A/N: Not exactly a chapter story...but way too long to post in one doc. Here's the first part. Gotta finish tweaking the rest, see if I can cut it down some.
June, 1921 Atlantic City, New Jersey
Summer was setting in on Atlantic City, bringing with it the usual beach-bound influx of tourists. But this early June day brought with it the Paris Ballet, on their second to last stop on their American tour.
Mayor Edward Bader had arranged a dinner in their honor, at the insistence of Jimmy Darmody. Not that Jimmy gave two figs and a fuck for the ballet. He needed a place to meet with a man named Maurice Le Marche. In addition to being the accountant for the ballet, Monsieur Le Marche also exported cognac, and had gotten word to Jimmy that a deal could be possible.
Babette's was bustling. Richard stood behind Jimmy in one of the private rooms upstairs, but he could still hear the festivities through the closed doors. He wasn't paying much attention to what Jimmy and Le Marche were discussing. His attention was focused instead on the surroundings, alert for the slightest disturbance that might mean trouble.
So when a knock came on the door, Richard's hand immediately went to his gun, ready to draw at a moment's notice.
"Come in," Jimmy called. The door slowly opened and a young woman entered. "Excusez-moi, messieurs," she said with a brief glance in Jimmy and Richard's direction. "Monsieur Le Marche, un petit mot s'il vous plaît?" She crossed the room to his chair and knelt in front of him. Their conversation, held in French, was rapid, and Le Marche put an end to it with a firm 'Non!'. The woman lowered her head briefly, then rose to her feet with a grace that spoke of years of training. She murmured something more to Le Marche, then turned to Jimmy and Richard, said 'Bon soir, messieurs' and quickly made her way from the room.
Richard had turned his face so that all she would see was his mask, his heart doing a strange, uncomfortable flutter behind his ribs. Had she recognized him? Why would she? One day, almost three years ago...he doubted she would even remember it. Obviously things had gone quiet well for her, the ballet had gotten her out of Paris at least, and she was hopefully seeing those things she'd always wanted to see.
Richard spent the remainder of the meeting lost in memory of a day long gone, a day that, after his injury, he hadn't known to be real, or a figment of his shocked, injured, morphine hazed mind. Well, obviously it had been real. Simonne Delacroix walking into this room was obviously proof of that. Which made his harsh reality that much more unbearable. If she had recognized him...but no, she couldn't have. She had barely glanced this way as it was, and Richard had turned his face as soon as he saw her, presenting the emotionless mask that hid him from the world.
Jimmy and Le Marche concluded their meeting on good terms, and moved out into the party to mingle. Richard stayed upstairs, finding a quiet, shadowed corner from where he could see the party without being seen. He scanned the crowd below, looking for Simonne, just wanting one more glimpse of her to carry with him this night, and beyond.
The crowd below was a mix of dark suit and shimmery dresses, hair pomaded to a high gloss and artfully pinned coifs. He searched each face for Simonne, but he couldn't spot her. He wondered if she had left? Perhaps that was the discussion she had with Le Marche?
"Ze shy man, he can not enjoy ze party alone."
Richard tensed. So intent had he been on looking for her that he failed to notice her walking up beside him. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, not wanting to fully face her, not wanting her to know...
"You are not recognizing me, mon chér?" she asked softly.
"No, ma'am," he said, his shyness and nervousness compounding to near terror. "I, mm. Recognize you."
"Oh, Ree-shard!" He felt that flutter again as she said his name. "You are not back to ze 'ma'am' again? Did we not get beyond zis?"
He turned and fully looked at her, his gaze catching her eyes and holding them.
"How can, mm. You act as if...nothing. Mm. Has changed?"
"Ah, but everyzing has changed, mon chér. Now it is moi who is in ze strange city, lost and...perplexed yet fascinated by it all...and very much in need of a friend."
Richard clenched his jaw and looked away from her.
"I. Mm... can't...be a friend."
"Pourquoi pas?" she asked. "Why can you not be a friend? Is zere some law against it?"
"Look. At me," he said.
"I am trying, mon chér. Mais, you keep looking away."
He faced her, watching her face and waiting for either the usual horror or pity to set in. She regarded him calmly for a long minute, then said
"It is un peu...asymmetrical, I zink is ze word. And ze glass, it is cracked. Ze colouring is..hmm...not quite right. Mais, zey did a good job of capturing your likeness." He blinked at her, stunned. "That's. It? Mm, that's...all you have. To say?"
"Your would prefer zat I shriek in terror? Or, perhaps you would like me to do as zey," she waved her hand to a cluster of ballerinas below "did when we saw you walk into ze room with Monsieur Le Marche, and go 'Oh le Fantom!'And zen makes ze giggling sound behind ze hand...te he te he" She raised her hand to mimic."But moi... I am not zat...silly. Also, I seem to recall you saying zat you had ze musical ability of ze milk pail, oui?"
