As time passed, work commitments began to squeeze both of their schedules; Lecter's case was heating up, and Crawford was required in court more often than not. By the time Starling was called to see the deer hunter in Virginia, they were once again like ships passing in the night.
Starling had been able to halve the forty minute drive from Quantico to Clarendon County morgue by combining artful driving with shortcuts that she had discovered after years in her Arlington duplex. The pace was worth it, though; the fresh carcasses were relatively unmolested. Although she should have, Starling couldn't quite think of Donnie Barber as a corpse – seeing someone trimmed up for meat apparently changed one's views. A rose by any other name… That Donnie Barber seemed to be a complete asshat did not help his cause in Starling's view, either.
Tired and friendless, Starling pulled into her driveway on Friday evening after another uninspired fast food dinner. There was no such thing as comfort food anymore; the institutional foods of her youth held no pleasant memories, and she had no desire to eat at the diners she and John had frequented together. Budget college fare was something no adult should ever need to revisit. She sighed heavily and dragged herself out of her car, cursing the Mustang for its lack of ergonomics. Trudging to the front door with her groceries, Starling contemplated her reason for being. Autopilot engaged, she packed away her groceries, stripped off, showered, picked up around the house and ran a load of washing. Not in the mood for television or any other form of entertainment, she sat down beside the gently humming machine and allowed herself to process the last few days.
A known acquaintance. What a phrase. Starling's head gently shifted back to rest on the rocking washer. A known acquaintance to help pass the time. Starling had wondered at Crawford's insistence that she find someone, but it was beginning to make sense to her – in a way, it was insurance; a contingency plan; it was the date when you didn't have a date. She rolled her eyes. What a god-awful way of looking at it. Anyone else would call it someone you wanted to come home to. Goodness knows that's how 'Delia always refers to it. 'Someone to come home to.' You can just as easily come home to a dog every night. Isn't that the same? Maybe I'll get a dog. There was a pause in the vibrations as the wash cycle clicked over. You're kind of… special to us" Huh. At least she was special to someone. Angry bile rose in her chest; unbidden, uncontrolled, unwanted. With deep shuddering breath, Starling cast the emotions aside, brushing them away like old cobwebs, once useful for something, but now defunct. She announced, to no one in particular, "Screw this. Washing can wait. I'm going to bed."
"Ah, there you are. I was worried for a minute that you wouldn't come." Dr. Hannibal Lecter, M.D., leaned against the doorframe, nonchalant, left leg bent at the knee, crossed behind right foot, weight lightly resting on the toe of his shoe. He was a picture of debonair grace, his immaculate fitted black tuxedo second only to the broad, easy smile he was sporting. As she approached, he straightened and moved towards the door, simultaneously opening it and welcoming her in with a wide sweeping gesture. She walked past him into a grandiose, cavernous foyer, complete with barrel vaulted ceilings, granite columns and plush maroon carpet. Pausing to take it all in, Starling couldn't remember ever being in such a decadent room. A warm, flickering amber glow, emitted from a hearth to her left bathed the room with a golden hue.
By the time she had swept her eyes over the anteroom, Lecter had moved through to the entrance of the main hall. Starling hurried to follow him into the dining hall. They meandered through a sea of empty dinner tables towards a single, distinctly feminine figure seated with her back towards them. Lecter smoothly took the seat opposite the elegantly dressed woman, flashed a look up at Starling, and winked.
"Good, you're back. I was starting to think that you had grown tired of me and left." The woman's voice was deeper than Starling expected; somewhat raspy. The joking lilt was unmistakable, but Starling had the distinct impression that she was a little concerned that Lecter would leave her midway through dinner. Starling moved closer to the table to see who the woman was.
He graced his dinner companion with a winning smile, and Starling was struck by his relaxed demeanor. "Leave? Never. I was waiting for a friend, and they were running a touch late. I must apologize for keeping you waiting."
"Oh, that's quite alright. I forgive you." Starling watched as Rachel DuBerry fished a gold trimmed cigarette case from her handbag and Lecter stood, ready to light her cigarette.
"You really should think about giving up. Nasty habit, my dear." Lecter quipped lightly as he snapped the silver lighter shut and took his seat again.
The beautiful socialite laughed heartily, took a deep drag from her cigarette, and picked up the conversation as if no interruption had occurred. "Are you sure the flutist was no good?" She breathed a steady stream of second hand smoke towards Starling whilst gesticulating with the hand holding the cigarette.
