II. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
Fluid, warm, rolling along with the wind and the currents. Like a gentle river. With a stony face and serious gaze, Simon Seville watched her from the other side of the recording studio and mentally, silently shouted commands. The commands went unheeded. Which was not surprising as she couldn't, technically speaking, hear his thoughts. That did nothing to lessen Simon's current aggravation, however.
"I don't know, Brittany." Her voice took on that soft, almost watery quality it always did when she was about to cave in to her sister. Simon hated that tone. "Do you really think it's a good idea?"
Simon gritted his teeth. Who cared what Brittany thought? Goodness knew that Brittany had more than said enough on what Brittany thought. Do you think it's a good idea, Jeanette?
Meanwhile, Brittany flashed a smile, all white teeth and insincerity. "Jeannie! Why, of course it's a good idea!"
Scowling, Simon picked up a nearby bass and began tuning it. He needed something to do with his hands, or he very well might end up strangling the living daylights out of a certain showboating female Chipmunk. Which would be therapeutic, undoubtedly, but would not go over well with his older brother.
"I'm not so sure," Eleanor interjected, frowning slightly. "I mean, other than you and Alvin, none of us have sang professionally since high school."
Rolling her eyes, Brittany sighed. "Details, details! That's the problem with you two. You just can't see the big picture like I can."
Jeanette nibbled at her lower lip. "That is true ... "
You are twenty-five years old, for Pete's sake! Still his brain wouldn't be silenced. Simon's teeth, meanwhile, were clenched so tightly his entire jaw ached. Stand up for yourself for once, woman!
"Simon?"
Simon glanced over, to see Theodore studying him with creased brow and worried eyes, nervously twirling a drumstick. "Are you ... are you okay, Si? You look a little upset."
"I'm fine," snarled Simon irritably. "Perfectly fine! Wonderful, even."
Nearby, haphazardly perched atop a piano, Alvin let out a derisive snort.
And that was the last straw. Simon shot his other brother a brief glare. Then, standing up and slinging the bass over his shoulder, he headed for the door. In response to Brittany's raised eyebrow, he muttered an excuse about the room being too loud to properly tune.
Once in the hallway, he collapsed into the nearest available chair. He leaned his head back against the wall and allowed his eyes to slide shut. All of a sudden he felt exhausted.
It was only a moment or two later that the recording studio door opened and shut. "Look, Theo," sighed Simon, "I really don't feel like--" He opened his eyes. Blinked. "Oh! It's you."
"Gee. Don't sound so excited to see me." Eleanor chuckled and dropped down into the chair next to his.
As she did, the garish overhead fluorescent lights reflected off the diamond ring on her left hand. Simon fought the urge to shake his head at the reminder that his brother--his baby brother, at that--was inexplicably, improbably, engaged. Instead, he crossed his arms and asked, "Why are you here? Did your better half send you to come fetch me?"
"Nope! Believe it or not, I was motivated purely by concern for my future brother-in-law's well-being. Crazy, huh?"
If it was anyone else, Simon might have glared or snapped again. But this wasn't anyone else. This was Eleanor. Kind, easy-going, considerate. Like the mother he'd never really had. Subconsciously, he let his shoulders relax a bit, and he grinned.
"You want to know what's really crazy?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Just take a look at your sister."
She laughed at that, unoffended. He knew she wouldn't be. Shaking her head, she gently chided, "You're being unfair, you know. Jeanette isn't like you and me. It's more important to her that everyone just get along."
He blinked in surprise. "What? What makes you think--"
"--you were talking about Jean? And not Britt?" Eleanor smiled, and her eyes sparkled mischievously. "You're smart, Simon. No doubt about it. But you're not nearly as smart as you sometimes think you are."
Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. Then, replacing the glasses, he returned his attention to the computer monitor in front of him. He read a paragraph and, blinking, paused. Returning to the beginning of the paragraph, he read it again. Then he frowned. It still wasn't good enough. No matter how many times he read over what he'd written, he couldn't convince himself that this would pass muster at his dissertation defense.
Finally, after the fourth time he reread the passage and found it utterly lacking, Simon tore off his glasses and hurled them across the small university office. With a heavy sigh he laid his head down on the computer keyboard and tried not to succumb to mindless, terrified panic.
"I think somebody is due for a coffee break."
Surprised, Simon glanced up and squinted at the indistinct, blurry figure before him. "Jeanette?"
She chuckled as she stooped to pick up the thrown glasses. "Hello, Si! It's so good to see you again." She wandered over to his desk, perched on its edge, and held out his glasses. "I believe you may have lost these."