Richard looked at her in shock. She was acting the same as she had the day they first met, as if he were still the same lost soldier gawking at the scenery. Couldn't she see the truth of him? No, he did not have the genius of the Phantom of the Opera that her friends compared him to, but he was just as tortured and grotesque.
And then, he realized something. "You didn't...seemed surprised...about, mm. My face."
"Because I was not," she admitted. "Your sister and I, we have exchanged ze letters for some time now. She sent me a zank you for sending ze gift you had bought her. I wrote a reply,and soon we were writing back and forth. And zen, she wrote me of your injury." Simonne paused, then said in a quiet voice. "I wrote you a letter, mon chér. Emma said you would not read it, alzough she could not say why..."
Richard shifted uncomfortably. So many reasons he hadn't read it, and none of them sounded like good reasons with her standing right in front of him. "I. Just...couldn't," was all he would offer by way of explanation.
"Oh, I could understand ze first few months. Even ze first year. But, Monsieur Air-oh..." Richard swallowed hard. He had forgotten how wonderful his last name sounded when she spoke it. "..it has been how many years?" she asked, and waited for him to answer.
"Two," he mumbled in the direction of his shoes.
"Oui! And in all zat time, you could not take ten minutes to read ze letter and write a short reply?"
How could he explain to her about all those hours he spent in the kitchen, endlessly staring at the sun catchers he had bought for his sister, Simonne's letter in front of him. He would sit and wonder if it had all really happened. He could not clearly remember what he should look like, all he could picture was the way he looked now, ravaged and maimed. Somehow, with the loss of his face, he lost his connection to humanity, the ability to care. It was as if, since he no longer looked like the rest of the world, he could not relate and did not belong.
And so, he could not imagine that what he thought happened that day in Paris was actually real. Why would that lovely kind ballerina want to spend anytime with such a monster?
He would watch the sun sparkle in the tiny bubbles in the colored glass, think of their kiss on the Eiffel Tower. Only his mind twisted it, to where she was kissing his damaged face. She would pull away and open her eyes, and she would scream. So loud, those screams.
"I know why," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "You are lost in self-pity! Oui! C'est vrai! You zink zat ze world will not accept you, and so you have walled yourself away, zinking 'oh poor me! How can zey like me?' I am betting you do not much like yourself." Richard shrunk in on himself. How could she know?
"But mon chér," she said in a softer tone, looping her arm through his. "Ze world, it can not accept you, if you hide away from it. It will move along while you stay in ze shadows. You can not just let life pass you by, Ree-shard. You must say to ze world ' 'Allo! I am here. Moi, Ree-shard Air-oh. Zis is me. Take me for who I am.' You are a good man, oui?"
Richard was quiet for a long moment. "I...don't know," he answered honestly. Simonne regarded him for a minute, then looked and spotted Le Marche with the blond man Richard had been with. They were talking to some other men Simonne had earlier met and quickly dismissed, and looking quite friendly with one another. She had some inkling of what Le Marche did on the side, and could assume that Richard's friend was in the same line of work, which led her to think Richard was also involved.
"Ah, je vois. Anyway, mon chér, what it is zat I am saying is zat, despite how scary ze world seems, you have to make yourself a part of it. If you just watch life as it goes by, zen you miss ze joy of it. You want companionship, oui?" Richard nodded. "Well, you can not find friends to play with if you do not leave ze house, now can you?" Again Richard nodded. He felt like he did when he used to get scolded for eating too many cookies and making himself sick to his stomach. "Of course, ze shyness you have will not help. Well, we shall just have to work on zat tonight. You will show me ze city, you will not be shy with me, and all will be très magnifique. Now, I have absolutely no idea where we are going, so perhaps you should lead, mon chér."
Richard realized that she had managed to lead him down stairs and outside while she'd been talking to him, and he hadn't even noticed. He looked at her, the corner of his mouth quirked into a small smile in spite of himself. She looked at him, her eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for him to say something. He looked at the door's to Babette's, then at Simonne.
"How do you...Mm, do it?" he asked, slightly adjusting her grip on his arm and walking with her at his side once again.
"Do what, mon chér?"
"Manage to...make me forget. Mm, how I am. In. Paris is was. Mm, my shyness. Now it's...everything."
"Oh, it is because I am such a wonderful person zat to be with me distracts you," she said with a touch of mock self-importance. Richard knew she didn't actually believe what she said, but he also understood there was some truth to her words. She was one of those people that, to just be around her, made you feel better. He couldn't explain it beyond that, but he was very grateful that she was near. With her at his side he could almost imagine...
"You are doing it again, mon chér."
