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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 10, 2009 16:21:27 GMT -5
Colette knew in her heart that Esmé believed she was being helpful, but in reality she wasn’t doing much to boost her friend’s confidence. The fact that Esmé was insisting to Colette that she could do something she had never done before was simply making the contortionist less and less unsure.
She watched in despair as Esmé turned and headed back across the bank to her desk, where two of her clients were waiting for her. Colette sighed, and turned back just in time to come face to face with a man she had never seen before.
“Hello,” he said pleasantly. “My name is Jeffrey Michaels, and I’d like to withdraw one-hundred dollars.”
“Will that be by cash or by check?” asked Colette.
“Cash, please.”
Colette nodded, and turned away to consult the computer. The Widdershins couldn’t even afford to buy a computer, how was she supposed to do this? Biting softly down on her bottom lip, she pressed some buttons, and waited anxiously for something to happen.
Nothing did.
Perhaps she could buy some time. Turning back to the man, she asked, “What did you say your name was again?”
“Jeffrey Michaels.”
“And how much money did you say you wanted to take out?”
“One-hundred dollars.”
Colette refocused her attention on the computer once more, and lifted the mouse up into the air, moving it around. Still, nothing happened. She suddenly wished Faust was with her, as they had computers in all the schools these days and her daughter had bragged about knowing how to use one.
The man sighed. He was growing impatient.
Colette felt herself begin to panic. She pressed some more buttons, but still, nothing happened. She could feel her face beginning to grow hot, and she looked desperately across the bank at Esmé, wondering if she should call the financial advisor over to help her.
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Post by Jenny on Jan 11, 2009 10:35:04 GMT -5
Colette turned towards the man once more, and came face ti face with a deep frown of dispproval.
'Is there some sort of problem?' he asked, arms folded, and Colette felt as though she might have curled up into a ball under the desk so that she could stop having to look at him. She bit down hard on her lower lip, and tried and tried to think of a way out of this situation.
Nothing came to mind.
'Well, I-I, it's j-just---'
'I justr want to withdraw one-hundred dollars from my account.' he said again, as if by repeating the instruction she would be able to follow it any easier.
'Well, yes, I know,' she responded, a little angrily. Did he think she was stupid? She had heard him those three times she'd been told how much he wanted to withdraw. This attitude only served to irritate the man in front of her a little more.
'Well, there's no need to be rude,' he said, and started looking more irritated than impatient. 'It's only a simple request, after all.'
Colette wished Fernald might have been around. Then this irritating man would have thought twice about talking to her like he was. But, as it stood, Fernald was not around. Colette looked around, but the other people sitting near her were all busy with their jobs and weren't going to look towards her.
'But I'm new,' Colette stated, as if this was going to make everything alright. 'It's not my fault I don't know how--'
'---Shouldn't you have some understanding of how to do your job regardless of how new you are?' the man interrupted, and Colette almost felt she was ready to cry. She didn't say anything for a few moments, and simply found herself staring down at her desk hopelessly. The man sighed again, and drummed his fingers on the part of the desk that was in front of him, behind a layer of glass. 'Well, is there anyone else I can speak to, then?' he demanded.
Colette once again began to stutter, but finally felt a presence beside her, and looked up to see that Esmé had eventually decided to come to her rescue.
'Is there a problem?' she asked, and Colette breathed a sigh of relief, and finally felt confident enough to look up at the man who was angry at her. His cheeks were a little red from his frustration, and her own were pink from embarrassment, but Esmé's were perfectly pale as usual.
'I'd like to make a complaint,' The man said, still a little angry, but slightly less so now that he was faced with someone who seemed less nervous and more competent. 'She doesn't seem to have any understanding of what she's supposed to be doing. I asked to withdraw one hundred dollars from my account, and she wasn't able to even do that!'
Colette thought Esmé might have beena ngry that he was talking to her friend like this, but Esmé simply gave a calm smile instead. 'Alright, sir,' she answered. 'What is your name?'
'Jeffrey Michaels.' he answered.
Esmé nodded, and leant over Colette to do something complicated to the computer. She pressed several buttons very, very quickly, and moved the mouse to click on something, before reaching down to withdraw varying different notes at high speed and then pass them under the glass to the man on the other side.
'There you are, sir,' she said. 'One hundred dollars.'
The man seemed to have calmed down, and he even smiled a little. 'Thank you,' he said exasperatedly.
'And the complaiont isn't really necessary,' Esmé continued. 'This is Mrs Widdershins' first day. I assure you she will have somebody working with her for the rest of the morning to make sure she knows what she's doing. I'm sorry about the inconvenience.'
Inconvenience? Colette looked up at her friend in shock. Why wasn't Esmé taking her side?
'OK,' said the man, and took his money from the gap between the glass and the desk. 'Thank you.'
'Have a nice day, sir,' Esmé responded as he turned to walk towards the doors, before taking Colette's arm and closing the shutter on her section of the counter.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 11, 2009 14:31:29 GMT -5
“You took his side,” Colette said the instant she was sure that no but Esmé could hear her.
Esmé looked at Colette, surprised, and the shook her head in disagreement. “Don’t be silly,” Esmé said. “I was merely reacting to the situation in a calm and rational way.”
