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Post by Jenny on Aug 15, 2008 16:04:11 GMT -5
[OK! It took me a while to get myself here and stop tidying, but FINALLY I'm ready to post ] Jerome didn't add that he thought that treating anyone like Olaf did could never have been a good plan under any circumstances. She had done it for the right reasons, after all. It seemed that she had done most of the things she regretted so much for 'the right reasons' or something resembling right in the strange definition of the word she must have known. 'It was my fault, a little,' she said quietly, into the crook of his neck, and he heard her tears before he felt the wetness on his skin. 'If I'd just not said anything until after the troupe had left, or if I'd just--' 'It wasn't your fault,' Jerome said softly, but the undertone of his voice indicated that he was stern. 'You can't be blamed for the fact that Olaf was so--' Jerome struggled with the words, and shuddered a little to think of the pain and hardship Fernald Widdershins and his wife must have endured in their years as assistants. '--you can't be blamed for everyone else's actions, darling. It's not your fault that Olaf was so.... disgustingly violent, or that Fernald wanted to protect you from him.' It was hard for Jerome to contemplate the idea of being violent towards anyone, let alone his wife, who he loved so dearly that he didn't think it would be possible for him to raise a hand to her. He held his wife a little tighter, as if to make up for whatever she might have faced all those years ago when he hadn't been around. 'And Colette,' Esmé said quietly, and then bitterly laughed. 'Colette was part of a freakshow, and I only ever met her and the others at Caligari Carnival because of that ridiculous fortune teller that was somehow always correct about the location of the Baudelaire's.' She pulled away from him, and had he not known her so well, he might not have noticed that the corners of her eyes twitched. 'I hated that fortue teller--' suddenly she seemed to think better of it. 'But, anyway, I convinced Colette and some of the other...people at the carnival to join the troupe, because--' Again, she seemed to stutter. '--well, that's not important. The important thing is that I tricked her into becoming a criminal under an incredible amount of false pretences.' 'Wait,' Jerome found his voice quicker than expected. 'I don't understand. Why did Olaf want the people working in the freakshow to work for him when they were already working for the fortune teller?' 'Look, I--I don't remember all the details,' she argued weakly, and a feeling of dread materialised in his stomach. Something about the way she didn't meet his eyes, wouldn't tell him what had happened, made him wonder even more. 'Try,' he urged, and tears sprung to her blue eyes again. 'It's better I know, isn't it?' 'No,' she said, and spun out of his arms to continue putting away the shopping, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. This fact--that she wasn't concerned enough about the fabric of her silken blouse--told him as clearly as a sign would have done how upsetting the memory was to her, and this worried him. He knew that Olaf was to blame for his wife's past criminal activity, but he often avoided asking about things she had done of her own accord. 'Come on,' he said, and put both hands on her shoulders. 'What happened with the fortune teller? I find it hard to believe she was pleased that Olaf was recruiting her employees.' Esmé let out a strangled little noise. 'Olaf wasn't recruiting her employees, Jerome. And she didn't have time to be displeased about me recruiting them either way.' 'I don't understand.' Jerome said, and felt the corners of his mouth slowly begin to turn downwards even further. A shaky little sigh, and then the truth. 'I hated that fortune teller because I was jealous of her for recieving more of Olaf's attention than I did,' she admitted. 'And the reason I tricked Colette, Hugo and Kevin into joining Olaf's troupe was because I recognized that they weren't aware that they were able to get ordinary jobs. I told them that to prove to Olaf and I that they were worthy of a place within the troupe they would have to...have to dispose of Lulu for me.' [*inserts drama* ]
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 15, 2008 17:29:34 GMT -5
