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"You were the world and every star in the sky to me, unconditionally."
— Charley Bordelon
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Charley had said to him, "I gave you every ounce of everything inside of me." She'd torn her eyes away from that gorgeous penthouse view, where most of the buildings shrunk below them and the whole of the city blurred into multi-colored ants, like they'd strolled through some paint or something. She'd battled the physical bile that seemed to rise with the words she'd told herself to keep in. Davis didn't deserve her words, nor her thoughts, nor any other part of her, but she couldn't exactly move on without acknowledging what she'd be leaving behind. She hadn't known how much she needed to speak to Davis until he'd brought her into that room.
How many other women had he brought into rooms like this one over the years? How many other women struggled with whether to close their eyes or stare out as his hands and lips ghosted along their skin? Of those women, how many thought of her? Of the dutiful, committed, brilliant wife who had no idea that any of this was happening? And exactly how many times had Davis thought of that wife of his and sunk into another woman only to come home, wrap himself around Charley, and swear to her that he loved her?
He did love her. Not in a way that won out over his other desires, but he cared for her and he needed her. Same as he cared for Micah. But none of that love could fix what had happened. None of that love could ever overshadow the fact that he kept up affairs and secrets for years, facilitated Milena's rape, and then turned around and swore to her that he'd done nothing wrong, that this sex worker knew nothing, that Charley should pay the money and let them go back to how they had been.
If she hadn't pushed, she would've never known. If Milena had simply let this go, Charley would've gone years before questioning her life. Precious years that could've been spent with her family, as she currently knows them, with Nova and Micah and Ralph Angel, Violet and Blue and Hollywood if he and Vi can stop fighting long enough to come back together. They will eventually. They actually do have love. Honest, supportive, barely conditional love. It'll just take a moment or two before it clicks for them, before that wins out and no time or distance can keep them apart.
But that's them.
This is her — Charley Bordelon, thirty-four years old, a now nearly single mother with a fifteen-year-old son who grows smarter, stronger, and more like the rest of his family every day. Micah checks in on her once she gets back from the meeting. He leans in through the doorway to the room they share and asks about the farmers and if this mill deal will work out.
His second question snaps her back to the moment. Sends her brows sky-rocketing and has her just about ready to curse Remy, RA, and Violet — the most likely of perpetrators. Maybe Nova too, given how close the two of them are becoming.
"How'd you hear about that?" she asks.
Micah rolls his eyes. "You all talk pretty loud for people who don't want to be overheard. Plus, it makes more sense this way."
"What makes more sense?"
He won't meet her gaze. "Dad." He shakes his head, but more like he's trying to clear it, trying to see through all the thoughts up there. "Him being here only makes sense if he's here to help you. And the only way he'd be here to help at this point is with money. You can't get a divorce and use money from joint accounts, so he's here to secure investors, whether or not he knows he is." Then Micah does look her way, offers a bit of an open-mouthed grin. "Am I right?"
She clicks her tongue. "You're too smart for your own good," she tells him, but Micah only grins wider. "Your father's going to be around every once in a while. We'll see if he can earn another chance to know you. But this will be on your terms from here on out, I promise."
"Good." Micah rocks on his feet. "So, is the deal going through then?"
Her face splits into the widest smile she can muster. Probably wider than she should be able to at this point. Between the blackmail and extortion and actually facing how gutted Davis made her. Yet, her lips roll back without a thought. "It is," she says it like a song, like the words taste as good as the lattes she's been missing — overly sweet because it's nice to treat herself and feel decadent within the endless hours of meetings and appearances.
Micah claps his hands once. Charley lifts up so she can kneel on the bed in triumph. He laughs at her, and she announces, loud as can be, "You, sir, are looking at the proud owner of her very own mill. An empire in the making."
Micah comes to lean on the bed. "Easy, Mom, you're sounding like Lucious."
She swats at him so he jumps back. "How dare you. I'm Cookie all the way."
He makes a face worthy of a meme. Steps back even further out of reach as her eyes narrow. Then he laughs, tossing his head back. "I'm kidding, Mom. It'll be great."
