|
Post by Jenny on Jan 2, 2009 16:50:20 GMT -5
Remarkable Reformations Emma Squalor is delighted to have finally found a friend her own age. Someone she truly, actually likes. How is she supposed to know that becoming friends with Beatrice Snicket will bring about some extremely unwelcome experiences for her parents? Characters Emma Squalor Jenny Fernald Widdershins Jerome Squalor Esmé Squalor Faust Widdershins Emma Squalor Colette Widdershins Fiona Widdershins Kit Snicket Vice Principal Nero Carmelita Spats Sunny Baudelaire Violet Baudelaire Beatrice Snicket Klaus Baudelaire Other Characters Ghost of Dewey Ghost of Kevin Ghost of Hugo (Andrew Squalor, possibly) (Cora Squalor, possibly) ~ Jerome Squalor had to admit, Emma did look very happy indeed. The way she had related the story to him, it seemed that for the first time in nearly nine years of schooling, she had enjoyed school that day. This change of attitude from his adopted daughter was purely due to the new friend she had made that day. Beatrice. Of course it had rung a few bells for him, but Beatrice was hardly a name exclusive to the Baudelaire's, was it? It wasn't until he first set eyes on Beatrice that he knew they were doomed. Beatrice wasn't a Baudelaire, and for this at least he was thankful. Unfortunately, it seemed that she was something even more awkward. Beatrice was a Snicket. Ad she was the spitting image of Kit Snicket. There was no mistaking it, the dark blonde hair, the green eyes, even the way she adjusted her glasses screamed Kit. And, of course, that wasn't a problem for him. He and Kit had been friends when they were young, even though they had eventually lost touch. But what the Hell was he going to do when his wife came home from work?
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 2, 2009 17:50:43 GMT -5
Emma was just about to ask her stepfather that very question, when she heard the sound of the front door opening. She leapt up from where she had been sitting on the red velvet sofa beside her friend in her mother’s second favorite sitting room.
“That’s probably my mother,” Emma said. “Will you excuse me while I go and tell her that we have company?”
Beatrice smiled, and Emma took that as the sign to take her leave of the sitting room. On her way out, she failed to take notice of the troubled expression on her stepfather’s face.
It was only a minute’s walk from the sitting room to the front door, and Emma was pleased to see her mother standing there. It was raining outside, and Esmé set her pocketbook down on the floor while she folded up the umbrella she had been using.
Lacing her fingers behind her back, Emma smiled and said: “Hello, Mother.”
Esmé propped the umbrella up against the coat rack, and smiled over her shoulder at her daughter as the financial advisor slipped out of her jacket. “Good afternoon, darling,” Esmé replied, shaking the water droplets out of her soot-black hair. “How was school?”
“It was smashing.”
Esmé hung her coat up on the coat rack before turning to her daughter. “Why, Emma. I do believe this is the first time you’ve ever said something like that when asked about school.”
“Well, there’s a reason.”
Curious to know what exactly it was that her daughter was up to, Esmé asked, “And what reason would that be, darling?”
“Come with me to the sitting room,” Emma replied, “and see for yourself.”
|
|
|
Post by Jenny on Jan 2, 2009 18:44:35 GMT -5
Jerome swallowed loudly, and took a seat himself on an armchair opposite Beatrice. She was fourteen already, six months or so older than Emma but still in the same year at school. She seemed like a nice girl, but his nerves and the sound of his wife's footsteps prevented him from speaking to her much.
'Mr Squalor?' said Beatrice after a moment, and he nervously turned towards her. 'Forgive me for sounding a bit rude, but are you OK? You look pretty worried.'
He smiled, and rubbed his face in the same way he always did when he was embarrassed. 'I'm OK,' he answered. 'I'm just---'
In some ways, he was glad that the appearance of his wife and daughter had meant he hadn't needed to explain why he felt so worried, but in others it made him feel even worse. He stood, intending to give his wife a kiss on the cheek and ask her how work had been, but in that moment her rosebud mouth fell open and her eyebrows unconsciously raised.
