Chapter 4

A Favor for a Friend

"Thank you, Dauphine," Daria smiled, a little unsteady on her feet. "I'll return this dress and the shoes to Gerard in the morning." They stepped into the hotel lobby.

"No," came the reply. "Keep them. They are a gift from Remy. He greatly enjoyed working with you. Besides, he is a thief. He never returns the wardrobe items, he gives them to his friends. The clothiers do not mind, they like the exposure."

"Now I feel really guilty for taking all this stuff." Too bad this dress won't fit Quinn; she'd love it.

Dauphine laughed. "Perhaps you could help me, then. I cannot afford Remy, but I would love it if you would let me photograph my work on you. Not many, only the ones that I created while working on those glasses."

Daria smiled. She could endure a little more discomfort for her new friend. "Sure. Can we do it tomorrow? I'm leaving for home next week."

"Certainly. We can meet in the lobby for a fine European breakfast, before the fat tourists eat it all up."

Dauphine laughed. "I cannot believe you do not wear jewelry. It insults the work of God."

Daria hated to admit it, but she was greatly enjoying herself playing dress up with the talkative woman. The session was far more casual than in the studio; Dauphine had hung yards of white silk in the sunroom of her shared flat to soften the light. She had quite a good eye, and her photos were excellent.

They had started off sorting through the trays of jewelry, and had soon laid out a number of pieces that Dauphine was quite excited about displaying on her new mannequin friend. The photos went quite quickly, since most were closeups of the jewelry against her neck, wrist and ears, although quite a few were shot in such a way that were almost erotic- she would arrange the jewelry against a reclining Daria, her face turned away from the camera to reveal the ivory sweep of her graceful neck, the soft curve of her collarbone, all framed by a cascade of silken auburn hair.

A bottle of wine was opened, and the two giggled and talked, taking photos until the sun began to drift low in the sky. By then, Daria was well relaxed, and allowed slightly risqué shots of first a ring, and then a graceful horn bracelet on her wrist, her hand concealing her obviously nude lady parts. The images were framed quite modestly, and only the slightest wisp of auburn was visible.

"That's quite enough," giggled a blushing Daria.

"I agree, laughed Dauphine. "Botticelli would have been proud to be so beautifully imitated. I'm not interested in women in that way, but I must admit it's gotten me quite sympathetic to the interests of men."

"I'm getting dressed now," smirked Daria, "I can't believe I let you talk me into this. Turn around, please."

Dauphine complied. "You know, you are a puzzle to me. I admit that I suffer also from a slight hesitation in my relationship with Gerard. I want to be appreciated for the qualities of my work, on its own, not because I am his lover."

"Then you should understand. I'm not comfortable with drawing attention from men with my appearance."

"That's not what I mean, exactly. I speak of this hesitance I sensed when we spoke of Trent Lane."

Daria fell silent, her mood shifting.

"You see?" Dauphine stood, walking over to her music player. "When I listen to his songs-"

"Please don't." Daria said softly. "Listening to him is usually a pleasure, but sometimes, particularly when I drink, I can't bear to hear the sadness that runs through his work. I don't want to hear that pain in his heart."

"And so you really cannot hear it? Daria, I listen to his songs, and I have always had this romantic vision in my mind's eye of this woman that he longs for." Dauphine turned to look her in the eye. "Now I know who she really is."

Daria sat, looking away to the silk that billowed slowly in the now warm light. It moved as though breathing, an abstracted presence that had somehow just captured in its glow a minor soul.

"You love him, and you will not see it. You cannot bear to hear his pain, because you care so deeply for him."

"He can have any woman he wants. Not me."

"You truly believe this?" Dauphine held up an apple, turning it in the warm sunlight. "You do not read of his love life, I believe."

"I don't want to know whom he's dating," she said quietly. "That should be his own private business."

"Aside from the obvious fabrication from time to time from 'unnamed sources,' he himself refuses to speak of it." She handed the apple to Daria. "I have been a poor hostess, I must feed you something other than wine." She retreated into the kitchen. "A little something before dinner."

Biting into the apple, both in its physical form as well as its shadowed metaphor, Daria chewed slowly, the truth released as she tore it apart.

It had been over six years since she and Trent had slept together, in those blissful summer days before she had left Lawndale for Boston. It was either a time of bravery, or of weakness. He had been her first lover, for those few brief weeks, before they had turned away from each other, each to follow divergent paths.

Such a short time, and it had changed her forever. The intimacy, made possible for her only by the deepest of emotional connection with another, and the blinding pain of its loss. The bar had been set, and it was set high.

Had she really understood the reasons behind that parting? It had hurt so much, at so many levels, that it had haunted her until she could bury it by denying that it had ever held truth, and that she had made one of the gravest mistakes of her young life. But what might that mistake have been?

Jane had been incandescently furious with Trent. Of course, Daria could never bring herself to talk about it much, only to insist to Jane that it wasn't just him. She repeated that like an incantation that finally began to heal that rift between the brother and sister, and then sealed it away in a stony vault that would always be in her heart.

She had turned to her studies as a balm, the only way she could repurpose the fire that would otherwise consume her.

It was a year before she could bring herself to look at him.

It took years more before she thought she had forgiven him. Or did she forgive herself? What was it, exactly, that needed absolution?

Dauphine paused at the kitchen door, the plate of brie and bread in her hands forgotten. She looked sadly at Daria, her brown eyes blinking back tears. She set the plate down, and plucked a few tissues from a box, crossing quietly to her friend and offering them to her. She took the remains of the apple from her trembling fingers.

They sat together, speaking quietly; and slowly, the room grew darker.

The only illumination was the faint glow of the white silk, filtering what light there happened to be in the night beyond the glass.

A/N: and here is where the story should end, if I had any taste at all. But no…this being fanfiction, and a shipper fic at that, I must ruin it by continuing with the requisite happy ending which is coming up.

Sorry.

Or, you're welcome. ;)