head as if she had a headache. Closing her eyes, she continued in a much calmer voice. “Let me get this straight,” she said, and Jerome lowered his hands to his sides. “Emma goes against our wishes, and you don’t even punish her?”
“No. Because I don’t think it’s that simple,” Jerome said. “We can’t very well blame her for being curious, Esmé. She didn’t do what she did to defy us— she did it because she wants to know the truth.”
“But we’ve already told her the truth!” Esmé reminded him viciously.
“But that was just one side of the story. Suppose she goes to the Baudelaires, or Carmelita and Nero? I’m sure they could all tell her a variety of things about Olaf.”
“You keep forgetting, Jerome, that I knew him best. I knew every one of his disguises and locations.”
Jerome seriously wanted to forget the past, for he could just picture Esmé whispering to Olaf on the telephone when Jerome wasn’t around.
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Post by Jenny on Feb 29, 2008 17:15:58 GMT -5
'I haven't forgotten that at all, Esmé,' Jerome said quietly, and this particular tone of voice usually stopped any further tempers from his wife.
Unfortunately this time it hadn't worked as he'd planned.
'Jerome!' her voice was as vicious as ever, and once again his shoulders slumped and he flinched. 'The point here isn't how well I knew him, and it isn't about the stories we could all tell about him! It's about the fact that Emma hadn't listened to a thing we said about not telling anyone about it! Not least the Baudelaire's, who--'
Her breath caught, and a little flush crept up to her cheeks as she got angrier.
;--Who are going to tell Violet and Klaus about it, and make it seem like Emma is allowed to find out whatever she likes about Olaf!'
Jerome ran a hand through his hair, and nervously stuttered. He wanted to tell her how sorry Emma had been, and what he thought it would be best to do about her behaviour, but he simply couldn't form the words in the face of his wife's anger.
'Oh, for Goodness' sake, Jerome, stop stuttering!'
It was then that her eyes widened, and her anger evaporated. They both knew that she'd said that before--shortly after their wedding, after Jerome's enquiry about all the incredibly long phone calls she was making almost every evening from her study, and her anger about his 'intrusion of her privacy' (she hadn't cared one bit about privacy--just that he might find out about her plans and ruin it all). Her anger and cruel sarcasm left him opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish.
Things were slightly different now that she could attribute Jerome's nervousness to his dreadful father, and the way he had been treated by him as a child.
Her eyes almost started to water. 'Jerome,' she began, softly. His eyes were down, and his fists were worryingly clenched. 'Jerome, I'm sorry. I didn't mean--'
'Perhaps you ought to stay out of this, from now on, if that's how you're going to talk to Emma.'
Now it was Esmé who found herself lost for words. Jerome wasn't cruel enough by far to throw her own phrase back on her, only to close down the computer quickly in silence.
'Jerome, I'm sorry,' she attempted again. 'It's just I can't stand thinking that Emma will know about all the things her father did, and all the things I did, and that she might start to become like him, or like I used to be.' Jerome said nothing : this was the most effective way to punish his wife, he knew--The Silent Treatment had never fitted with her attention-seeking nature.
'It's just that I wish she would listen. It's just that I think you should have made it clearer that she's made a mistake.'
