My Fair Lacey
Chapter 10
Done and Gone
The pool game had begun.
Lacey had bet her virtue, that is she had agreed to become Killian's 'Saturday Night Girl,' against twenty-five thousand dollars and Killian's silence.
And Killian was a very good player.
Gold was well aware of this from his own history with the man. Pool was Killian's weapon of choice and he'd taken down an impressive number of opponents.
Gold was also well aware that Lacey was a so-so player at best. Hell, he'd beaten her every time (and there had been plenty of times) that he'd played her and he was average at best.
But after the first few breaks, Gold began to realize some things.
This was not the same woman he'd been playing pool with.
As he watched her sink shot after shot, he also – to his great amusement - saw her engaging in a number of . . . distracting . . . behaviors. When it was her turn, she would slowly very slowly bend over the table, wiggle her fine behind and allow Killian a generous glimpse of her cleavage, all before taking her shot.
But more devastating to the man's play, when it was Killian's turn, she would stand by the table, gently caressing the pool cue, occasionally closing her eyes and audibly sighing – like a woman might sigh if she was pleasantly aroused.
When she slowly began licking the pool cue, wrapping her mouth around the cue stick's end at one point, Killian nearly put a rip into the cloth of the table, completely missing his shot and launching the ball off the table.
Gold was slowly realizing that Killian didn't have a chance.
Lacey wasn't just distracting the man. She was playing in a totally different manner than how she'd ever played against him. Ball after ball, he never saw her hesitate. Ball after ball, he never saw her flinch or waffle or vacillate. She played with skill and confidence.
Skulking in the corner of the room, he was able to witness her sinking ball after ball after ball until . . . until she finally played the final most satisfying ball with a solid thud as it went into the pocket. She slowly turned back to Killian.
"I expect cash or I'll be making some phone calls – Monday before noon? That should give you enough time. I think you may have more to lose in this than I do," she smiled at Killian who managed to give her a thin smile back.
"Well played Miss French. You're under Gold's roof, I take it. I'll send the money over Monday." He actually bowed to her and then nodded to Gold before leaving the room.
"You . . . you have been holding out on me. That was totally impressive," Gold had to tell her. "You're quite the little pool hustler."
She re-racked the balls and hung up her pool cue. "My dad ran a bar when I was younger and I learned to play early on. I was a . . . natural. I found I could hustle money . . . drinks . . . favors."
He was watching her closely. "So . . . why didn't you ever kick my arse? Watching you tonight, you certainly were capable of it."
She didn't answer right away. "I guess . . . I guess, I never wanted to win with you. I think I kept hoping one of us would come up with a bet that I really wanted to win."
He shook his head. "You should have kicked my arse."
He held out his hand to her and she took it. They left together. Lacey was exhausted by this point and had been more than agreeable when he suggested that it was time to leave the Ball. She waited patiently for him to gather Jefferson, who opted instead to avail himself of another ride.
"I can't believe how well this went. You got to sit at the head table with all the politicians and diplomates – hell, my mother has never got to sit at the head table. And you know what? The final rumor I heard going around about you was that you're a countess, a Spanish royal!" he announced in the car on the way home.
"Really?"
"I'm blown away. This was such hard work and I can't believe how well it turned out. I was a nervous wreck on the way to the Biltmore House and those first few hours were hell," he shared.
"Really?"
"Oh god, yes. When Killian came up and . . . well, I thought we'd all be discovered and tossed out. But then, I figured out that if someone did recognize you, that they wouldn't admit to anything because they would implicate themselves. But then, I was still afraid that they just might start a rumor that you were a free-lance masseuse who used to work out of a motel room."
"That would have been embarrassing for you," Lacey said quietly.
Gold did not notice her mood. He settled back down in the car seat and closed his eyes. When they entered his apartment, he dropped his tuxedo jacket on the floor and then went on upstairs.
"See you at breakfast tomorrow," he said as he was nearly at the top. "Let Ms. Potts know that I'll be wanting eggs tomorrow for a change. And don't do my puzzle page!"
Lacey watched him go up.
She had been considering her options all evening. She idly picked up his jacket and put it on the back of a chair.