She nods. They can't fix all the years that the Landrys have been extorting people and making out like thieves, but they can give the farmers around here a chance to own something again. A chance to be free of the people who've been terrorizing them for decades and actually make a profit that allows for more than just what Ralph Angel said. Sure, it's great to make enough to be able to do it all over again the next year, but it's also great to grow and flourish and to force reparations for how people have wronged you.
One day, Ralph Angel will see it her way. He'll see what she's trying to do, and she can let him take the reigns a bit more around the farm. Give him the freedom to do everything else so long as he entrusts that cane of theirs into this new mill of hers. Give her a chance, and she'll give him every one after.
Charley settles back onto the bed. Focuses back on Micah. "Thank you, baby."
"But, uh, as nice as this is, I wanted to go out for a bit."
"It's ten o'clock, Micah, you can't—"
He throws his hands up in defense. "I promise you that I won't get into any trouble. I told Nova about seeing Dad today, now she's worried and I figure she's also kind of sad about Too Sweet leaving. Figured I'd hang out with her for a while. If that's okay."
It'd be nice if he hung out with Charley, but they could work on that. Work towards having that same easy closeness they had before their lives imploded. Besides, who is she to stop her son from caring about the rest of his family?
"You can go, but—" she jabs her finger towards him, eyes playfully ablaze, "—if I find out this was some kind of rouse, there will be hell to pay, Micah West."
He scoffs — actually scoffs. "What else would I be doing, Mom?" He chuckles, like the thought of him sneaking off to be with his study group, or his new girlfriend is ridiculous. There's a lot he could get up to — he could sneak into a building he shouldn't be in, he could run around with his father, which would be even worse than anything else she can think of.
"I'm just being honest. Keeping it real."
"Uh huh. Well, I'm taking a car over so she doesn't have to drive so much. I'll put it on Dad's card, don't worry." He ducks out of the room with a smile.
She calls after him, "You shouldn't be doing that!" Which means she tried, so it's all up to him. Spend his dad's money on small things, rack up a tab that hurts Davis even a fraction of how he's hurt everyone else. Little victories.
She'd been used to sharing victories, first with her small family unit and then with Remy. It might be too soon to try and talk to him, but maybe she can figure out the right words to get a response.
Her phone takes its time unlocking. It's not a sign, just her phone debating if life in NOLA is worth it or not. She clicks into her chat with Remy and… stares to be honest. She'd tried a few messages before going to see Davis. Typed them and deleted them because what excuse did she have when she had no idea how that meeting would turn out? She'd thought that she wouldn't give in to him. Had figured that the chances of her using her body like that, stringing all of them along even further, were slim, but she hadn't known for sure. Not until Davis' body had been around hers. Until his lips touched her skin and all she'd felt was hollow.
She could lead with that.
/ I wanted to stay with you tonight. The last thing that I wanted was to spend any more time with Davis but [delete] [delete] [delete]
No, that's not quite right. It makes it seem like she went against her direct wants, destroys her credibility instantly.
/ You walked away tonight and I watched every step that you took in the opposite direction. You couldn't have wanted to leave. Right? So, why don't we talk about this? [delete] [delete] [delete]
Okay, something else then. Something less about observations and assumptions of Remy's wants and needs. More about her. How she keeps failing him at tests that she creates for herself. How she builds her own obstacles and runs straight into them, ruining everything each time they try.
/ I told you that I wouldn't stand you up again and then I left. I shouldn't have done that. Especially not to see Davis. He doesn't deserve my time, but I needed to do this. I don't want to send messages about this. I want to talk. Answer my call?
Yeah, that's the one. She hits send at 10:14p. Waits for a response.
And waits.
And waits.
And Micah sends her a text before Remy does.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 10:27p
/ Car's here. I'll msg you when I get to Nova's
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 10:27p
/ The second you arrive, Micah. Don't leave me waiting up for this.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 10:28p
/ I won't, Mom.
Not that it would matter if he did. She'll probably be up all night anyway.
Though, why should she sit around waiting for a response when she could call? If Remy wants to hear her out, then he will answer and she will say everything she needs to say. Or he won't answer, and she'll let it go.
She calls. It rings. Remy doesn't pick up. Charley doesn't actually let it go.