'Esmé,' he said, quietly, but with a lot of strength behind it. 'That's enough.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 29, 2008 20:22:01 GMT -5
[I'm sorry I got so carried away on the length of this next post! ] Two tears slid down Esmé’s cheeks at that moment, but she turned away before Jerome could notice. She couldn’t stand it when he resorted to this type of behavior, when he refused to listen to a word she said. But what hurt more was that he was now refusing to meet her eyes. “Jerome,” Esmé said. “Look at me.” Turning around, he met her eyes for one brief moment before approaching her. She reached for him, only to receive a cold brush by his shoulder against hers as he passed her by and pushed open the doors. Esmé spun around. “Jerome…” As much as he wanted to turn back and tell her he was sorry, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. If she insisted on talking back to him the way she had been, then he had no choice but to treat her like a child. He hated to do it, but it was the only way. “Jerome, please!” Esmé called out, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry!”She sounded so much like Emma had as she said this, but still he didn’t turn back. Instead, he walked quickly out of the room and slipped into a nearby standing room so that he would hear her if she decided to run off like she had done so many times when she was upset. Esmé just stood there, tears pouring down her face as she stared at the spot where her husband had been standing moments before. Not knowing what else to do, she crawled into an empty corner of the room and wrapped her arms around her knees, burying her face in them. At this point, she didn’t care who saw her. She just hadn’t counted on Violet Baudelaire passing by the open doors at that moment. “Emma,” she asked, and stepped cautiously into the study. “I thought you left before with Sunny and Bea—” She paused at the end of her sentence, staring across the room and the figure scrunched up in the corner. “Esmé?” A feeling that Violet could not explain washed over her as she gazed down in amazement at the former villainess, who had once made the lives of her and two of her siblings so miserable. A former villainess who was clearly experiencing some sort of episode. What kind, Violet had no clue, but all the same she was determined to find out. “Esmé,” she said gently as she knelt down beside the other woman. “Esmé, it’s me, Violet. What’s wrong?” She reached out to touch Esmé’s shoulder, and was surprised when she jerked back. What had happened? Swallowing nervously (Violet really had no experience when it came to dealing with people’s psychological problems; she was surprised that she and her siblings had made it through the years following their series of unfortunate events without seeing one single shrink), she leaned a little closer. “You said before that you were coming in here to speak to Jerome,” she said gently. “Did you two have an argument?” Esmé sniffled, but said nothing. “Would it help if I asked what it was that you argued about?” Esmé kept as still as possible, hoping that Violet would get fed up with her silence and go away. After what Esmé had argued with Jerome about, how could she be expected to answer the eldest Baudelaire’s question? When Esmé still refused to answer, Violet struggled desperately to come up with some sort of solution. Finally, after nearly two minutes of thought, she said, “Would it help if I called Carmelita?” She remembered seeing both the numbers for Carmelita’s home phone and Café Salmonella tacked to a bulletin board in the kitchen. Once more, Esmé didn’t respond, and Violet laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Stay right there,” Violet said. “I’ll be right back.” Violet hurried out of the study and right passed the standing room where Jerome was busy pacing back and forth, practically wearing a tread in the carpet, desperately trying to think of what to do. --- Violet snatched the telephone off the receiver and quickly dialed the number of Café Salmonella. The ringing seemed to last forever before someone finally picked up. “Hello,” came a cheerful voice on the other line. “You’ve reached Café Salmonella, located at 678 Dark Avenue in the Fish District. This is Carmelita speaking, how may I help you?”Violet took a deep breath as she pressed her palm against her forehead. It felt so bizarre speaking to Carmelita after so many years of practically hating her. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since their encounter a week before, so maybe it was time that they started. “Carmelita,” Violet said. “How are you? It’s Violet Baudelaire. Listen, I don’t want you to get upset or anything, but I think something’s seriously wrong with Esmé.” “What do you mean?” Carmelita asked. “I’m not sure. I tried to ask her about it, but she just sat in a corner and refused to speak to me. But from what I could gather, she and Jerome had some sort of argument.” “What was it they argued about?”“I’m not sure,” Violet admitted. “But I think it has something to do with Emma. Sunny and Beatrice mentioned something about Jerome having to talk with Emma privately, so…” “Esmé did something like that once before,” Carmelita explained. “It’s nothing to worry about, but I’m on my way. The best thing to do is to keep an eye on her, and try to find out from Jerome what happened.”“Okay. Thank you, Carmelita.” As Violet returned the telephone to the receiver, she could hardly believe that the person she had just spoken to was the same little girl who had once made the lives of Violet and her siblings so miserable.
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Post by Jenny on Mar 2, 2008 12:14:12 GMT -5
Violet hesitated for a minute or two before attempting to talk with Jerome about what had left his wife so upset. Her idiotic crush hadn't yet completely evaporated--she blushed, ashamed of herself even to think of it--and she didn't want Jerome to start getting awkward and suspicious over it. She took a deep breath to clear her head, and headed into the standing room where she had heard him pacing.
'Jerome..?' she enquired softly, looking in, and seeing him turn around to face her. Instantly her cheeks redenned--before they had even spoken! What on Earth was wrong with her?--but she continued. 'Can I come in?'
