"No."
"Oui."
"No."
"Oui."
"No!"
"Pourqoui pas? We have been arguing for an hour and still I do not know why you do not want zis."
"Let's start with, mm. The fact...that you. Could, mm. Be killed."
"And?"
"What... and?" Richard ran his hand through his hair in frustration. What more reason did he need?
"You also could be killed," she pointed out. "Zat does not stop you. And do not say zat it is different."
Richard closed his mouth and swallowed his words. He stood and paced the tiny room he called home. "Do you remember. Mm, what I...said about. Not wanting, mm. You to get caught...in my world?"
"Oui," she said softly. "And do you remember what I said about it not being your world, or my world, but our world?"
Richard nodded. "Mm, yes. But I don't, mm. Want our...world to. Be one where. You mm, get shot. at."
"I do not want to be shot at. I did not particularly care for it. I do not want you to be shot at, eizer. I...I do not want to be alone, wondering if you have been hurt, if somezing has gone wrong. I do not want to panic if you are gone for an hour. I do not want you to have to do zings you do not like doing, zings zat make you sad. I...I do not want to be useless, mon amour. I do not want to be a burden to you."
"You're not," he assured her, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his. "You, mm. Never could be. But I, mm. Don't want to. Take the chance. Of you...getting hurt. You know. It would, mm. Destroy me if...something. Happened to you."
"Je sais," she whispered. "You are right, mon amour. I should not do zis zing. I would probably be a distraction to you."
"Mm, yes. But a. delightful one." He planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "I know you're, mm. Capable of this, Simonne. But, mm. I've almost...lost you. Too many times. To risk you."
Simonne gave a small nod, conceding the argument. If working with Richard would not make him happy, then she would not do it. She would do her best to stay useful in other ways, and to not panic when he was out there, in danger, away from her. She knew she needed to stop relying on him so much, and she figured the only way to do that was to get used to him not being around. She had to do this, for him. She had to make him happy if he was happy she could be happy all she had to do was make sure he was happy...
"Hey," Richard said softly, rubbing her hands gently. "Don't mm, go away on me."
"I am sorry, mon amour. I..."
"Shh. Don't apologize, mm. We'll. Get through this. Mm, I promise."
There were two things Richard wanted to get done the next day. First, find a more suitable place to live with Simonne. She said she would be content to live under a bridge so long as Richard was with her, but he couldn't make her live in a tiny room with no private bath, no storage space, no room to move. Even sleeping on the tiny bed was almost impossible, Simonne had been pressed between him and the wall, half on top of him, and he had still been hanging half off the bed. He wanted someplace where she could hear herself think; he well recalled her wistful mention of solitude on the day they first met. He wanted someplace roomy, if only so he could watch her gracefully walk across a floor. He wanted someplace she felt safe, someplace quiet where they could try to work on her panic attacks and her circular thoughts. Someplace where he could make her happy. So they went around town and looked at apartments and houses, although nothing quite met Richard's expectations. He didn't know exactly what it was he was looking for, but he knew he would know it when he saw it.
They stopped looking around noontime, agreeing to continue the search tomorrow. So they took care of the other thing Richard wanted to tend to. Visit Tommy Darmody. He didn't particularly care to see Gillian Darmody, but he would have no choice if he wanted to see his best friend's son. He took Simonne to the dark, imposing mansion that had once belonged to Louis Kaestner, the Commodore, Jimmy's father.
"It...looms," she said upon seeing it, unable to suppress a shiver. It reminded her too much of the house Pierre Dubois had taken her to.
"I hate this. Mm, house," Richard said. "It's all. Lies, mm, and hatred. And death. If you, mm. Would like to wait. Outside, I wouldn't...blame you."
Simonne shook her head. "Non, I will go in with you. I am looking forward to meeting your Tom-mee, after all zat you have told me about him."