“But you should have said something. Esmé, you saw the way that man was treating me. You could have—”
“I’m not saying Mr. Michaels was in the right for the way he treated you, but I wasn’t going to stand there and argue with him over it. The bank isn’t a schoolyard and the customers aren’t bullies— it’s a place of business, and we’ve got to learn to get along with the customers, even if some of them are unpleasant. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘The customer is always right’?”
Colette’s pale blue eyes widened with disbelief. “You’re saying the way he spoke to me was… was O.K.?”
Esmé pressed her hand against her forehead. Alright, so that hadn’t been the right thing to say, exactly. “Of course not,” she said. “But Colette, there are always going to be unpleasant people in a place of business, and you’re just going to have to learn to deal with them.”
Colette knew that Esmé’s intention hadn’t been to sound cruel, but as the words poured from the financial advisor’s lips, the contortionist was struck by a memory from the past she hadn’t thought of in more than thirty years…
“But they laughed at me.”
Colette was standing in the doorway of Madame Lulu’s trailer, twisting one of her blonde curls around her finger. She was covered in the remnants of vegetables and fruit that the audience members had thrown at her, her face still sticky with tears. She was anxious to go back to her trailer and get cleaned up, and hoped her employer wouldn’t keep her long.
“Colette,” Madame Lulu said from her place at the table, “come over here and sit down, please. I’d like a word with you.”
The twelve-year-old contortionist shuffled further into the trailer, stopping suddenly at Lulu’s command.
“Shut the door.”
Colette did so, and then walked over to the table. She slid into the other seat across from her employer, lowering her head and concentrating on the crystal ball placed between them in the center of the table.
“What happened today, please?” Madame Lulu asked. “You ran offstage less than halfway through your performance.”
“I didn’t care for what the people in the audience said about me,” Colette confessed.
“You mean when they called you a freak.”
Colette looked up, blue eyes blazing angrily. “Nobody calls me that.”
“Unfortunately,” Lulu went on, “that is all you are to them, please. That is all you’ll ever be to them. The world is full of unpleasant people, I’m afraid, and you’re simply going to have to accept that.”
“How?” Colette demanded. She brushed her blonde hair away from her face and glared at the ‘normal’ woman who couldn’t possibly understand what she was being forced to endure or what she was feeling. “It’s too hard! How am I supposed to accept something when there’s no reason for it to be happening in the first place?”
“There are ways, Colette,” Lulu answered patiently. “You’re still young, and so you haven’t learned how to channel your emotions yet. The world is a cruel and vicious place, and you saw that firsthand this afternoon. That is why you belong here, at Caligari Carnival, where you’ll always be safe from the unkindness of normal society.”
“I’ll get Ellinore to take over my job for the rest of the morning,” Esmé said, her soft voice bringing Colette out of her daydream. Esmé didn’t add that her reason for volunteering to stay with her friend was because she was concerned that someone else would lack the patience.
Esmé only hoped that Colette would have adjusted to her position by the end of the day.
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Post by Jenny on Jan 11, 2009 15:30:12 GMT -5
Colette had started to feel a bit guilty for making the financial advisor help her and leave her own job. But there was no ways he was going to go back to that counter without somebody there to show her how to use that stupid machine, and so she supposed Esmé was going to need to be there. She was still a little annoyed that her best friend had sided with Jeffrey Michaels over her--even if he was the customer, she still felt she should have stuck up for her. But it was too late for all that. The last thing Colette wanted was to lose her job, and that was what was going to happen if Esmé's boss were to find out about her incompetence. She supposed she was just going to have to concentrate, and pay attention to everything Esmé said from now on, and stop worrying about what the customers said to her.
But that was more difficult than it sounded.
Esmé wasn't known for her patience, and it became clear as the morning dragged on that she found it a bit trying to explain a job she found simple to someone who had difficulty with it. Colette tried to ignore that, too, but found that her friend always had to take over if a customer frowned at her, or was a little short with her.
'People have all sorts of reasons for the way they behave, Colette,' Esmé said, after having to rescue another of Colette's conversations with a customer. 'Maybe that man has had a bad morning at work. Maybe he had an argument with his wife this morning. Maybe he's worried about his kids, or whatever. It wasn't his intention to come in here and be unpleasant.'
'So you're saying it's my fault?' Colette demanded.
'No,' Esmé replied. 'I'm just saying you have to be tolerant of people. Don't start any more arguments.'
'I haven't started any,' Colette muttered. It seemed a little funny to her, really, that Esmé found it easier to let people get away with their behaviour than she did. It was Esmé who had the worse temperament, not Colette.
She supposed it must have had something to do with Esmé's background. She didn't like thinking of it, but from what Fernald had been persuaded to tell her, Esmé had been abused and unhappy for years before meeting Jerome Squalor. Where Colette had never gotten used to being called a freak and having rotten vegetables thrown at her by jeering crowds, perhaps Esmé had gotten used to feeling inadequate, to feeling stupid. It would have explained a lot.
Even though it was only three and a half hours between nine o'clock and half past twelve, by the time her break rolled around Colette felt she might have been about to explode from boredom or frustration, or a mixture of both. She felt momentarily relieved when somebody came to take over from her, and then remembered that she was going to have to have lunch.
'I've already agreed that Ellinoire and I are going to go out for lunch,' Esmé told her. 'To make up for her covering for me all morning. A few other people might be joining us, and so if you want to I don't see why you shouldn't.'