And for once, her social skill failed her.
'Mother, this is Beatrice from school,' said Emma, and sat back down on the couch. She supposed she had never had very many friends, and this was the reason for her mother's surprise. However, Esmé seemed to be quite shocked indeed considering that for most firls making a new friend wasn't exactly unusual.
'Good afternoon, Mrs Squalor,' said Beatrice shyly, and Jerome silently crossed the room to hold his wife's arm in case she got it into her head to run away. That would have been terribly impolite, and he didn't want to scare away Emma's new friend.
'Hello,' said Esmé after a seconds deliberation, and Jerome was glad that she seemed to have recovered, even if she did sound a little awkward. 'What did you say your name was?'
'Beatrice,' the teenager replied, and Emma looked a little annoyed at her mother's strange reaction. 'Beatrice Snicket.'
Jerome flinched, but his wife didn't seem to be entirely shocked. 'Nice to meet you,' she eventually responded. 'You can call me Esmé. Will you be staying for dinner?'
'May I?'
'Yes!' Emma interrupted the interchange between her mother and her new best friend to make sure Beatrice wouldn't be forced to leave before her time.
'Well,a s long as her parents know she's here,' Jerome said, and then Esmé did flinch, and he could've kicked himself for being so stupid. Why did he have to mention the one thing he wanted to avoid? Esmé and Kit hadn't exactly been on the same side of things.
'Jerome,' said his wife softly after that, noticing that the girls had gone back to their own chatter and wouldn't miss them. 'I think we need to talk.'
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 2, 2009 21:16:36 GMT -5
Now it was Jerome’s turn to flinch, and with good reason. His wife was giving him that same, piercing look she always gave him whenever he was guilty of something.
With his head lowered, he followed his wife out of the sitting room and four doors down to one of the kitchens.
Esmé made sure that the door was closed, before whirling around to face her husband. Jerome flinched once more and fell against the table, causing it to rattle slightly.
“I know this isn’t anyone’s fault,” Esmé began, “and that you were only trying to be hospitable, but…” She trailed off, too upset to string together words that her kind, sweet, adorable, dimwitted husband wouldn’t find hurtful. She loved Jerome dearly, but there were times when she questioned his ability to make decisions. Then again, there had been a time in her life in which such abilities had often been out of her reach, and she supposed that she couldn’t be too upset with him.
“But what, my dear?” Jerome asked, his voice hesitant.
Esmé could have cried as he uttered one of his many pet names for her, but she merely bit her lower lip, determined not to give in just yet. Jerome’s chubby cheeks and (supposed) confused expression made composure difficult to come by, and Esmé pressed her palm against her forehead.
“Jerome,” she sighed. She closed her eyes to ensure herself that she would stay angry at her husband, at least until she’d gotten her point across. “Jerome, how did this happen?”
“How did what happen, sweetheart?” he inquired, as innocently and sweet as ever.
“You know very well what.” Even as Esmé attempted to make her voice firm, it was evident that she was failing. “How did that… that Snicket find her way to our seventy-one bedroom penthouse apartment?”
“Why, she and Emma met each other at school today. From what they told me, Nero asked Emma to show Beatrice around Prufrock Prep.”
“Oh,” Esmé said, her voice tainted with a mixture of displeasure and expectedness. “I see. Well, after what happened with the Widdershins, I can’t say it surprises me that Nero was the cause of this… this disaster!”
Her eyes were still closed, and a few seconds later she felt the warmth of Jerome’s large hand as it closed over her own small one. She found herself unable to resist any longer, and she opened her eyes. Smiling slightly, she allowed her husband to pull her into a hug.
“You know,” said Esmé, “it’s very difficult for me to stay angry with you when you’re hugging me.”
“Well, of course,” Jerome replied matter-of-factly.