She drums her nails on the trackpad of her very asleep computer, then swipes over on the screen to get back to her messages. One more message — that's the new deal. One more text to him, ten minutes of a wait time, and if there's still nothing, then she will go back to staring at her bank account and waiting for something else to go right.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 10:36p
/ I'll leave you alone after this. I wanted to say that I'm done with him, Remy. I had a few more things to say to him before I could accept it, before I could let myself truly let go. Now I'm done. I'm sure it's hard no matter how you lose a spouse, but losing him this way? Having him so close and so intricately a part of the finances that I helped cultivate that now could be the thing that makes or breaks the potential acquisition of this mill? I try to act above it all, try to stay neutral, but still needing him in any way left me feeling hollow inside. More like the kind of emptiness you feel when you're sick? Where there's nothing there yet it keeps churning, keeps rearing up at the worst times? I needed him here to be able to tell him, with no room to question or doubt, that I can't go back to him. I won't. And I hope that this means that what we have can continue, but if you need time, or if you need to talk, then you just let me know. No rush. I'm not going anywhere.
Second speech of the night, not quite as eloquent. Not littered with the sort of imagery that leaves a person gutted. But she is proud of what she'd said before — to Davis — about giving him every ounce of her. That image lends itself to more metaphors, more ways to look at herself. Potential steps to follow. She just has to find those ounces now. Strain for them? Grind and zest and juice and force up bits of herself that she hasn't seen since she was a child. Anything and everything until she can get back to where she used to be.
She'll rebuild and relearn. Like any good process, it will take some time, but she can handle it. And she might even be able to share some of what she's gaining with someone else. She'll be sure to keep a few more ounces for herself this time than she did before, but she's gone so long without them that it's easy to let them go again. Easy to see them drop away into another man's grin and tuck into the corners of Remy's eyes so that when they light with a little tear, she knows some of that comes straight from her.
Honestly, she doesn't even have much of a say in giving away anything to Remy. She's been siphoning pieces of herself for him since she saw him in the diner and stumbled her way into grins and stunted words. They weren't stunted like stuttered, or flustered, more like each word met up against this picture she'd formed of everyone down here. Remy fit the picture, with his plaid button-ups and boots that had enough traction to handle the soil yet would still release the land onto the welcome mat of whichever place he chose to unwind in. But he also confronted expectations; the eyes that greeted her first like an old friend and then later like he'd been waiting to see her for years; the roll of his tongue, quick with memories of her father and promises to help however he could; the strength of him, quiet and stable and consistent, always wanting but not for anything from her, not for anything she wouldn't give away without even being asked.
If Davis was the world and every star in the sky, then Remy was the moon and every drop of the sea — a million pieces all together, crafted in a way that comes off effortless and endless, and different all the time without ever feeling foreign to those who've known it. Constant and wide-reaching, but present and reactive in a way that stars can never be. Stars can burn hundreds of years before people ever know about them; they snuff out, and they might grant wishes, but they might also hold onto empty hopes without letting you know that there's nothing they can do to help.
Buzz.
She comes back long enough to see his name pop up on her phone.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 10:44p
/ You've been blowing up my phone for the past thirty minutes. Look, I can see why you win so often, Charley. You have all this instinct, all this empathy and a real easy connection with people. But time after time, you turn around and use that connection to make sure that you get your way. That's not easy to see. But I do see it, though, see how you prioritize and how unabashedly you'll move people around like pieces on a board. That is a lot to take in.
It's also pretty breathtaking, mind-boggling and affirming to know that people are so simple. Everyone practically telegraphs their wants and needs, so if a person can see them — like Charley can — then why not play to them? Why not make sure that the world works best for all of those involved? Yes, she might have pushed people around lately, but now they have the mill and the farmers to make it work; Davis has an opportunity to be around Micah again and to be in a place that won't simply celebrate him but might also force him to grow a bit; Charley can fix all the wrongs that have been done to their family, just like she told her daddy she would. Charley even helped the very same sex workers that she wrongly disrespected and belittled with her actions. Why can't anyone else see the beauty in what she's done? The necessary evil that needs to happen to make change around here?
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 10:46p
/ So you're threatened by me?
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 10:48p
/ I'm scared for you. I'm scared for what this must do to you and the weight of making these decisions on your own. You don't have to do all that. You don't have to hold your cards to close to your chest when you're with us.
