My Fair Lacey
Chapter 11
Anything Would Be an Improvement
She had left him. She had just up and left him.
Not that he blamed her.
It was all his own fault. He had screwed up royally. Several times he had screwed up royally. So many times, he had screwed up royally.
He should never have offered her money – what had he been thinking? He should have groveled and apologized, told her over and over again that he was sorry. He should have been shouting his love for her from the rooftop.
But he hadn't.
He'd screwed up. Like he always screwed up.
Descent
Things continued to dwindle – plunge - down for him. He slept in more and drank more. He reneged on his writing assignments and drank more. He opted for a leave of absence from his teaching tasks and drank more.
Jefferson had come by to visit him, trying to help him. But he'd yelled at his best friend and then drank more.
Even his mother had dropped by, likely following a phone call from Jefferson or Ms. Potts (who never said anything, just clicked her tongue as she cleaned around him).
His mother had looked down on him, literally, as he'd fallen asleep on the rug in his study.
"Get up," she'd ordered him. "When was the last time you ate or shaved or," she sniffed him, "showered?"
"I dunno," he muttered. "Who gives a fuck anyway?"
"Jefferson tells me it would look bad if I left you to your own devices and you rotted here. Why don't you clean up and get something to eat?"
"Why?" he asked. "Whut's the use?"
"You're not dead yet." She walked around the room, noting the empty bottles. She fastidiously moved some newspapers to one side on the couch and sat down. She looked her son over. "Maybe I should set you up on a date? Get you up and out of the house." She was considering alternatives. "Yes, I'll do that." She didn't wait for a response.
He tried to reason with her, "Oh God no, Mother. Please. I don't want to date anyone, certainly not right now, maybe never again."
"You need to get up and out of this alcohol-infused hissy fit you're having. You either gird your loins and go out with the women I set you up with or . . ."
He tested her, "Or what? I don't know that you really have any leverage over me."
"You think not?" She smiled at him. "How about this? If you don't go out with them, I'll start coming over here - every single day - to see how you're doing. Every. Single. Day," she threatened him. "I might even get your father, I hear he's out of rehab, over here to check on you, try to get him to spend some quality time with you."
He was beaten and he knew it. "All right mother, but please, please don't set me up with any of those twats . . . I mean, twits of young girls. I cannot abide them, their chatter or . . . their stupidity."
She stopped at the door, considering. "Very well. I'll impose on my most intelligent and sophisticated friends to go out with you. Don't embarrass me."
The Parade
And so, it began. His mother used her many contacts, social and business, called in favors, and threatened and blackmailed people, to find acceptable women for her son to take out.
The first was Sarah Fischer. Gorgeous Nordic blonde, but he clearly wasn't her type and her disdain was evident from the beginning. Of course, he'd dressed in jeans and an old UNC tee-shirt. It was only his Old Money demeanor that got them seated in the restaurant.
"Your mother said you've just been through a break-up," Sarah said over the candlelight at the table.
"I was dumped," he told the woman. "Probably deserved it. . . . I definitely deserved it."
And then he found himself talking about Lacey, how perfect she was, how intelligent and nice and . . . well, he didn't notice Sarah's eyes glazing over.
His mother had called the next morning.
"Sarah said you were an absolute bore. Next time," she warned him, "put on a suit and don't talk about Lacey."
"Well, send me somebody who isn't so serious."
"That could be Cordie," his mother told him cautiously. "Be careful, she knows more swear words than you do and can drink you under the table twice over."
Fashion-conscious Cordelia DeVille ran nearly forty-five minutes late. She had obviously had a few before she connected with him (which was all right since while waiting for her, he'd partaken himself). She stumbled into the restaurant in her sky-heels, designer dress and white fur stole.
"Well, you're rather skinny," she announced, looking him over, before sitting down. "But the suit is nice."
"You wear fur?" he asked.
"Baby seal. And I smoke and I eat meat and I drive a gas-guzzling behemoth. Any objections?" she challenged him.
"Not one to judge," he answered.
