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Post by Jenny on Oct 1, 2007 12:12:04 GMT -5
Jerome nodded and smiled slightly at Carmelita, who was looking braver and a little happier now. He really did hope things would be sorted out. He couldn't bear the thought of hardly ever seeing Carmelita--and he was sure Esme would feel exactly the same when he told her about it.
In fact, he considered telling her to drop by the restaurant Carmelita worked at after the workday finished. They really could use some time together...even though he could really see things getting even worse from there. As long as Nero wasn't there and didn't show up, they would be fine. Hopefully.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 1, 2007 15:09:02 GMT -5
[I’m just going to do a little something with Esmé and Jerome since things seemed to have calmed down on Carmey and Nero’s end. I hope that’s okay.]
When Jerome returned to 667 early that evening, he took the elevator straight up to the penthouse apartment and rang the doorbell.
A moment later, the door opened and Esmé appeared, looking more ravishing than ever. Jerome did his best not to notice. “Hi,” she said. “When did you get back?”
“Just now,” he replied. “I’m sorry to be barging in on you like this, but I thought you’d be interested to know how things went over at Carmelita and Nero’s.”
“Well, of course I’m interested. This is my daughter we’re talking about.” Esmé stepped aside and motioned with her hand for Jerome to enter the penthouse. He did so, and together they made their way into one of the parlors and sat down.
“I thought it would be nice if you could make some time to drop by Café Salmonella on one of your days off from work,” he began, “and spend some time with Carmelita. You don’t need to worry about Nero,” he added. “He detests the taste of salmon even more than I do.”
Esmé nodded. “And you’re sure all this is fine with Carmelita?” she asked.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 1, 2007 15:35:22 GMT -5
Jerome sort of hesitated slightly, and she saw it straight away.
'Ah, I see,' she said, pouring herself a glass of water and drinking a rather large amount of it at once. 'So what you mean to say is that Carmelita doesn't want to see me, but you think I should barge on in regardless, under the impression from you that she wanted me there. Fantastic plan, as usual,' she was joking with him, he knew, but there was something more venomous in her tone than usual.
'Well, I just thought--' he began, but she held up a slender hand to stop him.
'Enough,' she said. Work made her like this. He'd never wanted her to go back. 'I'll go. But I already can picture the outcome.'
'Carmelita said she will never speak with you again if you don't make an effort now!' Jerome interjected sharply. 'Is that what you want? Really?'
It was obvious this had surprised her greatly, but she made no show of it, and covered it carefully. 'Well, I'll have to be quick about my visit, even so,' she paused and drank the last of the glass. 'I've arranged to meet a colleague for dinner. I really don't wish to be late.'
Something stung Jerome. He knew instantly what. 'Ah, a colleague?' he repeated. He couldn't stand it. 'Have I met them?'
She laughed in almost merriment. 'Well, as you aren't one of my parents, Jerome, I really don't think--'
'We're married!' he cried, a surprise to even himself.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 1, 2007 16:44:10 GMT -5
[Jeez, you wrote that scene so well!]
Esmé smiled icily. “So?” she said. “We aren’t living together, are we? No.” She set her empty glass down on the coffee table with more force than she intended, causing a clanking sound of glass on glass. “And so I don’t see who I spend my free time is really any of your business, Jerome.”
Jerome looked genuinely hurt at her words, but he forced himself to keep a straight face. “Well, you are my wife,” he pointed out. He knew he was just asking for another argument, but he couldn’t help it.
Esmé sighed. “Very well.” She massaged her temples the way Carmelita did whenever she was upset— sometimes it was hard to believe they weren’t related. “If you must know, the person I will be dining with tonight happens to be someone from my past, and that’s all I’m going to say. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get ready if you expect me to swing by Café Salmonella on my way to the Veritable French Diner.” She turned to leave, only to be pulled back by Jerome. “What?” She sounded annoyed.
“This colleague of yours,” he said slowly. “They didn’t happen to be an associate of Olaf’s once, did they?”
Esmé shot him a fierce glare and seized her wrist out of Jerome’s grasp so violently that it surprised even him. “Don’t be ridiculous!”Esmé snapped.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 5, 2007 12:13:13 GMT -5
He regretted it absolutely instantly, even if only because he was sure he would have hurt her accidentally when she wrenched her arm away.