[*continues on with drama* ] “What?” Jerome said, the word barely a question as it toppled off the edge of his tongue and into Esmé’s ears. “You can’t… you can’t be serious…” To Jerome’s horror, Esmé slowly nodded her head. “Olaf had just come into possession of a pair of lions,” Esmé continued in a soft, tear-ridden voice. “He said he had bought them for Madam Lulu as a present. Seeing as they were her lions, it was she who would’ve been expected to take care of them. But that’s where Olaf took over. He forced the animals to live in a pit, where he starved and whipped them. This, of course, caused them to become even more ferocious than they would have been were they being properly cared for.” “So it was the lions that—” Once more Esmé nodded, bringing the knuckles of her left hand to her mouth and biting down on them until it hurt. “But it wasn’t Colette, Hugo, and Kevin who pushed Madam Lulu into the pit,” Esmé continued. “It was Olaf, who suggested that one of the carnival employees be judged by their freakishness and then thrown into the pit of hungry lions. That’s when the idea of having someone push Madame Lulu into the pit instead first occurred to me. “In the end, however, there was a riot, and Madam Lulu— along with one of Olaf’s henchmen, the long-nosed man —ended up falling into the pit on their own. It was a horrifying event to witness, and to this day I continue to have nightmares about it. Afterward we burned down Caligari Carnival, and even forced the Baudelaires— who had disguised themselves as carnival performers —to assist us.” Jerome had no idea what to say, and he leaned against the counter. He knew that Esmé was sorry, and that she hadn’t really acted on anything. He could easily imagine the remorse she felt as she stood there before him, trembling as tears started to pour down her cheeks. He was just about to step forward and hug her when the familiar sound of their daughter’s stiletto heels echoed off the walls of their kitchen. Emma appeared in the entrance, a wide grin spread across her face. “Carmy and Nero said they’d be happy to come for dinner,” Emma announced, then caught sight of her mother standing by the cabinets with her head lowered. “What’s wrong with Mother?”
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Post by Jenny on Aug 16, 2008 11:06:00 GMT -5
His wife sprung into action at the sound of her daughter's voice, and quickly raised a hand to rub away the tears that had fallen onto her cheeks before continuing to pack away the shopping into the kitchen cupboards.
'Nothing, darling,' she said cheerfully, but she didn't turn around to face Emma. Jerome knew by the look on his step daughter's face that she was absolutely not fooled.
Sensing that whatever her mother had been upset about was going to be something she wanted to keep private, Emma sighed. She hated it when her mother became upset, and felt as if if she knew the reasoning behind it more often she might be more helpful.
Before she could ask, Jerome turned to her, and she saw tears at the bottoms of his green eyes as well. 'Your mother and I were just talking about things that we don't like to remember,' he told her, andshe couldn't hold back a frown. Whenever the past was mentioned it always had something to do with Emma's father, who she knew incredibly little about, except for the fact that he was a firefighter. Sometimes though, it seemed to Emma that the suggestion of her biological father sent her mother into floods of tears for reasons that weren't simply due to his death. She daren't ask, of course--it didn't take a genius to see what a sensitive topic her father was in the Squalor household. She had asked Carmelita about it once, and her older sister's eyes had become sad and a little angry, and she had told her nothing about the mysterious man that was her father.
'She will be alright in time for dinner, sweetheart,' Jerome promised, and smiled gently at her, and this triggered Emma's imagination to run at an alarming rate.
'Is this because of Mr and Mrs Widdershins?' Emma suddenly asked, and Jerome silently cursed the fact that his adopted daughter was so clever. 'I could sense that they knew you, but I thought you were friends with them, otherwise why would you have invited them to dinner--'
Jerome could see all the pieces coming together quickly in Emma's mind, and finally she looked up.
'Why did you invite them,' she asked cooly. 'If you knew it would make everyone so upset?'