Even though Esmé smiled kindly after that, this didn't make Colette feel any better really. Knowing that she hadn't really been invited wasn't comforting, but what could she do? She simply sighed.
'Alright,' she said, and wrapped her arms around herself to provide some measure of comfort.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 11, 2009 16:58:40 GMT -5
As it turned out, Esmé, Colette, Ellinore, and two of their co-workers dined at the Veritable French Diner during their lunch hour. When Colette got a look at the prices of the dishes on her menu, her jaw dropped. Esmé, who was sitting beside her, smiled sweetly and whispered to Colette that she would take care of everything.
Even though Colette appreciated Esmé’s generosity, the contortionist couldn’t help feeling like a charity case. And even though it was all in the past, the thought of how Colette had first treated the financial advisor at the beginning of their reunion made her feel even more guilty on top of everything else.
The two other women joining them were Annette Frazier and Melissa Reeves. They were chattering away about their husband’s professions: from what Colette could tell, one was a doctor and the other a car salesman. Annette and Melissa were arguing over which profession was more renowned, until at last they turned to Esmé to settle the dispute.
“Esmé, which profession would you rather have for your husband?” Annette asked. “A doctor or a car salesman?”
Esmé laughed uproariously. “Oh, that’s easy,” she replied. “Neither.”
“Neither?!” Annette and Melissa answered unanimously, and then turned to each other in shock.
“Naturally. I’d much rather have my husband doing what he does now, which is taking care of the apartment and running errands while I’m at work. That way, there’s always someone there to care for Emma and be there to greet me when I get home.”
“I’m so jealous,” Melissa confessed. “David’s at the office day and night, and I hardly catch a glimpse of him other than on the weekends. You’re so lucky to have a husband like Jerome, Esmé! Not only is he a billionaire, but the picture-perfect man.”
Esmé was just about to point out that Jerome’s billions didn’t matter one way or the other to her, when Ellinore Connolly put the focus of the conversation on Colette.
“So, Colette,” Ellinore said. “What about you? What does your husband do?”
Colette froze. She had been dreading the question throughout the duration of the conversation. She had been hoping that the three other women would be too busy asking Esmé questions about Jerome to think to do the same to Colette. She admitted she felt out of place in a group of women who had (aside from Esmé) never had to struggle a day in their lives.
What were these women going to say when Colette told them that her husband worked a minimum-wage job at a discount supermarket?
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Post by Jenny on Jan 11, 2009 17:10:05 GMT -5
This time it didn't seem that Esmé was going to step in and lie for her, seeing as that ahd turned out so badly last time. Colette started to panic, and then stopped herself. What was she so ashamed of? Just because Fernald worked in a supermarket stacking shelves didn't make them any worse than these people sitting in front of her. What would he have said if he saw her trying to lie about what he did for a living because she was ashamed of him?
Colette took a deep breath. 'He works in a supermarket,' she said confidently.
The three women stared back at her in shock, and Esmé smiled gently at her.
'He stacks shelves at the Not-So Supermarket,' she said, and felt a little more insecure at the look Annette and Melissa gave each other at that. 'He doesn't earn a lot, but we get along alright.'
A short silence. Then Esmé spoke up. 'But then again,' she said for her friend. 'Mr Widdershins is always hom in the evenings to look after Faust, isn't he? There are upsides to every job.'
'I suppose,' said Melissa, but didn't look convinced. Whether she was married to the doctor or the car salesman Colette didn't remember, but she had started to look awfully snooty now that she found out that Colette wasn't as well off as she was. It was almost as if it was a hierachy---they all treated Esmé with respect because she was wealthier than they were, and intended to treat Colette with none because she wasn't.
'Well, it's not really what he does,' Colette said. 'He's the most wonderful man, even if he didn't have a job at all! And it is quite brave of him, really, considering how his hooks always make----'
Colette did cringe, then. She had forgotten, as always, that not everybody knew that Fernald had hooks instead of hands.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 11, 2009 17:52:45 GMT -5
“Hooks?” asked Annette. “What do you mean by that?”
Colette bit down on her bottom lip and lowered her head. In her attempt to defend Fernald, she had let something else slip out, and she knew there was no way she could change the course of the conversation now.
“Well,” Colette began, lifting her head as she struggled to figure out exactly how she was going to explain the reason behind her husband’s handicap. “It was a long time ago, you see. He was working at a steel mill— one day there was an accident with one of the machines, and he had his hands torn off.”
Annette and Melissa both gasped, pressing a hand to each of their mouths in horror.
“How terrible!” Melissa exclaimed, once she had recovered from the shock.
“Yes, it is,” Annette agreed. “Though one thing I don’t understand is why your husband continues to work for minimum-wage when he should have inherited at least five-grand.”
Colette raised an inquiring eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Well, think about it,” said Melissa. “If your husband was involved in an accident that severed both of his hands at a company he worked for, then he should have been given compensation.”
Colette, who had never gone to school, wasn’t sure what the word meant, and she turned to Esmé for assistance.
The financial advisor smiled calmly at Melissa, and then said: “Unfortunately, not all companies— or people —are as generous as others.”
“Oh,” Melissa said, and turned back to Colette. “Well, you and your husband certainly have my condolences.”
“And mine,” Annette added.