Esmé knew that she couldn’t very well deny her daughter’s friendship with a girl merely because of who that girl’s mother happened to be. Esmé was simply going to have to grin and bear it, as they say, and learn to tolerate the friendship between Emma Squalor and Beatrice Snicket.
As much as she would have liked to stand there in the eighty-sixth kitchen of the penthouse being cuddled by her adoring husband, there were other matters that needed tending to.
Such as important questions that Esmé needed to ask and answers she was dying to obtain.
“Jerome, did Beatrice mention anything to you about her father?” Esmé asked.
“She said he died only a few weeks before she was born,” Jerome replied, and Esmé felt his arms tighten around her at that.
“What was the cause?”
“A harpoon incident.”
Esmé looked up, not surprised to see tears brimming at the corners of her husband’s emerald eyes. Jerome had always been so sensitive to events pertaining to death and violence, and she felt her heart go out to him. Cupping his chubby face in her hands, she squeezed his cheeks, right before planting a kiss on his mouth.
|
|
|
Post by Jenny on Jan 3, 2009 7:34:02 GMT -5
Of course that was bound to be a painful memory for all of them. It had been one of the times where Esmé had not been involved in the death of a volunteer, but that did not stop it being one of the most horrific memories she had of her time at the Hotel Denoument. Because it had been Carmelita's harpoon gun, Jerome and Esmé had been forced ot relive the situation many times in their efforts to convince their adopted daughter that the incident had not been her fault. It was something they would never, ever forget.
But despite all this, Esmé was not sure she entirely believed that Beatrice was the daughter of the sub sub librarian that had met his fate in the Hotel Denoument. Olaf's on and off relationship with Kit Snciket had not exactly been a well kept secret, and Esmé hadn't missed the small similarities between the girls when she first laid eyes on Beatrice Snicket.
Jerome seemed to be able to read her thoughts for the most part, and he wiped his own tears on the back of his hand. 'Sweetheart,' he said softly, and tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him. 'Just because she's a Snicket, it doesn't mean---'
'---It isn't that,' she said quietly, and then broke free of his grip and looked down at the tiled kitchen floor. 'As long as we never have to meet Kit Snicket for any reason then that's not going to be a problem.'
Jerome frowned. It didn't seem likely that either his wife or Kit Snicket would be totally willing to associate with the other. He supposed part of the schism that had occured in VFD would prevent Kit and Esmé from associating. It would be difficult to avoid ever meeting Kit, especially if Beatrice and Emma stayed as close as they were now, but he supposed if he and Kit got along well enough then it would be fine.
Perhaps.
'Well, then what is it?' he asked, and swept a bit of black hair back from her cheek. The way she stared determinedly down at the floor seemed to suggest the onset of tears, but her cheek was completely dry.
She shook her head. 'I never told you the story behind it,' she said. 'But Beatrice is one of the first friends Emma's ever made very quickly. Wouldn't it be coincedental if they were sisters?'
Jerome's face crumpled sweetly into a frown of confusion. 'I'm sorry, my love,' he said after a moments deliberation. 'But you've completely lost me. How could Beatrice and Emma possibly be---'
It was the very fact that Jerome Squalor was a little dim that had caused his wife to constantly become annoyed with him during the early days of their marriage. Now, however, his innocence and naivety was simply adorable to her.
'---Oh,' he finsihed lamely.