Jerome could easily feel the beginnings of a temper tantrum, and perhaps it was well deserved. Emma was fiercely protective of her mother now that she was old enough to understand her slightly fragile condition.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 16, 2008 14:54:43 GMT -5
“Don’t blame your father, Emma,” Esmé said, doing her best to wipe away the seemingly endless tears with her sleeves before turning to face her daughter. “The only thing he’s guilty of is trying to be kind.” Emma watched Esmé as she turned around, and the teenager wasn’t surprised to see that her mother’s face was sticky with tears. Just seeing his wife in such a state was enough to make Jerome want to cry, too, but he forced himself to remain the stronger of the two for the time being. He would excuse himself later, once he made sure that Esmé wasn’t going to fall completely apart. He could feel the stern eyes of his stepdaughter staring him down, despite the fact that she was only five-foot-six. “I’m going to my room to lie down for a while,” Esmé informed her family. “Would you do me a favor and help your father put away the rest of the groceries?” Normally, Emma would have complained, but she could tell by the situation unfolding before her that this was no time to argue. “Sure,” she said. “You go rest, Mother. Jerome and I can handle everything else.” Esmé forced a smile, and gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. On her way out of the kitchen, Esmé stopped to glance back over at Jerome, giving him a sad smile. After that she disappeared, her stiletto heals hurrying quietly down the hallway. Jerome waited approximately twelve seconds before racing out of the kitchen and heading in the direction of the master bedroom. *** He was grateful to find the bedroom door unlocked, as his wife had the habit of locking him out whenever she was upset. Peering through the doorway, he saw her small form curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped around herself. He could hear her soft but audible weeping, and he stepped quietly into the room. “Esmé,” he said. “Darling?” “You and Emma have dinner with the Widdershins tonight,” Esmé said without turning around. “I’ll stay in here until they’ve gone. If they ask any questions, just tell them I had an emergency at the bank.” Jerome didn’t see a reason to point out that Mulctuary Money Management was closed on Sundays, and he sat down on the bed. Taking one of his fingers, he slowly traced the curve of Esmé’s hip through her dress, frowning as she emitted a little sob. “Oh, sweetheart. You can’t be expected to hide yourself away in here while we’re out there having dinner.” “You know how I feel about people watching me eat.” Sighing, Jerome leaned down and kissed Esmé on the cheek. He could tell by its dampness that her tears were fresh.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 16, 2008 15:44:57 GMT -5
His wife sighed, and turned her face towards him without turning around completely. Her eyes were a little bloodshot from all the crying, and the tip of her nose was pink from where she'd rubbed it with the back of her hand. Vaguely, Jerome wondered if anyone had ever looked more adorable.
'If you promise to sit with everyone tonight,' he said softly, carefully. 'Then you don't have to eat anything if you don't want to, darling.'
This seemed to cheer her--Jerome was aware that she hated eating in front of anyone, even himself and Emma, and he knew even better how sensitive she was about eating in front of people she didn't know well.'Really?' she asked, surprised. Jerome was always so insistent that she ate properly--and she supposed this was a good thing, because if he didn't force her she would hardly ever eat of her own accord.
Jerome frowned a little, but nodded. 'Yes. But only if you sit around the table with everyone.'
She sniffed, and turned away again. 'No,' she wailed, and in the back of his mind he had known that wouldn't work. 'It's not that I won't eat Jerome, it's that I won't sit out there in front of Fernald and Colette and...I just can't face them. Can't you understand that, after all I've told you?'
Jerome udnerstood it perfectly, but he still was not about to let his wife lock herself into the master bedroom for the whole evening.
'You need to face them, sweetheart,' he whispered, and wrapped his arms around her waist so that both of his hands rested on her stomach. It was a habit he'd picked up when she had been pregnant with Emma, and one he'd never lost.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 16, 2008 16:58:30 GMT -5
[Jerome’s stomach fetish = adorable. I’m so happy you put that in. ] Esmé smiled a little, covering her husband’s hands with hers. Jerome knew perfectly well how that made her feel, and she pressed his hands a little more firmly against her stomach. “I know,” she said softly. “Another thing that worries me is Carmy— she was only eleven when she met the Widdershins, and they’re bound to recognize her. I don’t doubt that they still view her as the spoiled child she was all those years ago.” “What about Nero?” Jerome asked. “They never met him,” Esmé replied. “Fernald had already disbanded from Olaf’s troupe by the time the rest of us reached the Hotel Denouement. But I think that Colette may have met Nero, on the night Dewey Denouement was killed. I can’t say for sure. There was so much going on that…” She trailed off as more tears invaded her eyes. Talking about the past never failed to upset her, particularly when the topic at hand was one in relation to someone’s death. She nestled herself closer to Jerome, who kissed her on the back of her neck. “I’ll tell you what,” said Jerome. “I’ll have a talk with Colette and Fernald. I’m sure that if I explain your con— the situation to them, then they’ll agree not to bring up any details from the past. They have a child of their own now as well, so I’m sure they’re experienced in keeping certain details between themselves.” “Just promise not to leave me alone with the Widdershins,” Esmé said. “I won’t, darling. I promise.” “If you need something from the kitchen, ask Emma or me to get it for you.” “Mother? Are you alright?” Both Esmé and Jerome turned their heads in the direction of the voice to see Emma standing in the doorway of the bedroom, her face betraying her everlasting concern for her mother. “Yes, Emma,” Esmé said, once more using her sleeve to wipe away her tears. “Everything’s fine now. Jerome and I got everything straightened out.” “So Mr. and Mrs. Widdershins are still coming to dinner?” “Yes.” “And they’ll be bringing their daughter?” “That’s the plan.” “Do I have to play with her?” It was at this point that Jerome decided to take over. “Emma,” he began, “Faust doesn’t have many friends. Don’t you think it would be nice if you acted as her companion for one evening?” “I guess so,” Emma replied, flopping down on her back across her parents’ bed. “But under no circumstances am I letting her near my collection of J.D. Salinger literature. I don’t want some grubby little kid leaving smudges on the pages of any of my books.”
