Chapter 9
Luncheon Dates
Rumple continues to receive calls from the mysterious Miss Black who has managed to get Belle to agree to a luncheon date. Belle and Rumple go on a drive on the Blue Ridge and Rumple shares that he is a synesthesic – among other things, he equates colors, shapes and sounds. Belle has gone on a date with Jefferson.
The Date
Jefferson was a delightful dining companion. Everyone seemed to know him and like him. He greeted maître D's and waitstaff by their first names. He knew the best wines to go with the best food. He was fluently conversant on dozens of topics and passably so on everything else. He was polite and clearly appreciative of Belle, complimenting her appearance. He asked her how things were going with Rumple.
She sighed. "He's, well you know, he's . . . Mr. Stiltskin. He's brilliant and talented and . . . "
"Unfocused and a bit lazy," Jefferson finished for her.
She nodded. "Sometimes," she replied slowly.
"He's the most gifted artist I've ever met. The man's a certifiable genius," Jefferson told her. "He's constantly searching for . . . he calls it The Search for the Soul. He's wanting to dissect the inner psyche of a person and display it in its raw form. His paintings seem to capture something indefinable, something I despair that I will never approach."
"I've seen your work. Your pieces are lovely. Nobody uses color like you."
"You don't have to flatter me, Belle. I know I'm ahead of my time . . . or before it . . . or outside of it . . . or something. I'm just hoping my work will be appreciated when I die . . . it's not being appreciated while I'm alive."
Belle smiled at him. "Well, I appreciate it," she told him.
"You're easy to impress," he told her gently. "I guess that's why Rumple likes you so much."
Belle stopped eating with her fork suspended in the air. "Mr. Stiltskin likes me?" She knew she amused her employer, sometimes aggravated him, but she didn't think he liked her.
"He dotes on you. I can't decide if he thinks of you as a would-be lover, a daughter or the best damn personal assistant he's ever had," Jefferson explained.
"You aren't taking part of that horrible pool, are you?" she asked him, her eyes narrowing.
"You know about the pool?" Jefferson said slowly.
"Of course. This is the one about how long I'll work for him before I quit or he fires me?"
Jefferson gaped a moment. "Uh . . . " he began.
"It's not about that, is it?" she asked him, speaking slowly, new suspicions arising. "When I first heard about it, I assumed it was a pool as to when we'd end up sleeping together . . . and," the truth slowly dawned on her, "Oh, it is that, isn't it?" she pressed him.
"Uh . . ." Jefferson felt himself growing warm. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "And yeah, I'm in the pool." He sat quietly a moment. "Do you want to buy a date? I could pick one at random for you so you wouldn't know when . . ." He trailed off.
Belle was just looking at him. "This is what Mr. Stiltskin's friends do?" she asked. "They make these horrible bets." She shouldn't be too offended – her tacky friends were doing exactly the same thing.
"We have to have some fun at his expense."
"I've half a mind to get up and leave," Belle told him.
Jefferson gave her his best little boy smile, "But you won't, right? I didn't know you when I joined the pool. I'll take my money out. How about that?"
"No," she told him. "Don't bother. I wouldn't want to spoil your fun." She couldn't bring herself to be too judgmental. "But," she looked sidelong at her tall, pleasant date, "it's not going to happen." She thought a moment. "Hey, what happens when it never happens. I mean, what happens to the money?"
"We donate it. Corella started the pool so she gets to pick the charity. She'll pick something like Furs for Orphans."
Belle snickered.
Funny, she thought. Even when Mr. Stiltskin didn't show up, he still managed to show up.
Eleven P.M.
Rumple was still sitting in front of the television set when the door opened.
Silhouetted in the doorway he could see the lovely rounded figure of his little maid pressed up against the long, lanky figure of his best friend.
"I had a lovely time, Jefferson. Thank you."
"Me too, Belle. It was great."
The shadow figures started to get really close. Rumple switched on a light.
"Wha-at?" he shouted. "Oh, it's you two," he tried to sound surprised. "Wanna come in and get a beer or coffee or whatever . . . how about a Nagroni?" Rumple asked Jefferson.
