…
Marie woke up again to her radio alarm chiming:
"When I'm alone I wonder.
Is there a spell that I'm under,
Keeping me from seeing the real thing?
Love hurts.
But sometimes it's a good hurt.
And it feels like I'm alive."
She had intentionally set her alarm fifteen minutes earlier to make sure she got to Mr. Gold's shop on time, early in fact.
The lyrics buzzed in her brain as she went about her almost spiritual morning routine of coffee and pastry. For some reason, the idea of being under a "spell" was intriguing, although she was convinced that if she was under anything, it was a curse. Her walk down the few blocks to the pawnshop was less brisk than usual. As she slowed her pace, she noticed a few morning routines that others had.
She saw Sheriff Graham strolling, glaring about broodingly, on his way to Ruby's corner diner. She watched Ruby put out the "Open" sign just in time for the officer approaching. They both exchanged a friendly nod and headed into the diner together. Marie wondered if Graham had ever fallen under Ruby's spell. There was that work again! The thought of their nightly escapades made her laugh lightly as she continued on her way.
Soon, she was in the small shop cleaning the many knick-knacks and antiques. Having worked with Mr. Gold for about four weeks now, every day seemed more or less the same. The fact that it felt routine, however, did not mean it felt normal. She doubted she could ever really get used to working for the silky-tongued man. He was truly impish. She had seen how he looked at Regina, how he looked at everyone—as though he were better than.
While wiping the dust from a strange cement garden gnome, she heard the small bell ring, signifying a customer. She turned quickly to help them, before registering that it was only her employer.
"Good morning, Miss Dupont." He said as he walked over to her, his cane clunking on the floor.
"Oh, good morning sir," she replied.
"Why the formality?" His face was practically expressionless. His deep eyes were another matter—they twinkled as he watched her. She felt a chill run through her.
"You continue to call me Miss Dupont. You could call me Marie. Might as well, since I'll be here… a while." Marie continued to clean as if nothing was happening, as if her indentured servitude was indeed normal and a thing to accept.
Mr. Gold felt offended by her decision to ignore him. He was used to being the center of attention, whether or not it was positive attention did not matter. He guessed it was mostly his financial power that was the source of all the stares, and the fear, just a wee bit of fear.
He walked over to his new desk in the main part of the store. "Well, Marie it is then." He set things down, looking up only to give a thin smile to his little helper.
"Thank you, Mr. Gold…" She paused, and looked over to her well-dressed employer. "Do you have a first name?"
The small smile quickly broadened, revealing small dimples in the corner of his aged skin. "Yes. But Mr. Gold will do."
Marie smiled, it felt like something a conservative man might say. She guessed, however, Mr. Gold had other reasons. Still, she was pretty sure he was trying to make a bit of a joke.
Cleaning and organizing hardly took her any time. She knew her way around the shop and a duster and was done before lunch. Mr. Gold seemed equally bored. The night before, she had thought that maybe if she had to spend all this time with the man, it would be worth getting to know him. She had little choice in the matter. Her father was too sick to fix clocks, spending almost all of the day in bed. When there was clearly no work to be done, Marie walked over to Gold's desk with a plan.
"What should I do now sir—Mr. Gold."
He looked up at her through his thin, dusty brown hair. At her open question, a number of possible options came to mind and he toyed with the idea of giving any of the various responses. Given his image within the town, however, he thought his darker thoughts better unspoken.
"I have to go speak with a few people about their arrangements after lunch." The look of glee was hard to suppress and Marie noted it, "However, we could get lunch together."
She was about to protest that she had no money, but Mr. Gold calmly raised a hand. His fingers were long and thin, and Marie momentarily remembered the last time he was so close to her and fear welled up with in her for a moment. As it subsided, he spoke.
"I will buy you lunch. Once a month. My treat."
Marie noticed a look in his eyes she had seen only once before, and despite herself, nodded, "sure."
If nothing else, her plan to get to know him better might prove useful and, if she could do her best to learn to tolerate their agreement, perhaps even a not altogether un-enjoyable experience.
…
The knock on their small, two-bedroom home was quiet but unhesitant. A sixteen year old Marie, brown wavy hair a bit frizzier, opened the door to a long and lean wispy haired pawn broker. He held his cane firmly as he looked down at Marie. "Miss Dupont, I presume." The thin lips formed a thin smile.
Mr. Gold had come to retrieve what was rightfully his, or better, to make a new deal. He felt the almost childlike joy bubble up inside of him. He wished he could jump and click his heels, but for his injured leg. In that moment, the cane was truly superfluous.
"Mr…Mr. Gold. It's late. My father is in bed."
The man standing opposite of her let his shoulders slump ever so slightly. He was feigning exhaustion, and she took the bait.
"Did you walk here, sir?" She asked unsuspectingly.
Mr. Gold stood a little straighter again. "Yes, Miss Dupont. My shop is not too far from here so I thought I would come by after work. Your father is in bed quite early, dear."
At his caring tone, Marie suddenly felt safe to let go a little. "Please, come in." She walked into the kitchen near the front door. Following her innocent invitation, she offered him more hospitality. "Would you like tea, sir?" Perhaps if she was aware of all his intentions, she might have slammed the door in his face. But, Marie was a gentle, kind-hearted child, not without a bit of fire, and extremely witty.
"Please." He walked over to the small dining room table and pulled out two of the wooden chairs. As he scanned the area, he noticed small dust spots where dishes and paintings and other trinkets had once been. He smiled to himself, knowing he had purchased much of these things in order to absolve Mr. Dupont of only a fraction of his debt. He wondered how much the old man had told his beautiful daughter about, and she was beautiful. He guessed, given her somewhat warm though shocked welcome, she knew very little of the current circumstances. Her lack of knowledge was the great secret to the power he now had over her.