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Post by Jenny on Aug 21, 2008 16:58:04 GMT -5
Jerome sighed to himself. Children--or young adults, in the case of his stepdaughter--never seemed to remember how close they were in age to those only a couple of years younger than themselves. Jerome himself could remember vividly when Emma had been ten years old, and it certainly wasn't long ago. Ten year old Emma never would have dreamt of leaving smudges on books or ruining anything, and he expected that Faust would be no different. 'Just be nice to her, sweetheart,' he said to his stepdaughter. 'Play chess with her, or something.' 'She mightn't know how.' 'Well, then teach her if she doesn't,' he smiled, and affectionately ruffled Emma's dark hair. Emma rolled her eyes again and sat up, propping up next to her mother. They really were very similar, though Emma's hair was a few shades lighter, her jawline more promounced and her one eyebrow was obviously another difference. At least her looks made it a little easier to forget about her parentage sometimes, if only for Esmé's sake. 'Darling,' Esmé said, looking up from her nails, which she had been previously examining for specks of dust, as she had a habit of doing. 'I don't really have to make that hideous lasagne, do I? You know how it turned out last time....' He smiled, and stood. 'No, dear. I believe it would be better if oerhaps I took care of the cooking.' - 'So how old is she?' 'I've told you,' Colette replied impatiently, while trying to smooth her blonde curls into some semblance of smoothness. She felt a little intimidated by the Squalors, and had slready decided to wear her absolute best outfit possible, so as to feel a little less out of place in their home (which she had never visited, but one could hardly miss the enormous building in the centre of the city). If she was going to sit in a room with Esmé Squalor again, she was going to look nice. 'She is thirteen.' 'And how do you know them?' Faust enquired. 'We don't, much,' Colette lied. 'Your father and I vaguely knew Mrs Squalor, but I never knew Mr Squalor at all, only heard of him. And your father was once a doorman at the apartment building they live at, did we ever tell you?' 'No,' Faust replied. 'But nevermind.' Then, she seemed to think for a moment, and her mother caught sight of her creased forehead in the mirror. 'Are they very wealthy?' [Hi again! What with my boyfriend and my exams results I've had a good but busy time over the last few days Back now...]