'Esmé,' he began softly. 'I'm--'
'Why?' she wailed, interrupting him. 'Why does everything have to be about that man?' He caught sight of tears in her eyes. 'Why is everything I do you don't approve of always because of that man? It was a long time ago, Jerome! I might ahve almost forgotten by now if you hadn't been so detemined to remind me!'
She choked on a sob and turned away, hands on the kitchen counter. Jerome stood there, unsure of what to do.
'I have to leave now,' she said, wiping her cheeks where her tears had spilled. 'And I'll blame you if I look awful when I get there. You can let yourself out.'
She stormed away after that, and it was only after that he realized that for one thing she'd told him that she was going to be in the Veritable French Diner in about half an hour. And for another, she'd never denied any of his accusations.
His mind raced. What about that doorman they'd once had? Or any of Olaf's numerous assistants? They could all still be alive any of them, for all he knew.
Jerome would have to be there.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 5, 2007 15:26:13 GMT -5
Jerome never returned to his own apartment. Instead, he crouched behind the wall just outside the penthouse and waited until he saw Esmé leave before he made his move. He followed her to the elevator, darting behind walls in order to conceal himself from her. She never saw him, and by the time he took the elevator downstairs to the lobby, Esmé was nowhere in sight.
Good. So far, his plan was working.
He ran outside and jumped into his car, and headed for the Veritable French Diner, hoping that Esmé would take her time in patching things up with Carmelita.
Meanwhile, Carmelita was hard at work in the kitchen at Café Salmonella, squeezing lemon juice onto a fresh batch of salmon, when she heard the sound of the two front doors opening. Placing the lemon juice back on the counter, she hurried out of the kitchen and into the restaurant.
“Welcome to Café Salmonella,” she said. “May I—” She paused when she saw the person standing there. “Esmé!”
Esmé’s had done most of her crying on the drive from 667 Dark Avenue down to the Fish District, and her eyes were red and puffy. “Hello, Carmelita,” Esmé said softly.
“Hello. Esmé, you look as though you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 5, 2007 16:59:47 GMT -5
'Oh, nothing,' she said quietly, but unconvincingly. She smiled aoftly, and falsely, and sat down at one of the tables.
'Come sit with me a minute,' she said to Carmelita, who sighed. Esmé never had the concept of 'hard work' fully down. 'I've got work to do,' she said, not wanting to drive her adoptive mother away, but not wishing to waste time, either.
Esmé just smiled. 'I promise it won't take long.'
'But--'
'Jerome sent me here,' Esmé almost snapped. 'And if I stay too long I'll be late for something else. So let me talk and then I'll leave. Alright?'
Carmelita was a little hurt by the sharpness in her adoptive mother's face, but didn't show it. She remained perfectly impassive and then eventually did sit down. Esmé hadbeen crying, obviously--and when she looked into a small compact mirror she made a noise of annoyance.
'Look at me!' she muttered angrily. 'I really do have to stop this crying business if this is how I look afterwards.'
'You look just fine,' Carmelita assured her. And she wasn't lying. She couldn't remember a time in her life yet Esmé hadn't looked perfectly fine to the rest of the world. It was a little misleading, but a trait she wished she could have learnt to mimic nonetheless.
'You know what I'm here to say,' Esmé continued flatly, dragging a hairbrush and a little box of powder out of her handbag. 'Jerome must have said exactly the same earlier.'
'It wouldn't hurt if you said it again,' Carmelita said softly. 'In fact, I might like that.'
'He told me you didn't intend to see me again if I refused to get along with your....charmingfuture husband.'
Carmelita hissed out a long breath. 'There's no need for all this!' she cried. 'i know you're trying to do what you think best, Esmé, and you know I appreciate that, but really, you have to learn to tolerate Nero sooner or later. And--'
A man in a hat and long brown coat entered the Café. Carmelita was about to greet him, but he sat down on his own and hid himself behind his newspaper. Esmé never once looked in his direction from her place, perched on one of the decidedly uncomfortable chairs trying to restyle her entire appearance with a hairbrush, powder and a little tube of mascara.
Carmelita was glad she hadn't. She'd known as soon as he sat down this was Jerome--not even from his face, which peeked out from under his hat often, but simply from his movements and the way he sat. She almost laughed at him. Why was he following them, anyway?
'And what?' Esmé asked.