"Mm...doing what?"
"Getting into zat 'woe is me' mood. I am right?"
Richard nodded.
"Well, stop it," she said as she poked him in the ribs. He gave a surprised squeal,in truth it was more a deep, raspy grunt than anything. "I am serious, Ree-shard, you must stop feeling so..so...I do not know ze word! You are alive, mon chér! Zat is more zan so many ozers can say, non? I am sure it can not be easy for you, and I am sure zat zere are some...ah, stupid people, who will make you feel...horrible, for ze way you look, but zey should be paid no mind. Zey are small people...zey, zey do not feel comfortable with who zey are zemselves, and so to feel better, zey...belittle?...zose around zem. I am making sense?" Richard nodded. She was making perfect sense.
They were standing at the rail of the boardwalk, gazing out over the ocean. A storm was brewing out there, the lightning flashing and lighting the rugged white capped waves. He listened to her strangely insightful life lessons, amazed that this woman who was all but a stranger could understand what he was going through enough to give insight on how he should deal with humanity.
Richard felt a strange peace in her presence. He couldn't explain it, really, but it was almost as if life was normal. Or if not normal, then it was like anything was possible. "Do you ever. Mm..."
"Stop ze talking?" she interjected with a smile.
"Not what...I was. Mm. Going to say. Although...you do. Mm. Chatter. A lot." He smiled as best he could to show he was joking. It was a smile that reached his eye, Simonne was glad to note. She returned his smile and said "I have been told zat I talk in my sleep, also. But, what were you asking?"
"I was going, mm. To ask if you're ever. Mm...not so..." the word eluded him. She had a vibrancy about her, a brightness to her demeanor. He wondered if she was always like that or if she sometimes felt bouts of darkness. But how could he ask her that? Thunder rumbled in the distance and he felt her grip on his arm tighten until the noise had faded to nothing, when her grip relaxed somewhat. She looked back at Richard, waiting for him to finish his thought.
"Would you. Like, mm. To walk out along...the pier?" he asked instead. She nodded and let him lead her along, chattering as they went about nothing truly important but fascinating to Richard none the less. She still lapsed into French occasionally, which Richard still didn't understand but he listened closely anyway. Her voice was melodic to his ears.
He noticed that whenever a clap of thunder sounded, she would tighten her grip on his arm. A particularly loud crash had her pressing closer against him. Not that he minded, although it seemed a cruel sensuous torture to have her so near yet know that nothing would come of it. It would be a memory to think of on a long lonely night. He could imagine slowly undoing her dress and sliding it off...kissing the silky skin of her shoulders, running his hands across her...
"Why are you smiling so, mon chér?" she asked just as his mind started to picture some the interesting, risque things he would never do to her in reality.
"Nothing," he replied, aware that his blush would give away the lie if she noticed it.
"Tell me, mon chér Or I will tickle you."
"I'm not. Ticklish."
"Non?" she asked with a mischievous smile that Richard found terribly endearing.
"No," he replied. He tried to keep a straight face but he could feel the corner of his mouth that worked turning up into a betraying smile. Simonne snuck her fingers to his side, finding that spot just below his ribs that was in truth on of his more ticklish spots. He tried to squirm out of the way, the thing that he thought might pass for laughter building behind the scar tissue in his throat. But when he moved his body to the other side, he found himself under assault from that quarter as well. She was quite adept at digging her fingers into the spots that made him laugh, and he was shocked to hear that sound issuing so freely from his throat. It wasn't necessarily a pleasant sound, he realized, but he felt lighter and, well, happier for it.
When he got his sides protected she moved to his neck and even worse, up under his arms. Laughing hard for the first time in over two years, he tried to evade her nimble little fingers but when he would block one spot she would find another. Finally he managed to catch her hands and pin them behind her back, which wrapped his arms around her and pressed her body against his. She tilted her head to look at him, her tongue darting out quickly to moisten her lips.
He recognized the look on her face, it was the same one that had been on her face nearly three years ago, atop the Eiffel Tour, when she had leaned in and given him his first kiss. Was she about to kiss him again? Oh, he wanted her to. He wanted so much more than a kiss from her. But, she was so lovely, almost ethereal. How could someone so divine ever...
A loud crash of thunder rang out, practically over their heads. Simonne gave a startled shriek and pressed her face into Richard's chest.
"Mm, it's alright," Richard said soothingly, releasing one of her hands and used his free hand to smooth her hair. He could feel her trembling against him.
