Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After
Chapter Twenty-One – Part Two
Eric had waited another hour after Serena's confirmation that the Porsche was gone to approach anyone. They were preoccupied with the events of the day and Eric hardly needed to add another layer of disturbance to an otherwise disturbing day. In fact, he didn't approach anyone in the end, it was Damien's father that approached him.
"Have you seen Damien?" Robert Allenby asked as the crowd began to disperse.
"He's gone," Eric admitted.
"Did you talk to him...?"
"He's not picking up his phone." Eric explained and the father winced. "Should I be worried about him?"
Robert shook his head. "No, he'll be fine. Though he will be gone a few days. It's his way of recharging."
Eric shook his head in defeat. He had guessed as much. He wasn't ignorant of the similarities between his boyfriend and brother. At least they weren't all encompassing. If he took Chuck as principal though, that meant Damien could have gone anywhere. What were the chances of him returning within four days? In time for their return flight? Eric took a deep breath, recognized that he'd only half considered Damien would be returning with the Van der Woodsens anyway. "Do you know where he might have gone?"
"London. He always goes there, loses himself in the hustle and bustle. He loves the city. In fact." Robert Allenby turned to the crowd of mourners. "Bradley," he called, put a hand up to wave the brunette over. "Did you strip the keys before you mailed them to your brother?" He hadn't. It made Robert put a hand to Eric's shoulder. "I know where he is," The father promised with one look back at his son. "Bradley, can you get Tom's keys off your mother.'
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
It was 5am and Lewis was already prepared for her morning run when she entered Bart's study. He was finalizing the financial statements for the new development in Toronto. It didn't stop him from looking up, eyes following the black headband that flipped Lewis' bangs behind and forced him to meet those green eyes straight on. She was wearing a loose yellow tank with wide straps and a pair of little black running shorts that showed the definition in each leg. Bart felt his eyes linger on them a little too long. He couldn't help himself. "I wanted to tell you that I'm moving out today."
That made Bart's eyes snap straight upward. "You're what!"
"I told you last week that I was going to move out. I already have a place in the city."
"I told you that you could stay here."
"I don't think that's the best choice."
"I want you to stay here!"
"But why?" Lewis asked, eyes flickering briefly to her runners. "Why do you want me to stay? Because I'm good for you and Chuck?" She supplied his earlier answer. It feed directly into the suspicions that her conversation with Lily had only built higher.
"Yes."
"And is that the only reason?" Lewis took a breath as she asked it, tried to calm her nerves which built as he stayed quiet. She counted from one to twenty, jaw turning firmer with every passing second. "Why did you sleep with me Bart?" She finally asked with a firmer tone, met his eyes without flinching. "I don't even care if you say it's because I'm hot and you like my legs, but if it was out of some sense of gratitude or some kind of game to get me to stay here then I deserve to..."
"You do have incredible legs," Bart tried the detour.
It didn't make Lewis smile. Maybe if he'd prefaced it as the reason but he hadn't. The rationale still lingered between them. "I'll make it really simple. Did you sleep with me for the same reason you married Lily?"
Bart never admitted it but he might as well have once his eyes closed in defeat. Lewis had to laugh, even though the tears were pooling in her eyes. It was so twisted, so unbelievably humiliating that it was almost humorous. She had been completely played. She had thought that he genuinely liked her. Then again, why would Bart Bass like some orphaned university student, pretty or not? Lewis stood taller as she turned, bit her lip to distract from the pressure building within, walked stiffly to the door and final escape.
"Lewis," Bart called her name as she moved to walk through it. The pressure receded a moment with the consideration that she might have misread the situation again. She tried to turn without expectations but they came regardless. "That thing we talked about," Bart had to ask. "Could you help me with it before you leave?"
"Oh my god," She shook her head as the disbelief expanded beyond all common sense. "I have the worst taste in men!" She offered in parting, nearly sprinted from the room and down the main stairwell.
Bart stayed at his desk a few moments, stabbing sense of what he assumed to be guilt working its way from his sides to the bottom of his throat. It crawled up, threatening to bring his breakfast with it. This was a whole other level of misplayed. The realization had him out of his seat, down to the staircase. He caught a flash of blonde at the bottom; yelled "Lewis," through the morning quiet. She didn't even pause. He couldn't blame her. He followed her down the stairs instead, black loafers banging as he took them two at a time. He ducked his head in the kitchen, brushed quickly through the main room when he heard the bang of the front door. When he opened the door she was already halfway down the street.