'And you two really are more alike that you would ever care to admit,' Carmelita said quietly. 'I forgive you, Esmé, and Nero does too. We both forgive you, and we both know you are a much kinder person than this, really. So we are willing to give you another chance.' Here they both smiled slightly. Esmé didsn't want this argument to go on forever, and nor did Carmelita.
'Make a speech at the wedding.' Carmelita said. 'Just to prove you're OK with the marriage after all.'
'What?!' Esmé exploded, dropping her compact in the process. Jerome's newpsper made various rustling noises where he had also obviously been shocked at the proposal.
'You heard,' Carmelita said. 'That's what I really would like the best from you.' she stood, going back to work. 'Think about it, and then let me know. I don't expect an answer from you now.'
Esmé nodded and packed everything away again. 'Goodbye, sweetheart.'
Carmelita smiled, pleased at the nickname. 'Godbye, Esmé. I'll speak again with you soon.'
Esmé left, and the minute the door had closed Carmelita turned to the oddly dressed man.
'Jerome,' she cried. 'What exactly are you doing following Esmé? If she finds you--'
Jerome shot up, crumpling his newspaper and waving it around to accentuate his words. 'She's going out!' he wailed. 'At the Veritable French Diner! And she won't tell me who with!'
Carmelita burst out laughing before she could help it. She couldn't believe it. She never knew Jerome was this nosy!
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 5, 2007 17:05:09 GMT -5
“Relax, Jerome,” Carmelita said. “There’s no reason to be so overdramatic. I’m sure the person she’s going with is just one of her co-workers.” “That’s what I thought at first, too,” replied Jerome excitedly. “But when she said the person was someone from her past—” “What?” Carmelita exclaimed. Someone from her past? The phrase suddenly rang all sorts of possibilities inside Carmelita’s head, from the Hook-Handed Man and the Powder-Faced Women to Justice Strauss and the Baudelaires. “Are you sure that’s what she told you?” “Yes!” “What else did she tell you?” “Nothing,” Jerome said, slumping back down into the booth. “She became very annoyed when I asked her if this person was once an associate of Count Olaf’s.” “Oh, Jerome…” Carmelita sighed. “You didn’t…” He nodded sheepishly. “By the time I realized what I’d said, it was already too late.” “Come on,” Carmelita said. "Where?" Jerome asked. "To the Veritable French Diner, of course. You want to see what Esmé's up to, don't you?" "Of course I do, but—" "But nothing! Let's go!" --- Jerome and Carmelita entered calmly and casually through the front doors of the Veritable French Diner. They requested a table closest to the exit (just in case their plan failed, they would have easy access to an escape route), the waiter left to get them each a glass of water. After he had gone, Jerome and Carmelita began to scan the area for Esmé and her mysterious colleague. They soon spotted Esmé seated in a booth on the other side of the restaurant with a man a little older than Nero. Carmelita recognized him immediately. “That’s Fer—!” “Ssshhh,” Jerome hissed, and clamped his hand over his adopted daughter’s mouth. “Or you’ll give us both away!” “What on earth is she doing with Fernald Widdershins?” Carmelita asked, more softly this time. Jerome frowned. “I don’t know,” he said, and felt his blood begin to boil. He didn’t like this— not one bit —and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to keep his presence a secret from his wife before he stormed over to the booth and demanded what she was doing with the former henchman of her villainous ex-boyfriend.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 6, 2007 15:20:36 GMT -5
He leaned over to Carmelita, carfeul to avoid the glasses of water between them. She was the only way he could know anything about this man, or naything about who he really was.
'What do you know of him?' he asked quietly.
'Hooky,' she whispered, mostly to herself. 'That's what she used to call him, because of his...lack of hands. I don't think he liked her terribly much, especially not after how she treated him. He thought me petulant, spoilt and irritating, which at the time I suppose I very much was. If I remember correctly, Fernald came into contact with his long lost sister and left us--' she seemed to need to clarify--'by that I mean Esmé, Olaf and I--by stealing a submarine and helping the Baudelaires in their escape.'
Jerome raised his eyebrows. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'I thought he was an assistant of Olaf's.'
Carmelita smiled and looked back at him. 'Yes, Jerome,' she said. 'He was. Just because someone is Olaf's assistant once does not mean there can't be at least some good in them. Look at Esmé and I.'