She knew she really couldn't continue staying under Gold's roof. With the deal completed, she really didn't have any reason to remain here not with her heart breaking every moment she remained in the man's presence. Perhaps, if he had really apologized – said he was sorry for what he'd said rather than just acknowledging that he'd been wrong. Perhaps, if he had ever shared his feelings – if he had any feelings to share – something beyond expressing his thanks by telling her he loved her after satisfying sex.
She thought that she could go back to his mother's, but that could only be a temporary arrangement and that would likely be the first place he would look for her – if he even bothered to look for her.
She had made some new friends, Emma and, perhaps Regina. And there was always Ruby. But she didn't feel comfortable calling on any of them this early in the morning.
She went up to her room, moving as softly, as silently as she could. She carefully removed the beautiful golden dress, hanging it back up. She could stay through breakfast, she decided. No reason to sneak out in the dead of night. She'd learned that three in the morning was no time to be making important decisions.
Morning
Professor Gold had bounced down the stairs, swept up the paper and tucked into his eggs. He was humming as he worked through the puzzles. Lacey picked at her food, keeping her eyes cast down.
"Do you have plans for this morning?" he asked his usual question pleasantly.
She didn't answer right away. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," she began.
"Well, that sounds serious." He looked up.
"Trying to decide what I need to do next," she clarified.
"What? Why do you have to do anything next?"
There was a knock on the door and in came Jefferson.
Grateful for the interruption, given the direction he was afraid the conversation was drifting, Gold greeted his old friend with genuine enthusiasm.
"Not that I'm displeased to see you, but why aren't you in your own house with your husband?" Gold asked.
"Ah, Victor's on a surgery rotation this week which means he's up and out of the house by four thirty so he can start operating at five. The worst part is that he has to go to bed by nine and he refuses any caffeine or alcohol because it could affect his performance. Anyway, when I did get up, I was all alone in my lovely little house wondering who else might be up at this hour and I suddenly thought I would come over and connect with my two other favorite people."
"We didn't get a chance to talk last night, Mr. Madden," Lacey began. "Other than having schedules that don't match, how is married life?"
"Wonderful, and aren't you a dear for asking," Jefferson told her. "Now, how did you two get along while I was gone?"
Neither Gold nor Lacey answered, and Jefferson looked from one to the other. "Am I picking up some tension here?" he asked.
"We had a little tiff and Lacey went to my mother's. I was able to convince her to come back," Gold shared reluctantly.
Jefferson looked at Lacey. "All right my dear. Now you tell me what really happened."
"Professor Gold said something very hurtful to me and I left with the intention of never returning. He guilted me into coming back to complete our original bargain."
Jefferson was all over Gold. "What did you say?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Gold said, his mood deflated.
"Oh, it must have been really bad. Miss French . . . or do I call you Miss Avonlea now?"
"Why don't you call me Lacey," she suggested.
"All right then, Lacey," he tried it experimentally. "Lacey, I've known this man for a long time. He can be an idiot." He turned back to Gold, "Now you did apologize, right?"
"Well . . . sorta," Gold began.
"You didn't apologize. He didn't apologize, did he? Well, Lacey, if you ever need a place to crash, please feel free to call on Viktor and me. We've got the perfect little room you can stay in."
"You don't have to make it easy for her to leave me," Gold protested.
He might have said more but there was another knock on the door.
They heard a voice shouting, "Where is that sombitch? I'm gonna kick his ass nine ways to Sunday."
Gold looked around. "You think he means me?"
"That sounds like my father," Lacey said and soon enough a very dapper, well-dressed Mr. French came in.
"You did this to me!" he accused Gold. "I thought we had an agreement. You'd pay me a thousand an' I'd never darken your door agin." He glanced around the table and nodded at Lacey. "Ma'am," he greeted her.
"What happened to you?" Lacey was astonished at the change in the man. His hair had been cut, he was shaved and he was dressed in a proper suit, a nice suit.
Mr. French gaped at her, "Hey, you is little Belle. Now didn't you clean up nice!"