Richard gave the tiniest of smiles and led her to the door, where he knocked and then stepped back, holding Simonne's hand nervously. Gillian confused him. In some way, he felt sorry for her, given the life she had been dealt: drugged and raped at fourteen, raising a son while most girls her age were helping with little brothers; mother to the son of a man who once upon a time ran the city; a woman forced to fight to give her son the life she wanted him to have. If she had stopped at that, Richard would have admired her. But she began forcing Jimmy to lead the life she wanted him to lead: convincing him to turn on Nucky; getting him mixed up in things he was too young and inexperienced to handle; subtly but constantly trying to drive a wedge between Jimmy and Angela. Richard was convinced Gillian's manipulation played a role in Jimmy's death. Richard didn't give much thought to the way Gillian treated him. She had no reason to like him, much less act like it. He wouldn't be surprised if she hated him for not going with Jimmy that night, perhaps even blamed him for Jimmy's death. Why not? Richard certainly blamed himself for it.
The heavy door opened, and there was Gillian herself, as golden and fresh as morning sunshine. Richard would not deny that she was, if not beautiful, then certainly very pretty, with her round cheeks and the friendly smile that belied her bitch.
"Richard!" she said brightly as she stepped to him and hugged him much like a mother would hug her own son. "It's so good to have you home. Come in! You must be exhausted. When did you get in?" She ushered Richard inside, and he in turn dragged Simonne, whose hand he still held.
"Mm, yesterday," Richard said as they stepped through the door.
"Why didn't you come by then? I've been worried since you've been gone so long...you could have called, you know."
Richard stifled a sigh, saw Simonne from the corner of his eye as she tried hard not to smirk at him.
"Mm, there are. Reasons...I didn't," was all Richard thought needed to be said on the matter.
"Well, Tommy has been asking when you were coming home, non-stop. He kept asking if you were in Paris finding his mother." Gillian made a face heavily laden with disgust. "I don't know where he got the idea that his mother would be in Paris..."
Well since you haven't seen fit to tell him she'd dead, it makes sense, Richard couldn't help but think.
Richard didn't understand why Gillian acted as if Angela had just up and left, couldn't fathom why the woman wouldn't tell her grandson that his mother was dead. Her theory had been 'If we don't mention her, Tommy will forget about her soon.' Jimmy had thought that was bullshit, but he didn't have the heart to say anything. How do you tell your four year old son that his mother and her lover had been brutally murdered as retaliation for a debt? Maybe Jimmy hadn't wanted the boy to think poorly of Angela. Richard didn't know. And as much as he wanted to, he knew it wasn't his place to tell Tommy the truth. That should come from his family, even though all that was left of his family was Gillian. (if there was any family on Angela's side, Richard didn't know. He often wondered about that...wondered if somewhere, a mother and father were thinking of their lovely, tender-hearted daughter, wondering how she was, what had become of her life.)
"Why don't you introduce me to your friend?" Gillian said, cutting into Richard's thoughts.
"Mm, Gillian Darmody. May I, mm. Present Simonne...Delacroix. She's, mm. My..." He looked at Simonne, couldn't help but smile, and finished "She's the, mm. Love...of my life." Simonne smiled back, her love for him shining through, before she turned to Gillian. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Dar-mo-dee. Ree-shard has told me much about you."
Gillian smiled at Simonne, then turned to Richard. "Why don't you go up and say hello to Tommy. He'll be excited to know you've come home." Richard looked at Simonne questioningly, and she took a deep breath and nodded. He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go and heading for the stairs.
"Drink?" Gillian asked, gliding to the bar.
"Merci, non. I am fine."
"I must say, you certainly have him well trained already. Known him what, a month? and he's already asking your permission to leave the room."
"Zat was not permission," Simonne said warily. Richard had told her much about Gillian, and not one thing had been very flattering.
"Really? What was it then? He looked at you and waited for you to say yes. Would he have left if you said no?"
"Non, mais..." Simonne bit her tongue. Gillian didn't need to know what the truth of it was. Gillian poured herself a drink and turned to face Simonne, leaning against the bar.
"He doesn't have much, you know. Only what my son gave to him. Jimmy had a soft spot for charity cases. It was really almost like he brought some mangy stray dog home and did his best to clean him up and keep him." Simonne felt her temper flare but kept the peace for the moment. "So really, you're wasting your time with Richard. He has no money, he lives in a tiny room in some boarding house across town..."
"Oui, I know," Simonne said. "I do not understand why you zink zis matters?"
