AN: I think I need to do a quick recap to the reasons why Celeste is reluctant towards her family money as those reasons are really spread out over the three stories, which may be getting a little confusing (damn me and my too elaborate story plans that get out of hand). And I really don't blame you - it's a lot to follow and I know most of you are reading other stories at the same time. So a huge thanks for keeping reading this one.
So reasons why Celeste wanted to get away from her family:
- Her brother was abusive/manipulative towards her boyfriends, blackmailing them to leave etc.
- Her family money came with strings - e.g family deciding what was proper for her to do: study, work, marry, hang out with etc. Keeping up appearances (imagine the world of Elias and Shira Huntzberger)
- Taking her old name back, or claiming to be Odette again, would also mean that she wouldn't be a mother to Evie and owener of her properties in the US on paper. She tore up her old passport, and got her new name through slightly sketchy channels (Mitchum called in a favor). We'll see what I can do with this part...
Anyways she has reasons to believe that accepting anything from them comes with strings and ulterior motives. For example this could mean that they might make her liable of something related to the bad decisions with the business Henri made. I'm still figuring out exacly where I am going with that, have a few ideas up my sleeve I need to choose from
But today is just about G and Paris, not Celeste at all.
And any French bits I used in the stories - you don't really need to look up translations for - I explain what it said in the explaining text just after it. I just like to use it to add some flavor. I always 'hear' characters speaking when I write. I hope this is okay.
G sat at the round antique dinner table with her mother and Remi, each on a different style and color chair, in their living room that also doubled as a kitchen and bit into a slice of Crottin de Chavignol with cherry jam. She was usually more conscious about her eating habits, but here, visiting like this, she just let herself go. But where else, if not in France during Christmas?
The room was painted plain white, but the walls of the old building were not completely straight, adding it some character. Colorful textile cables with lonely large bulbs formed the main light source of the room that reached out like the legs of an oversized spider across the ceiling. Remi had come up with that element years ago before it had become popular.
Being around art all day long, his and others, Remi didn't like having paintings around the house, wanting to keep the walls clean and uncluttered. Furniture, however, just like the previously mentioned mismatched chairs, was an eclectic and colorful pick mixing plastic, mid century modern and that of 1930s and -40s, including also a perfectly nondescript IKEA lounge couch. Instead of a TV the place had a projector. Come to think of it, very little had changed since she'd lived there, except for the computer having been exchanged for a newer one and the addition of a dozen or so potted plants around the place.
G was watching, rather than listening, her mother speak excitedly what had been going on with their lives - what they were thinking about renovating around the house, where they were going on holiday this year, how they'd made some big art deals the past few months and how Remi's son, now well in his late 20s was doing in college, having decided to go to art school in the UK, was doing. She'd naturally already spent a good deal of the road trip with her mother talking about how everyone was doing in the States and how school was going, but without really having gone to great depths. She could tell Sherry was desparately trying to connect, like always, and in her tone, when they were alone, was always some hint of guilt. But it was so easy to really just keep the tone upbeat and happy, G feeling like she needed a break from her problems as well - as much as she could take one.
What she could tell from watching her mother was that she still seemed as happy as she'd been when they'd lived in that house together. Sherry still looked energetic and was still almost as skinny as she'd been years ago, the yoga regiment having stuck with her from her first boyfriend she'd met when she'd first moved to France, but her face had changed - it was a little fuller, rounder around the cheeks, narrow wrinkles now showing on her forehead and around her eyes. Time was ruthless that way.
They'd snacked on some cheese, crackers, fruit and figs, and had a glass of wine, Remi probably a couple, not bothering to cook anything much on Christmas Eve. At some point G was woken from her haze of thought by someone calling her name.
"Earth to Georgia?" her mother asked, tilting her head to get her to notice her.
"Yeah, sorry," she reacted in English.
"Remi just asked you a question," Sherry said. She wasn't mad, just hinting that I'd be polite to answer if one was asked a question.
"Pardon, peux-tu répéter," G replied, apologizing and asked him to repeat the question. Remi understood and spoke English, he just preferred not to speak it, hence they were pretty much grown into a bi-lingual household. Besides, it had been good for G too to master the language.
Remi asked G whether she had a boyfriend in the States. It really wasn't what she had wanted to discuss, not with either of them, and instead of replying straight away she took a bite of brie.
"Je ne sors plus avec personne," she replied, explaining that she wasn't seeing anyone.
"Je trouve ça dur à croire," he exclaimed, essentially noting he found that hard to believe. He was always rather expressive, speaking with strong emphatics while gesturing with his hands.