Ellinore, who was sitting to Colette’s right and had not said a word in some time, patted her hand. “You’re very brave,” Ellinore said, just as their appetizers arrived.
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Post by Jenny on Jan 13, 2009 13:55:14 GMT -5
If Colette was quite honest, she had never seen food that looked more delicious or more appetizing than what was in front of her at that very moment. What was even more amazing than the lavish food she was presented with was that the women around her seemed not to be amazed at all.
Coolette knew that Esmé wasn’t desperately fond of eating in front of other people. In fact, she was quite aware that doing this was just about the financial advisor’s worst nightmare. And so, that begged the question—if she didn’t like eating in front of other people, what did she do all this time that se went out or lunches with her clients?
Colette, havng no idea whatsoever what she was supposed to do now that she was presented with such glorious food, looked to Esmé for assistance. She couldn’t possibly ask the financial advisor to pay for all this for her, because she knew how much it was going to cost. Although all of the other women round the tabe were financial advisors who earned quite a bit of money, Colette was not one of them. She didn’t even know yet if she was going to be allowed to keep her job as a cashier at the bank, let alone whether she would ever be able to pay Esmé back for all these lunches she was going to take her to.
And, of course, that set her off thinkng about Fernald again. He was always so cagy about taking anything from anyone if it didn’t belong to him, or if he wasn’t going to be able to pay it back, aand she could only have imagined what the look on his face would have been like had he seen the prices on the menu and that Esmé was going to pay for her. But what else could she do? She couldn’t very well have a glass of water, could she, not while everyone else ate. It would seem rude. It would make her look bad.
And, for the first time, Colette realized just how important appearances were in ther new job.
The women around her continued to chat, and she thought back to Ellinore Conneley’s words. You’re very brave, she’d said. Brave? Colette had never thought of it like that. She remembered how much she had hated Esmé only a year ago because she had been the cause of her husband’s suffering, but she had never thought, even for a moment that he was any different to any other man, not really. But now that she thought on it, she did start to wonder about the things they maybe would have had if he’d been able to get a good job, and earn a respectable wage. Maybe Faust could’ve had some new clothes once in a while. Maybe she could have had some new clothes once in a while.
She noticed that although Esmé’s fingers never slipped away from her fork, she didn’t really eat very much. By a clever method of keeping the conversaion going while they all ate, and never putting down her arm, she seemed to get away with eating little or nothing of her food. However, before Colette had realized this she’d already eaten most of hers, and felt a bit ungrateful and awful for it after. The worst time, of course, was when the bill arrived. Esmé of course offered too pay for Ellinore to thank her for covering for her all morning, and then Melissa and Annette offered to split the remaining cost, one of them turning quizzically towards Colette when the newest member of their group didn't offer to pay anything for her food. Colette simply blushed, and tried to avoid looking at anyone, even though she knew that they knew she hadn't paid. This all felt like some complex game of. One minute she was popular (through a series of lies--such as the 'Wall Street' incident), and then next minute it seemed like they were all wary of her, or that none of them liked her. Didn't Esmé have any friends who weren't so snooty? She supposed not. She decided to put it out of her mind--if she managed to keep her job after a few days, then she would worry about that. For now, she should be grateful that anyone had been willing to talk to her and take her out for lunch after the spectacle she'd made of herself earlier on.
The afternoon, for the most part, passed without a lot of difficulty. Esmé returned to her own job and left Colette on her own, but not without letting the blonde woman know that if she was having any difficulty at any time she was to come and get her immediately. Colette knew she wouldn't, really--since going back to her own desk, Esmé had been seeing clients non-stop. Colette just didn't know how she talked so easily with all these strangers about their mortgages and such. Didn't she ever get bored, or ever get a bit intimidated? Evidently not.
Just as Colette felt she might have been getting used to life around Mulctuary Money Management, there was a loud cough like a gunshot behind her, and she once again practically levitated out of her chair.
'Hello,' said Mr Poe, a little puzzled that she had risen out of her seat a little when he'd appeared, but deciding to overlook it. 'How have you been getting on today, Mrs Widdershins? I heard you had a little trouble this morning.'
Colette should have expected gossips.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 13, 2009 19:35:35 GMT -5
“Well, yes. I— I was,” she stuttered, as she fought to make eye contact with the immensely tall banker. Funny, but he hadn’t looked all that tall when she had first seen him sitting behind his desk that morning. “But I… I think I’m starting to get the… the hang of… of things now.”
Mr. Poe didn’t seem to notice Colette’s stuttering, or if he did he chose not to acknowledge it. As he turned away to cough into his handkerchief, the contortionist shook slightly. The sound of it was much too unnecessarily loud for Colette’s sensitive ears, and she wished she had some cough drops on hand to offer him. But, like everything else, cough drops were yet another luxury that the Widdershins were not able to afford.
Colette simply chose to smile politely, even if the sound of Mr. Poe clearing his throat did make her want to vomit.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll continue to do splendidly,” he said. “If anymore problems should arise that you discover are out of your control, then don’t hesitate to speak to me about them at once. You can almost always find me in my office.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Colette, though she knew she would be doing no such thing. “Thank you.”