'Of course, Violet,' Jerome replied, and she pretended not to see him dry his eyes on the back of his hand. Jerome was obviously fairly sensitive, but she wasn't prepared to see him tearful.
'I just called Carmelita,' she said quietly. Jerome's eyebrows raised, and she cringed a little at that. 'I'm sorry--I tried to talk to Esmé, but she's so upset. I didn't know what else to do,' she admitted. 'Unless of course you were to talk to her, you know, fix up whatever argument you've obviously--'
'No,' Jerome said softly. 'I can't do that. She needs to remember how she can and can't act.'
Violet, stunned at the evident revelation that Jerome and Esmé's marriage was not all it seemed.
'Will Carmelita be able to fix things?'
'Probably,' said Jerome quietly. 'She always does. Though I hope she doesn't apologize for me in the process.'
'Surely--'
'I don't want to apologize, Violet.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Mar 2, 2008 13:36:23 GMT -5
“Jerome,” she began carefully. “I know it isn’t my place to pry into your affairs, seeing as we aren’t family, but maybe it would help if you told me what it is that happened between you and Esmé.”
Jerome wanted more than anything to cover his face and run out of the room, but he knew he couldn’t do that. But even more he knew that if he was to tell Violet the truth behind the argument he’d had with Esmé then it would make things all the more worse for everyone in the penthouse. Another thing was that Jerome needed to think of the three children and the kind of thing they would be arriving home to later that afternoon.
“Thank you, Violet,” he said at last. “I really do appreciate your concern in this matter, but you’re right. We aren’t family, so perhaps it would be best to rely on Carmelita this time.”
Jerome absolutely hated the way he sounded as he said this. It reminded him of his own father and how he had criticized Jerome endlessly for his decision to raise Carmelita and Emma as his own daughters. Another thing he was reminded of was how he and the Baudelaires had nearly become a family at one point, and there was no doubt in his mind that Violet was thinking the same thing.
This awkward moment was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the inside of the open door, and Jerome and Violet turned to see Klaus standing there, along with Carmelita.
The concern in her face was evident as he eyes traveled from Violet to Jerome. “Where’s Esmé?” Carmelita asked.
“She’s still next-door in the study,” Violet explained.
“How long has it been since she’s bothered to come out?”
“About half an hour.”
Carmelita couldn’t help but glare at Jerome. “And this is all due to some silly argument the two of you had?” she asked. She honestly couldn’t believe the way Jerome was just hiding away in a room with Violet Baudelaire when his wife was right next-door, having some sort of psychological meltdown.
Then it hit Carmelita: Could Jerome and Violet be…
Carmelita shook her head firmly, trying her best to rid her mind of such an absurd thought. In the thirteen years she had been the Squalors’ daughter, there was not one time she could remember in which Jerome had even glanced at another woman. The thought that he would do it now was so ridiculous it was almost funny, and Carmelita would have laughed out loud had she not been so terribly worried about her adoptive mother.
“I’m going to try and talk to her,” Carmelita said. “The three of you, just stay here.” Without another word, she turned and hurried next-door to the study.
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Post by Jenny on Mar 2, 2008 16:10:32 GMT -5
As Carmelita walked into the study, without knocking--she didn't see the need, and she also didn't want Esmé to have time to dry her eyes before she came in; she wanted to see what sort of state her adoptive mother was really in--she at first noticed how clearly the conversations from the standing room could be heard. If Violet and Jerome had said anything slightly abnormal Esmé easily would have heard it.
Then she noticed that Esmé wasn't there.
Her heart stopped for a second, it seemed: and Carmelita's first thought was that once again Esmé had run away after becoming so upset. Anger welling along with her incredible worry, she darted back into the standing room.
'Jerome,' she said quickly, sharply, and her voice and eyes were angry. 'What exactly did you argue over?'
Her adoptive father looked uncomfortably at Violet and started once again to stutter. There was no way to explain to Carmelita in front of the Baudelaires that they had argued over Esmé returning to her old self, and over Emma researching Olaf.
'...J-Just an average argument Carmy,' he settled on in the end, looking once again at Violet, hoping he wouldn't have to go any further.
Carmelita hadn't liked the way he'd been looking at Violet during all this. She'd thought her earlier theory ridiculous, but now she wasn't sure. It felt like Jerome was hiding the fact that they had argued over Violet, and Carmy was thinking she might have been right after all. She eyed Violet Baudelaire angrily, carried away with her perception.