There was a bit of pause before Jefferson answered. "No, I think I'll be heading on back home."
Belle glared at Rumple but he ignored her. She turned back to Jefferson, "You don't have to go. He's just being a jerk."
"When she says 'jerk,' she means arse," Rumple translated. "She's too nice to say arse."
"Yeah, I thought as much, but . . . uh . . . I do have to go. Belle, thank you," and glancing over at Rumple, Jefferson leaned down and kissed Belle on the forehead.
He had gone out the door when Belle turned on Rumple. "Did you threaten him or something?" she demanded to know.
"What?!" he asked, quite innocently.
"I felt like the guy kept looking over his shoulder the entire time we were out together."
"Miss French, I know Jefferson. The man maintains a harem. There are always several women, sometimes a guy or two, hanging around in his apartment."
"Well, I was just going on a date with the man, not interviewing for a new personal assistant or . . . or . . . " she hesitated, searching for the right words.
"Trolling for a new pole man?" Rumple asked.
She blew out air, forcibly. "You're still interfering. You just can't help yourself."
"I don't think that Jefferson would be good for you. I wouldn't let my sister or my daughter, if I had one, go out with him. I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out with him."
"I'm not your sister or your daughter," she nearly screamed at him.
"No, you're not," he agreed. "You're my friend."
Belle stood a moment silently. "I'm your friend?" she asked.
"Yeah. . . yeah, I think so," he answered as if the information surprised him as well. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt. You're someone who doesn't do casual and that's all that Jefferson does."
Belle stood a moment. "Why don't I get us some coffee?" she finally said.
"How about some macha latte?" he asked.
"Even better," Belle agreed.
"So where did he take you? What did you do?" he asked.
"Now you sound like my mother," Belle told him, smiling. She shook her head and began to prep the lattes.
Luncheons
"I'm meeting my son for lunch," he told her as he was going out the door.
"Yes sir." This meshed with her own plans as well. With him gone, she wouldn't have to concoct some reason to be out of the house during lunchtime. She was having second thoughts . . . and third thoughts about this meeting with Miss Black – as if she was betraying the man.
It's just a lunch date, she told herself. You aren't committing to anything.
Belle shook herself. You're as bad as he is, intruding into his life like he intrudes into yours.
But she knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself. All her life, her curiosity had gotten her into trouble . . . and today's luncheon was likely to be just another page in that story.
Early Girl
Neal had made reservations at The Early Girl Eatery. Rumple had gotten there first and remembered why he didn't often eat at this restaurant – no alcohol on the menu. He settled for some iced tea and sat, anxiously waiting.
He figured there was a fifty-fifty chance that Neal might not show, that he would have second thoughts and decide he didn't really need to clue his old man in on whatever was going on in his life.
Rosetta's
Belle was accustomed to the women in her employer's life being drop-dead gorgeous beauties but the woman waiting for her at the vegan restaurant was head and shoulders above the rest of them. She was a woman of a certain age but still stunning. She had long lustrous black hair with a few well-placed grey streaks, impeccable makeup and nails done by an artist. Her dress was simple but clearly designer and she was wearing heals that even the fashion unconscious Belle recognized were red-soled Christian Louboutin's.
Belle felt like a little girl in her green print dress that was gathered under the bosom and tied with a pink ribbon. It had little puffed short sleeves and a light rose-brown under-slip. She had added brown stockings, pink round-toed shoes, a pink draping sweater, and completed the look with a little pink slouch hat with a crocheted flower on the brim.
The elegantly dressed woman stood when Belle came up to her. "Miss French, I can't tell you how gratified I am that you would agree to meet with me."
"Yes ma'am," Belle replied and sat down. The two women placed their lunch orders, Miss Black ordering the salad and miso soup. Belle, after some hesitation and Miss Black's encouragement and assurance that she would pick up the check, ordered the veggie burger.
"What has Rumson told you about me?" Miss Black asked her as they sipped their hot tea and waited for their food.
"Only that he never wants to have any contact with you," Belle shared.
"That's all?"
"Yes ma'am," Belle replied.