'That's different,' he said quickly. 'You two weren't assistants.'
'How not?' she asked. 'I shot crows specifically so that none of them could reach the hotel. That's assistance. Esmé did plenty. I believe she had an active hand in anaesthetizing Violet Baudelaire and organizing her cranioectomy in Heimlich Hospital. I remember listening to them boast about it after I arrived.'
Jerome shivered. He tried not to think about all the things his wife had done in the past nowadays. He hated being reminded.
'The fact still remains that she shouldn't be talking with him.' Jerome said angrily. 'What does she think she's doing?'
'And why on Earth was she so concerned about her appearance before coming here?' Carmelita asked, half to herself. 'She must have spent ten minutes in front of that compact mirror to make sure she looked 'presentable' enough to leave.' Carmelita laughed, even though truly she knew there was nothing to laugh about. 'She can't be dating Fernald Widdershins.'
'Well, Olaf was a surprise the first time round, but--'
'No,' said Carmelita. 'I honestly can't see it. Olaf was different. She'd known her since she was a teenager. He was important to her. She and Fernald disliked each other quite a bit from what I remember.'
Jerome palmed his forehead in frustration. It just didn't work out right, any of it. There was nothings he could want from one of Olaf's colleagues now, not after all this time.
'She's my wife, Carmy,' he said, surprising himself with his own jealousy.
She smiled sadly. 'I know. I can't remember a time either of you have acted like it, though.'
He nodded unahppily. 'I know, but that hardly changes the facts of the matter. And especially not when she happens to be seeing--'
'I don't think she's 'seeing' anyone,' Carmelita said. 'I just think..maybe she's curious.'
'About?'
'I don't know. What happened with the schism, with the organisation. She'd have no other way of knowing.'
Jerome nodded, taking this as a proper explanation. He looked over at them again. They were laughing, merrily--and what could they have found to laugh about? What they were supposed to be discussing wasn't exactly merry, was it? Jerome felt himself get angry, and his feelings were escalated greatly when suddenly Fernald took his hook and her hand closed around it.
Jerome stood up, and Carmelita was lucky to have stopped him before he'd darted over to the other side of the restaurant to stop them, or at least find the cause.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 6, 2007 18:06:11 GMT -5
“Wait a minute, Jerome,” she said, pulling him back down into the booth.
“What for?” he asked, catching himself before he could snap at Carmelita.
“Well, I don’t think storming over there in a fury would do much to improve the matter at hand.”
“Maybe not, but it’s certainly worth a try. I am not leaving here until I know exactly what it is that Esmé is up to— not to mention what Mr. Widdershins’ intentions are with her —and if we catch them in the act then they’ll have no other choice but to explain. I admit I may not know Esmé as well as you do, but if there’s one thing I do know about her it’s that she hates looking foolish. If I catch her off guard then maybe she’ll be compelled to give me— us —an explanation.”
Carmelita glanced back in the direction of Esmé and Fernald, who was now (for some reason known only to himself and perhaps Esmé) looking at her the way Jerome always had. What was going on? It was as if Carmelita and Jerome had crossed over into The Twilight Zone. Sensing the anxiety beginning to develop in the pit of her stomach, Carmelita turned to her adoptive father and said in a voice streaked with uncertainty, “I’m going with you.”
Jerome merely nodded, and together the two of them headed over to Esmé and Fernald’s table.
Esmé’s back was to Jerome and Carmelita, and as they paused directly behind her, Fernald looked up at the man in the brown hat and coat accompanied by a familiar-looking redhead and asked, “May I help you?”
Carmelita could sense Fernald’s eyes on her, and she wondered how long it would be before he realized who she was, or what his reaction would be. She could feel her heart race as she waited for Jerome to respond and for Esmé to turn around when he did.
“I would like to know exactly what your intentions are,” he said, “with my wife.”
Esmé’s shoulders jerked forward right before she turned sharply in her seat, her eyes locking on the faces of her husband and adopted daughter. “Jerome!” she practically shouted, and several of the waiters and customers looked in her direction. Esmé ignored them and continued. “You’re spying on me?”
“I had no other choice, Esmé. You refused to tell me anything about the person you were meeting here tonight, so—”
“So that is no one’s business but my own!” Esmé cried. “You had no right to go prying into my personal life, and to make things worse you’ve got Carmelita working as your associate!”