That woman could run. She increased the distance by the second, set a pace Bart had no chance of matching. He figured there wasn't much point in trying to catch a marathoner.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Damien's tie had been tossed to the coffee table, black loafers lounging on top, crushing the meter of black silk. The suit jacket had been thrown to the floor beside the door, top button of his white shirt undone and flattened hair no longer hanging straight. The cigarette in his hand dangled too close to the pristine white couch, thick stench of tobacco smoke proving it hadn't been the first. He stared through the haze when his boyfriend entered. "Hi," Damien said with a low tone.
"Hi," Eric offered back.
"I had to leave," Damien admitted with another drag.
Eric shook his head. "How are you feeling?" He asked because 'are you alright' never seemed to lead to anything but 'fine'.
"I'm actually doing okay," Damien promised. The way he said it, the tiny flicker of surprise on the older boy's face, it proved that maybe Damien had expected a meltdown too. "I think I've been mourning my brother all along. But I still had to leave," Damien butted the cigarette on the glass tabletop. "It just got to be a bit much."
Eric didn't add to burden, just hiked off his own loafers and toured the main room of the two bedroom flat. It was elegant with pristine white carpets to match the furniture, green motif played out over the walls and adding decorative bamboo to several corners. "So this is where you spent your summers."
"No, I never lived here." Damien denied it. "I lived in a drug den with burn marks in the carpet, holes in the walls, a towering stack of old newspapers in one corner and the constant stench of rot. This," Damien stared from the right to left, lit up another cigarette for good measure, "This is beautiful. It's amazing what new carpets, furniture and walls can do," Damien said it with a wistful edge. "It's too bad that people aren't made out of wool and plaster, that we can't replace the parts of ourselves that are damaged as easily."
Eric turned back from the far wall, leaned his body over his boyfriend from behind the back of the couch, ran his hand down the other boy's chest and hugged him full. "Are you really going to be alright?"
Damien nodded, hair brushing Eric's face with every shake. "I just wish I could have been there when it happened," he admitted. "If someone saved him then Tom would have had another chance to change his mind about everything." Damien touched one hand with the other as he said it, leaned back further into the hollow of his boyfriend's neck. "Oh who I am kidding? I'd probably have just screwed things up again. He probably would have died in front of me."
"Shh," Eric whispered, squeezed tighter, laid his chin on the other boy's head. He stared at the artificial fireplace, at the crawling vines that decorated the mantle and the canvas that sat in a thick black frame above it. It was a stunning self-portrait of Damien at twelve or thirteen years of age, not as technically perfect as his later pieces, but all the elements of later brilliance were evident. It was a close framing of the artist's face though the presentation was obscured. Damien had his arms crossed in front, covering all but one corner of his mouth. One hand dangled off the rim of a black bowler's hat, pulled low to conceal half of each green eye. It was an exercise in perspective, in detail and shadow and light. It was sketched in charcoal, paint added only to detail certain elements, the black of the bowler hat, the green of Damien's eyes, the brown of the leather bands that ran in sequence up and down both of his arms. It was intriguing. "Are you selling the portrait with the apartment?" Eric asked. "You might want to hold onto it. If you become the first influential artist of the 21th Century," Eric quoted the catch phrase that had started to trail his boyfriend's name. "It might just be worth something."
"It's not mine," Damien admitted without a look upward. It wasn't. The Allenby matched but Eric could see it preceded by a T rather than a D.
That's when Eric understood it all.
Damien shrugged away from the embrace, grabbed a bouquet of English daisies that lay on the coffee table. "I thought I would buy you flowers....for being there for me," Damien stared at the white bulbs, eyes widening and then wincing shut. "What was I thinking?" He asked and tossed the daisies back down. "Why the fuck would you want flowers?"
Eric laughed because once upon a time he'd done the same.
"I have something else," Damien said. He grabbed his red plaid shoulder bag from beneath the table, pulled out an envelope. It was thick, manilla, unimpressive except for the large crest stamped across the front. It made Eric step from behind the couch, circle it and take a seat beside his boyfriend. "I know this is probably crazy," Damien admitted as he handed it to Eric. "Because you're not supposed to find the person you're meant to spend the rest of your life with at eighteen, never mind sixteen but I can't help feeling like I have."
Eric felt all the blood rush to his face at the words. He grew fully lightheaded when he unsealed the envelope and the acceptance package for Eton School for Boys fell into his hands. He couldn't say a thing, just stared at his boyfriend in disbelief.
"You'd be in Berkshire and I'd be at Oxfordshire, but it's not that far, maybe a thirty minute drive." When Eric still couldn't form any words Damien grew nervous. "You don't have to feel the same about me," Damien offered. "You can hate me in six months and that's okay, find some scholarly Brit to replace me but if you chose to go to Eton, then you're pretty well guaranteed acceptance to any program at Cambridge."
"How did you even manage this?" Eric asked as he flipped through the orientation package.
