Chapter 3: Christmas Furlough/Early War Period
Question: Who was the first mean girl? Answer: Scarlett O'Hara.
"Of course, I remember you Mr. Butler—"
"Please, call me Rhett. You say Mr. Butler and I turn around for my father."
Melanie laughed at the lame joke. All bells and chimes. Scarlett's own laugh sounded more like a cough. Rhett gave her a questioning look. She ignored it, turning a plastic smile back on the bride. As much as she would die before admitting it, even she thought Melanie looked pretty today. For starters, the crusader for soft-shelled crabs and one-winged pigeons was actually wearing make-up. That had to be a first. And her vintage-cut, Vera Wang wedding dress hung perfectly on her willowy, flat-chested frame. Scarlett's green eyes narrowed. Her mouth salivated. Did those earrings belong to the effing Queen of England? How good would she look with those suckers hanging off her ears? Emeralds!
Rhett elbowed her and she plastered a false grin back on her face. Melanie and he were talking about some country she was fairly certain had nothing to do with the Hanes-wearing basketball player. She kept her mouth shut. The only thing she knew about current events was whatever the celebs she followed on Twitter tweeted. And somehow she didn't think these two cared that the Kardashians' great-greats had been Armenian. Was Armenia even a country in the Middle East?
Just then, the groom wriggled into their small circle, snaking his arm around his new wife and holding a champagne flute in his other hand. His glossy grey-eyes flicked up and down Scarlett. She couldn't stop the smug smirk from curling around her lips. Her dress was a knock-out red gown with a plunging neckline, barely a back and hip-high slits. She'd gone in completely the other direction when it came to the sacred wedding code of never one-upping the bride.
"I was beginning to think you'd run out on us all, Ashley," she cooed, petting Rhett's arm.
"Scarlett," he nodded, without making eye contact and then shrugged his head at Rhett. "Good to meet you again, Butler."
"Wilkes." Rhett casually brushed his finger against Scarlett's collarbone as he unhitched her grip and laced his fingers around her hand. "Congratulations on your wedding. You're a lucky man."
Melanie's honeyed drawl broke through Ashley's slow-coming answer.
"Thank you very much for coming, but Scarlett's the lucky one. You know, Ashley, this man here single-handedly saved the local marshlands with his donation."
Rhett actually looked a little sheepish at her genuine praise. Ashley mumbled some stupid, cellophane-wrapped reply. He sipped his champagne, sneaking a peek at Scarlett over the rim. She played with the gold chain around her neck, sliding the pendant back and forth. His eyes lingered and slipped down. Her face glowed with satisfaction and she purposefully pushed her boobs together. He nearly choked on his champagne, clearing his throat.
Neither noticed Rhett's frown.
"What line of business are you in Butler? I know you've had some deals with my father but…"
"Oh, mainly exporting and importing. I own a few shipping lines."
"Rhett built his company from the ground up. A real rag to riches story." Scarlett vapidly smiled up at her date. For centuries not a single Wilkes had earned less than a master's degree from Yale. But she knew their ancient piggy bank was threatening to finally go belly up. Scarlett had no idea about politics but she'd always been a whiz at numbers and money markets. "Melanie did I tell you that Rhett dropped out of college and still made it on the Fortune 500 list? It's so—impressive."
She caressed the word with a sigh and beamed at Ashley. Take that Mr.-Gag-Me-With-A-Silver-Ivy-League-Spoon. He barely managed a curt reply. Victory was in her grasp. She could taste his envy like pop rocks on her tongue. And then Rhett opened his big mouth and ruined her ticker-tape moment.
"Dropped out? More like I was kicked out and given a restraining order for sucker punching the Dean of Students. But I guess I can't blame him. Husbands are so touchy about other men sleeping with their wives."
Melanie flushed crimson, Rhett smiled blandly and Scarlett's gloating expression flat-lined—especially when Ashley spewed champagne spittle all over her dress, gagging on his laughter. Rage punctured her vanity.
"Ashley! This can't be dry cleaned tonight!"
"Sorry!" he chortled, swiping a napkin from a nearby server and threatening to dab her splattered dress with it, his hand angling right toward her chest.
"Permit me?" Rhett quietly offered, swooping in with his own handkerchief—who still carried their own handkerchief? She'd thought it had been for show. He pressed the cloth a little too firmly into her shoulder strap.
"I hope the dress isn't ruined," he whispered. "It was doing wonders for you. It almost made you look beautiful instead of desperate."
She glared and pushed him away.
"It'll be fine if you don't rub a hole through it."
"Shipping, how interesting," said Melanie, grasping for straws of normalcy. "Ashley works at the State Department. Isn't that right? He's, he's just come back from a trip to Myanmar—I mean Burma. Funny thing, a country having two names."
For the first time, Rhett looked at Ashley with interest instead of indifference.
"State department? Really? I didn't peg you for a company man."
"Oh, I'm not," Ashley's face suddenly calmed into its usual aloofness. "Just a desk jockey. Nothing more than a gopher, even. I think the mail guys outrank me."