"Personne d'important, du moins," G corrected, feeling like he'd let it go faster this way. Essentially she continued to explain in some more detail that she'd dated a little but there was no-one important. That was only borderline true of course - what she and Finn had had, barely, couldn't really be called dating and with Brody there was simply the kind of seeing rather than dating that happened when he'd sometimes come to meet her after school or what went on in the bedroom, and that she really wasn't going to go into that much detail on. But of course both of these were now history.
Remi went on to reminisce about his own teenage years - what it was like growing up in the little village, not too far from where they lived, how he'd chase after girls trying to impress them and how they'd paid little attention to his advancements, accompanying those stories with some humorous details. He was always entertaining like that - telling stories, either with his words or on canvas. Sherry would pitch in, talking about herself growing up as the most popular girl in her high school in Boston and joke how Remi also had to chase after her in the beginning. In that way they were really cute together, and for this G was grateful for - her mother was happy and they really did seem to work well together.
For this reason it was hard for G to really admit, even to herself, that she couldn't quite shake the feeling that when she was alone with Remi, she kept sensing there was something off. It was the way he looked at her and the way he touched her, even if it was in passing and almost innocently - passing in a narrow hallway or the utterly normalized cheek kisses.
She had for days now tried to think back to the time when she'd actually lived here, until the age of 13, somehow having not really thought about it when she'd been in the States at all, and she did recall being fairly physical with him until that time. There had definitely been some kisses, sometimes landing a bit closer to the lips than cheek - but this was surely a French thing. Or at least so she'd interpreted it at the time. There had also been cuddling in front of the TV, with or without her mom there - but if he did see her as a daughter of sorts, surely that was normal too? He'd bought her things - clothes, makeup, books, and complimented her on her looks - that alone was nothing out of the ordinary either, was it? A few times, they'd even watched some movies together which had had some erotic scenes - American Beauty, Eyes Wide Shut and Dirty Dancing being a few that would've now perhaps raised eyebrows - not nothing too graphic but still. But she'd no doubt been curious herself, she couldn't be sure - maybe it had been her curiosity that had chosen movies like that? But at the same time probably even more times they'd watched just regular movies together. Just like among other topics they'd on occasion discussed relationships - various scenarios of them, including the role of sex in them and for example why people cheated. At the time it had seemed facinating to her - to have someone who wasn't embarrassed to talk about things like that, who was 'cool' and understanding of her youthful interests. He'd almost always taken her side in the liberties she had, not making a big deal of it if she wanted to stay later or wear something more revealing to school than her mother would usually allow.
G had no recollection of things ever having gone further than that - but it felt now, as it was registering, years later, definitely very borderline. And she wasn't really sure anymore how much of this had been her and how much of it had been his persuasion. Either way she felt she knew better now where that line should lay, making a mental note not to let things go into the grey zone while she was here.
"You know, Remi is opening his new exhibition soon, the opening is on New Years Eve. The gallery space here is too small, so we're having it in Pantin, you could come if you want," Sherry suggested to G who had again zoned out a little, her gaze fixed out the window towards the deck.
She didn't reply anything right away, thinking.
"... or if you want, you can call up some of your old friends?" she Sherry.
"I'll think about it," G replied.
G didn't really mind either idea, the art scene was pretty cool, and she knew the gallery in Pantin was definitely a nice venue, probably attracting all sorts of interesting crowds. Remi being there shouldn't really be an issue - he'd be busy with showing off his work. But at the same time she really didn't know if her old friends would in fact want to catch up, and if they did, whether inviting her somewhere for New Years Eve celebrations was even something they'd consider. Besides, transportation was going to be difficult when attempting to go about on her own.
Paris was in her office, enjoying the silence in her empty clinic. Doyle had the kids this year for Christmas and Paris really had been in no hurry to head home, and was finishing up some reports she usually prefered to have done before the New Year, her noise cancelling headphones playing some Chopin and Pachelbel that usually helped her focus. She felt rather satisfied with herself, knowing she'd now have at least two full days of silence - no kids, no calls, no interruptions, no nagging feeling in the back of her head that she had work to do - just her and Virginia Woolf's 'To The Lighthouse' which she was going to reread.
It was already pretty late, well past 9 PM when she was packing up her stuff to head off, finally folding up her headphones and placing them in her drawer, when she unexpectedly heard voices from the hallway. The clinic was supposed to be closed, hence she had believed to be alone in the place.
"I understand your concern, but as far as I can tell they're just false contractions," Vikki's voice said just before Paris opened the door to the hallway, almost ready to huff at anyone who was out there, asking why they were there at this hour.