"It is little Belle," Lacey confirmed for him. "Now, what happened to you?"
"I inherited five million dollars," Mr. French told her.
"What?!" Lacey stood when she heard this news.
"That sounds nice," Gold said.
"It's all your fault," Mr. French insisted.
"How?" Gold was genuinely puzzled.
"You wrote some nitwit millionaire that I had a 'most refreshin' notion o' th' true value o' money' or sum such crap."
"Wait," Gold was thinking it over. "I have the vaguest memory of getting a letter from a Midas Glover. I'd met him at some philologist convention."
"I bet there are wild times to be had with a bunch of philologists," Jefferson said under his breath.
Gold glared at his friend and continued. "We started a correspondence – Lacey, that means we were writing letters back and forth to each other and sending them to each other in envelopes with stamps. I have the vaguest memory of mentioning Mr. French to him in one of the letters. He must have taken me seriously. I had no idea that he was a millionaire."
"Five times over a millionaire," Mr. French told him.
"What did you tell him about my father?" Lacey asked, thoroughly puzzled.
"That his unique attitude about money set him apart from anyone else that I'd ever met."
Mr. French snorted, "Well, he done changed his will an' made me th' beneficiary an' then, th' next week, he up an' died."
Lacey nearly laughed, covering her mouth.
"I wus prepared to keep my end of our agreement, you know, so you'd never have to see me agin, but after this, well, you dun interfered in my life," Mr. French glowered at Gold.
"Is the money so oppressive?" Gold asked curiously.
"Now I's got to be respect-ible. Th' missus wants us t' get married. Everybody I know is touching me fur money. I ain't never been so miserable. An'," he turned to Gold, "it's all yer fault."
"Sorry," Gold said. "I never thought there'd be consequences, much less consequences of this magnitude."
French plopped down in one of the dining table chairs. Ms. Potts came in and offered him breakfast.
"I'm too upset to eat, ma'am. Jus' bring me a couple scrambled eggs, sum toast – nun o' that whole wheat crap, mind you, cat heads would be even better than toast if you got 'em, maybe a couple slabs of bacon, grits, an' hash browns."
"It'll take just a moment," Ms. Potts promised.
Mr. French let out a deep sigh and he looked over his daughter, "You lookin' fine, girl. I wudn't recognized ya' if'n I'd passed you on th' street."
"Thank you, Father," Lacey answered.
"Whut you been up to?"
"Oh, not much. I went to the Governor's Ball and sat at the head table. They thought I was a princess and I played a pool game and won twenty-five thousand dollars," she said off-handedly.
"Well, that should set you up nice," her father told her.
"I hope so, Father," Lacey told him.
"Yor step-mother, she be already makin' th' demands. She be wantin' fur us t' move t' a big house an' get a big car an' a fur coat. I think she's done spent most of the money an' I jus' got th' check. I ain't got no idea if'n I'll have any money to leave t' you when I die. I feel like I'm under attack, got so many people wantin' to borrow, or more like, just give 'em a thousand or two, that I'll prob'bly be in a hole when I finally kick off."
"Father, I'm not asking you for any of the money," Lacey told him patiently.
"Well, you be th' only one," he said sorrowfully. At that moment Ms. Potts came in with his breakfast. She set it before him and he dug into the food with gusto. "I might need t' be hirin' sum-one like yerself, Ms. Housekeeper Lady. You cooks good. You wouldn't consider comin' an workin' fer me, would ya?"
Ms. Potts appeared to think about his offer, but then she smiled at the man, "No," she said and left the room.
"She's sassy," observed Mr. French. "I like her."
"So, do I, Mr. French," Gold told him. "So, do I. Now, I must tell you, I had no idea that my letter would result in you becoming wealthy. I'm quite sorry that in applauding your attitude towards money, I've inadvertently made you wealthy enough that you're having to change your attitude towards money. I didn't realize this would happen and I'm very sorry."
"Well, too late now. Cat's dun had kittens in th' oven an' it won't help not'in' to call 'em biscuits."