"You could thank Chuck," Damien explained. "He's freakishly good at forging his father's signature. He got me all your paperwork last fall. Or the economy which opened more sixth form admissions, or my grandfather who veered through all the interview and examination process." Damien ran a finger along his boyfriend's hand. "I think he was worried you'd show in ripped jeans and a black tank top. You could thank lots of people but you should just thank yourself. You're the one who's been top of your class since birth."
Eric could feel the tears of relief begin to form at the corners of his eyes. He had assumed he'd be returning from this trip alone. Damien was done with his show, leaving Eric his last tie to New York. The blonde had watched his boyfriend's unmasked joy in returning home and guessed Damien would never want to leave again. Now he didn't have to. It left only one unresolved question. "Does this mean you love me?" Eric asked, smug smile as he said it.
Damien arched one brow at the idea that there could be a question. "You're Eric Van der Woodsen. How could anyone not love you within five minutes of meeting you?"
"Could you say it then?"
"What? You mean? Of course I love you."
Eric couldn't help but laugh again. He'd figured he'd at least get a dinner to mark the moment, or a CD or something. Then again, he did get admission to Eton and that had to trump anything else.
Damien realized he was tanking the moment royally. He tried to correct, shifted his position on the couch until he was facing his boyfriend directly. He cupped the younger boys face between both hands and lowered his voice, chased away the astonishment at Eric's assumption that he felt anything but all encompassing adoration. "I love you. I couldn't help but love you and believe me I did try at first. But you're perfect in every conceivable way. And the fact that you love me," Damien had to shut his eyes a moment to calm the swell that built every time he thought of it. "That you chose me, and forgave me, and love me still. That is the most amazing feeling in the world."
Eric figured that being loved by Damien Allenby, that must be a close second because the smile that was cracking his face, he was pretty sure it was too large to be humanly possible. The brunette's matching one, it was too engaging to be pulled away from. It drew you in, to the point of touching noses and lips, to pulled ties and unbuttoned shirts. Eric had made it three buttons down before Damien closed his hands over the younger boys and shook his head. "Just you," He promised with the unnatural arching of one brow, the mischievous pull of lip that Eric had loved first of all.
That was the moment Eric knew, having someone in love with you was going to be downright awesome!
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Nate and Chuck were huddled in a doorway four steps from the front of St. Judes. They ought to have been further away but it was a Monday and Mr. Prescot was the morning supervisor on Mondays. He never did anything beyond stick his head out once at quarter after eight. It was the safe day. So Nate smoked up freely, offered to his shorter friend. Chuck refused. It annoyed the blonde when it probably shouldn't have. It was just more evidence of Perfect Chuck. That was the boy that Nate wanted to put to death already. "So I talked to my grandfather last night," Nate said. "And he's pretty sure that he can get me into Yale."
Chuck could feel his eyes round despite his attempt to stay neutral. He had known that Vanderbilt Sr. could. The man had just completed a multimillion dollar renovation to the hall that bore the family name, that had to be enough to manipulate an admission or two. Chuck's sole hope had been that the passing comment was just that: passing. It was a reasonable hope. Nate had talked beaches and blondes ever since his admission to UCLA.
"In fact," Nate smiled wide. "He's happy I'm choosing the Vanderbilt tradition over the Archibald one."
"You'd really prefer Connecticut winters to California summers?"
"I will miss the beaches," Nate admitted. "But maybe I could get Blair to wear her bikini collection for me," Nate finished as he held the joint out to his friend again, smug smile passing over the blonde's lips the moment Chuck took it. Nate guessed he would. He'd finally figured out the button to push.
Chuck had managed three inhalations before he heard the word Blair. He put a finger to his chin as his eyes caught Kat and Is surveying another senior. It didn't take a sentence for him to figure out what they were doing. They were taking an informal vote of each senior girl, getting a feel for who they were voting Valedictorian. Chuck handed the joint back to his friend as he called them over, asked for the clipboard and the slip of paper on top of it.
"We're not surveying the boys," Kat pointed out.
It's not what Chuck was interested in. In fact, he could care less about his competition. But these three rows of numbers, they were as much intriguing as horrifying. There were no slashes in Megan Walker's column, that was hardly surprising. The surprising part was that Nelly Yuki's column outdid Blair's by two to one. "How is this possible?" Chuck snapped at the shorter of the two girls.
"Blair's not as popular as she used to be," Kat explained. "She's pissed a lot of people off."
"She definitely picked the wrong month to give up her power," Is explained further.