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 21, 2008 20:11:47 GMT -5
“Yes, dear,” Colette said, and smiled nervously. She hoped Faust didn’t notice. “Emma attends one of the most prestigious schools in the city.” “Prestigious?” Faust asked, and wrinkled up her nose in confusion. She didn’t read much, and so her vocabulary wasn’t as extended as it could be. She wasn’t the best student, as her interests leaned more towards playing dominos and climbing on furniture. Her mother’s past as a circus performer fascinated her, and the young girl often talked about becoming an acrobat when she became an adult. Though her parents didn’t exactly support her decision, they humored her all the same, feeling it was better to let her hang onto her childhood dream for a few more years at least. “It’s just a fancy word for ‘famous’,” Colette replied as she applied a coat of cotton candy lipstick to her otherwise pale lips. “Oh,” Faust said, pressing her fingers against the toes of her sneakers and rocking back and forth on her parents’ bed. “Then why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Colette smiled at her daughter through the mirror just as Fernald walked into the room. “Well,” he said, “don’t you two ladies look lovely?” “We should probably get going,” Colette said as she turned away from the mirror to face her husband. “I wanted to stop and get a bottle of wine to take to the Squalors’.” Fernald frowned. “But we can’t afford—” “I know that, Fernald!” Colette was exasperated, and Faust looked from her mother to her father in concern. She hoped they weren’t going to fight. “But they— Jerome was kind enough to invite us to dinner. It just means we’ll have to go without a newspaper this week and read it in the store instead.” “We can’t do that,” Fernald reminded his wife. “The last time we did that the owner kicked us out.” Colette lowered her head, and Faust looked sadly at her father. He sighed, and drew one arm around his wife while he held out his other hook to their daughter. “Don’t fret, sweetheart,” Fernald told Colette. “We’ll buy the Squalors a bottle of wine, even if it’s a cheap one. I know how important it is to be hospitable.” *** The ride to 667 Dark Avenue did not go smoothly. For one thing, all of the wine in the store had not been under fifteen dollars, and Fernald had explained on the way that he couldn’t afford anything more than ten. Another drawback had been when Faust’s parents had left her alone in the car with the promise that she wouldn’t wander off. That promise had been broken when she had noticed a stray dog and decided to follow it. She had lost the dog and nearly gotten herself lost in the process. When her parents had returned with a small bottle of vodka (which had been the only thing in the store they could afford) and found their daughter missing, they were just about to notify the authorities when she rounded back around the corner. After giving Faust a brief but stern talking to, Fernald had ushered his tearful wife and disobedient daughter into the car. To make matters worse, it had taken him nearly ten minutes to start it, which only made Colette’s tears more intense. Faust was sitting in the back, completely silent. Finally, the car had started and the Widdershins continued on their way. Fernald was thankful that Colette seemed to have calmed down by the time they arrived at 667 Dark Avenue with Faust. It was just as the Widdershins were stepping out of the elevator and onto the floor on which the penthouse apartment was located, that the doors of the neighboring elevator opened and another couple ambled out. Fernald’s eyes shifted to the profile of a striking red-haired woman. She was being led along by the arm of a much older man with four long, greasy braids. “Carmelita Spats?” Fernald asked in disbelief. [Welcome back, Jenny! Congratulations on your exams, and I’m glad that you had a nice visit with your boyfriend. I missed you! ]
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Post by Jenny on Aug 22, 2008 5:52:06 GMT -5
[ ] Fernald could barely make the connection between the cowboy-superhero-whatever-tomboy that Carmelita had once been and the woman who now turned towards him, wide-eyed. 'Hooky,' she slipped out, and then bit her lip. Fernald didn't recognize the older man who accompanied her, but it seemed that the greasy-haired man was able to recognize Fernald. Neither Colette nor Fernald smiled at the old nickname--it held bad memories for Fernald, and nobody they knew now made a habit of using it--and for a moment Fernald was a little afraid that the appearance of Carmelita Spats was going to cause another flood of tears from his wife. Colette and Carmelita had never been very well acquainted, but certainly the contortionist knew of her from the stories Fernald had told over the years of his experiences. It seemed so strange to him that Esmé and Carmelita were still in touch, and he supposed most of that would be down to Jerome Squalor's influence. Even though he knew that Esmé had a daughter, he still found difficulty in believing the amount of change she had undergone in the past fourteen years since they had last seen each other. There was a long silence, and it was only broken when Faust--who had no idea how these four people were acquainted--offered a hand and a friendly smile to Carmelita. 'My name is Faust,' she said quickly, and then offered a hand to the strange greasy man behind Carmelita. 'I'm Nero,' said the man with four braids. 'This is my wife, Carmelita.' Another silence.Fernald let out a little chuckle, and Colette turned to look at him. He wasn't going to ask, but he felt it was safe to assume that this Nero was incredibly wealthy. What else could be expected from a young woman with Esmé as a role model? The door to the penthouse unexpectedly swung open, and a slightly red-faced Jerome Squalor stood in the doorway, clad in an apron (but thankfully not one with any embarrassing slogan on the front). 'I heard voices outside the door,' he said quickly, and his tone betrayed his worry that the two parties had been arguing. That was the last thing he needed.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 22, 2008 9:48:01 GMT -5