Mr. Poe smiled, and then headed back into his office. Colette had always found it difficult to think when people she didn’t know well insisted on talking to her for long periods of time. She had to admit, though, that one upside to working at the bank was it did do wonders for her social skills, and she hoped by Friday she would have fallen completely into her new routine as a bank teller.
The work day ended at six for both Esmé and Colette. Because it was such a beautiful day in early spring, Esmé suggested they wait for their husbands outside on the bench in front of the bank.
“You did very well today, Colette,” Esmé told her. “Much better than I did on my first day. I’m sure that by the end of the week, you’ll have gotten it all down.”
“I hope so,” Colette said, sliding the scrunchie off from around her wrist and tying up her shoulder-length blonde hair. “I don’t like to think what will happen if I continue to screw up.”
“You seemed to know what you were doing after we came back from lunch. I’m sure a lot of it was all just first-day jitters.”
Colette nodded just as a dark blue Lexus pulled up to the front of the bank and Jerome Squalor stepped out.
“Darling!” Esmé squealed delightedly, and dashed across the parking lot to greet him.
“Hello, my love,” Jerome said, shivering slightly as his wife all but threw herself into his arms. “How was your day?”
“Smashing, as always.”
Jerome pressed his chubby finger against the tip of his wife’s tiny nose, before planting a kiss upon it. “I’m so glad to hear it. And how did things go with Colette?”
“Well, she’s sitting right over there,” Esmé said, nodding toward the bench. “Why don’t you come over and ask her yourself?”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 14, 2009 14:52:22 GMT -5
Colette checked her watch, not surprised to see that it had only just turned six. It was so like Jerome Squalor to arrive exactly on time, and knowing him, it was half-likely that he'd driven around the district a couple of times because he had been too early, just too eager to take his wife home from work. The thought of it made Colette smile, but then worry a little. Fernald wasn't forgetful, but it wouldn't have been past him to forget that he was supposed to be picking her up from work, seeing as it was her first day, and he was having such a difficult time at work. She hoped she'd underestimated him.
'So, Colette,' said Jerome, and she looked up from where she had been concentrating on her watch. 'How was your first day?'
She felt like blurting it all out to the unsuspecting Jerome. Nobody had asked her that question exactly yet, and all she wanted was to tell him how much she felt she'd been unsuccessful during the morning, and how intimidated she'd been by Esmé's snooty group of girlfriends, and how she was going to pay Esmé back for that lunch when she recieved her first paycheck. But, of course, she didn't. Mr Squalor wouldn't want to hear all of that.
'It was OK,' she placidly answered. 'I think I'll probably get better at it, anyway.'
Jerome looked a little concerned for a moment, as if he was worried that her statement meant that she hadn't liked it at all, or that she'd been dreadful. But then his wife spoke, and his attention was very much diverted.
'Colette did really well,' she said, and Colette wondered if maybe she was stretching the truth a little. Esmé was really good at her job. Mr Squalor was really rich. Colette hadn't done really well by comparison at all. 'Excluding a bit of trouble with one customer this morning, everything went fine, didn't it?'
'Yes,' Colette sighed. 'It went fine.'
Really, Colette didn't want to be thinking the way she was. What she was really thinking was that she wished she weren't working at the bank at all. She wished she'd been there when Faust had gotten home--what was that, two and a half hours ago now?--and she didn't truly believe she was ever going to fit into her new job at Mulctuary Money Management. She was going to be glad to be out of her suit and out of the city altogether.
That is, when Fernald finally did arrive.
The Squalor's seemed hesitant to leave her alone, but she simply waved a hand at them and smiled. 'No, it's OK,' she assured. 'It's not dark yet. And if Fernald doesn't come soon, I'll go back into the bank and call him.'
'Wouldn't it just be easier if we drove you home?' Esmé said, but Colette did have to wonder if she'd caused enough trouble already.
'No, it's fine,' Colette assured. She couldn't properly explain it, but she was practically sick of the sight of Esmé by now, and wanted to be left alone. She felt awful for thinking something like that about a woman who she considered such a close friend of hers, but really she didn't want to see her and her new shoes and her handbag right now. She was, simply, the epitome of everything Colette didn't have the confidence or finance to be, and it stung a little now that she properly thought of it. For now, she didn't want to look at Esmé and her billionaire and his Lexus. She was sick of it all after her first day surrounded by people just like they were.
Esmé seemed to sense from the underlying irritation in Colette's eyes that something was wrong. She took her seat again next to the blonde woman, and looked at her in concern.
'I know your first day wasn't exactly the best,' she said. 'But you did better than most people do on their first day. On my first day, I had to get coffee for someone much further up than me and I was so nervous that I accidentally knocked it with my hand and---'
'--Yeah,' interrupted Colette. She could feel that she was being petty, but she couldn't help the way she felt, could she? Couldn't Esmé take a hint? She'd told her to go twice. And where was Fernald? 'I told you, it's fine. You can go.'
Even if Colette hadn't meant it to sound like a dismissal, that was certainly how Esme had taken it. She bristled angrily, and the tilt of her head just altered. Of course, Jerome instantly started to panic.
'I don't think you should be angry at me, Colette,' she pointed out, her tone much less kind than it previously had been. 'I mean, what have I done to you today except sit with you and help you?'
