...
Oh, it's a long long while from may to december
Frank Sinatra, September Song
...
The door bell rang as they walked in.
"Ah." Mr. Gold's eyes narrowed as he smiled slowly at the visitors, tilting his head back on the chair. His quite long hair - grey at the temples - fell over his shoulders.
"Belle, dearie. How nice of you to pay a visit to your old uncle." He sluggishly held his arm out to her and nodded in her direction. "Now come and give this old bore a kiss."
Belle didn't need to be told twice. She approached him and smiled fondly as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She bowed down and kissed him on the cheek – on the slightly uneven skin between his cheekbone and his mouth. He was wearing one of his tailored dark suit and a tasteful burgundy paisley-pattern tie – a Gieves and Hawkes one, most likely, as he never wore anything but the best.
"Hello, uncle Gold." She said, then she sat on his lap and carelessly put her arm on his shoulders. "Oh." Mr. Gold half-smiled. "You're getting heavy, my girl. It's not like when you were ten years old, and you came there every now and then to ask me for candies."
"Just throw me down, then." Belle swung her legs in a childish way.
He chuckled and tilted his head to the side."I would never do that. Who could ever want to shun such a pretty girl away?" He raised his head and nodded at the man that was standing, smiling, his hands in his pocket, just in front of them.
"Don't you agree, Moe?"
Belle's father laughed. "You'll have to join the queue, Gold. The list of her suitors is already endless."
"Oh, come on, dad. You're making me blush." She said that in a waggish tone, but she was actually blushing a bit. Maybe it was just because Mr. Gold's arm was still around her waist, and she could smell the faint scent of his aftershave.
"Our frond yard is crowded with them, I can hardly park my car." Mr. Gold laughed.
"Now that's not true." Belle pouted.
"Yes it is. But she doesn't seem to like any of them, you know. She's rather picky when it comes to boys - aren't you, sweetheart?" Belle rolled her eyes.
"Well, people with particular tastes are my forte, you know." Mr. Gold waved his hand in the air in a playful way. "Not to brag, but my shop can provide almost anything. What are you looking for, dearie?" He turned to look Belle in the eyes; she smiled. "Young and handsome? Homecoming king, the quarterback kind of guy?"
Belle laughed. "Oh, please, no. Sounds like Gaston."
Mr. Gold frowned. "Who's Gaston?"
"Some foreign exchange student from France. Girls in my class keep saying he's so hot, and he thinks he's a lady killer or something. And for some reason he also thinks that, because my surname is French, he and I have some weird connection. He asked me out a couple of times."
"Do you like him?"
Belle laughed. "I hate him."
"So no Gaston-like guy for you. A tall dark stranger, then." He smiled. "Some Prince Charming, maybe?"
Belle shook her head, chuckling. "Thank you, uncle, but I'm not that into the Prince Charming type."
"What are you into, then?"
Belle tilted her head and bit her lip in a mock thoughtful way. "I don't know. The tall dark stranger sounds fine – but not too tall, ok?"
Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. "Well, well, well, I'll see what I can do. Now, Moe" he looked up at Belle's father. "We need to discuss that business you told me about."
"Sure. Belle, dear, can you...?"
"Of course." She got up, a bit disappointed that she had to leave so soon. But, as his father used to tell her, "the grown-ups need to talk".
He gently pushed her away and stood up. "Would you pass me that, please?" he asked her, pointing at his walking stick. She handed him the stick – his distinctive wooden cane with the carved, gold plated shaft, a peculiar item of him: she could not think about Mr. Gold without seeing him leaning on it in his very own, careless way.
"I'm down at Granny's, when" Belle waved a hand. "when you're finished."
"Sure."
"See you, dad. Goodbye, uncle Gold."
"Always nice to see you – dearie."
Belle opened the door – the bell rang again – but just before she got out she turned to give Gold a last look-over. He caught her glance over her father's shoulders and gave her one of his familiar crooked smiles.
...
Belle took a sip of her iced tea and started playing with the striped straw. She absent-mindedly smiled at Ruby when she picked up her glass. She liked Ruby, that girl was kind of fun: and usually she would have chatted a bit with her. But she could still smell Gold's aftershave and feel the ghost of his hand on her waist, and she was not in the mood for talking.
No wonder that she could not find any of the guys at her school even remotely interesting; when she compared them to him – and she always did – they always look like a disordered bunch of silly bumpkins, in their ripped jeans and sneakers.
Them, with their football sweatshirts and bored expressions. Him, with his custom-made shirts and English ties; his unmistakable asymmetric walk; his half-smiles.
Them, talking about football and chicks and beer. He, the witty, well-spoken, enigmatic Mr. Gold. She didn't even know his first name, she suddenly realized. It had always been "uncle Gold" for her. He was not her uncle, actually, nothing but an old family friend. She used to call him that way when she was a kid, though, and he seemed pleased that she still did.
Too bad he saw her just like this. Some funny young kid he was distantly fond of.