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 3, 2009 13:51:10 GMT -5
“It must have occurred sometime shortly after I married you,” Esmé said. “Olaf was supposedly going to disguise himself as a gym teacher at Prufrock Prep, and I guess that’s when…” She broke off, wary of the fact that she was beginning to tremble. Talking about Olaf always tended to drive her into a state of panic. The last thing she needed was to have one of her attacks with her daughter’s new friend so close by. “It’s alright, darling,” Jerome said, and once more wrapped his strong arms around her in an attempt to keep her calm. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.” A few tears had already begun to form in her eyes before he said this, and she brushed them away quickly. Esmé took another moment to calm down, and then looked up at her husband. “What shall I serve for dinner?” she asked, and Jerome kissed her on the forehead. *** “Oh, snap!” “It’s true,” Beatrice explained from where she and Emma were seated together on the red velvet sofa. “My mother, godparents and I just moved in last month. You should come check it out sometime.” “I’ve never met anyone who lived in a hotel before,” Emma said excitedly. “What’s it like?” Beatrice surveyed her surroundings before answering. “My guess is it’s not much different from living here.”“But you live in a hotel. That’s totally different from living in a penthouse.” “How is it different?” Beatrice asked. “Well, for one thing,” Emma began, “a hotel has elevators.” Beatrice nodded. “True.” “And concierges.” “And a game room.” “And a swimming pool.” “And ghosts.” Emma furrowed her single brow in skepticism. “Yeah, right,” she said. “It’s true!” Beatrice insisted. “I’ve seen them myself, several times. The first time was one night when I took a boat out on the pond. It was sort of foggy, and so I almost didn’t find my way back. But then, emerging from the mist I saw—” “Emma?” Emma and Beatrice turned at the sound of the voice to see Esmé and Jerome standing in the entrance to the sitting room.
|
|
|
Post by Jenny on Jan 3, 2009 15:20:53 GMT -5
Emma reluctantly turned from her conversation with her new friend to her parents, and wondered if it was her imagination or whether those were tears in her mother's eyes. What reason could she have now for---
'I just wanted to check if you liked fish or not,' said Esmé, and shuffled her stocking clad feet on the carpet, looking a little nervous. Jerome allowed himself a small frown. Was it so difficult just to forget about Beatrice's possible parentage just for a little while while she was inside the apartment? As sympathetic as he was towards his wife, he couldn't help feeling a little annoyed at the way she could hardly bear to look the fourteen year old in the eye. 'I was thinking we could have sea bass. It's not often we have visitors...' she seemed to trail off, and luckily Beatrice was unfazed.
Beatrice Snicket was a vegetarian, but luckily she still ate fish, and luckily she had no problem eating sea bass. She didn't know much at all about the Squalor family, but Emma's parents did seem to be quite nervous people, and she hoped that nothing she had done since arriving had upset them. She got the distinct feeling that she might have offended Mr and Mrs Squalor, although she had no idea how, and she was glad that at least her food preferences would not cause the family any more offence.
'And would you like us to drive you home later?' Jerome asked. He knew it wasn't entirely a wise question with his wife's current feelings, but it really was a question that needed to be asked.
'No thank you,' Beatrice replied. 'If it's OK, I've asked my mother to pick me up instead.'
A short silence.
'OK,' said Jerome after a moment, and glanced sideways at his wife. He was about to ask if Beatrice had yet told her mother the address she would be coming to in order to collect her daughter, or whether she knew that Beatrice's new friend's last name was 'Squalor', but Beatrice continued unknowingly.
'I called her earlier to tell her to pick me up from 667 Dark Avenue,' said Beatrice. 'And she seemed pretty surprised. She said she thought she probably knew you, Mr Squalor.'
Jerome smiled. 'She's right,' he answered. 'Kit Snicket and I used to be very good friends when we were a lot younger.'
Emma's face lit up. 'Really?' she asked happily. 'So how come we've never met the Snicket's before now?'