With that peal of thunder, the rain started, and it was one of those storms that dumps a soaking amount of water in those first few minutes. Simonne kept her face against his chest for a moment, loving the feel of his arms around her and the strength of his body against hers. She could feel the effect she was having on him, it had been quite apparent when he pinned her arms behind her back to keep her from tickling him. She wondered if he would take anything she had said this evening to heart and actually act on his desires. When the thunder had faded Simonne pulled her face from his chest and glanced up at Richard. She could see the conflicting emotions in his eye, desire battling his innate shyness and the uncertainty of acceptance his injury had left him with.
"I am...very wet, mon chér," she said in a husky tone, pressing harder against him. Subtle things like the minute flare of his nostril and the quick jerk of his manhood told Simonne that he had taken that as she had meant it. His reply, while it was what Simonne expected, was not the one she wanted.
"I will, mm. Walk you back. To... your hotel."
"S'il vous plait, non!" she said quickly. "Mon chér, please...I do not want to be alone zis night."
She must be agitated by the storm, he thought. Hadn't she said earlier that she was sharing a room with two of the other girls in the ballet? That she found them annoying and insipid creatures who tended towards giggly narcissism, which was something she could not stand? If she shared a room, then she wouldn't exactly be alone, would she? So why would she say that...
"Oh." Richard murmured as realization finally hit him. "Really?" he asked her, shyly and in disbelief.
"Oui, mon chér. Come, walk and talk. I am not liking ze rain running down my dress." Richard led her toward his boarding house, fighting the near panic that was trying to overwhelm him.
"Let me ask you somezing," Simonne said as they walked. The rain had died down from it's initial drenching downpour, but it was still coming down pretty hard, so Richard set a pace that would get them there quickly but not risk her breaking an ankle. "Zat night on ze tower...if I had asked if you wanted to come home with me, what would you have answered?"
"If I. Wanted to? I, mm. Would have said. Yes."
"Would you have? Come home with me, I mean."
"No," he replied honestly, and with a hint of regret. "I... grew up believing. That, mm. The first woman...I would, mm...be with... Would be the woman. I married." He was blushing, he knew. This was a strange thing to admit to a woman he barely knew. But she had a knack for getting him to open up. "My injury. Made me, mm, rethink that. Marriage...isn't likely. I met Jimmy. At a hospital, mm. In Chicago. We were there. To take, mm...a test. They wanted. To know what was. In our heads, mm. So the next soldiers. Could fight better. Mm. They asked...personal questions. Like if you'd. Ever been with a woman. I didn't. Mm want to answer that. Truthfully, and I'm. Not comfortable, with lying." Not that he hadn't seen Jimmy nearly perfect the art in the months he'd worked for him. "Jimmy and I. Left before we took the test. Mm. We went...to where he lived. And he...introduced me. To Odette. She was a..." He couldn't bring himself to call her a whore, even though that's what she was. He knew it, but still, she had been his first and as most people do, he had put her on a pedestal in his mind, elevating her to almost mythic status
"Une courtesan?" Simonne supplied, for which he was grateful. That had a much more dignified ring to it than whore.
"Yes. Thank you. mm. She was a...courtesan. And the only. Woman I've been with." He was silent for a moment, then asked. "Why didn't you? Ask me?"
"I was afraid you would say non. You were so very shy and gentlemanly zat I did not zink you would agree. Also, I did not want for you to zink I was a...a...quel est le mot?...a...floozy?"
Richard knew floozies. Oh, that horrible night when he and Jimmy had gone to hear the Dempsey-Carpentier fight...those girls that came up to Jimmy, having recognized him from a fateful night at Babette's. They would have both loved nothing more than to crawl all over Jimmy right there in the seats, which Richard couldn't help but envy. But Jimmy had told one of them that Richard was with him, and she replied "what the hell, it'll make a great story when I'm older". Richard had tried to take it for what it was worth, just some quick go that would mean nothing beyond the moment. But she hadn't been able to go through with it, and Richard, despite his physical disappointment, was actually glad.
"I would never. Mistake you for, mm. A floozy," he assured Simonne. "You're too...mm. Refined." He left that at that and changed the subject.
"I live. Just ahead," he said. "I feel I, mm. Should apologize. It's very small. And...plain. Mm, probably shabby. Compared to what. You're, mm. Used to."
"Do you zink it matters to me, mon chér?" He shook his head. "Zen do not worry, and do not apologize for zings zat do not need to be apologized for. Zat is ze second rule in ze not being shy." She would have said more, but a car passed by, closer to the curb than was necessary, which resulted in the puddle of water that had gathered in the gutter to splash up and drench Richard and Simonne. They looked at each other, sharing a rueful smile. Richard was about to apologize, but thought Simonne would probably scold him again, so instead he said "We should. Hurry, so we, mm. Don't catch cold." She nodded, and they dashed the rest of the way.
Richard was nervous as he opened the door to his room, but Simonne's presence behind him gave him a boost. He closed the door behind her, then moved to the desk to turn on the small lamp.