Of course.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 10:49p
/ Why? Because you all know so much more than me?
She taps almost restlessly against the side of her screen. Watches the bubble of his incoming words pop onto the frame. He and everyone else down here think she's so dumb. Not always, but enough. They see her and see the city girl who only knows how to deal with ball players and money, the one with no home training because her home had been built on a foundation of lies and led to another home literally made of glass. Do they know what she did in each of those homes? Thrive. She thrives everywhere, and if they think for a second that—
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 10:51p
/ Because we're family.
She stops tapping.
Reads his message over again, then hers before it and his again, then his before that and then the last two, and the sound she makes sounds kind of like a sob. A dry one. A guttural upheavel of emotion. Let the air overturn the stone that crash landed on her chest.
Family, he says it like it's fact. It might be actually. Might be that simple and easy to understand. It could explain how quickly she took to him, how naturally she knew the stillness of him before they'd even spent time together really. He is family, because his cane's the basis for their family's new start, because of his history and kinship with Ernest, because he'd seen fit to help them when she asked, and because she entrusts him with parts of her that no one but Davis has ever known.
Family, not necessarily in the way she's used to, though he's family in a way that she needs. Even if he's only replied to berate her, she might honestly need some of that too. He can keep her grounded without sounding like a lecture from RA. He sounds like a partner. Like worry rather than judgment, like the only thing he doubts is that holding all of this in will be good for her.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 10:54p
/ I don't know how to listen well. Never really needed to. Listening normally meant being told to wait my turn, so I take what I can using the resources that I have. I learned pretty quickly how to read people, mostly to make sure that everyone felt comfortable around me, make sure I wasn't too imposing, or too much of what they expected me to be. I'm not trying to make excuses. I'm trying to explain that I've never needed approval to make decisions. The only approval I needed was the one I tried to get from communities that would never accept me, so why bother?
/ All I want to do is fix things for this family.
She massages the lump in her throat after she hits send. Zones out enough that the time between her message and his seems to fly by.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 10:58p
/ We all want the same thing. We have different ideas on how to get there, but we want the best for everyone.
/ Charley, I want you to feel safe to be whoever you want to be. If you want to slip on a suit and scare all those rich investors until they give you everything you're looking for, fine. You want to throw on some jeans and a t-shirt and trek across the land in rain boots so you don't mess up the bottom hem, do it. You want to be with me, then be with me, Char. Talk to me. Know me. I love LA apologies, but it's not the city in you that got my attention. It's that drive — that's all country right there, that's good ole Louisiana guiding you through and bringing you to where you're supposed to be.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:00p
/ And where is that?
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:01p
/ Home.
The screen gets blurry, and she blames it on the contacts shifting over her eyes. Something about a little water loosens them, dislodges them and her jaw and that rock that somehow slid down into her gut.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:03p
/ Don't lose yourself trying to help everyone else. You've done that long enough. Don't lose you, and you won't lose me. Okay?
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:04p
/ Okay.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:05p
/ Now it's getting pretty late, and I for one could use some sleep.
If only it was an invitation.
Or if she invited herself.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:06p
/ I think I'd sleep better if I weren't alone tonight
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:07p
/ You'll have to get used to sleeping alone eventually
She sighs. Sets the phone down rather than responding. That's fine. Totally fine. Then the phone buzzes again.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:08p
/ …but eventually doesn't have to be tonight.
/ if it's sleep, you're after. Just sleep. No funny business like earlier.
Her grin finds its way out of hiding.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:09p
/ You loved earlier.
His smile had taken up his whole face, and his eyes hadn't left hers for a second. How long could he go with his eyes locked on hers? It could be a challenge, one probably difficult to keep since he hadn't seen her yet. (And believe her, she's worth the view, worth whatever punishment could be concocted for glancing away.) But that'll have to wait, won't it? Until after a date, one that she doesn't miss and he doesn't derail with talk of the farm.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:10p
/ I could love a lot of things, just not right now. It might be a little too soon.
She groans.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:11p
/ You're killing me.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:11p
/ it's murder-suicide, I assure you
She cackles at that. Head lolling to the side, eyes disappearing to give room for that endless smile of hers. At least they're going down together, right?