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 3, 2009 17:08:21 GMT -5
“We lost contact several years ago,” Jerome said quickly, but not too quickly. He couldn’t bear to do anything that would raise any suspicion from either of the children, or send his wife into a state of distress. “Well, maybe now you’ll be able to reestablish it,” Emma pointed out, and was grateful to see her stepfather smile. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to be more interested in the floor than in their company. “Mother,” Emma asked, “is something wrong?” Esmé’s face lifted, but not before Emma watched her give her eyes a gentle swipe. “No, dear,” Esmé assured her daughter. “I’m quite alright.” “O.K.,” Emma said, though the evidence in her voice suggested that she didn’t entirely believe her mother. Realizing that his wife didn’t have any intention of involving herself any further in the conversation, Jerome took it upon himself to speak. “I thought we could have dinner in the eleventh dining room,” he said. “It’ll be ready in an hour, so don’t stray too far.” “We won’t, Jerome,” Emma replied, her shiny eyes darting from her mother’s troubled face for a brief moment, before settling back on her stepfather. “I thought I could show Beatrice the library— she likes to read, and I thought I might lend her a book if that’s alright.” “I think that sounds like a fine idea, Emma. I’ll swing by there and fetch you once dinner is ready.” She nodded in agreement, and then turned back to Beatrice. Jerome took his wife gently by the arm, and escorted her out of the sitting room. *** “I told you before, Jerome,” Esmé said a few minutes later once they were back inside the kitchen. “I was trying! But I… I can’t…” She stopped to dab away one of the many tears that had sprung to her eyes the instant they’d left the sitting room. “I can’t get past what will surely happen once Kit Snicket shows up here!” “Esmé, keep your voice down!” Jerome hissed. He hated to be so firm with his darling little wife, but she was liable to cry herself into a fit if he allowed it. “You’ve got to stay calm, my darling,” he said, his voice softer this time. “You’re getting yourself all upset over nothing. I’ll take Emma aside after dinner, and explain the situation to her. She’s sure to understand, and I’ll ask her to take Beatrice down into the lobby and wait for Kit there. You’ll never even have to set eyes on her if you don’t want to.” “But what about you?” Esmé asked, her voice adorably stuffed up. “She’s your friend, isn’t she? You don’t need my permission to go down with the children and see her if that is what you want.”
|
|
|
Post by Jenny on Jan 3, 2009 17:28:14 GMT -5
Jerome would have liked nothing more than to spend half an hour catching up with his old childhood friend Kit, but what kind of husband would that have made him? It was clear as day that Esmé was having enough trouble accepting Beatrice, let alone speaking to her mother. And the last thing he wanted was for Esmé to feel as though she was the one being abandoned.
'No, my darling,' he said after a moment of consideration. 'What I care about most is that you are alright. And I haven't seen Kit for years and years--it doesn't make any difference to me now whether I see her or not.'
Esmé sniffed, and he gathered her into his arms. 'It's going to be difficult to keep away from speaking to Kit,' he said. 'If Emma and Beatrice are going to be friends then surely at some point we'll have to meet Beatrice's family.'
Th word family triggered something in Esmé's mind. 'Do you think--' she said. 'Do you think Kit found someone else, after Dewey Denoument died?' she asked. Her husband shrugged.
'I don't know,' he admitted. 'Perhaps you can ask Beatrice over dinner.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Hardly an appropriate choice of topic over sea bass, is it?' she said. 'Whether her mother's married or not. It's perfectly plausible that they live alone together, what reason could I have to ask?'
Jerome sighed, and shook his head. 'Beatrice is a nice girl,' he said. 'And you have to start treating her like a normal person. It doesn't make any difference that she's Kit's daughter.' He kissed her head gently. 'I'd be willing to bet Kit's probably forgiven you after all these years.'
'Forgiven me,' his wife said into his shoulder. 'I would be willing to bet otherwise.'
