Chapter 11:
Rhett had gone to his room to make his phone calls.
She had Google-searched Clark Gable and spent the next hour watching The Misfits with Marilyn Monroe on Youtube, before finally getting bored with waiting for Rhett to emerge so that she could continue the line of conversation he had started in the bedroom.
He never came out.
She spent a few minutes on Facebook, updating Kennedy's status and thanking Urbanspoon for rating them #1 overall in Atlanta for both Casual Dining and Family Friendly Venue. Then she took a look at her own profile, on which no one had posted in a coon's age, except for a stupid tag-you're-it thing from Cathleen. Cathleen's profile picture had to be almost ten years old, if not more. She was wearing a bikini and was about forty pounds lighter.
Scarlett's was more recent, but not very. She had been at a charity event as a stand-in for Melly; it was after she had died, but just after…and Ashley hadn't wanted to go alone. He had snapped a picture of her looking down over the balustrade - looking for Rhett, although, obviously, Ashley didn't know that…
Poor Ashley…she supposed that she should feel guilty for using him to make Rhett jealous…and leading him on when she no longer felt anything for him but sisterly friendship. She probably would go to Hell after she was dead for all the bad things she had done in her life. She rolled her eyes as she remembered her final therapy session with Doctor Dean before she had switched therapists.
"You know, Doctor, I've been sitting here for the past thirty-seven minutes waiting for you to tell me something valuable about myself and my situation, and the only thing you've managed to ask me is how I feel. Well to answer your question honestly, I feel pretty lousy. If I didn't, I doubt if I'd be sitting here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for three hundred dollars a pop. Now, if you don't mind, would you please tell me something that you've learned about me over the last two and a half years?"
"Miss O'Hara. If I may be frank, your incapacity for a commitment in any of your relationships is apparently unmodifiable; your egocentricity quite basic. You appear to be devoid of any means of understanding the strong emotions in those about you or of having anything close to adequate awareness of what makes them act when they act in accordance with principles they value. The only thing preventing me from diagnosing you as completely psychopathic is that you successfully pursue ends that lead to your material well-being and manage to avoid putting yourself in positions of obvious folly and shame. However, that's not to say that I do not sense an inward hollowness and a serious lack of insight."
She laughed at the memory, although she had found it anything but funny at the time. Doctor Meade was a much better therapist anyway, even if he was married to the town gossip.
She returned her attention to her Facebook picture.
Her hair was a little longer then. It needed to be cut, but she hadn't had time since the funeral. Her dress had been intentionally inconspicuous. An A-line taupe with understated beading along the high neckline and a full skirt, not at all form fitting. She had been a good ten pounds thinner then, too, but from stress rather than any sort of diet. That it was a good picture was terribly surprising, and that Ashley had taken it was even more so. She opened the picture in the picture viewing software so that she could get a better look at it. Her eyes looked a little less "baggy" and she had worn only minimal makeup. But her hair was so dark that it set off the nonexistent contours of her body to perfection, and she looked ageless, faceless, and like her mother. That her mother had been a depressed woman was no family secret. Hardly. Everybody knew that Ellen O'Hara had been young Ellen Robillard once. That she had been madly in love with a man who was as blue blooded as herself. One of those summertime, country-club romances - best left ensconced in memory and then left undisturbed. Right before her mother had died, she had revealed to Scarlett the horror of being pulled out of a Tri Delta retreat and sent to the on-call grief counselor, who was already waiting for her at the sorority house. Philippe had been the victim of a hit-and-run motorcycle accident. Scarlett had not known the story before her mother told her in that last conversation between them, and she only knew Philippe was the man's name because right after they heard that Charlie was dead and how, her mother had shaken her head and moaned "Just like Philippe". She had given no explanation for her outburst, but looked pale and shaken for the rest of the funeral and not herself for the rest of the time she was at home, biding her time while she waited for Wade to come...
That was the worst part about being pregnant, in Scarlett's opinion - being shut off from the world.
Although, to be quite fair, that wasn't exactly the case with Ella and Bonnie… Frank had been a ninny about his wife needing to stay home while "in a condition" - but she had quite frankly let her imbecilic husband know that she had no intention whatsoever of playing "Ma" to his Michael Landon-inspired Pa, to darn the socks and iron the shirts while he went to the Mercantile to pick up supplies for the farm. Frank was too old to appreciate her analogy, which irked Scarlett, who had picked it intentionally, thinking that he might understand.
Wishful thinking, she supposed.
Then, there had been Rhett. Rhett, who was so overjoyed by the prospect of her being pregnant…and out of nowhere, the career womanizer became the Father-of-the-Year contender…
To be fair, he had doted on Bonnie, to be sure. Hell, he doted on Wade and Ella. She opened Windows Picture Gallery and scrolled through the thumbnails, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008 - she paused, finding what she was looking for.