"Then we should get on famously."
He was surprised that he liked Cordie. She was totally self-absorbed and a hedonist, a lot like himself, maybe too much like himself. She went toe-to-toe on insults and he enjoyed the banter. But as the evening wore on, he realized something was missing.
"Cordie, I'm delighted to find that I'm enjoying your company, but I don't feel that there can be anything more between us than friendship. Am I right?"
Cordie laughed. "Oh, you got that right. I only agreed to go out with you in order to get into your mother's good graces. I could totally go for her."
"I know my mother prefers men, but I wouldn't be surprised to find that she could go for the occasional bit of experimentation," he told her. "Shall I let her know that you were brilliant company and maybe she might want to have a lunch date with you?"
"That would be wonderful. I'll tell her that I had a great time with you, but there was just no . . ."
"Fireworks?" he suggested. "Chemistry?"
She nodded and raised her glass, "Here's to fireworks and chemistry."
He had to agree with the toast.
His mother had called him, pleased that he'd made some effort, even if the date wasn't going to lead to a second outing.
The parade of women continued but seemed to go downhill from Cordie. There was Mallie, one of his mother's good friends, who thought he was a scumbag. The worst was Zury Blue, who thought herself much too good for him and who disapproved of his lifestyle, his choice of churches, his drinking, his clothing, his . . . well, everything. He took her home early.
None of these women could compare to Lacey, with her quick wit and her deep insights. And her eyes, and her cute little figure and her . . . the whole package.
"I've got someone else who has been begging me to set you up with her," his mother told him. "I owe her a little favor and going out on a date with you is her payback. She's a bit younger than the other women I've set you up with, but you can just suck it up. You say you object to younger women, but you obviously don't - considering the age of the woman you're moping over. But do watch yourself with this one."
Imagine his surprise when Zelena had shown up - Zelena, the daughter of one of his previous lovers. Zelena, who was openly lustful and much too handsy. She attempted to put her hand on his crotch and he had taken her hand and held it on the table. When she tried to pull it away, he refused to budge, holding her gaze.
She lit up, "Oh my, you're going to be a fighter. That will make things sooo much more interesting. My place or yours?" she asked.
"Zelena, I'm squee'd out because your mother and I were . . . uh . . . intimate. If just feels a little incestuous."
"Hey, that's what makes it hot," Zelena told him. "You can compare how we are in the sack.".
He tried again, "I don't think we're particularly compatible, Zelena. I will drop you off and we'll call it a night."
"Oh, come on. I'm just talking about fucking with no emotional involvement. Most men would jump at that kind of a relationship," she told him, still trying to rub up against him as they stood in front of the restaurant.
He peeled her off of himself and stepped away from her. "I'm calling you a ride, Zelena. I'm having someone else take you back to your mother's."
He'd shunted her, steaming and screaming, into the Uber, but he felt that he had to get away from her while they still had an audience – no telling what kind of nonsense she might make up if he was seen leaving with her.
Her blatant assumption that they would have sex and her disregard of his personal preferences had made him feel cheap and used.
He caught his breath.
He had abrupt insight into how Lacey had felt when he'd offered her money.
One More Chance
"It didn't work out," he told his mother. "I think you've set me up with every eligible woman in town. Mother, I'm just . . . I don't know that dating is the right direction for me to recover from my relationship . . . or my near relationship, such as it was, with Lacey."
"Well, most of the women have complained what a jerk you were," his mother told him. "I think I may have just the person in mind."
"No more, Mother, please. I'm tired of trying."
"One. More. Date." She'd told him sternly, looming over him as he lay stretched out on his leather sofa. "You'll have to see her on her schedule and that means she'll be over here early Saturday morning. Clean up your act," she'd ordered him.
"Doan want to," he'd muttered. "Who goes on a date early in the morning?"
So, he hadn't bothered to clean up his act. Friday night, he'd drank, luxuriating in burning amber whiskey until he passed out in one of the chairs of his study.