"Why don't I give you the name of a good accountant? David Nolen is with the Charming Accountants firm and he can get you set up with a monthly allowance and help you make good decisions about the disposition of your millions. That way, you can also refer any requests for money to him and . . . well, he can be the bad guy. You get to say, 'I don't make any money decisions without talking to my accountant.'" Gold suggested, writing down a number to give to Mr. French.
"That might work," Mr. French seemed interested and accepted the number, tucking the paper into the breast pocket of his new suit.
It was after Mr. French had left that Jefferson turned to Lacey, "Well, that was interesting. Do you think you may ever come into some of that money?"
She shook her head, "I have no idea. How long would it take someone to spend five million?"
"Depends on how clever his buying habits are. A couple of grand houses would eat it up PDQ," grumbled Gold. "If he goes to Nolen, he'll get good advice, if he chooses to follow it."
"Well, I guess we'll see," Lacey agreed. "Gentlemen, please excuse me." And she left the table.
Jefferson looked at Gold, "Now, I'll repeat my question that I'd asked before we were interrupted. What the hell did you say?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Gold waved him off.
"That bad?" Jefferson asked.
Monday Morning
After spending the rest of the weekend in her room, Lacey had made her decision. She should have twenty-five thousand shortly that would allow her to make a fresh start. She'd come up with a couple of ideas and wanted to discuss them with both Jefferson and Fiona.
She had already carefully packed a handful of the clothes that Jefferson had bought her, just basic clothes, not any of Jefferson's high-end picks. She also picked up her one precious book and her toiletries and, with everything in a small bag, she would be ready to leave when the money arrived at noon.
The money arrived, but, somehow, ever hopeful that some things in the relationship might change, she waited until very late that evening, after Gold had retired, to leave.
She had held out, hoping the professor would give her a reason to stay and when he hadn't done or said anything, when he had just acted like she would stay forever, she made her decision. She had to leave.
She found herself back on the streets of the city, well past midnight. There were drunks and druggies and homeless and sundry out late. She started walking back toward the motel where she used to do business, but a kindly police officer stopped and asked if he could give her a lift, warning her that the streets weren't the safest place for a lady like herself.
She refused the ride and made a desperate decision to go to the only place she knew for certain that would take her in. She made a phone call to an Uber and got a ride.
Tuesday After
"Damn it to hell!" Gold was swearing into the phone. "I got up this morning and she'd left me! Left me again! After everything I've done for her, the ungrateful wrench just up and left."
She'd told him she would be leaving, but . . . he hadn't wanted to believe it. He hadn't allowed himself to believe it.
"What did you expect her to do?" It was Jefferson. "I mean the deal is done."
"But we were having such a good time together," Gold whined. "We were having breakfast together and we'd argue about stuff and sometimes I'd take her out to eat and sometimes we'd go to places and stuff."
"You offered to pay her money to sleep with you," Jefferson scolded him.
"Shit, she told you that?"
"Of course, I'm her best girlfriend. She tells me everything," Jefferson informed him.
"Well, I apologized . . . well, kinda."
"Telling her you were wrong and telling her you are sorry are two different things. Hell, you were able to tell her father you were sorry, why the fuck can you not tell Lacey?"
"I . . . it's hard," he protested.
"And I hear that once you slept with her," Jefferson reminded him.
Gold got quiet. "Shit, so, she told you about that, too?"
"BFF," Jefferson said by way of an explanation. "Yeah, she did. How could you, you low-life louse, you?"
"Hey, she crawled into bed with me – naked! What was I supposed to do? Send her away? Even you had said how gorgeous she is. Hell, I think you would have nailed her if she'd crawled into bed with you."
"You knew she was in love with you," Jefferson reminded him. "How could you take advantage of her and not suggest you change the relationship?"
"I still say she was the one to take advantage of me. She knew I was drunk and horny. Anyway, she left the next morning before I could say anything!" Gold protested. "I had to track her fine arse down at my mother's who'd given the wretched thing shelter."
"And when you did track her down, what did you do? Browbeat her, guilted her into coming back to live with you, just to complete our little deal."
"Well . . . yeah," Gold admitted. "I was pretty pissed with her."
"And then, did you ever get around to telling her how you felt?"