[Jerome in an apron! Why doesn’t that surprise me? ] “Hello again, Mr. Squalor,” Fernald said. “Thank you for inviting us to your lovely home.” Before Jerome could answer, Colette extended the hand which clutched the bottle of vodka to him. “We brought this,” she said in a small voice. It was the first time she had spoken while in the presence of any of the Squalors, and so Jerome looked a little surprised. “I hope it’s enough.” Jerome smiled, and took the vodka from Colette. Guests usually brought a bottle of wine to someone’s house for dinner, but he knew that the Widdershins were poor and couldn’t afford it. But Jerome found optimism in the situation as he reminded himself that the liquor cabinet was already so full of wine that another bottle would have been pointless. “Thank you,” he said, ignoring the fact that the price tag was still stuck to the bottle (he would remove it when no one was looking, if only to avoid listening to his wife complain about it later on). “But you really shouldn’t have.” Motioning to his adopted daughter and son-in-law, Jerome added, “Oh! I see you’ve met Carmelita and Nero: my eldest daughter and her husband.” “Hello, Jerome,” Carmelita said, and threw her arms around her adoptive father. “It’s certainly been a while. How are you?” Jerome hugged her back. “I’m fine,” he replied, and smiled at Nero over Carmelita’s shoulder. “Hello, Nero. I heard about your little accident and was relieved to hear that you weren’t injured.” “Yes,” Nero said. “Though I can’t say the same for my car, or the front end of the supermarket.” “Our car is in the shop,” said Carmelita as Jerome escorted everyone into the penthouse. “We had to take a cab here.” To spare her husband anymore embarrassment, she changed the subject quickly. “Where’s Esmé?” “She and Emma are in the third dining room,” Jerome said, “setting the table. Why don’t you and Nero take Faust and go greet them? I just have to speak with the Widdershins, and we’ll be along in a few minutes.” Carmelita nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Come along, Nero.” “Do I have a choice?” he asked, a little curious to stay and hear the conversation between his father-in-law and the other guests. “No, you don’t.” Sliding her arm through her husband’s, Carmelita turned them both in the direction of the dining room. Giving her parents and Jerome a little wave, Faust followed the other two adults down the hallway. Jerome waited until the three of them had disappeared, and then turned to Fernald and Colette.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 22, 2008 11:33:35 GMT -5
Jerome's face had lost it's pinkish tint, and suddenly he looked uncharacteristically serious. 'Before the evening gets underway,' he stuttered in a very roundabout sort of way. 'I just wanted to apologize, if by inviting you and Faust to dinner this evening, I brought back any...unpleasant memories for you.' Colette looked down, and away, and wished she could follow her daughter away from teh conversation, but Fernald continued to look at Mr Squalor as he continued. 'And I thought, perhaps, that now might be right time to--to--' Jerome cleared his throat, and tried again. 'I just wanted to ask you, for the sake of my wife's health, that you don't bring up any past experiences. Emma doesn't know much about all that happened before she was born, or anything about who her father really was, and Esmé and I would like to keep it that way, at least for now. And talking about the past has always upsetted Esmé, and it would be best for everyone if we could all avoid that.'
Colette looked like she cared little about what would upset Esmé and what wouldn't, and that was just exactly how she felt. Why on Earth would thinking of the past upset Esmé, of all people? As far as Colette remembered, the financial advisor could have left at any time and saved herself all the trouble of the fire, moved back to the city and probably back to Jerome. Obviously no-one Esmé cared about had died in the fire, and she was quite clearly not injured. As far as Colette was concerned, she had nothing to complain about.
Fernald didn't feel the same way, and she couldn't interpret the look that he gave Mr Squalor before answering.
'I wouldn't dream of mentioning anything related to...what happened,' he answered. 'It's a difficult subject for us all.'
Jerome couldn't help but look at Fernald with a great deal of respect, after learning of how noble he had been and the price he had paid for it.
'I won't mention anything,' Colette said bluntly, and Jerome almost frowned. He supposed she had not been around for the past fourteen years to see the changes his wife had undergone, and therefore could not be so easily expected to forgive her. Ferald, perhaps, had never held her responsible at all.
'That's settled then,' Jerome said, brightening. 'None of us will say anything, and hopefully have a very enjoyable evening.'
Unfortunately, Jerome had not thought it necessary to have the same talk with his wife.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 22, 2008 14:12:46 GMT -5
Emma had just finished putting down a bowl containing powdered cheese in the center of the table when she turned towards the entrance of the dining room. Standing there, along with a girl she had never seen before, were Carmelita and Nero. Emma immediately stopped what she was doing and ran to greet them.