Fernald turned in astonishment to Carmelita, realizing for the first time exactly who she was. “Carmelita Spats?” he asked.
Despite the tense circumstances, she managed to bestow upon him a friendly smile. “Hello again, Fernald,” she replied. “Or should I say ‘Hooky’.”
Fernald smiled at the familiar nickname, and was about to say something else when Jerome interrupted him.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said. “What are your intentions with my wife?”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 7, 2007 5:18:15 GMT -5
Esmé stood up, and Jerome could have sworn he saw an infuriating little smirk cross the Hook-Handed man's lips for a second before it was gone, and in it's place a deep, sorrowful frown.
'He has no need to answer you, Jerome!' she cried. A particularly brave waiter approached them.
'Is anything the matter, madam?' he inquired shyly--the poor boy was a full head shorter than everyone except Carmelita and obviously had no idea what he was getting hismelf into at the time.
Esmé waved a hand at the waiter, not even bothering to give any response to his polute enquiries. She whirled on her husband again, as Fernald leaned back in his chair, resting his head against one of his hooks.
'Is it so difficult to trust me, Jerome?' she asked, as if the answer should surely be a no. Jerome shrugged.
'Have I any reason to?' he asked her, motioning to Fernald. Her temper changed suddenly, and she sat back down, facing away from him.
'Wait in the penthouse, Jerome,' she commanded lightly, sipping whatever drink she had ordered earlier. 'We can talk about all of this when I get back.'
He was about to argue, but Carmelita held his arm and winked. 'Yes, Jerome,' she said, still looking at him in a way that indicated she had something else planned. 'Come on. Let's go.'
And with that she proceeded to smile kindly at Fernald and practically drag Jerome away from the scene to the outside of the restaurant.
Carmelita immediately found her cell phone and dialled a number. When Jerome looked at her quizzically, she smiled. 'I'm calling Nero,' she told him. 'If we can't be there, someone has to be.'
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Upon seeing Nero take the table next to hers and Fernalds, Esmé very nearly flew into another tempestous fit, only Fernald's quiet cough from opposite her bringing her back down.
She sighed. 'I can't apologize enough for my...' she considered her words. 'Well, I hate to say family, but I'm afraid it's rather appropriate.'
Fernald smiled hismelf at that. There was a little of the Esmé he'd known still there, after all, with her temper and her scathing little comments.
'Odd, though, that your only tie with any of them is a flimsy marriage with a man you used to hopelessly take advantage of.'
She frowned a little. 'Jerome is a better man than I gave him credit for,' she admitted. 'After all, how many people do you know that would have taken me back if I had treated them the same way I treated Jerome? I can't think of any.' she folded the napkin in her hands. 'Even if he is paranoid, annoying and sometimes really does need a hobby that isn't following me everywhere.'
Fernald grinned. 'You are married, I suppose.'
She shook her head lightly. 'The definition of 'married' is rarely living in the same apartment building on different floors.' She changed the subject after that, another gleaming smile appearing. 'I'm glad you decided to contact me, Fernald,' she said happily. 'After all, I can't honestly say I have many friends nowadays. I never quite went back to being much of a socialite after I returned here.'
'No one is ever the same after...experiences like we had.' Fernald excused.
She looked down. 'I suppose not.'
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by Nero dropping his fork on the next table. They both chuckled at his scrambling attempt at retrieving it before they noticed.
Esmé finally stood up. 'I really must go,' she said sadly. 'I don't want to get home to find Jerome had exploded from worry.'
Fernald nodded, but hnaded her a hankerchief and a pen with some difficulty. 'I'd like to write down my address and telephone number,' he said. 'But writing is something I never quite mastered with no hands.'
She felt a pang of guilt at the wayshe had always teased him, and took the pen herself, writing her own before lifting it to hand back to him. Instead, though, she opened his coat pocket and slipped the pen and napkin inside. He smiled gratefully and for once she felt she had done something to help him.
She held out a slim hand for him to shake with his hook, but he smiled again and stood up, wrapping both arms around her before she had any say in the matter for perhaps a few seconds too long. Nero would think what he liked.
'Goodbye, Fernald,' she said politely. 'It was nice seeing you again.'
Almost before she finished her sentence, he had placed the flat of one of his hooks against her cheek and softly pressed his lips to hers.
'Goodbye,' he said. 'I'll make sure to be in touch.'