"Hi," Paris said as she stepped closer, noting the clients, a local congressman and his heavily pregnant wife, then nodding to Vikki, who returned the gesture.
"Hi - I didn't know anyone else was here. Dr. Geller, perhaps you could offer us your second opinion?" the congressman insisted.
Paris really just wanted to go home, but this was what the work was like. Vikki, right now dressed in a turtleneck black dress and block-heel combat boots with red bootlaces, her white lab coat over it, apparently was the doctor on call and had come in on their request.
"Dr. Irwing?" Paris addressed Vikki, asking for a summary of the situation, remaining professional. Normally Paris would've just told them to trust the doctor, but as she was new there, having just taken over these patients form and this was a very important patient - she could humour them for a few minutes.
"Sandra here is 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant. Experiencing irregular contractions, 5 to 20 minutes apart, have lasted for nearly two hours. Pain level 4. Have not increased in frequency. Baby's heart sounds fine, no bleeding. Patient isn't dilated," Vikki listed. Paris could sense some annoyment in her tone, but it really was rather at her than the patients, and it was barely detectable, and frankly, she would've been herself too if someone hadn't trusted her judgement on something as simple as that.
"How much water have you had today?" Paris asked them, casting an apologetic glance towards Vikki.
"More of other things than water, but I don't feel thirsty," the patient replied, not quite understanding why she was asking that.
"It really does sound like Braxton Hicks'," Paris confirmed, putting on her best assuring bedside manner, which she thankfully didn't need to use very often. "I suggest you just go home, relax, drink some liquids - use our app - 'Dynasty Makers Labor', it tells you when you should go to the hospital. It has nearly a 99% accuracy rate if you fill it out correctly," she assured. Apps were wonderful - they followed rules and logic. People, however, didn't often use them rationally.
"Well, alright - you heard what they said," the congressman urged his wife to leave, helping her puffy winter jacket on, clearly wanting to leave already as well.
"Thank you," the patient muttered, still not feeling very calm about the whole thing, and turned to leave. It was her first baby, so that was to be expected.
"Thank you, bye," Vikki replied and waved them off. Her phone chimed.
"Don't hesitate to call if you have more questions," Paris called after them, rolling her eyes so only Vikki could see, as soon as they left. "Idiots, they've called the helpline like three times this week - I've told them all of this twice already," Paris muttered, having taken a few on-call shifts as well because they were still understaffed.
"An on-call day wouldn't be one without another set of first timers," Vikki replied cheekily. "I once had this woman who was expecting her fifth - drove herself to the hospital, let another first timer get a room before she did and then ended up having the baby in the hallway, standing up, just making a couple of huffs like she was getting her legs waxed or something," Vikki recalled one of her more unusual patients and then checked her phone that had chimed a few seconds ago.
"Yeah," Paris shrugged, knowing that this was clearly a field that had its perks and cons, and went to get her own coat from the employees' closet.
"Crap," Vikki grumbled quietly, placing her phone down on the reception desk and took off her white coat.
"Everything okay?" Paris asked, as she was wrapping her black cashmere scarf around her neck, while Vikki went to take her other coat.
"Just lost my date. Apparently showing up an hour late because you're on call is not acceptable these days," she sighed, realizing the time. "Oh well…," she sighed and zipped up
"On Christmas Eve?" Pairs inquired with some disbelief.
Vikki shrugged. "It's my first year without Silas around," she said.
Paris could guess that it was probably some casual hookup thing. Hey, who was she to judge, having done the same a couple of times. And for being alone on Christmas Eve, even if she herself really didn't do Christmas, she felt a little compassionate towards her.
"We could go grab a drink or something," Paris suddenly found herself offering. "Oh right, you're on call," she corrected, realizing there were a lot of holes in her suggestion. Besides, it wasn't really like her at all to invite coworkers anywhere. Usually she wouldn't want to and they wouldn't dare to - she wasn't exactly the most pleasant bosses to work for.
"Well.. technically, not since 15 minutes ago, so sure," Vikki said casually, noting the wall clock behind the reception desk. "But I don't think there's much open around here tonight," she added, making it ever more clear to Paris that she'd never really intended on going on an actual date that took place anywhere other than that person's home or perhaps some hotel lobby.
"I don't usually invite employees to my house like this… but it'd be an option. You were on Argyle, right? So it's not very far - you wouldn't have to drive very far later," Paris added, trying to rationalize. She liked her home, being at home and the contents of her wine fridge, not having to compromise on anything - in many ways she was doing the most convenient thing for her. She lived in a slightly more upscale neighbourhood than Vikki did, but it was West Hartford either way, the main distance between them being some 5-10 minutes driving time and a single number in their post codes.