“Carmy!” Emma exclaimed, and gave her sister an extra big hug. “When did you get here?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” Carmelita said, returning Emma’s gesture of affection. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Nero tells me you were in his office again this week.”
Emma motioned with her head in the direction of her mother, who was quietly setting knives and forks down by all of the plates. “Ssshhh,” Emma hissed. “Mother and Jerome don’t know about that, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Carmelita,” Esmé said. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She hurried away from the table, and a moment later had her arms wrapped tightly around her eldest daughter. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“You, too, Esmé,” Carmelita said. “I’m sorry that it’s been so long since our last get-together. But with keeping up the restaurant and caring for the twins, I hardly seem to have time for myself anymore.”
“Don’t apologize, darling. I understand that you have a life of your own.”
“Where’s Jerome?” Emma asked.
“He’s having a private discussion with the Widdershins,” replied Carmelita.
Faust— who until now had stood quietly as she observed a reunion between people she had never met before —soon found herself the object of a pair of the shiniest eyes she had ever seen. Staring her down was a fair-skinned, dark-haired girl wearing bright-red lipstick and a pair of shoes with heels that looked like knives. However, it was not these things that Faust took notice of, but rather the girl’s single eyebrow. It then occurred to Faust that this was the same girl her mother had mentioned to her earlier. Suddenly, and before she could stop herself, Faust blurted out: “You must be Emma, the girl with the momobrow my mother told me about!”
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Post by Jenny on Aug 23, 2008 10:35:01 GMT -5
It wasn't that Faust didn't know that she had said completely the wrong thing, it was simply that she had no idea how to take it back. She knew a monobrow wasn't a nice thing to have, and she was convinced that in that one sentence she had ruined any chance she might have had of making friends with the older girl.
'How charming,' Esmé muttered sarcastically, and Faust felt her cheeks go red. Why did she always have to go and blurt whatever she thought out? That little trait always seemed to get her into trouble, and this was no exception.
Emma ignored her mother, and although she felt a strong dislike for the little girl in front of her for her apparent stupidity, knew that it would not be worth the grief from Jerome if she were not pleasant to her at least. 'Yes,' she said. 'I am Emma, the girl with the monobrow.'
'Sorry,' Faust murmured, and wished her father could have been standing behind her to put into words what she couldn't seem to think of. She was decidedly uncomfortable with three women she had never met before staring down at her with identical frowns. 'You're very pretty, it's just I didn't know anything else about you.'
Emma sighed, and then smiled a little. 'What's your name?'
'Faust Widdershins.' The ten-year-old replied shyly. She quite liked Emma, but she didn't feel the same way about either of the women who were now exchanging looks and raising their perfectly sculpted eyebrows as they set the table. (She had no opinion on the man who was sitting at the end of the table, being absolutely unhelpful, and examining his shoes in order to keep out of any possible argument). Before Emma could ask her any more questions about her life (Faust wasn't eager to tell her that she lived on Lousy Lane and not in some fancy apartment), the figures of her parents and kind-eyed Mr Squalor appeared in the doorway.
'I'm glad to see everyone's getting on so well in here,' he said cheerily, and didn't miss his wife's half-glare. 'Emma, why don't you show Faust around,' he suggested. 'And perhaps then you can get out a board game for the two of you to play. I'll come to find you when it's time for dinner.'
Faust wanted to ask the thirteen-year-old if she was any good at dominoes, but hadn't the courage in front of all the adults. Her mother smiled at her, and Emma smiled down at her as well. 'Come on, then,' she said. 'I'll show you my secret stash of chocolate.'