The woman nodded and looked down at the table. "I'm not sure what to do now," she said, as much to herself as to Belle.
Belle had no idea what to say, so she just sat quietly.
The woman took a deep breath and began, "Miss French, I'm his mother."
Belle gasped, "What?"
Early Girl
Neal came in through the screen door of the restaurant and Rumple waved to get his son's attention. It took everything in him not to jump up and hug his boy, now a young man.
"How are you, dad?" Neal asked him, smiling and taking a seat.
"All right," Rumple answered him. "Better, since your mother has moved back to New York."
"You do know that she still has her apartment here and pops back into town every other weekend?" Neal asked him.
"What?"
"Oh, you didn't know. I guess, she still has loose ends she's tying up."
"Or she's keeping her options open." This was not welcome news. He had hoped Milah had packed her bras and panties and moved back to New York.
"Do I understand you lent her money for Jones to do a play?" Neal asked.
Rumple winced. "It was a business arrangement."
"You know you'll never see that money again. Dad, you're such a soft touch."
"I'm hoping this play thing will work out in my favor," Rumple began to explain weakly.
"Well, me too."
Enough small talk, Rumple thought. "Tell me about this young lady you mentioned."
"Let's order first, Dad," Neal suggested and flagged down a waitress. Neal got the meatloaf while Rumple got the catfish.
"All right now. Tell me about the young lady," Rumple tried again.
"I will, but first, you tell me. I'm hearing rumors that you have a little something-something going on with a young lady," Neal answered.
Rumple was momentarily stymied and then . . . "Oh, you mean Miss French?" He snorted and shook his head, "I have a new maid."
"Who, I hear, is pretty and smart," Neal was enjoying this.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not doing the maid! She's probably younger than you are."
"Well, I heard through Jefferson that she's very doable."
"Jefferson is a hound dog."
"But he recognizes talent."
"All right," Rumple sat back and stared at his son. "She's bossy. She reads half the time when she's supposed to be working. She dresses stupid."
"Is she cute?" Neal asked.
Rumple nervously licked his lips. "She's beautiful," he admitted. "I've been drawing her and she's . . . luminous." He looked up at this son. "But I'm not doing her."
Rosetta's
"I'm his mother," Miss Black repeated. "But . . . well, I've never really been his mother." She swallowed and began again. "I walked out on him and his father before he turned two and I never had any more contact with either of them. But, well, now, I just . . . I want him to know I'm sorry. I don't want anything from him." She stopped and shook her head. "That's not true. I guess, I would like forgiveness but I can't imagine that will ever be forthcoming. Why should he forgive me? I can't forgive myself."
"What happened?" Belle couldn't help herself from asking.
Miss Black looked down at her napkin and didn't answer right away. She looked up at Belle before she started talking, "I am from a very well-to-do, quite prominent family. And I was their wild child. When I was fifteen, I met his father."
Belle cringed.
Miss Black smiled, "I see you've met Malcolm."
"Yes," Belle admitted.
"You're probably wondering how any woman could have gotten close to Malcolm. Was she drunk? Was she assaulted? Had she lost a bet?"
"I would guess that when he was younger, he was attractive and . . . maybe . . . charming?" Belle guessed.
"Miss French, it's not easy to confess, but I . . . I fell in love with Malcolm Stiltskin."
Belle barely stopped herself from gasping and shouting out "noooo."
Miss Black explained, "Malcolm was eighteen and very charming and, I thought, quite handsome. My family, however, thought he was extremely inappropriate for me, so, of course, I had to keep seeing him, sneaking out to see him, running all around. The more they disapproved, the more I was determined to be with him." She sipped her tea.
"So your family saw through him?" Belle asked.
"Did they realize that he was a scoundrel? I don't think that would have been a problem. Their issue was that he came from a no-account family from up north. They might have forgiven even that, if there had been money, but of course, there was no money."
"So, it was . . . bloodlines?" Belle hadn't encountered this type of thinking in a while.
"Exactly. Soon enough I got pregnant and ran away to live with him. My family urged me to have an abortion but I didn't want to. I had this idealized vision of a perfect life with my One True Love. But after a couple of months with no money and a squalling baby, I began to have regrets."