"Ah, well, gophers have their uses."
The two men stared at each other. Scarlett's eyes pinged back and forth. Okay. What was with the gorilla-size-me-up fest all of a sudden? Absently she padded at her speckled dress with her fingers. Dilcey was going to kill her if she couldn't get these stains out! She'd only lent her the dress after some serious groveling and promises that she could wear Scarlett's Jimmy Choos any time.
The tune of "Call Me Maybe" broke up the testosterone stare-down and Rhett popped his iPhone out of his suit pocket.
"Really? Carly Rae Jepson?" Scarlett asked, eye brows up.
"What can I say? It's catchy," he winked and checked the number.
"Sorry. I have to take this one. Business never sleeps. Again, it's been a real pleasure Melanie. Congratulations."
A smile flitted over his stubbly mouth. He squeezed Scarlett's arm in a careless, affectionate way as he drove a path through the wedding guests. His voice was drowned out by the chatter and music. She could barely glimpse his raven hair bobbing above the crowd. For the first time tonight she wondered if he was finally going to kiss her. This would be their third date, if you counted Aunt Pitty's fundraiser last week and so far he'd been the perfect gentleman. Too perfect. She'd started to wonder if he was even interested in her like that. She knew he wasn't gay. No gay guy fondled your breasts with their eyes like his had at least ten times tonight. She dragged her gaze back to the blissful wedding couple. Ashley started talking to his dad, who had come up behind him, and turned away, but not before giving her a "we need to talk" look that she knew she wouldn't say no to.
"So, Scarlett, I think Charles was more upset about not getting to see you than missing my wedding." Melanie smiled knowingly. "But you can't exactly tell a mountain not to explode when you're a geologist."
Charles. Great. That guy couldn't take a hint. He couldn't even take an "unfriending" or an all caps text rejection. He was a mistake. A drunk, rebound hook-up that wouldn't go away. Of course for a few horrifying days she thought he had become a much bigger mistake. A much, much bigger mistake. Thankfully he had remained only a lingering one-night slip in judgment instead of an eternal damnation sort of error. That was the last time she ever let a guy use a condom that she was sure hadn't been taken out of his wallet since his 7th grade Sex-Ed class. Mortifying. Talk about a walk of shame.
"Uh, so Charles is still playing with rocks?" she asked, watching Ashley quickly scoot around some frumpy divorcees and jerk his head at her. Melanie's explanation of what Charles actually did droned meaninglessly in her ears. It would have even if she had been focusing.
"Sorry, Melly, but I really want to see if I can't clean up this dress a little bit more." Knowing she was sneaking off with the Armani-suited Ashley showered her with a burst of kindness. "You look gorgeous, you know. Seriously. I'm jealous."
She hugged the pink-cheeked bride, a one-armed awkward pat on the back, and skipped and skidded her way through the chaos. Scarlett made a wide berth around her rip-roaringly wasted dad. Did he have to talk about his idiot tea party cronies everywhere? Narrowly escaped the clutches of Aunt Pitty and her "friend" Uncle Peter. No way was she about to watch them make googley eyes at each other. Dodged a bullet when her mom, Mammy and Dilcey were sidetracked from claiming her at their table by Suellen and her gaggle. No comment needed there. Finally she slinked out the side doors. Ashley lounged against a brick wall, flicking his cigarette butt at the dumpster.
"I thought you gave that up."
"I did." He flung the cigarette into an oily puddle. It flared then fizzled. "Don't tell Melanie, please. I thought it'd take you longer to come out here."
He ran his hand through his hair. It was longer than when she had last seen him, and streaks of white blasted through the gold. OMG! Why couldn't she get over him?
"What's up?"
He blew out his breath, rubbing his chin and jamming his fists into his pants. His eyes locked with hers. Somber and serious.
"Look I know it's none of my business but why are you going out with Butler?"
Ding! Ding! Ding! Maybe the night wasn't a total bust! Ashley was jealous! The celebration train was coming down the tracks. Break out the confetti.
"Oh, he's only a fling," she shrugged. "It's just so nice to be with a man, instead of a boy."
"He could be your father you know."
"Like you said, it's none of your business."
The lone streetlamp buzzed. Ashley bit his cheek and twisted his mouth. His nostrils flared.
"Do you know he's being investigated by the United States government?"
The train slowed. The whistle sounded less like a happy hoot and more like a warning bell.
"Isn't everyone? I mean, they bug our phones and tap our lines. I'm probably under investigation for throwing away my stars and stripes bikini."
She was just parroting what her dad was always going on about—apart from the bikini bit. She didn't actually have a clue what she was saying or what Ashley was saying either. But she was mad and she sensed another defeat. A real one this time. Ashley shook his head, restraining from rolling his eyes.
"And how do you know about Rhett anyways? You work for the better boyfriend bureau?"
"Scarlett, you just have to trust me."
"Yeah, well, sorry I don't."