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 3, 2009 19:01:47 GMT -5
“How about this one?” Emma said, and reached for a copy of The Catcher in the Rye on the bookshelf. “It’s my favorite.” Beatrice held out her hands eagerly, and Emma placed the hardbound book in them. “Why is it your favorite?” Beatrice asked, turning the book over in her hand in order to read the summary on back. “Because the main character reminds me of my sister— well, to some extent anyway. And because J.D. Salinger’s initials are the same as my stepfather’s.” “It sounds interesting. I think I’d like to read it.” “Normally I don’t lend it out to anyone,” Emma confessed. “But I can see you’re a person who treasures books as much as I do, and so I’m confident I can trust you with it.” “Oh, absolutely,” agreed Beatrice, clutching the book to her chest as if to further prove Emma’s claim. “I promise to always keep it safe.” “My parents never had very many books until they adopted my sister. Before then, the only books in here were Boots Were In in 1812 and Trout: In France They’re Out.”“Is that the reason why your mother’s serving sea bass?” Grinning, Emma shook her head. “I didn’t know your sister was adopted,” Beatrice said. “I guess I must’ve forgotten,” Emma admitted. “I do that a lot.” Beatrice nodded. “I know the feeling. I’ll often do the same thing with my godparents. I think of Violet and Fiona as my aunts, and Klaus as my uncle. And Sunny’s more like an older sister.” “It sounds like you have a pretty big family. It’s a good thing you live in a hotel.” Emma spent the remainder of the hour showing Beatrice around the library, suggesting titles that Emma thought her friend might enjoy. They had just begun an in-depth discussion on The Great Gatsby, when there came a knock on the door and Jerome poked his head into the library. “I hate to interrupt you two girls,” he said, “but dinner is ready.” “Jerome,” Emma asked, “is it O.K. if Beatrice borrows more than one book?” “Certainly. She may borrow as many as she’d like. I just hope the public library doesn’t lose any of her business in the process.” “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Squalor,” Beatrice replied. “I always have my nose buried in a book. In fact, if it weren’t for hunger, then the only things I’d probably ever see would be words.” Jerome smiled. “Well, come along,” he said, and waved his hand in the direction of the dining room. “Your mother should have everything set out on the table by the time we arrive.” *** Esmé had just finished setting a large bowl of green beans down on the dining room table, when her husband entered with the two children. She smiled at the three of them, telling Beatrice she could sit wherever she wanted— while at the same time managing to avoid the girl’s eyes. “It all looks scrumptious, darling,” Jerome said, as he slid into his usual seat beside his wife and kissed her on the cheek. “Just like you.” Esmé blushed a bit as she unfolded her napkin and spread it over her lap, never missing the way Emma rolled her eyes. “Jerome,” Esmé whispered, and motioned with her head towards their daughter.
|
|
|
Post by Jenny on Jan 4, 2009 11:24:15 GMT -5
Jerome sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, and Emma pretended to look overly disgusted with her parent's behaviour. In reality, Emma had never been particularly ashamed of her parent's behaviour, but in front of Beatrice it sis seem a little odd.
'We're embarrassing Emma,' Esmé said, and plated up the food for their guest first, evem if she still didn't feel up to having a whole conversation with a teenager who was simply a clone of the woman she had been so jealous of for so many years. She supposed once she found some differences between Beatrice and Kit things would become easier between them, but all she could see as she looked across the table was a younger, just as charming, Kit Snicket. How was she supposed to just forget about all that?
'I think it's kind of cute,' said Beatrice under her breath, so only her friend would hear her. The happiest couple she knew were Klaus and Fiona, who loved each other unconditionally but seemed to be forever finding things to argue about. Mr and Mrs Squalor, by Beatrice's estimation, were just simply adorable, even if they did seem a little nervous around her. Emma just laughed and rolled her eyes again.
'At least somebody thinks so!' she joked, and then turned back to her parents. 'You know, Beatrice was telling me she's seen ghosts where she lives.'
'Ghosts?' laughed Jerome, and then blushed when he realized the girls were utterly serious. Emma sent him a look across the table, and he practically retreated into his usual shy shell. Esmé sighed.
'You believe in ghosts?' she asked, and couldn't help but sound a little skeptical. After all, there was no evidence whatsoever that they existed, and how was that possible anyway? As a child she had wished and wished that ghosts might have been real, just so she might have had a chance to see her mother or her father again on the colder, lonelier nights in Olaf's custody.
