Vignette 6

"Absence is a funny thing." -Jacques Demy, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg

She had asked to speak to Scarlett alone. Within four fading walls, she sat on the poor sofa like its pompous queen. Rather than glistening jewels, she wore black crepe, and it covered those beady, admonishing eyes. An Old Guard lady, though she did not quite recall who. They were all the same these days. Frail, fussy, and bitter. Wore nothing but black.

Scarlett stared at the chirping bird through the four-pane window, wondering when it would end. The parlor door was closed—it was just her, the four walls, and the black-creped woman.

"You've done it again Scarlett Ha—Kennedy." Like Scarlett, she had forgotten Charles. The woman blushed with shame at her thoughtlessness.

"It's not proper, especially not with that man. You're ruining yourself and you're bringing your family down with it."

That man. When was the last time she saw him? He had gone away for business for a few days, and so she was cooped up in the house, trapped when the Old Guard lady ambushed her. If only he were here, and they could indulge in the luxury of laughing and playing and simply not caring. The brief separation enlivened the memory of him, which kept her company in the lonely house. His lounging figure was not unlike the paintings of the pagan gods, surrounded in shrouds of greenery, and covered in head-to-toe finery. His desirous eyes, his voice, his near-touch. They were rich and vivid for now, but good memories were taken for granted and would decay and wrinkle over time.

It had only been three days.

The room was closing in and the woman continued:

"Think of poor Frank, of Wade and Ella! Why, it's as if you see that blackguard more than you do them! I don't even know how you can associate with him when he… "

Her nagging voice receded into a far corner of her mind, and she instead remembered the sweet sounds of whistling birds, of rustling leaves, of rippling water. All while they clandestinely acted as lovers, shielding their sins with the forest and shadow. But, of course, that's all it was—acting. They were not lovers, they didn't love each other, so they could pretend. It was just a game, like those silly games before the war. She played, she took, she conquered. Simple, easy, clean transactions.

"Next time he approaches you, deny him. Correct things once and for all. You should have shut him off years ago. Ever since the war."

The woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she watched fury flicker in those green eyes. She had never seen such a color nor such a passion. Too much for a lady, too much to be suppressed. With this overwhelming amount perhaps, she could have dared. And the thought of that possibility sent the old woman reeling, her body keen to exit to spread the word. She had done it; Scarlett Kennedy had done it—

"No."

Oh?

"Excuse me?"

"I will keep seeing him as I please. I cannot say I fully appreciate your concern, since my affairs are not much of your business. He is a dear friend and has helped Melly and I too many times to count. Why, I wouldn't stop receiving him, even if he had fought on the Yankee side."

The thin ailing thread that weaved her some respectability had broken.

"Do you mean those words? Truly? You don't know what you're saying."

"I do."

The Old Guard lady left shortly after. Scarlett wondered if she made a grave mistake, but she couldn't stand them telling her what to do. The chirping bird had left its post by her window sometime during the exchange and it would have been silent if not for the sloshing of liquid against the decanter. Or the faint grunts of Frank Kennedy that sounded from upstairs.

Amber liquid glass in one hand, she used the other to pick up the letter that had reckoned the visit. Someone must have seen him drop it off. They were always seeing, always knowing.

My dearest, Scarlett

I am afraid I cannot spend all my days "loving" you to distraction. I cannot imagine the man who would undertake such an arduous task. I have other things to do, some business ventures to sort out and you may expect me to return in no more than a week from now. Hopefully, you will not find any other cads to replace me with. You are quite fickle my dear.

I suppose now is the time to list all your many attributes. I recall likening your eyes to fish in a fishbowl, but you did not seem to appreciate the compliment (for it was a compliment). But, you've always been blind to such things. So, shall I compare thee to a summer's day? I think you would prefer if I compared your eyes to emeralds, but surely you are already aware of this fact. Perhaps I should comment on your shrewd business mind or your lusty passion for living? I have a feeling that your vanity isn't quite pleased yet.

It seems I am no good at this. You were right, my dear, it seems I lack experience in one field. Do I conclude with an 'I love you' or would that be too gratuitous? It does seem that way, so I think it is much better to be left unsaid. It isn't real anyway, so it should not be of any importance.

Rhett.

She sighed and poured herself a generous dose of brandy.

And so she waited.

Author's Note: Just wanted to clarify some things before we move on. For context, in the movie this is based on the two protagonists' spouses are having an affair, so they go through these various pretend situations to see how the affair started. Soon, illusion blurs with reality and they fall in love, essentially becoming just like their spouses (without the consummation). It doesn't have a happy ending; it's rather melancholic.

So, in the last chapter, they were just simulating a romantic conversation, the 'little experiment' that Rhett was referring to. When she says she loves him, she is just playing a game. He says it back, only because of the protection of her thinking it's not real. And consequently, she thinks it is part of the pretense. Reality and illusion are so muddled together that it's difficult to distinguish what is what. And then her marriage to Frank is a whole other obstacle.

Hope it makes sense!