Chuck just shook his head in disbelief, passed the papers back to Blair's minions and refused the pot Nate tried to offer again. He marched away from them all, continued halfway down the street before he opened his phone and dialed the number for Andrew Tyler.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
The sun had dipped somewhere below the horizon by the time Eric and Damien found themselves a bed. They'd spend most of the afternoon in the living room, the kitchen, the shower of the joined bathroom. They'd guaranteed that if the Allenbys truly wanted to sell this apartment, it was going to need a whole other type of cleaning. Somewhere between the Egyptian cotton sheets Eric decided he didn't want them to. He loved every part of the space: the high ceilings, the cleanliness, the lightness. "You should buy this apartment," Eric decided as Damien examined every finger of the younger boy's hand with his own, traced the wrist with feather light strokes. Perhaps it was too early to be sentimental but Eric wanted to preserve every part of this moment.
"I already own it," Damien reminded the younger boy as he kissed the inside of his wrist. "I can just chose to not sell it."
"Would you?" Eric asked hesitantly. That space had to hold as many bad memories for Damien as the good ones they'd just formed.
"Would you stay with me?" Damien asked. "In London. Stay forever?"
"It's negotiable." Eric promised. It earned him a slap across the back of his head. "Would you do that thing you did earlier every day?"
"It's possible."
"And twice on Sundays?" That had Damien going for the slap again. Eric ducked to the side, he was getting better at evading, at arching his brow in victory. "Maybe three times." Damien retaliated by lunging at the younger boy but Eric evaded again, leading Damien to shift his weight too far and start the tumble from the bed. He reached as he fell, pulled Eric down with him by the arm. The two boys fell in a heap on the floor. "That's going to cost you four times," Eric explained confidently.
"What is it going to take for you to just shut up and agree?"
"You know that thing you did earlier?" Eric teased.
Damien shook his head in defeat, kissed the younger boy in final resignation.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
It had been only two days between the brief meeting at the fencing club and Monday at lunch but the change in Chuck was there. It was subtle but Blair could see it anyway. She studied the way he sat on the lower courtyard wall, feet dangling into open space. He'd defected back to his usual seat sometime last week, sat alone since Eric was abroad and Nate chose to sit with her and Dan. They made an unusual threesome.
Blair had been initially relieved by Chuck's defection. After the cookie incident Blair knew how important it was for her ignore the untamed brunette. She just couldn't. Nate and Dan attempted a conversation around her but her eyes kept going back to that wall, mind kept trying to figure out what was different, what was wrong. The answers didn't come, the gnawing suspicions just cut deeper inside. After a time she couldn't hold the question back anymore. She turned to Nate and put it to words. "What's wrong with Chuck?" Blair asked even though she knew she was admitting to a lot. That her eyes had been following the brunette rather than the blonde, that she was still more concerned about him than anyone else.
"Chuck is fine," Nate snapped and Blair knew she'd misstepped. It couldn't make her stop, not when she was so convinced that he wasn't.
"It doesn't seem like he is."
"Why do you think something is wrong with him?"
Blair couldn't define it in fact. It was the crawling sensation that had started when she first saw him in the courtyard. The way he smoked. The progression of cigarette to chin to side. When he was calm it dangled at his hip, burning halfway to nothing before he remembered to lift it again. When his life bordered on unmanageable, that's when he kept a thumb to his chin, ring of smoke always adding a further cloud to his eyes. It wasn't definable except for the feeling she got. "I don't know."
"He's just tired," Nate promised. "His sleep keeps getting disturbed for investor calls. That's all."
Blair tried to believe the blonde's words but they didn't lift her dragging suspicions.
"You need to let him be Blair," Nate swore firmly. "If you want us to truly work, then you're going to have to put aside your fascination with Chuck."
Blair was surprised to find out how much she still didn't want to. She tried to suppress it, knew that she was being unfair to the blonde. So she smiled and nodded her head, and if her thoughts betrayed her, well they just needed better management.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Chuck was sure his eyes slowed as they took in the half bare room. Lewis's green haven had been transformed to a mess, cardboard boxes littering each corner, toys and clothing piled beside them, most fallen over with the help of a small hand. Chuck was sure his heart slowed and his breathing. Everything slowed to a muted crawl when he realized that Lewis was leaving. Aidan jumped onto tottering feet the moment he saw Chuck enter the room, was pulling at his pant leg before Chuck could think of a question.
"Duck! Duck!" Aidan pulled harder.
"Listen kid," Chuck started down at the toddler. "The name is Chuck!"
Aidan shook his little two year old head and dragged him towards the closet. Lewis was in it, pulling linens from the top and tossing them haphazardly into an open cardboard box. She turned when she realized her son was no longer alone. "Chuck," Lewis' face went a little blank. She had been planning to speak to him first.