Miss Black took a breath before continuing. "I knew Malcolm had a bit of wandering eye but I could forgive that."
Belle knew where this was going.
Miss Black gave her a rueful smile. "It was the wandering penis that I just couldn't forgive. When he started bringing his whores back to our apartment, I'd had enough. I knew my family would take me back, but they would never accept a half-Yankee grandchild. I didn't think I could survive without their support."
Their food had arrived.
"I guess, I traded my child for a comfortable existence, one with money and prestige," Miss Black confessed.
"So why do you want to connect with your son now?" Belle asked.
"Because I can. My parents are dead and I have sole control of all the Black money, the estates, the businesses. I had private detectives track him down and found out that my son was quite famous, very talented and doing quite well. I think I might have been hoping that he was destitute and needed me and my money; it would have been easier to forge a relationship with him in that situation. But he doesn't need me now. He won't hear my apology. He won't have anything to do with me."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Belle asked the older woman.
"I guess, I feel the need to tell someone. There isn't anyone in my life that I feel close to. I traded human companionship for money and power and . . . now I regret that." The older woman sighed, "I guess my life is a series of regrets. I seem to have a penchant for making bad decisions."
"I'm sorry," Belle told her wondering if the bad decisions trait was inheritable.
"What I would like from you, if you can in any small way, encourage Rumson to meet with me, talk with me, have any contact from me, well . . ." Miss Black smiled at her and Belle could see her son's smile in the woman, "I would, shall we say, be very, very grateful. And I'm in the position to express my gratitude in different ways, through influence, through money, through opportunity."
Belle had to speak up. "Miss Black, you should know that I work primarily as your son's maid. I have no influence on him whatsoever and, even if I did, well, I think this is something he has to work out for himself."
Miss Black nodded. "I understand. But should anything open up and you have the opportunity to put a word in . . ." She paused again. "Miss French, I understand that your father is not doing well and you are considering placement in an assisted living facility. Wouldn't you like him in the best program that is available rather than just one you might be able to afford?"
Belle put her fork down. "Are you trying to bribe me?"
Early Girl
"I want you to meet her, dad. She's gorgeous and smart and . . ." Neal smiled. "and bossy and doesn't dress very well – it does seem like we have some similar tastes in females."
"And you're thinking this could be serious?" Rumple asked.
"I am. I don't know how she feels but, I'm pretty sure it's the same."
"You've never introduced any of your girlfriends to me. This one must be special," Rumple said quietly. "I would very much like to meet her."
"Great." The two men were finishing up their lunches. "This has been a good time, dad, even though all we seemed to talk about were the women in our life. But this has been good."
Rumple had to agree.
Rosetta's
Belle was offended appalled even as Miss Black continued talking, "Oh no. I'm just letting you know that there may be an opportunity here for you, at very little to cost to yourself."
Belle found her appetite was gone. "Thank you, Miss Black. This has been an interesting lunch." Belle reached for her bag and was preparing to leave.
Miss Black reached for her. "Oh dear, I've offended you and I did not mean to. I . . . I guess I'm just that desperate and willing to do whatever I have to . . . to reconnect with my child. I'm so ashamed. Please, please forgive me." She wiped her face with her hands perhaps brushing away tears.
Belle relaxed for a moment. She wasn't willing to trust this woman, but she did seem genuinely distressed.
"Listen," she told Miss Black. "I cannot agree to trying to get him to respond to you if he is not interested. I have to respect the man's privacy and his decision on this very personal matter. But . . " Miss Black looked up, "What I can do, if he asks and only if he asks, is suggest that he at least talk to you."
"That would be wonderful, Miss French. Thank you."
The two women took a couple more bites of their food.
"I guess, if I offered to help fund a quality placement for your father now, you wouldn't be comfortable accepting?" Miss Black asked her shyly.
"It's very tempting, but no. I . . . no . . . thank you," Belle told her. But it was tempting, very tempting. She'd seen the places her father could afford and they were cold, barren facilities with over-worked staff and little to offer the clients in the way of recreation.