'Wha--'
'Nothing, mother!' Emma called back serenely, and she and Faust headed in the direction of her bedroom, leaving the adults in one room together.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 23, 2008 13:36:09 GMT -5
“Well, dear,” Jerome said, slipping his arms around his wife’s waist and kissing her cheek. “It looks like Emma and Faust hit it off.” “You should have been here a minute ago,” Esmé replied, and eyed the Widdershins, who were still lingering in the doorway, to make sure they couldn’t hear her. “I thought Emma was going to start screaming at that child.” “You mean Faust?” “Who else would I be talking about?” “Faust made a remark about Emma’s eyebrow,” Carmelita emphasized as she put her hands on Nero’s shoulders. “She handled it quite well, though,” Esmé added, disentangling Jerome’s arms from around her. “Well, the table is set. I guess the only thing left to do now would be to offer everyone something to drink.” She turned her head over her shoulder and met her husband’s eyes. The look she gave him stated quite plainly: ‘Won’t you be the one to take care of that?’ Jerome nodded, but before he could say anything more Esmé turned and hurried back into the kitchen. After giving his adopted daughter and son-in-law a worried glance, he turned to the Widdershins. “Please,” Jerome said, “won’t the two of you make yourselves comfortable?” To his relief, Fernald and Colette wandered into the dining room, sitting down together at the table across from Nero. Jerome took in the anxious looks upon the couple’s faces. In an attempt to make them feel at ease, as well as to adhere to being a proper host, he looked around the table and asked, “May I interest anyone in something to drink?” *** “You sure have a lot of books,” Faust said as she gazed up at the enormous bookshelf that took up nearly the entire right wall of Emma’s bedroom. Yanking open the middle drawer of her dresser, Emma replied, “Well, I like to read.” “And you’ve read all of these books?” “Most of them.” “Who’s your favorite author?” “Oh, that’s easy. J.D. Salinger.” “I’ve never heard of him,” Faust admitted. Emma sorted through her socks until she found her bag of chocolate. Originally, it had been given to Nero by one of his students, but which he had offered to Emma with the promise that she would do her best to stay out of trouble for at least a month. Grabbing the bag of chocolate, Emma went to join Faust at the bookshelf. “You remind me of my mother,” Emma said as she held the bag out to Faust. “I do?” she asked, and took a piece of chocolate. “How so?” “She doesn’t like to read, either. Sometimes I’ll try to talk to her about a book I’ve read, and she’ll do her best to seem interested. But deep down, I know that I’m boring her.”
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Post by Jenny on Aug 24, 2008 12:14:04 GMT -5
'I don't mind books,' Faust said at length, chewing on the edge of the chocolate Emma had given her. 'It's just for me there are more interesting things to do than sit and read a lousy book.'
For a moment she was afraid she'd offended the older girl once again, but this did not seem to be the case. 'Like what?' Emma enquired, putting the bag of chocolate back into her sock drawer after taking a piece herself. She was aware that she was spoiling both of their appetites before dinner, but cared little.
'Like climbing,' Faust answered. 'And gymnastics. I want to be an acrobat when I'm older.'
'I'm afriad I'm no good at gym, or anything involving handstands,' Emma answered, and frowned to herself. The last time she had tried to do a cartwheel she must have been Faust's age, and she vividly recalled spraining her wrist in the process.
'Maybe I could teach you,' Faust said, and didn't see Emma begin to look decidedly horrified at the very idea. 'Or maybe my mother could. She was in the circus, and she can do all sorts of stuff.'
'Like a contortionist?'
Faust frowned at the word she didn't recognize, and Emma just smiled. 'Never mind,' she chuckled, and slid out a few old games from under her bed.
'I like dominoes,' Faust stated quickly, finishing off her chocolate. If Emma had known how hyper ten-year-olds could become after a small piece of chocolate, she most certainly would not have mentioned her secret stash.
'We have a set,' Emma said, 'But I've got no idea where.'
Emma knew that a lot of board games were kept in the fourth sitting room next to one of the old nursery rooms, and some more in the seventh living room. It was a way to waste time, Emma supposed, and so with Faust trailinga long behind her, she set off for the living room.
~
Although both of the Widdershin's had requested water, Jerome decided as well that he would bring out a bottle of wine (though perhaps not the vodka). But before he could concentrate on that, he had to check on his wife. Jerome knew deep down that it was silly to worry about her so much, but he oculdn't help it. And there were knives in the kitchen, and other sharp objects he just didn't want Esmé anywhere near under any circumstances.
And so he raced into the kitchen, only to find his wife calmly seated at the kitchen table, knives nowhere in sight.
He didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief.
'Go back and play host,' she told him. 'I'll...just stay here, and bring the food out when it's ready. Tell them I'm cooking.'
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