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:12p
/ Only sleeping. I promise.
/ I'll give you a stake in the mill.
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:13p
/ Keep it. I love the sound of a black woman running things.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:14p
/ You better
She wants him to ask what she'll do if he doesn't, wants the banter and crooked grins that remind her of just how fluid their lips can be, how they could mold and conform and lock as tightly as Nova's hair. He wants her to be ready though. He wants her not to run, not to push and prod to bring anything out of him that he doesn't want to give her. That's the underlying, right? In everything he said, in his insistence for space and time, he wants her to prove that she won't use him the way she's using everyone else. He wants her as she is, with no machinations. He said as much even if he won't actually say it.
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:15p
/ What kind of pjs should I bring…?
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:16p
/ the kind for sleeping, Charley. Nice warm rest in a big soft bed with someone who has work in the morning
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:17p
/ How early?
/ I'm wondering how early the alarm needs to be
From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 11:18p
/ Around 9
From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 11:19p
/ Oof, that's not a lot of time. Maybe I ought to just stay here
She wouldn't. He has to know she wouldn't.
Her phone rings. She answers with a swipe and a smile.
"Hi, Remy."
He chuckles on his end. "You just want to hear me beg, don't you? Because I won't do it."
"You won't?"
"I will not." He's probably shaking his head. Probably grinning around the room and settling deeper into his pillows and imagining her doing the same. "You wanted to come over. Don't flip this on me, Char."
She laughs. "'Char.' That's new. Most people just stick with Charley."
"I'm not playing this game," he says. He tries to sound stern, she's sure of it, but his smile comes through a lot clearer than the forced bass in his voice.
She does figure eights on her laptop's trackpad, anything to keep the levity in her voice. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You can't help it, can you?" That one sounds a little stern, a little rooted in something that stiffens her smile and slows the beat of her heart.
Her heart pumps just enough to get out a fractured "Remy, I didn't—"
He laughs. Full bellied and boisterous, and she would glare at that man if she were with him. He keeps on laughing though, even as she repeats his name in a curse. He says, "Girl, I know you didn't think you were the only one with jokes. Now, you coming over, or should I just go to bed now?"
"You're awful," she tells him.
"So are you," he says back.
She rolls her eyes at herself more than anything else. Lets go of what surely will not be the last of the games she plays, but might be at the turn of how serious they can be. "I'm on my way."
"I knew you would be. See you."
She hums in way of saying goodbye and clicks off the line when he returns it in a higher pitch. She finally closes her laptop and heads out before she can get sucked back into any other thoughts of business, or transactions, or anything else. She did her work for today. Now it's time for a night off, in bed, with the guy she should've gone home with tonight. Time to celebrate, as much as he'll let her anyway.
.
.
.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 5:14a
/ Crap, sorry I didn't text you. I'm here. just woke up to go to the bathroom. Everything's great!
.
.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 8:30a
/ Nova brought me home but you're not here. You're not with Dad, are you?
.
.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:15a
/ Mooooooooom
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 9:18a
/ Soooooooooon
/ Doesn't feel good to be forgotten, does it?
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:20a
/ You play too much
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 9:21a
/ So I've heard. Be home soon.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:21a
/ Where are you though?
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 9:22a
/ Getting in the car, got a late start this morning but I'm checking on the mill
/ MY mill
/ *screams excitedly*
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:23a
/ Don't message like that, Mom. It's lame.
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 9:24a
/ Your friends think I'm cool.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:25a
/ Yeah well they don't know you
/ + your pajamas aren't here
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 9:26a
/ Why are you looking for them?
/ Nevermind, can't explain, too busy working on our future empire
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:27a
/ You're just standing there, aren't you?
.
.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:35a
/ You really are going to ignore me now.
/ You say you want to spend more time together then you avoid the time I'm trying to make
/ Woooow
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 9:37a
/ That's not fair.
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:38a
/ ( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
From Charley Bordelon to Micah, 9:39a
/ …
/ this is karma
/ you are my karma
From Micah to Charley Bordelon, 9:40a
/ haha love you too, Mom
Maybe it won't take so much work to get those pieces of herself back. If she's got her family, it should all work out just fine, for all of them.
.
.