Gillian arched an eyebrow at Simonne. "Really sweetie, you don't have to pretend. I completely understand. You're doing what you need to do. But really, you can do so much better than him. In fact, I could easily set you up with someone. I know quite a few men who would give you whatever you want, simply because you are young, pretty and foreign."
"Only Ree-shard can give me zat," Simonne said. "Because ze only zing I want is him. I do not want shiny, fancy zings or big houses with endless rooms. I do not want expensive dresses and night after night of parties. I do not want to receive gifts given to make me care for someone; I want gifts given because someone cares for me. All I want is someone who is kind, and caring, someone who will be zere for me in my worst moments, someone who understands me in my deepest self. Ree-shard is zat someone."
Gillian's expression abruptly changed, turning proud and beaming. "I'm sorry sweetie," she said, setting her glass down and coming back to Simonne's side. "I wanted to make sure you actually cared about him." She put her arm around Simonne's shoulder and steered her towards a couch. "Richard is a very kind, gentle man," Gillian said in a tone Simonne thought was motherly. "He's the kind of man a gold-digging woman would easily be able to take advantage of. I don't want him to get hurt. He's one of the few links to my son, and in a way, I look at him as another son. I want to make sure he's happy."
"Oui," Simonne said, nodding. "Zat is all I want for him."
Gillian patted Simonne's knee and said "I think you and I are going to get along just fine."
Richard peeked through the partially open door at the dark-haired boy playing with his toys on the floor, smiling fondly and sadly at the last bit of Angela and James Darmody left on the Earth. Richard could easily see both parents in the boy; the mother's gentleness, the father's daring. Richard had always held the notion that children were a parents way of making the world a better place; you hoped that the best qualities of the parents came through and that the child's innate purity would hold throughout his or her life to make up for the mistakes of the parents. He tapped gently on the door with his knuckles. Tommy's head shot up, his large dark eyes widened with joy as a grin spread across his face. "Richard!" He shot to his feet and all but launched himself at the tall, masked man. Richard caught the boy and lifted him as Tommy wrapped his arms around his neck. "I missed you!" Tommy said into Richard's shoulder. "Gillian said you weren't coming back. She said you were gonna stay in France with the piece of pussy you went to see...Why did you go only to see part of a cat? Especially when there's so many full cats around here?" Anger and embarrassment swelled up inside of Richard; anger at Gillian for planting doubt in the child's mind about his return, as well as the fact that she would toss around such a vulgar phrases in the presence of a young child. The embarrassment came from realizing he was going to have to explain that phrase to this young child.
"The phrase, mm...your gra...mm, Gillian used is. A rather derogatory term. Mm, for a woman," Richard said as he stepped into the room and set Tommy down on the bed, kneeling in front of the boy so he he could look him in the eyes.
"What's drarogatry?"
"Derogatory. It, mm...means. Unflattering...not nice." Richard had to remind himself that Tommy wasn't even five yet.
"Oh. Gillian says dra...derg...not nice things about people all the time."
"I know," Richard replied. "You know it's not...polite. Mm, to do that?"
"I know," Tommy swore solemnly. "Mommy says so. Daddy usta say so too." It hurt Richard to hear the little boy speak of his father in the past tense but his mother, he spoke of in present tense. Tommy knew Jimmy was dead; Gillian had all but martyred her son to her grandson. But he still spoke as if Angela could come walking in the door at any moment.
"Did you bring me a present?" Tommy asked, simply at that age where people going away meant gifts when they came back.
"Maybe," Richard said. "Have you. Mm, been good?"
"Yes," Tommy said quickly. "Well...mostly. I got into the cookies once. And there was one night I had a bad dream and I went to find Gillian but I shouldn't'a been outta bed because Gillian had friends over and I'm not s'possed to be downstairs when they're here." He looked at Richard, his eyes very honest and innocent. "You can ask Gillian if I was good, if you wanna be sure."
Richard smiled and ruffled Tommy's hair. "I believe you. Mm, were good," he said. "And you were...honest with me." Tommy smiled and shifted eagerly on the bed as Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "This is. Mm, something a friend...of mine. Played with, mm. When he was your age," Richard said as he handed the gift over. "He thought. You, mm...might like it."