Nero almost dropped every piece of cutlery as they both left, Esmé looking considerably surprisedand Fernald looking esepecially happy, in seperate directions. He saw her climb into her car and quickly he took out his phone and dialledin Jerome's number, describing the events quiclkly so Jerome would know everything before his wife arrived to tell him, no doubt, a muc idfferent version of events.
Nero clicked his phone shut. He'd known she was bad news from the start.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 7, 2007 14:08:53 GMT -5
EmmaSqualor667: Jerome and Carmelita were seated in one of the parlors of the penthouse, their faces illustrations of their feelings. Carmelita just looked confused, while Jerome looked ready to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. She thought about offering her adoptive father the notion that perhaps Nero had been mistaken and Esmé hadn’t kissed Hooky after all, but what good could it possibly do when neither Jerome nor Carmelita had been there to see it happen?
Any minute now, Esmé would come through the entranceway and everything would be explained…
At least, Carmelita hoped it would be. There was really no telling with Esmé.
Ten uncomfortable minutes passed before the sound of the front door opening and then closing caught Jerome and Carmelita’s attention. The sound of footsteps followed soon after, and she turned to him and said gently, “Now don’t go off on her… just let me do the talking or else you’ll drive her away. You don’t want that, do you?”
Jerome shook his head sadly. “No,” he replied.
“Here she comes,” Carmelita whispered, and at that moment they both turned to see Esmé standing in the entranceway of the parlor. “Hello, Esmé.”
“Hello, Carmelita,” Esmé said, her arms folded. She still looked very irritated. “I saw your” — she cleared her throat “—charming fiancée down at the restaurant. Would you care to explain to me the reason as to what he was doing there?”
Carmelita lowered her head and concentrated on her feet. “Please don’t be angry, Esmé,” she said in a small voice. “We were just worried about you. So I… I called Nero and asked him to go and keep an eye on you. That’s all.”
Jerome took this as the opportunity to speak, and he rose from the chair in which he was sitting before doing so. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, Esmé,” he said, “blame me. But don’t expect me to let you off the hook just yet.”He laughed to himself, realizing the significance of what he’d just said. “Or should I say ‘hooks’?”
Esmé scowled. “Get to the point, Jerome,” she said. “And then get out. I’m tired and would like to get to bed early tonight if that’s at all possible.”
“Nero said he saw Fernald Widdershins kiss you!” Jerome blurted out before he could think of a better way to phrase his words.
Esmé blushed deeply. “Yes, he did,” she shot back. “But even so, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“It is when the woman he kisses happens to be my wife!”
“Who also happens to live in a separate apartment than you!”
“An apartment that I gave you!”
Carmelita sunk down into her chair and held her head in her hands. She had never seen Esmé and Jerome argue like this before.
“Because you insisted!” Esmé shouted.
“That’s only because—!”
Suddenly, a shattering sob pierced the air, and Esmé and Jerome both turned to see that Carmelita had risen, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched them.
“Carmy…” Jerome started.
Esmé was quick to cut him off. “Now see what you’ve done,” she accused. “Are you satisfied?!”
Carmelita through her hands over her ears once more. “Stop it,” she cried, “both of you!”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 7, 2007 14:30:44 GMT -5
They both fell guiltily silent, watching as Carmelita tried in vain to swipe away the many tears on her cheeks.
'Carmy,' Jerome said softly. 'What's matter?'
She turned slowly, another small sob escaping her lips. 'What's the matter?' she repeated shakily. 'I've never seen you argue like this! This is awful!'
Another silence followed, which Esmé eventually broke with a cough.
'Carmy,' she said quietly. 'I hate to tell you this, but this isn't about you. We'll argue if we like. It's a perfectly normal way of solving problems.'
Jerome looked at his wife--was wife quite the correct way to address her?--in disbelief. How had she become so cold all of a sudden? And how could she stand to see Carmelita so upset and do nothing.
This latest sentence from Esmé also quietened Carmelita, who's blue eyes looked up angrily.
'I'm perfectly aware this isn't about me, Esmé!' she cried. 'But I do believe it affects me, doesn't it? Or is that not good enough?'
The room was finally with the absence of any scathing comment. Eventually Esmé did find something else to say.
'Has it ever occured to you,' she said. 'That I know no-one except the two of you? And Nero? Is it so absolutely, horrifically awful that I want to know someone else?'