What if they were....involved? Carmelita didn't even want to think about what would happen.
'She's not there, Jerome! Esmé doesn't just leave over the 'average argument!''
Jerome's shock hit him quickly. 'She can't have gone,' he protested. 'I was in here so that I could listen, Violet. She hasn't left. I would have heard!'
'Perhaps you were a little too occupied conversing with Violet Baudelaire to care much for your wife's psychological state!'
The silence reverbrated around the room for a second before Carmelita let out a frustrated sigh and stormed off through the rest of the apartment.
'Esmé!,' she yelled. 'Esmé! It's---'
'Carmy?' her mother appeared from around a corner quickly, holding out her hands to stop Carmelita going any further, or becoming any more upset.
'I thought--!' the younger woman got no further before relieved tears started to fall. 'We thought you'd gone!'
'No, darling,' it was only then that Carmelita noticed that Esmé was dressed up a little more than just casually, with a few touches of make-up on. 'I was in one of the further bedrooms. I didn't want to hear what Jerome had to say about our argument, particularly....'
Carmelita couldn't believe that her adoptive father could be so insensitive. She understood Esmé for wandering off to get changed perhaps, and make herself looka little nicer in order to feel a little nicer in turn. But why was Jerome so incompetant today?
....Was it really to do with Violet Baudelaire?
'What is it you argued about?' Carmy asked eventually. Esmé frowned.
'Emma told Sunny and Beatrice about her father,' she answered. 'She snuck into Jerome's study to research the history, with the Baudelaires.' Esmé shook her head. 'It's just that I told her not to, Carmy, you know? She promised me she wouldn't.'
Carmelita nodded. It reminded them both of something Olaf would have done, but neither of them would admit that.
'Then I said something vaguely offensive, I think, to Jerome,' she continued. 'And then he went into the standing room and I curled up in a corner in the study--' Carmelita felt her anger bubble once again. How could he leave her like that? 'And Violet found me, and then she must have called you, and then she and Jerome started talking, and I pulled myself together, eventually. That's all.'
'Are you alright?'
'Yes, darling,' she smiled. 'Yes, you know how I get sometimes. It passes.'
Finally Klaus appeareed at the end of that corridor, followed side by side by Violet and Jerome. Again, Carmelita started to glare.
'Mother,' she said, and it didn't occur to her that the Baudelaire's would think this odd. 'Could you wait for me, in the master bedroom?'
'Of course, dear,' Esmé replied, not eager to enter again into an argument with her husband.
'And Violet, Klaus,' she cotinued, as Esmé departed. 'Could you leave Jerome and I alone, for a moment?'
Klaus looked like he might argue, but Violet was quicker. 'Of course,' she said quickly, and took her brother's arm as they headed down back towards the beginning of the apartment.
When everyone was out of earshot, Carmelita started to speak, not bothering to find a room in which her and Jerome could talk.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Mar 2, 2008 18:28:46 GMT -5
“Before you say anything,” she said firmly, “I just want to know one thing: Is there something going on between you and Violet?”
Jerome thought for sure that Carmelita was joking until he saw the tears lingering in the corners of her azure eyes. “Don’t be absurd, Carmy,” he said. “What on Earth could possibly make you think there’s anything between Violet and myself?”
Carmelita rolled her eyes in a way that reminded him great of Esmé, but he ignored this as Carmelita continued: “Well, conversing in here with her while your wife is right next-door in tears pretty much covers it— wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” Jerome replied, his hands clenched at the very thought that Carmelita could possibly believe something like this was possible. He loved Esmé, with every fiber of his being and with every ounce of his soul. “I wouldn’t. And I resent the fact that you, of all people, would actually draw upon such a conclusion. Don’t you think that if I wanted someone else, that I would have sought them out after Esmé left me thirteen years ago?”
Carmelita, however, was still not satisfied, and she pushed the conversation further. “What about that encounter you had with the prostitute?” she asked, remembering a story Jerome had told her once about what he had gone through after Esmé had left him.