"Duck! Duck!" Aidan pointed down at four piece chunky wood puzzle that was half completed. He picked up one of the remaining piece. It actually was a duck. "Tuck!" Aidan smiled up at the older boy with childlike pride.
Chuck just shook his head and stared back at Lewis. "You're moving."
"I meant to talk to you first but, yes, we are."
"Since when?"
"I've had an apartment for a little while," She admitted.
"Why do you need one?" Chuck asked. "I thought you liked it here."
"It's been great," Lewis promised. "But I'm done what I set out to do."
"Which was?"
"I offered to help you and your father work things out and you have."
"That doesn't mean you have to leave."
"I have my own life to get back to," Lewis reminded the younger boy. "And you and Bart don't need me anymore."
"That's not true!"
"It will be," Lewis promised him as she finished clearing another shelf and closed the box lid. "You just need to sit down and talk things through with you father," Lewis promised him as she taped the cardboard flaps shut. They were already three boxes ahead of the last move. Chuck needed to stop buying so much for her son. "He really loves you Chuck. So much," She shook her head reassuringly. "He would do anything for you."
"So that's it?" Chuck asked in disbelief.
Lewis stopped packing at the implication, turned back to the son more sympathetically. "Of course not. I'm just moving three blocks over. To the Wellington, by Central Park." Chuck knew the building. It was three down from Blair's. "You can come by anytime you want," she promised as she stepped by. She was out the door, yelled for Helga down the hall before turning back into her room. Chuck watched her pack a few more minutes and realized that Lewis was entirely not herself. She was moving too fast, darting around her son when she usually stopped every time she passed for a hug or a kiss or a comment. She was genuinely upset.
Chuck ducked out of the room, grabbed at Lewis' nanny as the portly young woman tried to sweep by. "What happened here?"
Helga took a quick look in the nursery and shook her head in disappointment. "The former Mrs. Bass happened," Helga said with a knowing look.
"What?"
"Ms. Smith went to talk to her last night, returned in a foul mood."
The surge of anger was so overwhelming that it crafted dark spots into his vision, made him forget everything else he ought to remember as he stormed down the three flights of stairs and tossed his front door open. He didn't stop for his jacket, for his wallet or keys or phone. He walked the two blocks to the Van der Woodsen townhouse in a wave of fury. He didn't notice the evening breeze, the newly planted roses or the line of laughing children. He was too furious to focus on anything but the white building that stretched out in front of him. The doorman waved him through, Lily was waiting at their door when he entered the apartment, Rufus keeping watch behind. The addition of the Brooklynite only added to the preexisting temper.
"What did you tell her?" Chuck yelled the moment he stepped into the room.
"Chuck," Lily offered a soft tone. It didn't even mute the glare on the younger boy's face. Rufus stood to intervene but Lily sent him away.
"Did you tell her about Andrew Tyler," Chuck guessed.
"No."
"So what did you tell her?"
"I just told her the truth," Lily promised.
"What? That you're a cheating whore that broke my father's heart?" Chuck took one step closer and Lily took two back. "What I don't get is how you get off on playing the jilted ex-wife. It's a little hypocritical don't you think?"
"I'm not some jilted ex-wife, neither did I break your father's heart" Lily countered. "And you know that."
Chuck firmed his jaw but didn't contradict. "None of this was your business."
"I like Lewis. She's a good person."
"She's good for my father. Was that the problem? Could you not stand seeing it?"
"You've got this entirely wrong," Lily promised in exasperation. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"She's moving out of the townhouse," Chuck snapped. "You must have said something."
Lily winced at the truth and Chuck could see that her guilt was genuine. "I just explained the reasons why Bart and I got married...and divorced."
Chuck waited for her to elaborate. He didn't wait long, he wasn't the patient sort. "I think I can figure out the divorce part," Chuck prompted her with another snap.
Lily took a deep breath and studied the irate young man in front of her. She decided to tell him everything. "I think you'd better sit down," She offered as a start. Once he had she related the entire tale, disproved the assumption that Bart had ever cared for her, related his expectations on marrying her, the role she was supposed to play. That's not to say it'd been an entirely businesslike arrangement either. Bart could be quite the affectionate husband but he had remained very much in love with Chuck's mother. "It came to bother me," Lily promised. "And I didn't start with the sort of feelings Lewis has for your father."
"You're wrong," Chuck swore. "I know my father, he hasn't been like this in years, not since my mother was alive."
Lily nodded her head. "I think that too but I'm not sure your father does. At least based on what Lewis told me. She's a good person Chuck. She deserves to be the next Misty Bass, not the next Lily Van der Woodsen."