"Umm.. Sure," she replied.
Ever since the children's Christmas party, Paris and Vikki had begun talking a lot more - mostly this was just hallway banter or lunch - usually culminating in one of them bashing some public figure or a competing company they both knew, in some mystical way Vikki having managed to find that balance very quickly what was appropriate in front of a superior and what was not. Paris appreciated her no-bullshit repartee - it was refreshing frankly. Ever now and again she felt like she might be pushing her a little or testing her. Towards what she wasn't really sure - unprofessionalism maybe? But the effect that this was having on her was unexpected - Paris hadn't actually felt this excited going to work in years. Sure, she was a workaholic who liked going to work, but she usually just preferred to isolate herself whenever she was there and stick to speaking to those who brought in the big bucks.
She could feel a type of friendship developing, which for her was rare on so many levels. Even with Rory the relationship was rigid, unnatural, having just grown on them through time - thick and thin, but here she didn't need to make any effort, she didn't even need her social filter most of the time.
But at the same time Paris felt like she was lying. Well, she wasn't lying per se, but she was hiding what she knew. For the past week Paris had been considering laying a trap in something they spoke about that would lead to her dropping in somewhere that she went to Chilton, perhaps helping her make the connection, or even outright mentioning that she knew her marital name. Vikki didn't really speak about Tristian at work, and Paris was frankly becoming interested in that part less and less. She was curious, of course, but it wasn't the reason she talked to her.
"I mean - if it's weird for you, you can say 'no'," Paris added almost as they were about to exit, as she was beginning to doubt herself and doubting whether she'd heard some hesitation in her voice. Would she have dare to say 'no' if her boss had asked her to come over for a drink?
"I'm fine with it, if you are," Vikki shrugged.
"I just don't do this a lot…," Paris explained and texted her the address as they took the elevator downstairs to the parking floor so each could take their respective car. There were other aspects to consider of course, their work relationship being one of them.
They reached 59 Sycamore Road in about 15 minutes and within that time Paris had begun to fret. What was she doing exactly befriending an employee like this, an ex-wife of her high school crush no less? That and the little things such as what state her place was in right now, having given the maid and the nanny Christmas off as she really hadn't been expecting to do anything other than lounge around the house all by herself. There really wasn't anything to worry about when it came to the latter, but it simply wasn't very Paris-like to be spontaneous like this, and she liked to be in control.
"Wow, that's a nice house," Vikki commented as they both stepped out of their cars.
"It's a little too much Disney princess castle from the outside... But I found it fitting...and I like the area" Paris explained, hinting at the cone-tipped tower that housed the staircase. It was a 1930s French style, made of red brick - and it definitely had a share of odd Medieval-adapted features that Ebbets and Frid, who'd also designed the West Hartford Town Hall, had adored, but the reasons for her picking the place had been much different - it's secludedness, preferably not wanting to see or hear a neighbour. She still did, but not a lot, thankfully her closest neighbours being the kind that travelled most of the time. There was also her love for classic literature and music, but that was not all.
"Fitting for what?" Vikki inquired, as they stepped through the front door.
"A lot of people don't appreciate it really, and I had it stashed away in storage for years, but when I saw this place - I knew it was time to bring it out again," Paris explained, hanging up her and Vikki's coats. "And really - I do get it that most people don't see it's value and you don't need to pretend you do if you don't. As rarely as I have guests here, this is my thing I like to show off," she added, and led her towards the kitchen. Connected to the kitchen there was the library and in the very center of it there it stood.
"Blou printing press, 18th century," Paris said, smiling widely. There had never been room for the press when she'd lived with Doyle, for obvious reasons, but she'd managed to stash the thing in Lorelai's garage for years. It had sentimental value and then some.
"Do you know who used it?" Vikki asked, surprising Paris by actually seeming to care. Most people would've just commented it's size.
"Unknown, but the story is that it's linked to John Murray. One can only hope," she explained.
"Was he the guy who published 'Emma'?" Vikkin inquired, referring to the book of that name by Jane Austin.
"And 'On the origin of species'," Paris added.
"How did you get this?" Vikki inquired, as she walked around the heavy timber printing press.
"I inherited it - one could say that it was one of the perks of dating your professor in college," Paris said. "Professor Asher Fleming was something alright," she added, for a moment remaining silent as if out of respect for the man.