Tommy pulled the ribbon off and open the box, eyes wide with excitement as he saw what was carefully packed inside. "Wow," he said breathlessly as he pulled the old, slightly battered wooden soldier out of the box and looked at it reverently. It had belonged to Simonne's brother, Etienne. Etienne had given it to Richard, told him to give it to Tommy. "I hope zat zis soldier will be ze closest ze boy come to war," the Frenchman had told Richard.
"Is this really for me?" Tommy asked, the toy hugged possessively to his chest.
"Mm, yes," Richard said. "There's another...gift, but. Mm, it's still in. My trunk, and...it will. Be a while before I can, mm. Unpack."
"Why?"
"Because there, mm, isn't enough room for me. Mm, to open anything."
"Why?"
"Mm, because...my room is small."
"Why?"
"I didn't, mm...need much space."
"Why?"
Because I was lonely, and lost. I had nothing, even though I wanted everything. I was a shadow, and shadows take up no space at all. But of course he couldn't tell Tommy this. He was too young to understand, and besides, Richard had gotten beyond that.
"It's something, mm. You'll understand when...you get older."
"Oh." Tommy looked down at his new toy, fiddling with the small sword the soldier held, then he looked back at Richard. "Did you find Mommy?"
There was suddenly a lump in Richard's throat, and a dull ache in his chest. Why couldn't the boy know the truth?
"Mm, no. But Paris is, mm. A very large city."
"Yeah, I guess so," Tommy said, suddenly resigned. Richard place his hand over Tommy's and gave a gentle squeeze. "I did, mm. Bring a friend with me...though. Would you. Like, mm, to meet her?"
"Okay," Tommy said, sliding down off his bed. He slipped his hand into Richard's as the tall marksman stood up. They walked down the hall, and when they reached the stairway, Tommy paused and looked up at Richard, then gave a longing, side-eyed look to the bannister, then looked back up at Richard.
Richard looked back at the little boy, craned his neck as much as he could to see downstairs and make sure Gillian wasn't in sight, then nodded and picked Tommy up and helped him get a good grip.
"Wait til, mm, I'm down at the...bottom. So I can...catch you, mm, alright?"
"Okay," Tommy agreed eagerly. Richard hurried down the steps, and positioned himself at the base of the rail. Tommy had watched him over his shoulder, and when he saw Richard nod, he gave a small push and began sliding down the smooth wooded rail, a whoop of joy escaping his throat as he gained momentum. It was a short ride, but it was fun, and Richard caught him as he hit the end of the rail, and they spun in circles, Tommy's legs swinging out with the momentum, and the young boy giggled merrily before Richard set him carefully on the floor. Tommy's laughter made Richard feel light inside, a feeling that grew when Tommy took his hand and practically dragged him towards the trophy room where Gillian and Simonne were waiting.
Richard had told Simonne about Gillian, the kind of woman she was, the kind of things she was capable of. Simonne had always been a good judge of character. So when he saw the two women sitting on a couch laughing as if they were the best of friends, he was confused. Gillian reminded Richard somewhat of Simonne's step-mother, Marie, and Simonne had liked Marie as much as Richard had liked having half of his face blown off. But there she was, smiling and chatting, completely at ease.
*But that's a good thing, isn't it? She hasn't been right since the rape, although bless her she tries to hide it from me. I waant her to be happy, and to be able to relax, and to not panic if I'm not near. So why am I ill at ease about her being so friendly with Gillian? Is it just because it's Gillian?*
"There's my handsome men!" Gillian said cheerfully when she spotted Richard and Tommy. "It sounds like you two were having fun catching up."
"Richard spun me 'round and 'round," Tommy told his grandmother. "It was fun. Look what he brought me from Paris, Gillian!" And he held out his new possession proudly for her to inspect.
"Very nice," Gillian said, although she barely glanced at it. "Look what else Richard brought from Paris." She waved towards Simonne, and Tommy turned to meet Richard's friend.
"Bonjour, Toh-mee," Simonne said brightly. "It is very nice to meet you. Ree-shard has told me all about you."
"You talk funny," the little boy informed her.
"Thomas!" Gillian cried. "That's no way to speak to a guest!"