Chuck didn't have any words left to express so he just sat deeper into the leather couch and contemplated. His anger had been washed out somewhere in the middle of the history. There was a lot of information to manage, so many things to consider. One was that his father must truly love him to have done what he did. The other thoughts weren't quite so warm or pleasant.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Chuck took a survey of Lewis' new apartment. It had a more homey feeling than a couple hours occupation could have suggested. It made him realize her moving had been in the works for a time, it hadn't been a snap decision. Chuck had to admit the rooms were airy, well decorated, larger than what he assumed the blonde would want. The child's playroom was fully stocked, views of Central Park breathtaking from any angle. He took a sip of tea as he stepped out onto the balcony, watched the crowds of people dart in and out of the rolling green. "Are you staying here tonight?"
"Yes. I'll be back at the townhouse tomorrow for a couple days." She didn't have much to move. Chuck hide his wince behind another sip. "I'm sorry," Lewis offered. "I should have given you more notice. But we're close by so you can come by and visit all you want."
"Until the fall," Chuck countered. Then she'd be back to Stanford and he'd be to Yale. She had that whole separate life she kept referring to. It was just sad. It would have been nice to have her tied to his father. He would have preferred to keep her as family.
"Then you can call and whine about your new school."
Chuck laughed sourly. "And have you explain iambic pentameter to me."
"Your father told me about the Valedictorian nomination."
Chuck blushed and took another sip. "It's nothing."
"It is. You should be proud of yourself."
"I actually don't really care. Dan is going to win anyway."
"You really think that?"
"I don't know. He could probably give a better speech. I wish Blair could win though."
"She probably will."
"She isn't. Nelly Yuki is way in front."
"Nelly?" Lewis' face lit up and Chuck figured he had one traitor in the midst.
"You remember her?"
"Of course! I know teachers aren't supposed to have favourite students but she was mine."
"I thought I was."
"Do you really want to go there?"
Chuck supposed he shouldn't.
"She is brilliant."
"Stutters like a horse," Chuck countered.
"She wants to be a paediatrician," Lewis pointed out. "And she's going to Stanford. I wrote her a five page recommendation."
Chuck arched a brow. Lewis was definitely a traitor but perhaps a useful one. "I guess you'll see her this fall then."
Lewis bit her lip. That was far from guaranteed.
"Are you going to keep this apartment when you go back to teach?" Chuck asked.
"I don't think so," Lewis admitted. The Wiltshires would offer but she's pretty sure her answer was going to be no.
"I guess there's not much for you in New York," Chuck fished.
"There's Aidan's grandparents."
"Let's just cut through the bull," Chuck ordered at last, turned away from the railing, the view of the park. "I know what happened between you and my dad. I know that your moving out has little to do with us and everything to do with you two. I even spoke to Lily."
Lewis put a hand to her lips as he said it, embarrassment starting in a crest of red at her neck that crawled to the tips of each cheek. It contrasted with the competing paleness of everywhere else. "Did he tell you?"
Chuck denied that. "I saw you," He explained, the building red of Lewis' cheeks met in the middle.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."
"Why did you?"
Lewis shrugged her shoulders, did not offer any answer.
"Do you," Chuck stared at her closely. "Love my father?"
"I barely know your father."
Chuck caught the lack of denial. "You should spend some more time getting to know him then. It'd give him time to get adjusted to everything and..."
"Chuck," Lewis shook her head, the tiny movement taking most of his hope and crushing it flat. "Your father all but admitted that what he did was part of a game to make me stay."
Chuck felt the punch with the same strength that Lewis must have. It proved how invested he had become. How much he would have preferred her as Lily's replacement, and how willing he was to add another brother besides Eric. He felt the loss for his sake but the anger for hers. The second eventually outweighed the first, or at least turned the loss to a building temper. "I can't believe he did that."
"You shouldn't be angry with him," Lewis tried. "He didn't do anything wrong. It's not like he promised me anything."
Chuck's jaw went a bit harder, eyes glared rather than stared at the passing group of people. He got the answer to his earlier question. "I guess every child has to have that realization that their parents might just be more screwed up than them." Chuck tried to be casual about it, Lewis tried to smile but it made her wince. Then Chuck remembered that she never got the opportunity. "Sorry," He mumbled.
"Don't be," Lewis squeezed his arm one time through. "You should sympathize with your father," Lewis tried another tactic. "It's actually kind of endearing, that kind of love."
"I just," Chuck shook his head in disgust, tiny embers of anger still not extinguished. "I don't know how he can play the part of eternally grieving widower when he was the one who was cheating on my mother." His voice rose over the memory. "Did you know that? It's why she killed herself!"
"Chuck. I don't think..."
"No," Chuck pushed off the railing, put the cup of now tepid tea into the blonde's hand. "I need to go for a walk." He was halfway through the patio doors when he turned back. "I am really sorry for you. You didn't deserve that."