"Anyways - I'm sorry if this was a bore. Now I remember promising a drink," Paris said, and returned to the kitchen in a jaunty step, still unsure whether that had been weird or not.
"It's definitely something you are passionate about, and definitely not a bore," Vikki replied.
"Wine or something stronger?" Paris asked, checking her cupboard if she had anything good to snacks and chose out some crackers and chocolate raisins out of the selections.
"Oh, wine is fine," Vikki replied.
"Wine it is," Paris replied. 2Lewis Cabernet Sauvignon 2002"?" she asked, as she searched for the bottle in question in her wine fridge and grabbed the corkscrew at the same time.
"It was a good year, you won't hear a complaint from me," she replied.
An hour later they were in the backyard, sitting in recliners by the unlit fire pitch with a couple of blankets and the patio heater on, Paris showing Vikki why she'd chosen the house and why she liked to hang out outside in the winter. The bottle of wine had nearly disappeared and when not listening to the silence, they'd talked about how they'd had their kids, and a little about their career paths, but the humorous version rather than the job interview version Paris had heard from her before.
"How long have you been divorced?" Vikki suddenly asked, no longer asking or hesitating whether it was an appropriate thing to ask, the wine having loosened them both up a fair bit.
"Almost four years," Paris replied. Saying it out loud still felt odd - it was half the age of her kids. "You?" she asked in return, though from the name change on her resume she could probably guess.
"God...like six and half years or something. Silas really doesn't even remember us being together," Vikki sighed.
"So what happened there - if you don't mind me asking?" Paris asked, again her mouth having a mind of its own. She shouldn't care, she shouldn't be asking these things - she scolded herself.
"I'd like to say that it was just about getting married for the sake of me getting knocked up. That it wasn't a good reason, but I just.. I don't know.. I saw that he wasn't happy, he wasn't handling being a father to a difficult kid very well, and he was difficult already then. And I guess I ended up sabotaging it a bit. Like I wanted it to end but I didn't have the heart to do it as if that would make me more guilty than what I actually did," Vikki explained.
Paris took another sip of wine and then raised her eyebrows at Vikki, as if keeping her mouth full of wine would somehow stop her for asking the question she wanted to ask.
"I slept with someone," she answered the question that hadn't been asked.
There was a moment of silence until Paris swallowed her wine.
"I think I get it - so you made him hate you instead of making him feel bad for not being able to do it," Paris said. She firmly believed that not everybody was cut out to be parents, her own parents being prime examples.
"Something like that…," Vikki replied. "Why did you guys break up?" she asked.
"He decided he didn't want to be that person anymore. It was like someone flipped the middle-age switch and all of a sudden he no longer liked journalism and quality writing, the classics, instead he liked money, sports cars, celebrities and blondes..," Paris described in a lively manner.
"You're a blonde," Vikki said, tilting her head.
Paris appreciated her making a joke out of it.
"Well not beach blonde enough apparently," Paris snickered.
"Did he cheat?" she asked.
"Not until we were separated, but it felt like cheating. It was like pulling a rug from under me. Like all this time he'd just been pretending and suddenly he announced he wasn't that guy. We used to make fun of guys like that, together," Paris explained, bringing a few more concrete examples
"I honestly think if it had just been some one night stand, he might have just forgiven me. He wasn't, well.. isn't such a clean slate himself… but I think that I did it with a woman was what hurt his pride a little too much to even consider it," Vikki revealed.
Paris hadn't quite expected that, but then again she didn't really pick up on social cues too well, hence not really knowing what to say. She simply nodded, and took another sip. It was not like this was a date or something - this was just to co-workers, maybe friends - hanging out with a bottle of wine on Christmas Eve. But Paris could definitely sense that she'd meant to reveal it to her, which made Paris only more guilty about not having come clean about knowing Tristian.
Paris offered Vikki some more wine, but she declined, and Paris emptied the remainder of the bottle into her own glass instead.
As the silence lingered Paris was this close to saying something along the lines of, 'when I went to Chilton…' and then think up something random just get it over with her own confession, but Vikki spoke first.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make this weird. Trust me this is not me trying to hit on you - I just started working for you… I just felt like maybe that part of me, that I'm a little fluid, is something I hadn't really spoken of before. I don't know - I just didn't want to hide it," Vikki explained. "Anyways, I better be off, two is my limit," she added, and folded up the blanket that had kept her warm.
"It's not weird, don't worry about it…," Paris managed to say. "This really was fun," she added smilingly, feeling a little sour for not having gotten the Tristian issue off her chest, before she heave herself up from the recliner to send Vikki off.