"I told her, well, right after we did it, I told her."
"Yeah, women always believe everything a man tells them right before, during and right after sex . . . not."
"Well, I told my mother how I felt and, I figured, she'd overheard me."
"But you never told her. You never took her in your arms, looked into her gorgeous blues and told her that your heart beats only for her, that she lights up your life, that she's the cream in your coffee."
"No, I'm not gay. I don't talk like that."
"Well then, you didn't grab her, pin her to the wall and say, 'You my woman now,' or whatever you Neanderthal straights say?"
Gold sighed and in a calmer voice, he spoke, "No. I didn't. She is there with you, isn't she?"
"Of course, she is, you dim bulb. I'd invited her and where else would she have gone past midnight? She didn't feel comfortable calling any of her new girlfriends and she didn't want to impose on your mother again, although I'm sure Fiona would have taken her in."
"Will you . . . could you bring her back to the house?" Gold asked.
"I can offer to bring her, but the decision is up to her," Jefferson told him.
Gold paced and paced. He groused at Ms. Potts. He drank several glasses of whiskey. He stared out his window.
It was early afternoon, past two, when there was a buzz and Ms. Potts allowed entry to his visitor.
It was Lacey, just Lacey. She was dressed in a little denim skirt with a plain black teeshirt top with black hose and slip-on Danskos. Her face had been washed and her hair pulled back.
She had never looked more beautiful to him.
She stood quietly, perhaps waiting for him to speak, perhaps getting up her own courage before speaking.
"I want you back," Gold finally said. "I will miss you if you aren't here." There, he'd shared his feelings – finally.
"So, my position in your household would be . . . what?"
"What?" he didn't understand.
"Am I a servant, am I your kept woman, am I still your student living on Jefferson's good graces?"
"You'd . . . you'd be my friend . . ." he thought rapidly, "and my assistant," he finished brightly. "Yeah, you could be my assistant." This sounded good. "We would advertise that the Spanish Countess from the Governor's Ball was really a . . . well, we'll come up with something there . . . and you and I can offer people the same make-over. Hell, Jefferson might be willing to join us for a lark, giving people advice about how they dress, their hair and make-up."
"What's to stop me from setting up shop and offering all that on my own?" she asked him.
He was stunned. "On your own? But . . . but how? You might have a little money now, but you don't have any business experience."
"Well, I know several people that can give me excellent advice on setting up a business, including your mother, who might also be willing to invest in me. And now I have the name of a good accountant. You and I, we'd be in competition with each other. I think I would do rather well. People like me, certainly more than they like you."
"But I don't want you to do that," he was getting desperate. "I want . . . Lacey . . ."
"Yes?" she waited.
"Lacey, marry me."
"What?!" Whatever she'd been expecting to hear, this wasn't it.
"Marry me. We should be together. We can make love every night and make babies if you want them and we can argue when we disagree and then make up and have a good time together."
"That's your proposal?" she asked him.
"What more do you want in a man? We'll get a prenup so we won't think we're after each other's money and I'm fine if you want to work or, hell, own your own bloody dress shop, or we can go for the language coaching business together." How could she not jump at the chance to marry him? "You'd have a place to stay, nice clothes. We could travel, if you like."
"So, this would be like another business deal?" she asked him slowly. "You would give me things and I would . . . fuck you?"
"Yeah, that's rather vulgar, but, yeah, that sounds about right."
Her eyes narrowed. "Even when I worked as a masseuse, I wasn't whoring myself for a man to give me things," she told him and turned to leave.
She was walking out on him.
"I love you, Lacey and I'm sorry I ever offered you money to have sex with me," he began and she stopped she couldn't stop herself from stopping. He continued, "I was completely out of line. I never thought I'd fall in love again after . . . well, after my last dalliance. But what I'm feeling for you is different and it's real and I don't want it to go away. I think . . . I hope . . . you did tell me that you loved me, didn't you?"
"I did," she admitted so much love for the man, her back still to him. "But I needed some time. I still need some time."
And she walked out of his life.
A.N. For the un-initiated, a cat head is a large biscuit (about the size of a cat's head).