“I was desperate!” Jerome wailed, and this time Carmelita could see tears beginning to brim the corners of his green eyes. “Esmé had just left me, and I was so terribly, unbelievably lonely… all I wanted was a little company. And nothing happened. I offered to take the woman to the bookstore, and that was all. That’s all that happened.”
“What about Violet?”
“There’s nothing between us!” Tears spilled from Jerome’s eyes as he tossed the words frantically at Carmelita, and she was hit with the realization that he was telling her the truth. No one would react this passionately to such an accusation if they were lying, and Carmelita suddenly felt very guilty.
She thought back nearly ten years prior to this moment, just after Nero had been acquitted after their relationship had been made public. It was all because of Jerome and his ability to find the very best lawyer in the city that Nero had been set free. If it hadn’t been for Jerome, then Carmelita and Nero might never have ended up together.
“I’m sorry, Jerome,” Carmelita said finally, and she watched guiltily as her adoptive father wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He really had been telling the truth. Her words really had hurt him. “I really am. I shouldn’t have accused you without any proof, or for knowing the entire story.”
“It’s all right, Carmy,” Jerome said. He reached into the pocket of his Dockers for his handkerchief and began to wipe his face. “You were only acting out of concern for your mother, and I suppose I can’t blame you.”
“Will you be all right if I go talk to Esmé? It’s just that I asked her to wait for me in her room, and she looked so upset before that I—”
Jerome nodded. “Go to her. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Carmelita. I’m positive.”
With an apologetic smile, Carmelita turned and headed in the direction of the master bedroom.
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Post by Jenny on Mar 3, 2008 16:07:31 GMT -5
(The bookstore! *dies* btw I changed Violet's age in the next post because I realized I was just wrong last time Jerome remained a few moments longer after Carmelita departed. Her comments would have rendered him utterly speechless had he not been so desperate to defend himself and his actions--he had never even thought that he and Violet could be acting suspiciously. A thought struck him, and he actually leaned against the wall, unable to support himself otherwise. Did Esmé think something was going on between him and Violet? Jerome almost felt utterly sick at the idea. For one thing, he couldn't help but think of Violet as a child, although she was obviously twenty seven now and very much an adult (he would always feel the same way about Carmelita, he supposed). Inwardly, Jerome reinforced his old beliefs--if he had never argued with his wife none of this would ever have happened, and everything could have carried on as usual. He remembered now that it wasn't only his father that had made him so adamant never to argue. He sincerely hoped his beloved wife didn't think him capable of doing something to hurt her as much as that. -- 'Esmé' Carmelita enquired, and the usual 'yes, darling?' reverberated back at her from behind the door of the master bedroom. Esmé's absolute composure as of late was worrying--Carmelita was all too aware that simply forgetting about problems was one of her adoptive mother's methods of dealing with things (though often running away and hysterically sobbing had proved more popular in the past). 'I spoke with Jerome,' she said quickly, sitting on the edge opf the grand bed while Esmé sat at her vanity. 'He's very distressed. I might have misjudged his position in all this, a little---' '--Oh, it wasn't Jerome's fault, Carmy.' her adoptive mother informed. 'I shouldn't have been so harsh. I shouldn't have gotten so angry.' 'Still,' Carmy shrugged, and for a second she couldn't explain why she felt a little angry at Jerome still. 'He shoudl have cared a little, Esmé. He should have spent less time talking to--' Carmelita cut off, and suddenly wondered if Esmé had ever had the same thoughts over Violet as she had. '--to Violet,' she prompted swiftly, and Carmelita just wasn't sure. Esmé wasn't a bad actress, really. '--And more time sorting things with you,' she finished, as Esmé applied something to her hair to smoothe it a little more into the style she liked best. 'But I get so frantic sometimes, Carmy, that I can hardly blame him for taking a step back.' Carmelita didn't agree, but she couldn't find a suitable reply.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Mar 3, 2008 17:52:30 GMT -5
[*laughs* I’m glad you liked the part about the bookstore. Yeah, it was my friend’s idea that came up in one of the many Esmé and Jerome conversations we’ve had and I couldn’t resist using it in the rp.]
Esmé smiled, though as she did Carmelita could plainly see the tears glistening in her eyes. “I suppose I couldn’t really blame Jerome,” Esmé said, “if he…” She trailed off, unable to utter the rest of the words. She knew it was ridiculous, but the hurt it caused her to even think that her husband would leave her was incredible. What made it even worse was the fact that she had done the same to him.