It was very tempting indeed.
The Soiree
"I don't wanna go," he complained, flopping down into a chair. He'd come home from his great luncheon date with his son and had gotten a call from Regina. She had come over with an unpleasant demand – that he follow up on a previous obligation.
Belle was in another room cleaning the floor. He and Regina could hear the purr of the vaccum while they sat in his living room.
Regina was nodding as she spoke to Rumple, "I completely understand. It's my mother and I don't want to go."
"Well, you have an even better reason not to go than I do," Rumple told her.
"Perhaps, but there is a lot of money on the line. You have to go."
"I don't have to. I don't have to do anything," he protested.
"Yes, you do. You're actually under contract. It's an old agreement when you sold the rights to The Rose Dance. You agreed to make up to two appearances a year to promote the movie over the next three years. This is the first time anyone has evoked this particular clause. You are obligated to go or there will be a helluva lawsuit. You can't afford the bad publicity from a lawsuit at the moment."
Belle had entered the room. She was pushing the vacuum with one hand and was engrossed in reading the book she held in the other hand.
"Bu. . . uuut, I'll have to be in the same room as your mother," he was still complaining.
"Well, hell, take somebody. Get a great-bodied twenty-something and parade her around like arm-candy," Regina suggested.
"Revenge is a dish best served as a hot young thing?" he asked.
"Yeah. Who can you get that will make my mother spit nails of jealously?" Regina pondered.
He shrugged. "I don't know. Jefferson might know somebody. He knows all these gorgeous women."
"Jefferson knows a lot of gorgeous airheads. You need somebody's who's also got three digits in her IQ, not some vapid little thing who's going to take ten minutes to get her thought together," Regina chastised him.
"Oh, well, that helps. I need somebody who's young, gorgeous and smart . . . and someone your mother doesn't know. Shouldn't be too hard, I mean, there must be, what, two or four women like that in the city."
Regina did not respond right away. She was looking at Belle who was still engaged with her book, mouthing the words as she read and vacuumed.
Rumple looked over at his maid. "What are you reading?" he asked her curiously.
Belle startled. She hadn't realized they were in the living room. She turned off the vacuum and answered, "I'm so sorry. I was reading and didn't know you were in here." She started backing out the door dragging the vacuum behind her.
"What are you reading?" Rumple repeated his question.
Belle looked down at her book, "Oh, L'Étranger. . . uh. . .The Stranger . . . by Camu. I'm re-reading it in the original French. Things lose something in translation," she pulled a face as she explained.
Regina called out to her, "Wait." She looked over at Rumple.
He caught Regina's look but shook his head. Miss French? As arm candy? His dowdy-dressing, round-toed shoe wearing, Miss No Makeup I'm So Natural maid?
"Why not? My mother doesn't know her. She's the right age and there clearly won't be a problem with her needing to 'fake smart.' She just needs some polish, Rum. I could get some of my girls working on her. She's . . . got potential, tons of potential." Regina got up and walked over to Belle who was standing still by her vacuum holding her book.
"Look at her, Rum," Regina continued. "She's got great skin, gorgeous eyes. Now, the hair . . . that would need some work. And, of course, the clothing is totally objectionable, but I'm guessing there's a cute little figure under all that bulk."
Rumple considered. He knew his maid was a beauty but to dress her up and take her to one of Cora's events just to make Cora jealous? No, not just to make her jealous – to make Cora regret dumping him for someone richer, to make her sad that she hadn't stuck with him, to make her think she could be easily replaced with a younger, hotter model?
Regina persisted, "I'd need a couple of hours for hair, makeup and dress selection, but I could totally get this done."
Belle was looking back and forth between Rumple and Regina.
"What?" she asked. "Wha-at?"
Rumple smiled, "I need a bit of favor, dearie. There'd be a nice . . . very nice, bonus in it for you."
A.N. Thanks to my ever-faithful reviewers: Wondermorena, Jewel415, Erik'sTrueAngel, arynwy and Grace5231973. I appreciate your sticking with me (reviews make me happy). -twyla
NEXT: Rumple and Belle attend a party