She had taken the picture when Bonnie was three or so and Rhett was wearing the hat that she had hot-glued three turkey feathers on the brim. It was a silly picture, with Rhett's fingers pulling the corners of his mouth downed into a frown and Bonnie had her mouth wide open with delighted laughter at how ridiculous he looked. Wade was in the background, his mouth furrowed in concentration as he tried to pry the glue off of his hands and Ella was trying to eat the glue.
Her face felt hot, and she was vaguely aware of a moistness on the corners of her eyes. She fanned it with the program from the Blue and Gold Gala that she had left sitting on her desk, and turned her attention to Ella, who was attempting something that might have been mistaken for a back handspring, only ever-so-slightly less…springy.
"Ella, baby, I've not seen anything like that since Britney Spears's last MTV Music Awards performance," she commented, half truthfully.
"I know, right?" Ella grinned. "I've been practicing."
"What is that, who are you listening to?"
"Ashley Tisdale."
Ah, she should have guessed. Another blonde-haired, tiny-bottomed, talentless Disney Channel castoff.
"I'm not doing it right," Ella complained. "I want to try out for the Camp Rock musical but I can't dance. All the girls were making fun of me today in gym 'cause I said that I wanted to try out for the lead. Well, Hannah Whiting said that just 'cause Uncle Rhett gave the theater department a lot of money Mrs. Davis let me be Tiger Lily. That's not true, is it?"
Wade was sitting on the couch reading, but Scarlett could see that he was listening too. She remembered him asking something similar a few months before after he was voted Student of the Month and got a letter from the Governor. She had reassured him that with his straight A's, he had nothing to worry about and was being silly. Ella, on the other hand…Rhett's donation just might have swayed Mrs. Davis's decision. But no way was she going to say that…
"That's ridiculous, Ella Lorena. Why, I have half a mind to call Mrs. Whiting right now and tell her that her daughter is an ignorant little bitch."
Ella beamed. "I knew it."
Wade burst out laughing. "Maybe you should call Mrs. Whiting up anyway, and tell her that she's an ignorant little bitch."
"Wade Hampton! Now just because Mother can say certain words doesn't mean that you can. Don't forget that you're grounded anyway, Mister."
"Sorry," he looked sheepish, "But it's true."
He did have a point.
"Mother, can you teach me how to dance?" Ella asked with no small amount of trepidation in her voice. "Please? Maybe if you taught me how, I could get a part in the musical and show them all, please?"
Scarlett seriously doubted that any amount of help could turn Ella into a dancer…
"Well…" she tried to think of a way to say it delicately. "We could try…"
"Please, Mother? Please?"
"Okay, okay. Music, please. Something with a beat that we can start with…"
Wade had already intercepted her computer chair and opened Itunes, and Paparazzi was blaring before Scarlett even had a chance to approve the selection.
"No, no …something easier to start out with. Somewhat easier to imitate than Gaga."
"Madonna?" Wade suggested, a coy look on his face.
"Do not mock the Queen, Wade Hampton. No…hmm…what about Britney? Easy steps and a synchronized beat. Easy to follow."
Scarlett realized too late that her jeans were the ultra low-rise variety, and probably not all that appropriate for demonstrating the finer points of choreography to one's eight-year-old daughter and twelve-year-old son. Oh well - since when had she been the typical mom?
Then, Britney's voice belted out a song that was familiar for more than that it was Britney's …then she launched into a routine that felt second nature…she couldn't place it at first.
And then it hit her. "Circus." And then she gave her all to the song that she danced to with Ashley…intentionally…in front of Rhett.
That had been prior to the divorce.
On the occasion which she had worn the taupe dress.
In front of her, Ella was giggling and tossing her hair and her hips in a manner which Wade seemed to find hilarious, and which she could only hope was an inaccurate impression of her.
Then, her blood went cold.
Rhett was standing in the doorway, watching her and Ella gyrate their hips, winding up for the big finish…and clearly, he was thinking something along the same lines. He hadn't forgotten her performance with Ashley. Even though that had been all it was - a performance for his benefit. And as usual, it had backfired. Circus, indeed.
Rhett was smirking as they finished, Ella with the final flourish of her handspring-ish thing and Scarlett with none. Then Ella hugged her and gushed about how she was the best mother in the world and she would tell Hannah Whiting that her mother was the best dancer in the world and that she better not be so rude to her 'cause she was going to get that lead and thank you and thank you and thank you.
"We better go upstairs," Wade said. He had clearly noticed the dark expression on Rhett's face.
"Okay," Ella replied, then said, "Goodnight, Uncle Rhett."
"Night," he replied half-heartedly. Scarlett's heart skipped a beat. He didn't take his eyes off of her.
"I better turn in too," she started to follow the children, but his hand was on her arm before she had walked two steps.
"What was that?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You most certainly do, Scarlett O'Hara. And like hell are you going to waltz out of here before we finish our discussion."
He had put on cologne since he had been home. He had on Givenchy's big seller, PI… She knew right away because she had bought it for Ashley for Christmas. It was very much an Ashley scent: citrusy, with a subtle hint of vanilla. It didn't suit Rhett half as much.