He flung his hands out and dragged his fingers through his hair. In two steps he was right in front of her.
"Scarlett, I'm sorry. I really am, but you know…Melanie and me." He swayed like he was going to kiss her and then quickly leaned back. "You know my father's had to take loans out, borrowing money even from friends. From your father. Melanie and my marriage...you're good at economics, much better than I ever will be. You do the math."
Now she was disgusted. Was he telling her what she thought he was saying?
"So what? You married Melanie for her family's money? Is this a merger or a marriage?"
Ashley's face paled but he replied, "Both."
"Great, I didn't realize we were in Victorian England."
Ashley's glower furrowed into confusion.
"Victorian England?"
"Yeah, marrying to bulk up the family coffers. I get it. It's an old story."
He raised his eye brows.
"I can read you, know."
He didn't blink.
"I don't only watch reality TV."
Not an eye flutter.
"Okay, Careen gives me a mani-pedi if I watch Downtown Abbey—"
"Down-ton."
"What?"
"It doesn't matter."
He bit his cheeks, this time trying to divert his laughter not his anger, and shifted his feet. She hated when he acted smarter than she was. So what if she'd nearly failed her English SAT's. She'd scored almost an 800 on the Math section. His mouth still twitched. If she hated him acting all superior to her, she really hated him laughing at her. Or anyone for that matter. Fine! Two could play at this game. She would hit him where it hurt the most. With honesty.
"Do you love me?"
The grin disappeared.
"No bull either Ashley."
"Scarlett." His voice rocked with another warning.
"Do you love her?"
"By her, I assume you mean my wife?"
She folded her arms and pushed out her lips. No way was he going to sidestep this with his slippery, holier-than-thou attitude. Not this time.
"Why? Is there someone else I should know about?"
He had the good sense to ignore her, but his eyes flashed with flint.
"Scarlett, Melanie is…she's the best person I'll ever meet. Do you know she wanted to donate all of our wedding gifts to local charities? She would have, too, if India and Honey hadn't stopped her. Do you know that right now the back kitchen of this place is full of homeless people from the nearest soup kitchen? Eating lobster and steak? I mean, if I didn't love her I'd be the biggest prick on the planet. Who doesn't love her? She's the single-most authentically selfless person I've ever known. Will ever know."
Scarlett started breathing again. He hadn't really answered the question with a straight yes or no. And sucking in the misty night air she held back the retort that in her books he already was the biggest prick on the planet. The best-looking, most unattainable prick, too. He spun away on his heel and kicked a crushed coke can under the dumpster.
"It kills me not being able to tell her what I really do. But she would be worried sick if she knew."
That threw Scarlett for a loop. Where was this conversation going? What he really did? He was hard enough to understand when he blabbed on and on about authors that sounded like snowboarding tricks—the Foucault spin and the Kierkegaard half. What was he talking about now?
"What you do? You work at a desk downton—I mean downtown Ashley."
His back was still to her, his shoulders slumped.
"Scarlett, I know I've been a jerk to you, but I have a huge favor to ask."
He had to go and use that voice. That vulnerable, sugary voice that had hooked her every time into coming over for late night "chats." The promise rushed out of her mouth before she could stop it.
"Anything, Ashley. You know that."
His shoulders sagged lower and he turned around to face her.
"I can't tell you what I do, but it's more complicated than just filing papers. Take it or leave it because that's all the explanation I can give you."
Weird. He was definitely acting weird but he was actually confiding in her! Telling her secrets he wouldn't even tell Melanie. Why did she have it so bad? It was sick. It wasn't right. Still she nodded and pressed her lips together.
He blew out his breath. She had a terrible, sinking feeling. This wasn't going to be good.
"Promise me that when I go out of town you'll check in on Mel."
Yup. Victory train just crashed and burned. Big time.
"Sure. I'll send her my favorite recipes off of Pintrest. Not that she'll eat them, without switching all the ground beef to soy patties."
Ashley straightened up and looked at her. Really looked at her. The lights in her head were flashing: Retreat! Retreat! But she just stood there, watching him walk up to her. Letting him place his hand on her shoulder and toy with her hair. Wearing that lazy, surfer smile.
"I'm serious. You know her. She's so naïve. It took me four days and a Newsweek article to convince her that the Nigerian princesses were fine and it was just a scam. She loves you like a sister."
Dagger in and twist.
"You know you're the defacto maid of honor."
Rinse and repeat.
"Promise me?"
"Of course."
His eyes turned sad and cloudy. He trailed his gaze along her jaw line, down her neck and over her chest. A sigh escaped and hit her face with heat and desire.
"Sorry about the dress."
"It'll be fine. It's Dilcey's."
His thumb stroked the top of her neckline and his eyes followed.
"You look gorgeous, Scarlett. You're my girl Friday dressed as Gilda."
She had no clue what he was talking about—again. But she was quick enough to know it was good…and bad. He smelled of salt and sand and something minty. He licked his lips. She licked hers.
"Kiss me."
And he did.