“If he what, Esmé?” Carmelita asked, wondering if her adoptive mother knew something that she didn’t.
Esmé shook her head. “Nothing, Carmy.”
“You forget that I’m an adult now,” Carmelita replied gently. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me things that you would otherwise keep from me if I was still a child.”
“I know that, darling,” Esmé said. “And I admit that I do forget sometimes, that you aren’t ten anymore. But I suppose that I shall always see you as that same fiery-tempered little girl who changed my life forever one winter afternoon on Mount Fraught.”
Carmelita smiled at the look of reminiscence in Esmé’s eyes. “It’s my most fond memory. That and meeting Nero, of course.” There really was no way for Carmelita to choose between just one of these, for they were both incredibly dear to her, and so therefore each of them held a very special place in her heart.
Esmé smiled as she rose from her vanity and took a seat beside Carmelita on the bed.
“What is it?” Carmelita asked, though she knew very well what it was. “You look as though you want to say something, Esmé.”
Esmé lowered her eyes to her lap, and Carmelita put an arm around her. “I don’t know what I’d do,” Esmé began shakily, “if Jerome ever decided to leave me.” As she said this last part, a tear loosened from the corner of her eyes and rolled down her cheek.
Carmelita wrapped her other arm around Esmé, holding her protectively and resting her cheek on Esmé’s shoulder. Even as Carmelita held her she could feel Esmé trembling in her embrace, which was something Esmé only did whenever she was extremely upset.
“I love him,” she said in a half whisper. Carmelita just stared at her, half in disbelief and the other half in amazement. “I love him so much, and I… I…” She trailed off once more, and in a gesture of daughterly affection Carmelita guided Esmé’s head onto her shoulder where she continued to weep. As she did, Carmelita stroked her hair and patted her gently on the back, doing what she could to calm her mother. In all the years she had known Esmé and Jerome, there was not a time Carmelita could remember where Esmé had ever said that she loved her husband.
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Post by Jenny on Mar 7, 2008 16:03:55 GMT -5
As Jerome was drying his eyes a few corridors away, having dragged himself with an incredible amount of effort into a nearby sitting room to sit and think, the single person that he didn't want to see entered the room.
'Jerome,' Violet started, and then bit her lip. She had absolutely no idea what to do now--the Baudelaire's would have to stay in the penthouse for a few weeks more at least, and she didn't want to cause any more rifts between the two families than already existed. 'Jerome, is there anything I can do? To help?'
He rubbed his forehead, wary of even speaking to Violet Baudelaire after all the suspicion over them.
'No,' he settled on, and even then his eyes travelled warily to the doorway. 'Violet, really, I think Carmy's got it all covered,. to be honest. She's so used to this sort of thing....'
Why had Violet blushed as he'd looked up? Jerome didn't want to think about what the answer was. She seemed absolutely unable to meet his eyes for some reason, and when she did she simply smiled shyly and looked away again, as if embarrassed to look for even a moment directly at him.
He was quiet for a moment, and then he felt himself drawing to a conclusion.
'There's no need to feel uncomfortable around me any more.' he started awkwardly. She looked surprised--and he hoped maybe he wasn't entirely wrong. 'I know it must be difficult to forget how I refused to help you outside Veblen Hall, when you so badly needed a reliable guardian. I'm sorry that--'
'No, Jerome,' she chuckled quietly to herself. If she had forgiven Esmé Squalor she could easily forgive Jerome. 'That's not it at all. It's not uncomfortable.'
Violet forwned inwardly. She would never, ever admit a crush on her former guardian. He would just have to puzzle over it.
--
'Esmé,' said Carmelita, and she could feel herself getting a little tearful just from her adoptive mother's sobs. 'Jerome will never, ever leave you.' She was absolutely certain this was true now that her adoptive father had been so adamant to prove it to her.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Mar 7, 2008 21:11:11 GMT -5
“How can you be sure of that,” Esmé asked through her tears, and Carmelita handed her a tissue from the box on the nightstand, “when I did the same to him all those years ago?”
“Because Jerome is a noble person,” Carmelita said. “And you are, too, Esmé. Sure, it took you some time to get where you are now, but just look at all the progress you’ve made. At all the progress you and I have made. Together.”