"Yes. I'm surprised you couldn't hear the time lag. Raspail. Raspail, of the gluey flute. " Lecter looked annoyed that he had to clarify the flute issue. He waved his irritation away with a finger, barely raised off the table. "Never mind. First course?"
DuBerry nodded, and their plates, previously empty, suddenly contained great hulking slabs of roast beef, a dry roast potato and a steaming pile of collard greens.
"Really, Hannibal, a roast? That seems a little… outdated, don't you think? A little plain?" DuBerry leaned in close and peered at the contents of the plate. "I didn't realize that we were dining with the Proles tonight." A phlegmy, condescending chuckle followed. Starling didn't think that it was plain or outdated. The delicious smell wafting up from the plates transported her back to her childhood in West Virginia, warmth of the kitchen a sanctuary from the bitter cold outside, her parents laughing and dancing while waiting for the children to wash up for dinner.
"Not at all. It's just a matter of presentation." With that, the basic roast on their plates transformed into single portions of rolled beef, surrounded by glossy little potatoes and a colorful salad. A thick, rich sauce had been poured generously over the meat. The smells swirled around Starling and she was snatched from her childhood home back to the restaurant. The aromas had changed; depth, nuance and subtlety now wafted in the air. "Voila. It doesn't get much better than that." Lecter purred. True, Starling conceded. It was still roast beef and potatoes. Just beef and potatoes with an extreme make over. It occurred to Starling that she couldn't actually identify everything on the plate. DuBerry seemed unconvinced. She continued with her cigarette, making no move to start on the meal. "A rose by any other name…" She left the disdainful twist to The Bard's classic quote unfinished. Discouraged, Lecter continued. "Perhaps a gift to tide you over until the main course?" The meals vanished, and replacing Rachel's plate was a mid-sized, velvet jeweler's box. Temporarily appeased, Rachel moved to open the box. "What is this?" she exclaimed as the lid clicked into its final, open position.
Starling leaned in to see what lay within. Gold add-a-beads strung alternately with drilled tiger's eyes, in a pattern of one to two. Starling snickered. Utterly disgusted, DuBerry had pushed herself away from the table and stood up.
"Hannibal Lecter, How Dare You!" DuBerry stormed away from the table. Lecter watched her leave, his face unreadable.
Starling, frozen, watched Lecter. She was not sure what the plan was.
Lecter's eyes tracked from DuBerry's retreating form to lock with Starling's before his head rotated to match his gaze. Arm extended, he invited her to sit opposite him, in Rachel's previously occupied chair. His movements reminded her of a doll puppet, but she accepted none the less.
Lecter's eyes twinkled, as he declared, "The necklace was really for you, you know."
Starling was at the same time flattered and confused. He was correct about one thing, though. The tiger's eyes really did add something to the jewellery.
"Why?" Starling's eyes misted over as the walls of the restaurant dissolve and were replaced by dark prison cell walls. She watched as Lecter teased and cajoled a younger, somewhat more naive version of herself into giving up her credentials; Starling's lips move along with the dialogue; she was more than familiar with that particular meeting.
I was so black-and-white back then.
The aggressive nature of the tête-à-tête was now apparent; she hadn't really noticed it before; trying to keep up with 'Hannibal the Cannibal' had been on the top of her agenda. She could now see that she really was giving as good as she was getting. Slippery was an accurate term.
There was a break in the dialogue. Lecter had held up his hand and the tension in the air was palpable. She had never noticed it before, but Lecter's visage had changed; he looked trapped, cornered. Angry. His words were a response to provocation. Her provocation.
Anger expressed as lust. Who knew?
Yet amongst it all, an offering. "The tiger's eyes will pick up the colour of your own eyes and the highlights in your hair".
He's interested in my hair?
"Of course I'm interested in your hair."
Wait, what?
The asylum walls dissolved, and she and Lecter were back in the restaurant. When he saw that she was focussed on him, he firmly reiterated the sentiment. "Your hair is one of your most attractive features."
She gave a blank look.
"Clarice, you were glorious that day; wild and free, your raw fury untamed, barely reigned in; your beauty… delicious. But it wouldn't do to just come out and say it."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want to give you what you need. What you desire."
"I don't NEED anything."
"No?"
"No."
Visions of Lecter's purchases, real and imagined, flashed before her as her chest tightened and she snarled at the unfairness of the world. Prom night. Sitting alone in the dark, throwing stone after stone at the brick wall, hoping that one of the stones would bring the building down, fearing, at the same time, that an errant stone would break the windows higher up the wall.