"Oh no. Do not be mad with him," Simonne said, laughter dancing in her eyes. "My English, it does sound funny, I am zinking." She turned back to Tommy and said "I do not only talk funny, I also talk a lot, so I am willing to bet you will have many chances to make fun of ze way I talk."
"But it's not nice to make fun of people. Mommy always says so."
"Zat is true," Simonne said. "Mais, zere are times zat, if you are with friends, it is alright to...to...joke with zem. For instance, mon frere, Etienne, he will always make fun of ze fact zat I can not cook." Richard snorted; Simonne had practically burnt her apartment down boiling water. Her saying 'I can't cook' was on par with him saying 'I have poor vision in my left eye'. She heard Richard's reaction and glanced at him over her shoulder quickly. "Ree-shard will also make fun of me for zis. But I do not mind it. When zat is ze case, it is okay to joke with someone. Does zat make sense?"
"I don't know what 'zat' is." Simonne opened her mouth to explain, thinking her accent made it difficult for him, but the mischievous twinkle in Tommy's eyes and the way his mouth was twitching as he tried to hold in his laughter stopped her short and brought a smile to her lips. Tommy laughed for a moment then asked Simonne if she would like to see his toys. Simonne said she would, excused herself to Richard and Gillian, and followed Tommy back upstairs.
"She's delightful," Gillian told Richard when they were alone. "Absolutely adorable. She told me all about how you met; so romantic." She looked at him oddly for a moment, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'll be honest with you, I never really thought about the fact that you used to be normal." Her face quickly turned to an embarrassed look. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out the way I meant it to. What I meant was, I never gave thought to the fact that you had a life before Jimmy, or before the war. You're so...secretive. You never talk about yourself."
Richard had tried, a couple of time, to talk to Gillian about himself. For instance, when he told her he would be going out of town over Christmas, he explained to her he was going to Paris, and gave her all of the details, including how he had met Simonne, because Gillian HAD ASKED. But apparently, she hadn't paid attention. He stifled a sigh, sitting down on the couch next to her.
"Simonne was telling me you're looking for someplace to live," Gillian went on. "I offered you a place, here, after..." she could not bring herself to say 'after Jimmy died', not right now, "and you said you weren't comfortable with that. That offer still stands..."
"I'm still not, mm. Comfortable...with the thought. Of living, mm, in a whorehouse. More so, mm...now that Simonne is here."
"I understand," Gillian said. "She doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who would associate with whores."
"She wouldn't, mm. Care that...they're whores," Richard said. "I think, mm. She'd be more...uncomfortable. With the...clientele."
Gillian shrugged. "Well, if you won't stay here...I don't know if you knew, but Jimmy left you the house on the beach. Simonne would like that, I'm sure?" Richard nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. That house held so many memories for him, and not many of them were pleasant. "If you do decide to move in there," Gillian rolled on, either not aware of or just ignoring the pain in Richard's expression, "Tommy could spend the night there on occasion. He doesn't need to be here every night. Sometimes I don't think it's fair that he has to confine himself upstairs when the girls come out..."
Well if you weren't running a whorehouse out of your home, your grandson wouldn't have to stay upstairs for hours on end. It amazed Richard that Gillian could be so oblivious to such things.
"...and he keeps asking when he can go back home, anyway. If you move in, why...think of all the time you can spend with him? And you and Simonne can get practice at being parents!It would be a good solution to everyone's problem!"
"I. Mm, don't...know," Richard started. Angela died in that house. He had found her body, laying across her lover. How could he spend any time in that house?
"Give it some thought," Gillian leaned close, put her hand on his thigh, making him extremely uncomfortable. "Jimmy bought that house, planning on having a happy life with Tommy. Jimmy couldn't do it, but you can."
Richard looked at her slender hand resting just above his knee, his face growing hot and his pulse skipping erratically. Unable to bear her touch, he quickly stood up and moved behind the couch.
"I'm going. Mm, to get Simonne. And...we're. Mm," he stammered as he backed towards the doorway. "Going, mm...to. Leave for. The night." Gillian watched him retreat, a slightly amused look on her face. It was only when she turned her gaze away that Richard was able to turn and all but flee to the stairs.