Esmé nodded, dabbing gently at her eyes with the tissue. “You’re right, Carmy,” she said. She reached for her adopted daughter’s hand and squeezed it gently.”We have come a long way.”
“I could never have done it without you, you know. Without you, who knows where I would’ve ended up?”
Even though Esmé didn’t quite believe these words, she could tell by the honesty in Carmelita’s eyes and voice that she thought otherwise. And that was enough.
“It’s time, Esmé,” Carmelita said, and Esmé looked at her in confusion.
“What?” she asked.
“To tell Jerome what you just told me.”
“That we’ve come a long way? Don’t you think that would seem a little narcissistic?”
Carmelita shook her head. “I mean that you love him,” she corrected.
“Do you really think I should?” Esmé said. “After the way I spoke to him earlier, I’m not so sure that—”
“It’s the easiest thing in the world. Trust me.”
With her heart pounding and her mind spinning, Esmé rose from the bed and walked across the room to the door. Afraid that she would only lose her nerve if she stopped, she continued down the hallway until she came to a sitting room located a few doors away from the study where the argument between her and Jerome had first broken out. As she drew closer, she immediately recognized the sound of his weeping coming from behind the door, and she stopped.
Esmé wrapped her long, slender fingers around the knob and pushed open the door slowly. “Jerome,” she said softly, “I—” She paused, taking notice of just how red his eyes and nose were. Although she had heard him cry many times before, she had never actually seen him in action, and the sight of seeing just how desperately sad he looked was enough to summon up her own tears once more.
“Esmé,” Jerome said, wiping his eyes and nose with his handkerchief even though he knew it was useless. “What are you doing here?”
Stepping slowly into the room and closing the door behind her, Esmé replied, “I came to tell you something.”
“If it has anything to do with what happened earlier—”
She shook her head. “First of all,” she said, “I want to apologize. Second, I have something I’ve been waiting a long time to say to you.”
“Is it that you’re sick and tired of having a husband who’s a coward?” Jerome asked. “Because if it is, then I don’t want to hear it.”
“No, Jerome. That’s not it at all.”
“Then what is it, Esmé?” Jerome sounded as if he was getting ready to cry again. “Tell me now before Emma comes home and sees us arguing.”
“I didn’t come in here to argue with you,” Esmé said, hurt by the idea that Jerome would think that right after she had just apologized. “I came in here to tell you that I love you.”
Now it was Jerome’s turn to look hurt, although he really had no right to feel that way after what he had just said. Too amazed by his wife’s words (words he had been waiting for more than a decade to hear her say), he got up and slowly made his way over to her.
He was just about to reach for her when she suddenly did an amazing thing: She ran forwards and threw herself against him, her thin arms wrapping around his brawny form in the way he had always wished they would but that he had never dared to hope. Now, instead of running from him, she was running to him, and it filled him with a happiness so unreal that he swore he was dreaming. As he willingly received her embrace and reached for her, he looked down and was amazed by just how tearful her face was.
She had been crying, and he was responsible.
Feeling extremely guilty now, Jerome leaned down and kissed the tears that strayed from his wife’s sky-blue eyes. Esmé had always been an extraordinarily beautiful woman, and somehow her beauty only increased every time her eyes became consumed by tears. Vulnerability had always been something she had lacked right up until becoming pregnant, at which point Jerome had found the opportunity to lavish upon her all of the attention he had always wanted to give her. Now, he had been given another opportunity, and he was not going to pass it up.
“I love you, too, my darling,” he said, to which Esmé’s response was a loud wail of a sob. More tears poured down her cheeks, and she held him as tightly as she could, hiding her face in his chest.
There wasn’t a time in which Jerome could remember when she had ever seemed to need him this much, and he continued to take advantage of the moment. Holding her protectively against him, they collapsed together on their knees.
“I love you, Jerome,” Esmé sobbed. “And I… I wouldn’t care if you just decided to sell the penthouse. I’d still love you! Every morning, every afternoon, every evening, and… and all day long!” She was trembling now, utterly helpless in his arms. He held her tighter still, kissing the top of her head.
“Oh, Esmé,” he said. “Oh, darling…”
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