Rating: heavy PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated. I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.
Author's Notes: The title and poetry are from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot. The Pavillion is a real four-star restaurant in Newport. Marc Grossman is based on a real asshole that I know.
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Chapter 10: Liquid
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
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Excuse me. Summer caught the arm of the waiter as he breezed past. Have you had a message for Summer Roberts?
The bland-faced waiter looked vaguely sympathetic and shook his head. I can go check, though, he offered.
Summer gestured dismissively. Don't bother. The waiter glided off and she sighed, dragging a finger across the liquid condensation on the side of her water glass. The elegant chatter and clink of glasses of the Pavillion surrounded her, leaving her more lonely than usual. This wasn't the first time that she'd sat here at their usual corner table, waiting for Daddy alone. But in the past he'd always called to leave a message for her, letting her know why he was late. Today, nothing. And he was over an hour late.
Summer grabbed another roll from the stylish breadbasket. Usually Daddy ate the soft, buttery rolls while she munched on the peppercorn breadsticks and parmesan crisps — she liked things that crunched — but she'd already finished them tonight. The waiter stopped by with a refill of her ice water and an offer to bring her an appetizer, but she refused. She'd wait.
For what seemed like the thousandth time she checked her cell phone for a missed call, making sure that it was set to ring, that there were no new messages. She wanted to call somebody, but she wasn't sure who. No one was at home, and she'd already tried Daddy's office: his secretary said he'd left an hour and a half ago. Summer wasn't sure what to make of it. Things had been really different recently, but the signs were certainly familiar. Missed appointments, unexplained absences...
Summer shook her head. No. That was before. It was different now. Daddy was different now. He wouldn't stand her up for another woman. He'd changed.
Things at home had changed drastically as well. A Saturday in mid-March had opened with an awkward meeting in the living room, Summer perching stiffly on the rarely used couch, watching Daddy and Celeste as they sat gingerly across from her. The scene had felt familiar, reminiscent of news of an engagement from long ago, and she had tried to quell the foolish hope that they might be getting a divorce. Celeste would never admit defeat and accept a divorce, and Daddy would never be bothered to do the paperwork.
Feeling like a small child and frustrated by the interminable side-skirting of the issue, Summer had finally demanded an explanation, only to be met with a surprise she'd never seen coming: Celeste was pregnant. Summer's astonishment had been followed by a wary excitement. On one level, sure, she knew that this pregnancy was probably a planned by Celeste, a last-ditch ploy to draw Daddy's wandering eye back to her. But it had been hard not to be moved by the happy shine of tears in Celeste's eyes, the way they glowed as she gazed at Daddy in a way they hadn't been since their wedding day. And Daddy had been grinning in a way that Summer had never seen before.
The three of them had gone out to dinner to celebrate and spent the whole time tentatively sharing thoughts about what a baby might mean. Summer and Celeste had ended up gushing over baby names while Daddy ordered another round of desert for all three of them.
Yet as happy as that evening had been, Summer hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy. There was no way it would last. She'd been burned too many times in the past, most recently with Celeste's marriage to Daddy. It wouldn't be long before they were both ignoring her again, before things went back to normal.
But things didn't go back to normal. Or rather, a new normal had developed. Celeste became sober overnight. All alcohol had vanished from the house, along with the pills in the bathroom cabinet. Celeste had asked for Summer's input on decorating the new baby's room. The family ate dinner together almost every night; no more hints of affairs. And Daddy had followed up on his suggestion that he and Summer spend more time together by instituting a weekly dinner, just the two of them. Since then, they hadn't missed a week; every Friday Daddy would take Summer out to the Pavillion and sit there with his gaze on her, listening while she talked. Summer wasn't crazy about the food, especially the caviar, but she loved having Daddy's undivided attention. It never failed to shock and delight her when he remembered what she said from week to week.
Except for tonight, when he hadn't even shown up.
Summer was pissed. She'd been especially excited for dinner tonight, because she wanted to show Daddy her report card. The past three months had also had a surprising affect on Summer's academic life as well. With her newfound peace at home she'd been discovering a scholastic aptitude she hadn't known existed since the fifth grade. She'd forgotten how keeping up with her work made her classes so much easier. In fact, it was addictive. By the very end of the school year she'd become the star of her easy classes, passing her finals with flying colors and even managing to place into AP Biology. She'd been waiting all week to share the good news with Daddy, but her excitement was quickly waning.
The shrill tones of electronic Mozart cut through her sulking, and she picked up her cell phone from beside her plate. It was Daddy. Ignoring the glares of the elderly couple behind her, Summer flipped open the phone and dropped her voice,
Summer had never seen Celeste cry before. Not real, damaged tears. She'd seen her cry crocodile tears when she wanted to play the pity card, a single fake teardrop that didn't blur her mascara. Now she wasn't wearing any mascara.