A New Day
It was early morning. There were odd clinking sounds coming from the dining room and he thought he might be hearing voices.
Then he thought he heard someone come into the study. He nearly screamed when someone dared to open the curtains allowing the morning sun to sear through into his hungover brain.
"Close the goddamn curtains!" he shouted.
"I didn't know these curtains would open. All this time, I thought you'd nailed them in place." He heard a bright lyrical voice that sounded somehow, familiar.
"Well, it's worse than what you told me."
He stilled. Yes, he recognized that voice.
"His mother had told me he wasn't getting better." Now that was Jefferson.
"His mother may be right," that voice continued softly.
He could feel her. She had come over to his chair which was tilted all the way back and she was standing next to him.
He blinked his eyes – against the brightness – blinked them open.
"You have to go. I'm expecting a date," he croaked out.
"At this hour?" asked Jefferson.
"My mother set it up," he explained.
"This is how you greet a date?" Lacey asked him.
He didn't answer right away. His soddened brain had begun to form a suspicion. "I'm still a little drunk from breakfast," he admitted. "Are you my date?"
Lacey gave him a gentle smile. "In a manner of speaking."
"Your mother wants her to do an experiment with you," Jefferson spoke up. "We have to turn you into a decent, pleasant human being in time for some big charity event your mother sponsors."
"I think it will be difficult," Lacey said. "It will require complicity and a willingness to work hard and make serious changes, but with a little work, I think I should be able to take you anywhere."
"Shit," was all he managed to get out.
"One of my first steps is to begin a swear jar," Lacey said pensively. "A dollar for each word of profanity. And it will all be donated to . . . uhm . . . whichever political party you least approve of."
"Well, that could be any one of them," Gold glared at her. He had managed to sit up.
"Do you have any ideas of what else you'll be working on?" Jefferson asked Lacey.
"Manners, for certainty. Learning to act like he's sincerely interested in other people – instead of dismissing them. Perhaps take a stab at reducing his alcohol consumption – I think that plays a significant part in his disagreeable nature," Lacey explained.
"Would you need to stay here?" Jefferson asked her. "You know, you're welcome to continue living with Viktor and me."
"Thank you, but I think that living here might make things easier," she answered.
Gold had listened to this interchange. "You sure about this? I don't know that I'm capable of change," he told her. He couldn't let himself feel too much.
"I don't know if you are, either," she answered him honestly.
"So why?" he asked. "Why are you really here?"
She sat down next to him. "I couldn't get you out of my head. I thought it would get easier, but instead of missing you less, I missed you more."
"I went on a date with someone," he began.
She didn't say anything.
"She obviously expected . . . uh . . . a physical relationship and I didn't want that . . . with her. I felt cheap . . . and used." He stopped, closing his eyes. "I have a different appreciation for how you might have felt when I offered you money for sex. And . . ." he opened his eyes and looked at her, "I'm sorry. I'm embarrassed that I was so . . . clueless. And I grieve over what might have been if only I had been a better man."
"Now that sounds sincere," she told him softly.
He nodded and they locked eyes for a long moment. It wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd thought he'd be. "What have you been doing?" he asked.
"Well, I will always have you to thank for this - you gave me options. Something I had never had before. So now, I'm trying to decide. Maybe I'll go to work in some little dress shop – I can do that now. Or perhaps, I'll even open a little dress shop of my own. Viktor and Jefferson have been urging me to get my realtor's license, if you can believe that. And there's something that I've always daydreamed about, but never thought it could be," she paused. "And this is a little difficult to share, to say out loud, but I've always wanted to be a librarian. I love books and reading and I want other people to have that same love. Perhaps I could pursue some coursework and make that happen."
He gave her a gentle smile. "Maybe you could open a bookstore instead of a dress shop," he suggested.
"Do you think this town could support two eclectic bookstores?" she asked him.
"If we can support more than twenty-five breweries, we can support two bookstores," he told her and their eyes met again.
"I'll have to give it some thought then."