He had been a Blue by Hugo Boss man for as long as she had known him. Clearly the PI was courtesy of Anne. See how well she knows you, she wanted to smart. Not!
"I'll be back in a minute," she promised, patting his non-injured arm. His ridiculously buff arm! "I'm just going to make sure they're in bed."
"They can surely handle it for a couple of minutes."
Oh-my-God, she had him sweating.
There wasn't a moment to lose, she could see that much. She tossed her hair back, attempting to look casual.
"I have certainly…overstepped myself since I've been here. I've been completely out of line with certain comments, actions. Of course, in my defense, I did have a hefty amount of pain medication in my system."
She forced a smile. He was going to take back everything he had said earlier.
"I know."
"You know?"
"Of course I know."
"That's a relief."
"Good, happy to help."
"Wait." Again, that iron grip on her arm. "I. Want. To. Talk."
"What do you want to talk about, Rhett?"
"I'm afraid that I…I misled you…about the other night."
I knew it!
"So we…"
He nodded. "We did. And I apologize for it. It was my mistake and I take full responsibility…"
Somehow, the fact that he was apologizing bothered her more than the fact that he had lied about it in the first place.
She tried to keep her voice down so that the children wouldn't inadvertently hear any details.
"So that's why Anne came and went so fast, isn't it?"
"No. What I said was true. She has no idea-"
Somehow, that gave her a new reason to stop whispering. She was good and riled now.
"So you were going to, what, Rhett? Let me believe that nothing happened and then you tell me now - why, so that you can get married to someone else with a clear conscience! So you didn't mean a damn thing you said earlier - you just wanted to get this off of your chest because you're pissed off at Anne? What the hell is your problem?"
"My problem? My problem is you, Scarlett, you. It hasn't changed."
"Your problem, huh? So why are you here then?"
"I can't stay away."
"You can go to hell, Rhett Butler."
"You're one to talk, you know. Spending seven years of our marriage pretending I was Ashley, dreaming of Ashley…well why haven't you married him, Scarlett?"
"Because I wanted you, you stupid son of a bitch! Not Ashley! I do not love Ashley! And who do you think you are, anyway? Do I need to remind you that you're engaged? And not married to me anymore?"
"That may be, Scarlett. But that doesn't mean that I don't still care - about Wade and Ella - and about you."
Then he reached out and crushed her to his chest.
She struggled to break loose from the smothering embrace - if she didn't, she would be in grave danger of melting in those strong arms…
She had to think rationally. She had to…had to…
"Shouldn't you be with her?" she asked.
"I should." His voice came out like a crack, hoarse and…miserable. "Unfortunately for me, I just talked to her for an hour on the phone and could think of nothing but you."
She should say no. No. No. No.
But there was something about his proximity. The raw need in his voice. He was close to begging. Rhett Butler did not beg.
The weight of his strong hand on the small of her back was triggering a flashback of the other, drunken night. She should just give in so that she could enjoy it this time.
Suddenly, the smell of PI wasn't quite so repugnant, even if it did remind her of Ashley.
"I just…" she was babbling and she knew it. So did he. He was stroking her neckline with his index finger, triggering the response that only he could provoke. "I don't want to…"
"What?"
Be the other woman. Then, she realized that she had been the other woman for years. Right under Melly's nose, and as she pretended to be her friend. What was the difference between Melly and Anne, besides the fact that she owed Anne absolutely nothing?
"We're divorced…we lead separate lives…we…"
You have Anne and I have…nobody…because nobody is going to replace you just like Anne isn't really going to replace me for you.
"I know." His lips were alarmingly close to hers. "I remember what I said."
My dear, I don't give a damn.
Don't give a damn. Give a damn.
"Is that what you want, Scarlett? For me to be with Anne?"
She was surprised that her jaw remained closed.
"You ask me this now?"
He pressed his mouth over hers. She froze, unconscious of anything but the overwhelming sense of bliss, of rightness. Oh God, this is the way it should be.
She was still conscious of the fact that every light in the house was on, and that the children could have been lurking on the stairs, sneaking a peek…surely not!
She slid her arms around his neck and before she knew it, she was stifled against him. He was bent over her and had her pinned against the back of the couch. She could feel the growing heat emitting from his workout shorts, not to mention the…appendage…beneath said shorts.
She was remembering that night, body and mind. His bullying and breaking, the ecstasy of surrender, of being conquered in body after all those years of bullying and breaking others…
But something left over of her mother's morality was screaming into her brain: Don't do it! He's engaged, Katie Scarlett! Nothing will come out of this but more expensive therapy…or a baby…
I'll think about that tomorrow.
She had to do the right thing, push him away.
"Rhett, we can't…"
And that was her attempt.
I'll think about that tomorrow.
Before that wild, final thrill shot up her spine - and she felt the all-consuming sweetness of unconditional surrender…