Colette couldn't think of anything to say in response to that. Jerome was attempting to stutter out some sort of warning to either of them to stop angering the other, but it didn't work.So the blonde woman simply crossed her legs and shrugged. She didn't feel like explaining to Esmé that she hadn't entirely liked the person she was at work as much as she had the person she knew outside of it.
'I am doing you a favour,' Esmé continued, folding her arms. 'You'd never have gotten the job if I hadn't gone out of my way to get it for you.'
'And perhaps you should keep in mind that I'm doing you a favour by agreeing to come for a horrible weekend at the Hotel Denoument,' Colette sharply responded. 'And who's to say I couldn't have got the job without you pulling all the strings?'
Esmé's eyebrows raised. 'Well, I am,' she pointed out venemously. 'Because you'd never have gotten through the interview alive if you take offence to everything sombody says like you did this morning.'
'That was different,' Colette practically growled. 'He was being very rude! And besides, you didn't stick up for me, did you? What kind of a person does that make you?'
'A perfectly sensible one!' Esmé hissed. 'Because the man only wanted a hundred dollars! You were in the wrong!'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 14, 2009 16:18:08 GMT -5
“Girls, please!” Jerome practically screamed. “I can’t stand—”
Both Esmé and Colette glared at him. “Oh, shut up, Jerome!” the two women snapped simultaneously.
Poor Jerome stuttered back, his head lowered and his hand covering his eyes.
Esmé immediately felt sorry for having snapped so harshly at the man she loved so dearly. But before she could take it back, she felt she first needed to make something very clear to the woman sitting in the bench beside her.
“You were wrong, Colette,” Esmé repeated, as if repeating the statement would ensure the fact that Colette would believe her. “And if you take everything everyone says so seriously, then you’ll never succeed.”
“Well, maybe it’s just as well,” Colette shot back. “If I’m so useless, then maybe I should just quit!”
“Colette! I never said—”
They were interrupted by the sound of a spewing motor, and everyone turned their heads to see the Widdershins’ gray Volvo pull into the parking lot. Colette felt a strong sense of relief wash over her at the sight of her husband’s car, the thought of how out of place it looked in a parking lot full of Lincolns, Saturns and Lexuses never crossing her mind. She stood up and hurried over to the Volvo before her husband even had a chance to get out.
Esmé and Jerome would have loved to say hello to Fernald, but as it was the circumstances made that a risky decision. They saw him wave a hook through the window just as Colette slammed the door of the front passenger’s seat, and after that the Widdershins drove off. Esmé and Jerome caught sight of Faust sitting in the backseat, but she didn’t appear to have noticed them.
Turning back to his wife, Jerome said, “Something tells me things didn’t go as well as you expected they would.”
Esmé shook her head, which was lowered as she sat with her hands folded over her purse in her lap. “Why is it that every time I try to do something nice for someone, it blows up in my face?” she asked, and it was apparent from her tone that she was crying.
That was all it took for her husband to race over to the bench, plop down beside her, and pull her into a hug.
“I tried so hard, Jerome! I did everything I could to ensure Colette a place in Mulctuary Money Management. She’s my best friend, and I thought it would help her and her family’s financial situation. But she… she doesn’t even appreciate what I’m doing for her!”
“Oh, darling, that isn’t true,” Jerome insisted. “She just had a rough day, that’s all. I’m sure she’ll call you this evening and apologize for behaving so irrationally.”
Esmé squeaked out a little half-sob, and the sound of it was so sweet that Jerome couldn’t help but squeeze her tighter.
Once she had calmed down, and she was convinced that none of her associates were around to see her tear-stained face and smudged makeup, the Squalors headed across the parking lot to where the Lexus was parked.
It wasn’t until they were inside the car with the doors closed and after Esmé had apologized no less than five times for snapping at him, that Jerome asked the burning question: “Would you like to pick something up at the Veritable French Diner on the way home? I promised Emma I’d bring back dinner.”
Esmé finished buckling her seatbelt and then looked at him. “If you like,” she replied, rubbing a little at her nose.
She would have loved nothing more than to have some boeuf bourguignon and perhaps some crepes for dessert. However, she took one look down at her hips and knew at once what her decision would be. Smiling sweetly at her handsome husband, she added, “Nothing for me, though. I had a big lunch.”
Which was, in reality, an absolute lie. Esmé hoped Jerome wouldn’t be able to see through her, and just in case she turned her face toward the window.
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Post by Jenny on Jan 15, 2009 14:45:41 GMT -5
Jerome did allow himself a littel frown, but then reminded himself of how much Colette Widdershin's behaviour had upset her (and if Colette didn't call later, he thought he would probably be giving her a call himself to make sure she fully understood the depth of her ingratitude. He hated his wife being upset, after all). He supposed, for now, it was best to let her eat as little as she wanted, and then attempt to feed her something later on if she was in a better mood. He would make sure to order her favourite from the Veritable French Diner anyway, in case it turned out she did feel like it later on. Jerome didn't know whether she was lying about having a big lunch or not-but, even if she felt she was telling him the truth, her definition of a big lunch was bound to be widely different to his interpretation.
'Alright, my darling,' he said, and saw her wipe her eyes again, obviously still a little upset by the argument she had with Colette outside Mulctuary Money Management. She sniffed, and he lifted a hand to gently touch her shoulder, feeling her tremble.