Celeste lay, pale and washed-out on the white hospital bed, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wasn't wearing any make-up, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. The second Summer entered the room Celeste wiped her cheeks and looked away. She no longer resembled the blond ice queen Summer had always found so intimidating. Taking in her stepmother's defeated eyes, her pale fingers twisting the diamond ring on her hand, Summer found no feelings of satisfaction or pleasure, only pity.
Daddy intercepted her at the door and pulled her outside. Summer, why don't you come with me while I get some coffee.
What happened? Summer asked, sitting down on a bench in the hallway. Her legs felt as though they were made of liquid.
Daddy looked distracted, slump-shouldered, hands in his pockets. During the first trimester it's often hard to tell. It could have been a number of things.
Is Celeste okay? Summer would never admit it, but in these few charmed months she'd begun to feel fond of Celeste, seeing her in the new light of happy wife and expectant mother. Feeling her place in the family was more secure with a baby on the way, Celeste had been less defensive, less competitive towards Summer. More like a big sister or a fun aunt, if not a mother.
The doctor wants her to stay overnight so they can do a D and C, but she'll be fine. Summer nodded, pretending she knew what Daddy meant. He must have finally noticed her slumped posture, because he sat beside her on the bench and put his hands on her shoulders. We're going to get through this together, the three of us. Okay, Princess? Summer nodded, trusting the warmth with which he said those words, and he kissed her forehead. I'm going to go make a phone call. Will you keep an eye on her? She nodded again.
He walked off, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, and Summer stood up from the bench. She spent a few minutes hovering by the door, unsure of whether Celeste wanted to be alone or not. Her eyes were closed, but she looked like she was only pretending to be asleep. Summer shifted from one foot to the other — her platform sandals made her ankles ache — and tried to ignore the terrible emptiness in her stomach. Everything she'd been orienting her life around these past three months had been snatched away in less than three hours. She couldn't shake the guilty feeling that just a short time ago she'd been upset at Daddy being late for dinner, and now that hardly mattered. In fact, she'd give almost anything to be back in the restaurant, back before everything had been ruined.
Excuse me, honey, a nurse said brusquely, pushing past Summer. She entered the room and handed Celeste several pills and a cup of water. Swallow these, they'll help with the pain, Summer heard her say. Celeste took the pills with a smile, downed them without the liquid to help.
Do you think the doctor could write me a prescription? she asked softly, catching the nurse's wrist. You know, just to get me through the week. Summer was reminded uncomfortably of a junkie begging for a fix, but shook off the impression. Celeste was in pain. There were real uses for painkillers and miscarriage was probably one of them.
The nurse freed herself. I'll see what I can do, Mrs. Roberts. She exited the room, ignoring Summer as she passed. Summer waited a minute before creeping into the room; Celeste gave her a cold once-over.
What are you doing here? she demanded, sitting up a little in bed.
I — Summer swallowed, wondering why Celeste looked so angry. Daddy told me to stay with you. She approached the bed slowly. I'm here if you want to talk.
I don't! Celeste snapped. She sneered, and suddenly Summer didn't feel as sorry for her. I'll bet you're happy now, aren't you?
Summer felt as though she'd been slapped.
You never wanted me to have this baby! Celeste's voice was hard. You can't stand to the idea of sharing him with anybody! Oh no, because then you wouldn't be Daddy's little princess anymore!
Summer wasn't sure whether to feel hurt or furious. That's not true!
Yes it is! Celeste was beginning to sound hysterical. You never wanted us to be a family! You always hated me because I wasn't your mother!
At that, Summer lost it. No, I always hated you because you never wanted to be my mother!
Shut up!
No, I won't shut up! It felt good to scream at Celeste, good to air years of grievances. Summer hadn't yelled at her stepmother since she was eleven. I hate you, you fucking drug addict! You probably killed the baby yourself with your stupid addictions!
Get out of my room! Celeste lunged for the nurse's buzzer and pressed it, staring at Summer with half-crazed eyes. Get out of my room before I call security!
Summer slammed the door and marched down the hallway in a towering rage. She felt furious, enraged, empowered. But she realized upon reaching the end of the corridor that she had nowhere to go. She supposed she should find Daddy, tell him about the fight with Celeste before Celeste could. Maybe he could help them patch things up.