She came into the dining room with a small blue teapot and mismatched teacups. She poured for Mr. Gold before herself, and handed him a small cup with sugar cubes in it. "It's green tea. No caffeine." She smiled kindly. The man took two sugars and let them dissolve some on their own before stirring.
"Green tea is my favorite. Particularly fruit flavors. I find it…soothing." He took a sip, and smiled gently at her. "Ah, raspberry. Perfect." He took another sip before setting his cup aside for a moment.
Marie almost laughed. The man before her was strange. She had heard the town talk about him, always in hushed voices. He was the wealthiest person around, living in a large estate a few miles outside of town. He owned a pawnshop in town; one that Marie had rarely seen a person enter. As the thought crossed her mind, she let the town's gossip fill her head with wild fantasies about what Mr. Gold really did. Some said he worked the black markets. This was plausible, given his pawnshop. Others said the government, as if he were once a spy of sorts. Marie always doubted this one, and seeing the almost frail man before her, knew he could never have been a physical threat. Some said the IRS. The latter was the one most people agreed with and thus let their righteous hatred grow. Marie had her doubts again because he never left the town. He was a wealthy man who was hardly ever caught actually doing work. He seemed comfortable enough, and in that instant Marie envied his wealth. Her own family issues were becoming more and more burdensome to the intelligent and driven girl. In fact, she had heard one of the old women who were often at the diner comment that Marie was developing an "attitude." A sideways smirk formed on Marie's lips at the thought, but her eyes appeared to be lost in thought.
Mr. Gold cleared his throat and pulled Marie back to reality. "How is your father these days?"
Marie let out a sigh in response, "Well, the doctors say he is worse than before, but stable enough. He's been this way for a few months now, so he can't work." She took a sip, and felt like whoever Mr. Gold really was, she didn't care. For the moment, he was listening to her. "He tells me he did some 'spring cleaning' to get rid of all the junk in our house. He gave away things I had given him, things that belonged to my mother, and our television. I know he isn't cleaning. He is selling them because he isn't able to do much besides rest. He won't even let me help him." She sounded exasperated, and a few tears formed in her eyes.
Mr. Gold reached in his charcoal suit pocket and pulled out a light blue handkerchief. Marie thought it clashed with his darker suit, but as he reached out his hand, she took it from him anyway. She padded her eyes a moment, before continuing,
"I'm sorry, sir. You don't need to hear all this."
Mr. Gold's face looked solemn, as if empathizing with the poor girl. "No, my dear. I don't need to. I want to." She looked at him and could tell he honestly wanted to know. She felt like someone was finally able to listen and help her. Mr. Gold was a man with means. Perhaps he…perhaps he could do something for their family. She would do anything to help her father.
"Sir. Could you… could you help us?" She almost choked on the words, and Mr. Gold looked instantly deep in thought. Marie thought she saw something glow in his eyes, or that his face suddenly looked much less sullen.
After a few moments, he took a sip of tea and responded, his soft Scottish accent almost soothing.
"I think I can. I'm no knight in shining armor, mind you, my dear. I help people, but I often profit from the arrangements I make." He took another drink, allowing his words to sink in.
Marie gulped. She thought a while, and realizing that this man was being surprisingly honest with her, she gave a nod. "I know you have a business to run, sir."
Mr. Gold thought she was behaving quite maturely for a sixteen year old, though no less naïve.
"I do. But I can make you a proposition. I'll give your father seven years to pay off his debt. If that doesn't work out, we can meet again to discuss alternative options." He smiled broadly, revealing deep dimples in his olive skin.
Marie gave a nod. "That seems fair. Okay." She smiled almost as broadly.
Mr. Gold quickly finished his tea and stood to leave. Marie stood quickly and without thinking or attempting to control herself, she hugged Mr. Gold, her head just coming to his chin.
The old man was taken aback by her joyous reaction, and was almost literally knocked off his feet. Once he came to himself, he let a chuckle escape his lips. "I am more than happy to work with you, Miss Dupont." He said kindly.
Marie squeezed a little before letting g, replying, "Please, call me Marie." She took a small step back so she could look at him again. The kindness she had heard in that smooth voice was not reflected in his eyes. Those eyes had seen more than she had, they knew more than she did. They seemed to express an unearthly gaiety. Marie took another step back and felt a chill crawl down her spine. She looked at Mr. Gold, and recalled the fear everyone seemed to have of him. She was suddenly aware that she had made a deal with a man who did god-knows-what and practically owned the whole damn town.
"Marie, I am certain I will see you around Storybrooke.." He smiled again, dimples returning. Before, the small divots had made him seem kinder, gentler, more human. Now they made him look devilish and sinister.
"Yes. Good night sir." He walked to leave, and stopped in the doorway so that she could not close the door without hitting him. There, he paused and turned to her.
"Marie, it would be better to just call me Mr. Gold." He smirked and left, allowing her to finally close the door.
…
During the weeks and the years that followed, Marie would remember his specific words. Whenever she heard his name or saw him walking the streets of Storybrooke, they rang in her head. These words now felt like a curse over her, the very words that drained her of time to do the things she cared about. Back then, at sixteen, she had not realized what Mr. Gold had meant.
Over the years, she wondered if he really knew how events would unfold. As she accepted his invitation to go to lunch, the phrase flashed inside her mind. "I am more than happy to work with you, Miss Dupont."