'I've seen them,' said Beatrice, and everyone around the table was surprised by her passion on the subject. 'At night, if you go walking in certain parts of the Hotel you can see them.'
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 4, 2009 18:43:18 GMT -5
“What are they like?” Emma asked, her blue eyes widening with interest. “Are they friendly?”
“Oh, yes,” Beatrice clarified. “I’ve only seen three so far, but I have reason to believe there might be more. The one I saw out in the pond scared me a little at first, on account he has a hole through his chest. I asked him if it hurt, and he said that people don’t feel any pain in the afterlife. His name is Dewey, and he’s my father.” She smiled rather proudly, while Emma merely gaped back at her.
As Jerome turned to his wife, he saw that her face had gone a few shades paler, and he reached over to rest his hand on top of hers.
“What about the other two?” Emma asked.
“They haunt the second floor of the hotel,” Beatrice told her. “One is a hunchback named Hugo, and the other is an ambidextrous man named Kevin.” She grinned. “He keeps asking me to fix his hands, even though I keep telling him there’s nothing wrong with having two equally strong ones.”
“Can you see through the ghosts?”
“Yes. Hugo says it’s a lot more difficult to stay completely visible, which is why you always hear about ghosts being transparent.”
“But they’re friendly?” Emma inquired.
“All three are just about the nicest group of ghosts you’ll ever meet,” replied Beatrice.
Emma turned to her parents, who were staring at her and Beatrice as if the two girls had lobsters crawling out of their ears. “Mother,” Emma asked, “Jerome? Is it alright if I stay the night at Beatrice’s sometime?”
Esmé was having enough trouble figuring out what she was going to say to Kit when the time finally came for them to meet face to face. The last thing Esmé needed was to worry about right now was her daughter staying in a supposedly haunted hotel.
“Perhaps,” Esmé said at last. “We’ll discuss it later, dear.”
“Oh, please, Mrs. Squalor?” Beatrice begged. “We have plenty of rooms, and my mother surely won’t mind. Honest.”
|
|
|
Post by Jenny on Jan 5, 2009 14:17:23 GMT -5
{Lobsters crawling out of their ears? LOL. } 'And you can come and stay if you want, too,' Beatrice continued, and Jerome's fork clattered loudly against the plate as his grip on it loosened with shock. 'We never ever have people over, but I'm sure I could convince my Mother that---' '--You'll have to ask her,' Esmé interrupted, and tried not to sound half-terrified and half-annoyed, which was exactly how she felt. Why couldn't they just leave it? Wasn't it clear enough yet that she and Jerome would never, ever want to see the Hotel Denoument again, and that she never, ever wanted to see Kit Snicket ever again? How could she make it any clearer? She was confident that once Beatrice told her mother who she had become friends with and even mentioned the concept that herself and Esmé would have to sit in the same room for any lengthly period of time, she would reject the idea. Or she had to keep her fingers crossed, at least. 'Well, you can at least come and stay here sometime,' Emma offered, leaving her parents no room for argument, and sending her mother a subtle glance across the table. Why was it so hard to be happy that she'd found a new friend? 'There's no ghosts here, as far as I know. But it might still be fun.' Beatrice nodded, and tried not to seem to disappointed. She was looking forward to showing someone around the Hotel Denoument, and making some friends outside her large extended family. It looked like Mr and Mrs Squalor were going to make it difficult, even if she didn't fully understand why. But just as she thought she was going to have to begin another conversation before the silence became completely overwhelming, the doorbell ringing throughout the apartment distracted her. Mrs Squalor couldn't have jumped up from her seat any quicker. If Beatrice had learnt anything about Esmé Squalor tonight, it was that she didn't wat a lot, she didn't talk a lot unless she was asked, and she did not like Beatrice. 'I'll get it!' she said quickly, and pushed her husband back down onto his chair by his shoulders when he stood, before racing down the hallways to the door. {I left it open.]