She smiled at him and it took his breath away. He was so not worthy of this woman. She'd stood up, not breaking eye contact.
"Let's get you a shower and a shave – and maybe a haircut. Jefferson, how do you think he would look with short hair?" she asked.
"Well, anything would be an improvement," Jefferson replied.
"Fuck you," Gold muttered to his best friend.
"There's the first dollar. You might need to get one of those little counters to keep up," Jefferson advised.
"Go away, Jefferson," Gold spoke. He had not looked away from Lacey.
"Well, I can see my work here is done," Jefferson was nearly laughing as he rose and headed toward the door. "Any time you need moral support -" he said to Lacey. "Don't fuck it up again," were his parting words to Gold.
Once they were left alone, he began slowly, "I do love you, you know. When I fell in love with Milah . . . and with Cora . . . it was like a tidal wave. It was powerful, and sudden and swept me away and then . . . it was over, just as quickly as it had come on, the feelings left. But with you . . . my feelings started small and they weren't even there all the time. But they kept growing and, even now, every day I feel more and more love for you. Every day, I feel I can't love you anymore but then - I do."
He sniffed. "I understand if you don't want to pursue a relationship with me. I've been told that I'm a difficult man to love."
"Oh, that you are," she agreed with him. "Are you really going to work with me? On getting ready for this Valentine's Gala?"
"That's the one she does for the Heart Center of the hospital, isn't it? Wait a minute. Isn't that a fuckin' costume party?" He shook his head, "I don't know."
"That's two. Perhaps you could go as the back end of a horse," she suggested. "That wouldn't require any costume on your part."
"Maybe I'll go as a disgruntled, pissed-off landlord," he suggested.
"And I'll be one of your tenants who has to pay her rent in trade," she finished for him.
"Hey, that could work – for me . . . but not for you. You aren't, you never have been that person," he told her quietly.
She was smiling. "Or we could get some of those spray-on leather pants that Jefferson considered for the wedding party. We'll get some body-paint and you can go as a beast," she suggested.
"If I go as a beast then you must go as my Beauty. I'd like that. I might even agree to the pants." Gingerly he rose up out of his chair. "You did agree to marry me, didn't you?" he asked heading up to the bathroom.
"What?! No! Never did," she protested following him up the stairs back to his bedroom on the way to his ensuite bathroom.
He leaned her against the bedroom door gently pinning her between himself and the door. "I know I'm the only man you've ever been with," he whispered in her ear and he kissed her ear. "And I know you enjoyed yourself," he kissed her cheek. "And I know you love me," and he kissed her mouth.
She was feeling shivery and not a little befuddled. "I do. I do love you."
"Why don't you join me in the shower?" he asked her, his voice soft and persuasive.
She really wanted to. "I think we might be rushing things. Ask me again another time."
He nodded. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "All right then." He pulled back and let her go. "Well, unless you're going to shower with me, you need to skedaddle out of here. I'll join you in the library in about twenty minutes."
Decision Made
Lacey waited in the library. She wasn't sure why she'd let Fiona convince her to do this. And Jefferson. Both of them pushed her into going back to Professor Gold's apartment. Both of them pushed her into this silly experiment.
But she had wanted to see him again. Oh, but when she had seen him, her heart had broken. He'd looked small and frail, lying on the recliner, struggling to focus his eyes, slurring his speech. He was a broken man.
Oh, she couldn't leave him now.
Especially after everything he'd told her. Especially after his confession of love. Especially after he'd tried to get her into the shower with him.
And why hadn't she gone with him? Right now, they'd be all soaped up and likely, he'd be bending her over and . . . .
Oh, maybe she should pull herself together and go back to Jefferson's before it was too late . . . before she gave in to her . . . urges. But she didn't want to.
He seemed to have changed.
He seemed contrite, genuinely sorry for his past missteps. He had told her he loved her, loved her differently than anyone before her.
She knew, she knew she would never be able to leave him again. She was mulling over her new position, her new options, when he came back into the library. He walked towards her, giving her his slow smile, his eyes soft and promising.