She spotted him in the small lobby by the elevator, still talking on his cell phone. He had his back to her, his voice low, but in the quiet around him his words were clear. Relieved, mostly. I mean, it wasn't like I wanted another kid, right? Summer froze, gripped by a suspicion that she didn't want to hear this conversation. Daddy was talking reassuringly, his tone intimate. Of course not. You know that's not what I want. He turned so she could see the edge of his smile. I missed you too...How about tonight? No, not just tonight. He chuckled knowingly. She doesn't have to know...Yeah, me too. I can't wait.
He hung up and pocketed the phone slowly, giving Summer just enough time to scramble backwards a few paces and duck into the bathroom. Inside, she ignored the surprised look from the Mexican cleaning lady and braced herself against the counter, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Was everything she'd been believing these past three months a lie? No, she decided. Daddy was the only liar here; she and Celeste had wanted the same thing. A family.
And that was never going to happen. The pregnancy had been Celeste's last ditch effort to re-involve Daddy in their marriage. But that had all fallen apart, and there would not be another chance like it. The three of them were a family in name only, living isolated lives under the same roof. It really was pointless to hope for anything different. Hoping only got you hurt.
Summer reached into her purse and rummaged around until she came up with a silver tube of lipstick. Not the subtle deep rose she'd put on earlier, in anticipation of a quiet dinner with Daddy, but a violent red she'd borrowed from Holly on a whim and never used. She applied the color quickly, flawlessly, smacked her lips and left the bathroom.
Okay, babe, I'll be there in five minutes. Will you be ready? A car honked in the background and Holly barely pulled the phone away to holler,
I'll be ready, Summer promised. Her cell phone was hot against her ear.
I'm so excited! Holly squealed. You haven't partied with us in so long!
When Holly had hung up, Summer was left alone in the silence of her house. She'd taken a cab home without telling anyone where she was going, just needing to be out and free before she lost it in the middle of the hospital. Once she'd arrived at home, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to call up her friends and find out about the party plans for the evening.
In the past three months, Summer's social life had been a lot quieter. She'd still gone out sometimes with her friends, but mostly to smaller parties where she didn't stay long. And she hadn't drunk as much. It had hardly seemed appropriate. She was going to be a big sister. She had felt she had to set a good example.
That shit didn't matter anymore. Summer had been surprised to realize how excited she was to see her friends again, to really relax and let herself give in to the music and the alcohol. The party that evening was supposed to be at Aimee's house, down by the yacht club. Summer'd never been to one of Aimee's parties, but they were reputed to be completely out of control. Rumor had it that during one party in March, Holly had blown a guy on the dance floor and no one around them had noticed. Or cared. Everyone had just kept dancing.
Summer was ready to dance. She'd stripped out of her demure skirt and matching blouse, changing into a scandalously short black halter dress. Her face was covered in make-up; she felt safer behind the heavy mask of eye shadow and foundation. Tonight it wasn't so much about impressing people, or about being attractive. It was about convincing herself that if she strutted into that party in her four inch heels and crimson lipstick she would be able to forget the last few hours.
Maybe she'd ask Holly for a lesson in giving blow jobs. Summer'd been putting off Marc Grossman's advances since March — not wanting to fuel the rumors that had persisted since her close encounter with Greg — but what was the point now?
A car horn blared outside; Holly yelled something out the car window. Summer left her room and started down the hallway, only to pause at the door next to hers. The baby's room. A warm golden glow emanated from a single light standing in the corner. The walls were a soft shade of yellow, and Celeste had hired an artist to paint a mural on the side wall, a sweet woodland scene with furry animals and lush green plants. Summer thought briefly of her own ocean mural from childhood, ruined by a few easy strokes of primer and covered now in pale pink paint. She leaned against the wall for the briefest of moments, letting go of all the anticipation contained in this sweet room, all the hope. Murals were for babies, and there weren't going to be any babies in this house.
The doorbell rang, several times in a row. Holly was leaning on the buzzer. Summer snapped out of her reverie and flicked off the lights, leaving the hall dark. Tonight, nothing counted besides having fun. Tonight, she didn't have to care about anybody but herself.
Tonight, she could really use some liquid refreshment.
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Okay, folks, that's my explanation of the cold party-girl Summer we saw at the beginning of last summer. The same one who hit on Ryan and got trashed and left Marissa passed out on the front lawn. This is why she was like that.
Now a word about the chapter progress: I'm going away for most of the summer, then straight back to college, where I'm part of the orientation program. So it may be awhile (September or October, even) before I update. I'm really sorry about that, and I'll try to make it as soon as possible, but I just may not be having any spare time/access to a computer.
As for the good news, there's only two chapters left, and they're my favorites. They're the two I've been looking forward to writing ever since the beginning, and I have tons of notes accumulated on them. And guess which character plays a huge part? ;-)
Next stop...Tijauna! I'll see you there.