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 5, 2009 15:46:17 GMT -5
[Yup! It was originally a line from one of my favorite movies of all time, A Christmas Story.] “Emma,” Jerome said. “Why don’t you and Beatrice stay here and finish your dinner? I’ll be right back.” “Where are you going, Mr. Squalor?” Beatrice asked. “To check on my wife.” “What for?” Instead of answering the teenager’s question, Jerome left the table and headed across the room. After he had disappeared, Beatrice turned questionably to Emma. “What was that all about?” said Beatrice. “Jerome worries a lot,” Emma explained. “More than the average person, and always about my mother. She may act like it on the outside, but there are times when she’s less than stable.” Beatrice nodded, as she began to gain a little more understanding for the reason behind Esmé Squalor’s behavior. Beatrice wanted to inquire more about it, but since Esmé wasn’t her mother, she didn’t exactly think it polite to ask. And so, rather than ruin the first friendship she’d had in, well, ever, she returned her attention to the contents of her plate. *** Esmé’s hand was trembling as she reached for the latch to unlock the front door, but she was interrupted at the last minute by the desperate cry of her husband. “Esmé!” The financial advisor turned to see Jerome rushing towards her, his stomach bouncing adorably in the process. Esmé allowed herself a little chuckle, and then turned back to the door. “Wait!” Jerome cried, and Esmé stopped her hand once more. “Whatever for?” she asked. “Jerome, honestly. Do you expect me to keep Kit Snicket waiting just because you tell me to?” Panting, Jerome collapsed on the loveseat. “I just thought you’d like me to be with you,” he gasped. “You know. For moral support.” “That’s very sweet of you, darling. But I don’t need you by my side twenty-four hours a day.” Jerome nodded. He had always been tremendously considerate of his wife’s state, ever since he had discovered how prone she was to outbursts of self-harming behavior. She still had the scar on her arm, from when she had cut herself with one of his razorblades due to some horrendous allegations that had been against her. She was such an emotionally delicate creature, and he couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if he took her feelings for granted. “It’ll be fine, Jerome. I promise,” Esmé said, and slid the latch forward.
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 5, 2009 17:23:03 GMT -5
Jerome knew it was useless to ask his wife the reason behind her words, for he was already well aware of what her answer would be.
As Esmé turned and attempted to hide herself away in a corner, Jerome placed a large hand on his wife’s small shoulder. She shuddered and began to sob, making sure to control herself, if only for the sake of the two children in the dining room.
“I know that,” Jerome said, massaging her shoulder a little. “And I don’t expect you to stop doing something that you can’t, my love.”
Esmé sniffed, which was followed by a little squeak of a sob. Jerome had always found her vulnerability to be absolutely charming, as it had always led to her craving affection from her husband. He was just about to reach out and turn her away from the wall, when she said something he had only half expected.
“I hate her,” Esmé said, “because she… she took all of Olaf’s attention away from me, and he… he always compared the two of us. He said Kit was prettier and more talented: both as an actress and at pleasing him. If it weren’t for her, then maybe… maybe Olaf would have been able to see me for who and what I truly was!”
Esmé had always been hopelessly obsessed with what others thought of her. Jerome supposed that Olaf had a lot (if not all) to do with that, and it broke the billionaire’s heart to know how his beloved wife must have suffered all those years.
As she continued to sob, and her shoulders trembled, Jerome finally acted and took Esmé into his arms. She fell against him, weeping softly, clinging desperately to his shirt and soaking it with her tears.
“Sweetheart,” Jerome said, stroking Esmé’s soft, dark hair and kissing her on the top of her head. “Even if Kit Snicket hadn’t been in the picture, do you honestly believe that Olaf would have treated you any differently? You were and vulnerable, and he used that to his advantage.”
“I don’t know,” Esmé sobbed, struggling to keep her emotions under control. “Perhaps not. But that still doesn’t stop me from wondering.”
|
|