Lewis shut her eyes as he left, her own guilt pushing a hand to her forehead. She'd worked so hard for the reconciliation only to screw it up again by getting too involved. If she had any smarts left, she'd stay out of things from that moment forward. The problem was that she just couldn't; she wanted to fix the mess she'd made. So she picked up her phone and dialed Bart's number. "That thing you wanted my help with? I'll give you a few days to do it," She offered meekly.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Bart was waiting for Chuck when he got home, sitting in the main room, one pinstriped wool leg crossed over the other. Chuck brought the foul superlatives, anger having barely eroded despite a thirty minute stroll through Central Park. He opened his mouth to express one and all but then he noticed what was in his father's hand. It was a Blackberry but it wasn't his father's. The purple proved it was Chuck's instead. That's when he remembered it was Monday at ten o'clock and his conference was Monday at six.
"Jack called me," Bart explained. "Faxed me some paperwork," He added as he tossed the phone to the coffee table. It landed with a bang. "I finished the meeting for you."
"I..."
"Save it Charles. I read the briefs. I have a pretty good idea why you did what you did.
"I planned on being there."
"You need to trust your uncle. Jack McFayden is one of the most brilliant men I have ever worked with. Definitely more creative than me. If anyone is going to solve this problem," Bart handed the papers back to his son. "Then he will."
"I didn't mean to..."
"Just call your uncle Charles. He deserves it," Bart promised as he kicked his feet down. Chuck could see the sympathy and knew it wasn't for him. It wasn't surprising that Bart would jump to Jack's defence. It wasn't just because Jack had been a co-founder of Bass, not because their marriages had made them family, it's because for nearly twenty years Jack had been his father's best friend.
Chuck picked the phone up as his father left the room. He punched the longer area code, waited through the rings with placation on his mind. He could tell his uncle was angry from the greeting, lower and sharper than he had ever heard before. He could vaguely remember Jack ripping into an architect once over the phone. It'd been humbling. When Chuck realized his apologies hadn't pulled Jack's tone either lighter or pleasanter Chuck figured he was due for the live show.
"What were you thinking?"
"I got preoccupied."
"Preoccupied?" Jack threw back in disgust, voice rising even as it slowed. "I hope to God that preoccupied means you're lying in an alley somewhere, or you're hooked up to an IV machine because those are the only acceptable reasons for playing no show."
"No, it was a personal issue."
"Let me guess. Some teenage drama!"
"I'll make it up to you."
"These sorts of things can't be made up!"
"I know I wasn't reliable."
"That's the problem. I worked very hard to build up your credibility, to prove that you were more than just another eighteen year old kid. And what do you do?" Jack yelled through the line. "You prove that's exactly what you are!"
"I know I was entirely in the wrong."
"Do you even realize how foolish you made me look? It's not just your credibility that is on the line. I have had some of those contacts for nearly twenty years! When you don't show it doesn't just make you look bad, it makes everyone who works with you look like a jackass too."
"I'm sorry that I let you down," Chuck offered.
He could hear his uncle hiss back another inhalation of breath and waited for round three. It never came. Jack calmed himself instead, took several steady breaths until his volume turned back to a more natural pitch. "I will call you tomorrow," Jack finally offered in return. "When I am feeling more calm."
Chuck watched his screen turn to black, fingers swiping once. He could feel the tears pool in his eyes, shoulders shake as he felt the full weight of everything hit together. Why did his life always have to go to hell in spades? He pushed the screen again, watched it lighten, scrolled down his contacts until he hit Eric's name. He checked his watch and kept scrolling. It would be just past three o'clock in the morning there. He wasn't that cruel. He pulled down to the N's and hit Nathaniel instead.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
The haze of marijuana circled them both, polluted the beige furnishings of Nate's main living room. The Captain and Anne were gone for the evening, leaving the entire townhouse as the boy's playground. Chuck lay across one side of the room, Nate covering the carpet in the opposite direction. They passed the joint between them, the thick coloring of red in both boys eyes proving it hadn't been the first. "Do you think my dad sucks in bed?" Chuck suggested. "After all, everything went to hell after they slept together."
Nate just laughed, high of pot making it even funnier than it ought to be.
"Maybe I could give him some pointers. If he was good enough then maybe she wouldn't mind that he's, apparently, still hung up on my mom." Chuck shook his head to banish the thought. It was wrong too. It made him as selfish as his father evidently had been.
"Are you hearing yourself?" Nate asked through a chuckle.
"You're right." Chuck shook his head again to clear the hazy thoughts, took another hit to turn them foggier again. "Besides, he can't be that bad. He's still a Bass after all, it's not like he's a Humphrey or something."