Lecter's voice came, softly, floating. "We can make our own rules, you know."
He offered an outstretched hand to her; an offering to dance. She reluctantly went to him, and the décor fell away, a ballroom opening up for them to explore.
He leaned in close enough for his lips to brush her ear and breathed, "I can show you things."
She barely suppressed a shiver and whispered back, "I don't want to know about your… things."
"Not those things." He was still deliciously close to her. "Other things." He took her silence as a sign to continue. "Haven't you ever wondered how close my drawing was?"
"Hmmmm?" Starling's eyes had closed and she was enjoying his warmth. "Drawing?"
"The Pallazzo Vecchio. And the Duomo. We could visit the Belvedere. You could tell me if you thought my drawing was an accurate representation…"
"I'm not cut out to be a tourist."
"We could live there."
"I don't speak Italian."
"I could teach you." His voice had changed. A light lilt suggested he was laughing at her. The rumble she could feel through his shirt confirmed it.
"That's not the life for me." She didn't sound convinced.
"Paris? They don't call it the city of lights for nothing."
"No."
"Berlin? Maybe not. Berlin is a little oppressive. Osaka?"
"No. I don't even know where Osaka is."
"No? Osaka, Japan. Delightful onsens. Never mind. Are we interested in opera?"
"Definitely not"
"The arts?"
"Expensive swirls of paint don't do it for me"
"Fashion shows in Milan?"
She faltered. "No"
"Well… we could settle down, live the American dream? A house in the suburbs, 2.3 children, a dog…"
"And what? Live happily ever after?"
"The thought had crossed my mind."
"There's a long time between now and happily ever after. A lot of ground to cover."
"Who better to cover it with?"
Starling snorted. In the silence, they continued to dance.
"I could offer you Stability."
Starling released his hands and moved away from him, effectively stopping the both of them. "Stability! I highly doubt that you could provide me with stability, Mr. On-The-Run-From-The-Law."
He smiled at her again. "Not just the law. Mason's after me too. Besides, who says I'm on the run from anyone?" She frowned, confused and angry. Her thoughts felt sluggish.
"We could have a lot of fun, running from the law, escaping to freedom, living in the thrill of the chase, if stability doesn't appeal to you." He winked, reaching for her waist and hand to continue their joined expedition of the ballroom. She stepped back, unsure. His hands faltered, and the open, confident look in his eye was replaced by a more determined set as he closed the distance between them and led the next portion of their dance.
"Take our mutual friend, Donnie, for instance."
"Donnie?"
"Yes. Donnie Barber. That vile sub-grade beast that I hesitate to call a man."
"What about him?"
"Don't you ever wonder…"
"Wonder what?"
"Why."
Starling was definitely feeling behind the pace now.
"I don't need to wonder why. It's wrong. That's all I need to know."
Lecter sighed. "Still so black and white, little starling." He paused for effect. "I could help you see all those little nuances of life that so often get overlooked. We could mix your blacks and your whites, merge them and make each delectable shade indistinguishable from the next." A sharp intake of breath. "Oh, now that would be fun!" Their dancing had slowed to a snail's pace.
Confused, Starling searched his eyes, attempting to decipher his mood. "How do I know this isn't just a game to you?" Starling asked.
"It's all a game, dear. Life's a game. The outcome depends on how you play your hand."
"I can't risk that. I can't just – throw it all away, go all in."
"Why not? Just take a chance."
"Life isn't a game, Doctor. Besides, what happens when it's over?" She pushed him hard in the chest, sending them apart rapidly. "When the last hand's been dealt? When you've had your FUN?" Seething now, Starling was struggling to control the rage building within. "What happens when you've had enough of a well scrubbed, hustling rube? When a rube isn't enough for you? What about me? When you've tinkered with my thoughts so much that all I can see is grey? Will you cast me aside? I won't be able to go back. Will you want one of those social climbing bitches? You can fucking have them! I don't need you! I never asked for this! Everyone leaves. Everyone always leaves." She was screaming now, her mascara streaked from the tears. She was curled up in a darkened corner, knees up against her chest, trying to control her hiccoughing sobs. Lecter, standing in the middle of the room, was calling out to her, searching for her. Starling stayed silent. He was looking directly at her when Rachel Duberry-Rosencranz swept into the room with her arm held out, ready to claim him.
"There you are darling. It wouldn't do to let you get away. Where else can a girl find someone who can make her fur crackle?" With that, she linked her arm in his, kissed him on the cheek and took him away.