'Yes!' jerome cried, exasperated with his wife's inability to understand. 'When the person you choose just happens to be an associate of your villainous ex-boyfriend! And I have every right to be angry with you after everything you've lied to me about who you were with, and why you were going!'
Esmé sighed. 'I'm tired,' she said. 'Can't we talk about this--'
'No!' Jerome told her sternly. 'We're talking about it now. Tell me--why exactly do you always seem to have to run off to the dangerous criminals? And why do you always lie to me? How am I suposed to trsut you when everytime I need to, I find you've lied?'
'You would never have let me see Fernald if I'd have told you,' she said unhappily.
'No,' Jerome agreed. 'I wouldn't have. Is that wrong?'
She didn't have a reply, and looked down to the floor.
'I wanted Fernald to see,' she ssighed, beginning again. 'I wanted Fernald to know that I was just fine without Olaf. I was always so dependant on him when I knew Fernald that he would have never imagined I had any sort of life of my own.'
Jerome laughed softly. 'Alright,' he said lightly. If, theoretically, taht was what you were thinking, how on Earth did you end up arranging his jacket, hanging on to him hopelessly and kissing him before you left?'
She folded her arms. 'I can't explain the last, and it wasn't my idea by any stretch. I don't know what Fernald thought he was doing.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 7, 2007 15:10:46 GMT -5
“Well, by the way Nero described it, you didn’t exactly object to having Fernald’s lips on yours,” Jerome said bluntly.
“He caught me by surprise,” Esmé insisted. “I didn’t know what to do… I couldn’t think…”
“Did you enjoy it?”
Esmé didn’t answer.
“I see,” Jerome said. “So you did enjoy it.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Esmé said softly. “If you just say you believe me, then—”
“Then what? Then I’ll trust you and you’ll run off with Fernald and break my heart again like you did twelve years ago?”
Esmé forced herself to meet her husband’s eyes, which she saw were brimming with tears. She tried not to notice as she continued to speak. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you again.”
Jerome sighed and lowered his head. “How?” he asked.
“Because the guilt I still feel for hurting you all those years ago is the first thing on my mind when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep. Jerome, what else is it going to take for me to prove to you just how sorry I am?”
Jerome glanced at Carmelita, as if she could provide him with an answer. When she gave him a sympathetic look, he turned back to Esmé. “I don’t know,” he said.
She seemed to crumble on the spot, placing her hands on her head and sliding into a nearby armchair. Jerome wanted nothing more than to run over and comfort her, but how was he supposed to do that when this entire argument revolved around the two of them and Fernald Widdershins?
Once again, Esmé and Jerome were caught up in yet another love triangle.
He nearly broke down and went to her at the sounds of her weeping, but Carmelita was quick to advise against it. “You go back to your apartment,” she said. “I’ll stay here with Esmé tonight, or at least until she feels better.”
Jerome nodded, then turned and hurried out of the parlor. By the time he arrived at the front door, the tears that had been threatening his eyes were streaming down his face, and he was glad that he’d managed to hold them back until he was out of sight of his wife and adopted daughter. He tried his best to be strong, but he could only do it for so long until he fell apart. Now was one of those times.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 7, 2007 15:56:51 GMT -5
Esmé seemed to pull herself together slightly after Jerome left. Carmelita had rushed over to her and brushed her ahir out of her eyes, and it seemed Esmé had recognised the gesture as something she had done for Carmelita once.
'I'm fine, Carmy,' she told the young woman. 'Please. Go home. I'll...call Jerome at some point to talk to him. I don't want you staying here for me.'
'Nonsense,' Carmelita admonished gently. 'I'll stay until I'm fully convinced you're in a fit state to be alone.' she paused. 'And until I've made a little sense of what you've said.'
Hide it as she would, Carmelita was still distressed at the apparent deterioration of the relationship between her adoptive parents. But she supposed there were bigger things to worry about than that at the time, and ignored the worry in the back of her mind.
She was equally distressed that Esmé seemed to feel she couldn't talk to Carmelita about anything that had happened before returning to 667 Dark Avenue with Jerome. Perhaps this originated from when Carmelita had experiences terrible nightmares as a child. She was very much an adult now, though, and felt very able to talk more about what she remembered, if it would be helpful.
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