That made Nate laugh even harder.
"I just wish she could have been my mom," Chuck admitted even though he was too old to need one, and loved his first too much to really want to replace her. "I even liked her bratty kid. He was kind of cute in a ruin all your pants with snotty fingers, or confuse your name with farm animals sort of way."
"You've still got Eric."
Chuck took a double hit. "He's not even my brother anymore. Not technically. And he's moving to England in the fall, to be with Damien."
"I'm sorry..."
"Oh please," Chuck stared at the row of dots on the ceiling. "I knew it was coming, both parts. I never expected Eric to stay my little pop-up brother forever."
Nate offered the blunt again.
"Now I'm just left with the family that doesn't like me," Chuck decided. "Except my father apparently loves me in some sort of would do crazy messed up things for way. My uncle may never speak to me again though. At least not without shouting."
"He'll have to," Nate countered. "You still have seven projects on the go."
"Maybe I just tried to do too much."
"Oh come on Chuck. You haven't done that much."
Chuck supposed Nate was right. His father always had many more projects on the go, more than you could count with your fingers and toes, and the fingers and toes of the person lying beside you. "I just..." Chuck stared straight up at the ceiling one more time and shut his eyes. "I really don't like my life at present." Nate didn't have a response to that. Chuck didn't want to quantify it by explaining further so they lay in an unbroken silence, rest of the joint burned down between passes. They stayed like that even after, until Chuck finally put to words the question than had been nagging him all along. "Do you think it's wrong to drink?" Chuck finally asked as he opened his eyes, watched the white ceiling again. The muted calm of pot was never quite enough. He needed the confirmation that it had to be enough, that it was wrong to fall back into a bottle again because the more his life went to pieces the more tempting it was to crawl back to the beginning again.
"I guess not," Nate said instead. "If it's just a bit after a bad day. I suppose there's worse stuff you could do."
Chuck winced into the ceiling, shook his head to clear his train of thoughts before they could grow with Nate's misspoken confirmation.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
A/N – First, pause in awe of the fact that Nate is managing to out manipulate both Blair and Chuck! Did you use up those 100 pins? Is Voodoo Nate pierced through every conceivable inch. Then I suggest you buy 100 more for the next and last chapter of 'worst best friend ever' N (I got a chuckle out of the anonymous Nate flamer..love you!). By the way I know it's totally inconceivable that E could get into Eton, it's just one of the many things you have to suspend your disbelief over and remember that this is a fanfic after all. :)
Flipped – Nate, Nate, Nate....always worried about himself and what he wants. He'd sell out his own father, he's already sold out his best friend.
Annablake – You guessed right. It was Eric that got his happily ever after first. He truly does deserve it the most though. I'm not surprised you were confused by L. I left her motives kind of hazy for a bit on purpose. I wanted people to kind of suspect her of not being truthful at first. That being said, she'd got to have serous commitment issues considering she never once had a stable home as a youth. She will spell out her entire history next post.
Akimat – Nate is going to have to face up to what he's doing before the end. It ain't going to be pretty.
The Disruptive One – Two reviews on how shitty a friend Nate is. I just love it! I have to say that you can't blame Nate for holding C back (I think he does). C is the one who chose to continue to have him a friend because he likes being enabled. Why do you think he really didn't call E?
Sky Samuelle – I'm glad you liked the Bass stuff in the last chapter. I hope you'll still like Bart after this chapter. He's a manipulator just like his son.
Blair S – Someone had to remind Serena that she could be lying in the coffin though so that she understands that doing drugs isn't something casual or fun. She's about to embark on an industry where drug use is very high after all.
Oc-journey – Yeah! Yes, Nate just needs to man up and tell his father that he wants to go to UCLA. All that stuff that he's going through over that is his own fault because he KNEW he didn't want to go to Dartmouth but he kept pretending he might. That's the thing. A lot of Nate's problems are his own fault but he doesn't see it. He likes to play the victim.
Supernovelty – I agree with your assumption that what Nate wants is Blair to love him the way she loves/d Chuck. After all, he came to a 'realization' as Blair was trying so hard to save his best friend. C is going to lose it but more with N than with B.
Angie38 – Is Bart stupid though? Or does he just not feel what we all assumed he did? Or maybe he does and he's confused like Lily suggested! Guess we'll find out next post.
CBEBIW trory – Yeah, someone told me about GGKoolaid because I was on the poll for best series and another one too. I liked it except I enjoy the character of Vanessa (though I think they do use her as a plot device rather than giving her a consistent personality and back story)
Up Next - Sometimes alcohol has the potential to loosen lips but who's doing their confessing sober? Who needs a bottle or two? And who needs too much?