'But maybe if you did eat,' he convinced. 'You might feel a little better about things. Maybe if I just got you some crepes or something, then---'
Esmé had been about to tell her husband that she didn't want any food whatsoever, and he ought to stop worrying so much about her, when she suddenly felt a jolt, and Jerome let out a loud, sudden gasp, and his hand slid away from her shoulder very quickly. She looked up just in time to see them swerve into the side of another Lexus--only this one wasn't quite the same, and it was also dark red--and feel herself jolt quickly forward in her seat with the impact of the crash.
They hadn't been going very fast, and so the airbags weren't activated and neither of them were injured. In fact, a slight dent in the side of the other Lexus was the only evidence that the crash had happened. Esmé breathed a sigh of relief, and then looked over to see that her husband had covered his face with his hands.
'Jerome?' she screeched, terrified instantly that he had hurt himself somehow. 'Jerome, what is it?'
Then her husband looked up, and she could see tears sliding slowly down his chubby cheeks. He was otherwise unharmed, and she almost felt ready to scold him for making her think he was hurt. But then she saw how upset he had become, and instantly she wrapped her arms around him, unclasping her own seatbelt.
'What's wrong?' she whispered as he yet again tried to cover his tears. He sniffed, and let out a squeak. 'You just bumped into the other car, my darling, you haven't hurt anyone.'
'But I could have!' he cried, and suddenly she understood. Jerome was always so, so careful when he drove, and just this one time that he had taken his eyes off the road to comfort her he had payed the price for it. 'I could have hurt you because of my own stupidity!'
~
'Stupid woman,' Colette muttered to herself as she, Fernald and Faust climbed out of their car in front of their house. She had refused to say anything about the argument she'd had with Esmé when Faust was bouncing so happily in the backseat, and had only shaken her head when Fernald had asked her how her day had gone.
'Faust,' Fernald said, as they opened the door into their house, which wasn't very warm because of their lack of central heating. 'Faust, go upstairs please.'
'Oh! But I just wanted---'
'--Later,' he said, and gave his beloved daughter a little nudge. 'I need to talk to your mother.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 15, 2009 15:38:35 GMT -5
Faust was old enough to know when her presence wasn’t wanted, and she headed obediently upstairs to her room. After the eleven-year-old was out of earshot, Fernald and Colette went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “You were very quiet on the drive home,” he said, “even for you. You and Esmé didn’t have another falling out, did you?” The look Colette gave Fernald was all the evidence he needed in order to reach a conclusion, and he let out a sad sigh. “What was it this time?” He didn’t sound annoyed, but Colette and Esmé had had so many “falling outs”, and all of them for different reasons. The hook-handed man couldn’t imagine what it could be this time that had caused the women’s latest dispute. Just when she was getting ready to open her mouth, Colette realized that she wasn’t sure what it was she and Esmé had fought about. The contortionist supposed it was mainly due to the fact that the financial advisor was so much better off than she was, and that it had temporarily blinded her judgment. Colette tried not to let Esmé’s wealthy lifestyle get in the way of their friendship, and it almost never did. But the fact that Colette had been surrounded by other women who were not only wealthy but pretentious had made her so self-conscious. The result had been, of course, for her to take out her anger on Esmé, whose mind was already so unstable to begin with. A spark of worry suddenly shot through Colette at the thought that Esmé might go home and hurt herself, and all over their silly argument! It had happened once before, back when Colette still hated her, and she sincerely hoped that what she’d said today hadn’t affected Esmé as deeply as the contortionist feared it had. “I’m not sure,” Colette said finally, her voice strangely distant. “I had some trouble this morning with a customer, and then at lunch I felt like all of Esmé’s wealthy friends were judging me. Then after work I snapped at her, and she became very angry. We started arguing, but I ran off as soon as I saw you and Faust pull up in the car.” Fernald nodded understandingly and then leaned his elbows on the table, clicking his hooks together as he tried to think of a logical solution to all this. “What are you thinking of?” asked Colette. “You,” Fernald said, and smiled a little. “And the way you’re always letting your sensitivity get the best of you.” Colette nodded, knowing that her husband had a very valid point. She had always been sensitive, often times unbearably so, and it had always gotten her into trouble. “Did those other women say anything that would imply they were judging you?” Fernald asked. Colette thought back to lunch, and then shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “But I could sense it.” *** Esmé sat in the car while Jerome and the driver of the other Lexus (a man who looked to be around his own age) exchanged information. She was pleased that Jerome had managed to get his emotions under control relatively quickly, but that still didn’t change the fact that it was her fault the accident had happened in the first place. She had recently taken to scratching at her skin as a substitute for the knives and razorblades she had once used to punish herself. Banging her head against the walls and floors of the penthouse only left her with unbearable headaches, and she supposed that a little discomfort on her stomach or legs was really nothing. Jerome had already noticed some marks on her belly, and so it really shouldn’t come as a shock if he noticed any new ones. Esmé was so lost in her thoughts that she hardly noticed that the front door had opened until Jerome was sitting beside her. “How did it go?” she asked. “Fine,” he replied. “The man was very understanding, and said the damage shouldn’t be too costly. He’ll be sending me the repair bill sometime next week.” Esmé nodded. “Darling, are you alright?” Jerome asked, and felt his previous emotions come rushing back. “You look upset.”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 15, 2009 16:06:41 GMT -5
Esmé couldn't find a way to put into words what she felt about being the cause of her husband's accident. All she could think about was what she would have done if her foolish upset had caused him to become injured in the crash. She would never, ever have forgiven herself if she'd in any way hurt him, and the proximity to which she had come to that possibility was quite frightening.