Smiling in chagrin, he accepted back his glasses and returned them to their proper place. "Long time, no see," he said, leaning back in his desk chair. He noticed, now that he could see clearly, that she was holding two steaming paper cups. "How was the tour?"
"The tour? It went fine, thanks." She placed one of the cups into his hands, and he took a grateful sip of the coffee it held. Happily she burbled, "All the traveling was hard on poor Ellie, though! She's due any day now. Poor dear."
"I'm sure Theodore's taking good care of her."
"Oh, I know he is. Your brother's a complete sweetheart."
He chuckled at the completely matter-of-fact way she said that. Of course, it was true--Theodore really was the greatest guy one could hope to have for a brother or a husband--but still, it amused him. He took another sip of his coffee and, swallowing gratefully, felt much better about his lot in life. So much better, he almost forgot about the mocking words on his computer screen. Almost.
"So, Jean," he said, after his third sip, "what brings you out to my neck of the woods, if I might ask?"
"Why, your dissertation defense. What else? It's still tomorrow, isn't it?"
The smile dropped from his face. "You ... you remembered that?"
"That you're getting your degree?" She laughed, not unkindly. "Simon! Of course I remembered!"
Her eyes sparkled with her laughter, warm golds swirling in their green depths, and Simon suddenly felt his stomach tighten. Because suddenly, for the first time in his twenty-eight years, getting his doctorate wasn't the scariest, most difficult challenge he was facing.
He stalked the length of the waiting room with a caged tiger's short, staccato paces. Although he had mellowed somewhat during the passage of thirty-one years--as one might expect--he had retained his very limited capacity for patience. Especially limited since this was a situation over which he had so precious little control. And Simon was a man who desperately needed control.
While some child stars exited their celebrity years with baggage such as eating disorders or drug addictions, Simon had come out relatively unscathed. But not completely. After years of having every moment of the day planned by a manager or studio exec, of waking up in a different country than where he'd fallen asleep, of trying to keep Alvin from gleefully throwing himself into the path of danger ... well, all of that had taken its toll. How could it not have?
The main consequence being, Simon Seville did not like what he could not control. And right now, at the present moment, absolutely nothing was within his control.
"You should sit down. It could still be several hours, you know."
He whirled around. Unlike him, Jeanette was perfectly, infuriatingly calm. Oh, yes. As she sat there in that uncomfortable plastic hospital chair, she was the very picture of Zen. A gentle, babbling brook of tranquility. He glared daggers at her.
"I will not sit down," he retorted, "thank you very much."
She sighed. Then, with a little shrug and a little shake of the head, she went back to reading her magazine.
A pang went through him. He was taking his frustration out on her--he knew he was--and that wasn't fair. At all. Embarrassed, he walked over and stiffly sat down beside her. After a few moments passed and she still didn't look up, Simon muttered in a contrite tone, "I'm sorry, Jean. I'm just, ah ... well ..."
"I know, Simon." She reached over and gave his hand a friendly squeeze. "Even though this is Ellie and Theo's second, I'm nervous too."
He glanced over and nodded. In return, Jeanette smiled in that gentle, reassuring way that was entirely her own. He felt himself smiling back, as a tingling warmth spread slowly through his stomach. Without thinking, Simon reached out with his free hand, and his fingertips lightly brushed across her cheek.
Jeanette's eyes did not leave his. He couldn't fail to notice that, where her hand still rested on his, his skin burned hot like dripping wax.
Finally, almost involuntarily, he leaned towards her.
"It's about time! Alvin, I swear--you drive like my grandmother."
Simon jerked back, startled.
"Me? Me? We would have gotten here ages ago, Britt, if only you hadn't had to change clothes before we left."
By this point, Jeanette had jumped out of her chair and was halfway across the emergency room. While she scooped up her eldest sister in a tight embrace, and as Alvin tactlessly inquired into the frequency of her other sister's contractions, Simon hung back. He breathed in and out, very slowly, very deliberately. Despite his best efforts, however, his heart continued to hammer away in his chest.
He couldn't believe that he ... he'd come so close to ... and he had nearly ...
Simon frowned and shook his head. Stupid. So very, very stupid. He'd almost ruined everything, and he hated her a little for that. It was unfair, but it was true. Because Jeanette unnerved him. Jeanette made him lose face. Most importantly, Jeanette made him lose control.
That was the thing about rivers, really. They looked nice and calm on the surface, but men drowned in them.