'I'm OK,' she replied, though she couldn't stop her voice from shaking from her own shock and fear, that lingered even after it was all over. 'It's just--'
She cut off, and tears gathered in her eyes again. Jerome softly tutted, and drew her into his arms.
'But when you w-were crying,' she stuttered though her tears. 'I-I thought you were h-hurt. What if I-I'd h-hurt y-you, J-Jerome?'
She tried not to feel silly for crying, but then when she realized how stupid she must have looked it simply made her cry even harder. The other Lexus eventually drove away, leaving Esmé and Jerome totally alone.
'It wasn't your fault,' Jerome told her, not mentioning that it was his[/i. He couldn't for a moment believe that he'd taken his eyes off the road and his hands off the wheel so stupidly, and put his wife's life so in danger, along with his own. 'My darling, it wasn't your fault that I wasn't paying attention.'
'But if you hadn't been looking at me, then it wouldn't have happened!' she sobbed.
'Then that's my fault, sweetheart,' her husband argued, but she was still sniffling against his shoulder. Before he could convince her of it any more strongly, a loud ringing noise from Esmé's handbag interrupted them. She sniffed again, and unzipped it to retrieve her phone, and then gave another little sob at seeing the name displayed on the screen. Jerome removed the phone from her, and answered it himself.
'Colette?' he asked, trying not to sound too irritated with the woman who had uspet his darling little wife so much.
'Is Esmé there?' she asked abruptly, wondering why Jerome had answered her phone if Esmé was alright. 'Is everything OK?'
'We've--' he paused. 'We had a bit of a car accident, Colette. Esmé can't speak to you right now.'
Colette let out a high pitched gasp. Fernald noticed her cover her mouth with her hand, and rushed over to her side. 'Is she OK?' Colette cried into the phone, instantly assuming the worst. She couldn't think what she was going to do if Esmé was seriously hurt and the last thing she'd said to her dearest friend was an angry sentence proclaiming how bad a friend she was.
Fernald lay a hook on his wife's shoulder, and hoped nothing too drastic had happened. He knew it wasn't his job to worry about Esmé any more, but that didn't stop him from worrying all the same that she might one day hurt herself too much.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 15, 2009 20:08:22 GMT -5
“She’s fine,” Jerome assured the near-hysterical woman on the other line. “It was just a little fender-bender, but thankfully there weren’t any injuries.” Even though Jerome couldn’t tell, Colette nodded anyway. “I’ll call back later, then,” she said. “Or have Esmé call me. Whatever’s best for her.” “Right now the best thing for her would be to get her home,” Jerome said. He wasn’t angry— just wary of his wife’s mental state. She had wrapped her arms around herself in a similar fashion to Colette, and was trembling slightly. “I’m sorry, Colette, but this really isn’t the best time to talk. Esmé and I are presently on the highway, and I’d like to get her home as quickly as possible.” “Yes, of course, Jerome. I understand.” “Good. I’ll have Esmé call you later if she’s feeling up to it.” “Thank you,” Colette said, and hung up the telephone. “What happened?” Fernald asked. “It’s Esmé. She and Jerome were in a minor car accident.” Fernald’s eyebrows raised. “Are they alright?” Colette nodded, but her expression portrayed her worry all too well. She leaned against her husband, and he wrapped his arms around her. “She’s angry with me,” Colette went on. “I’ll bet she was the one driving, and that’s why—” “No,” Fernald said, and Colette looked up. “No, love. You don’t know that for sure, and even if there is some truth to it, you aren’t the one to blame.” Colette knew, of course, that this was true, but even the words of her husband didn’t do much to ease the guilt she was feeling. *** Esmé was unnaturally quiet on the drive back to 667 Dark Avenue. She spoke only once, and that was when Jerome asked her if she would mind if they still stopped to get dinner. He had already promised Emma, and the Squalors had nothing to eat for dinner besides. Esmé said it was fine with her, and handed her cell phone over to Jerome so he could call Emma to let her know they were going to be a little late getting home. Jerome was grateful that the Veritable French Diner had a pickup window, for he had no intention of leaving Esmé alone in the car for any period of time. He had seen her in this sort of state many times, and knew she was liable to either hurt herself or run off if he left her. She had her face turned towards the window for most of the drive over to the restaurant, fearing that if her husband saw how upset she was he might try to comfort her. She was already planning what she would do when they got home. Jerome called out three orders to the woman at the window, and then turned his attention back to his wife. Esmé’s hand was resting on her stomach, a habit she’d picked up back when Emma had first been born. Esmé only did it whenever she was extremely upset, or whenever she was lonely for her husband’s company. Jerome supposed that her reason for doing it now was in an attempt to comfort herself, and he reached over to rub her hand lovingly. “We’ll be home soon, my love,” he said. As if he could read her thoughts, he added: “And when we get there, I want you to come into the kitchen with me.” Esmé didn’t answer, and a few minutes later their order was ready. They drove to the next window, and a male attendant handed Jerome three bags. He paid the attendant, put the bags in the backseat, and then drove off.
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