My Fair Lacey
Chapter 15
Many Talents
"You two had sex," Jefferson announced.
Gold spewed his tea, "Jefferson!" Lacey covered her mouth and giggled.
"Oh, come on! I understand if you want to keep this a secret, especially you, Rumple, but I'm your friend – I love the both of you - and I've got to tell you that I'm thrilled," Jefferson told them.
"But . . . how . . . what . . . how did you know?" Lacey asked him.
"Do you want the reasons chronologically or alphabetically?" Jefferson asked.
They both sat without responding, just looking at him, and Jefferson continued. "Lacey comes in and the woman is glowing. I mean, you're a beautiful woman, but this morning you had outdone yourself. Then you put money in the swear jar – you never swear, so I knew something big had happened. And you called Rumple, 'Rumple.' Lacey, I've only ever heard you call the man, 'Professor Gold,' 'Professor,' or, when you were angry with him, 'Gold.' Something had changed in your relationship."
Jefferson sat back and looked at Gold. "And you. You come in and, oh my god, you're smiling. I have never seen you smile before noon. You, who normally get dry toast and tea for breakfast, you pile on the lumberjack special - as if you had worked up a hearty appetite."
Jefferson shook his head, "And let's talk about how you two are interacting with each other! Good grief! You won't look at each other, but you are continually looking at each other, little shy glances, blushes, soft eyes, and you," he looked at Gold, "you, hand her the puzzle page before you've solved the first Jumble."
"What else am I to think?" Jefferson asked them, folding his arms. The two looked at each other.
Lacey was giving Gold her shy smile when she answered Jefferson, "Yes, we did, and it was wonderful."
"And it's about time," Jefferson declared.
"But I'm not sure we're at a point that we want to advertise it," Gold told him sourly.
"You're a private guy, I get that. And your personal life is . . . well, personal. I can keep a confidence," Jefferson assured them both. "But I want you to know that I'm very happy for you. I think this will be good for both of you."
"I think so too," Gold replied.
"Now totally changing the subject," Jefferson looked at Lacey, "What do we have planned for this morning?"
Lacey shared that she had been thinking about going out to scout out costume ideas for the big Valentine's Day Gala. She would welcome Jefferson's input and the two set out together.
"You know he's taking a big chance on you," Jefferson told her once they were in the car. "I didn't think he would ever allow anyone in. He was so broken after his last affair fell apart and then when you left him, I was really concerned about him."
"He's changed, Jefferson. Well, maybe not changed, but there's another side of himself, another face, that he's showing, that he's comfortable showing."
"To you, maybe," Jefferson confirmed.
"How did you two meet?" Lacey asked him as they pulled into the first costume shop.
"Oh, it was right after Milah had left him and he was on a serious bender. He had wandered into a bar he'd not been in before. And . . . ahem . . . it just happened to be a bar that catered to a certain type of customer."
"A gay bar?" Lacey confirmed.
"I was unattached at the time and this was all totally before Viktor. I thought Rumple looked very dangerous and very delicious, both at the same time, you know what I mean?"
"I know," Lacey agreed.
"Uhmmmm, I guess you do," Jefferson told her. "Anyway, I picked him up."
"Really! How . . . how did that work out?"
"Not too good," Jefferson shared. "As you might imagine, our Rumple is a one-trick pony and . . ."
"Ohhh," Lacey interrupted. "I wouldn't say that."
"I'm talking about gender preferences, but sometime, you must tell me all about his pony tricks. Anyway, as I was saying, we'd gone up to his apartment – it was closer – and he was playing the gracious host. I guess, I was a good deal less drunk than he was and I realized that he was actually being the gracious host and not the would-be paramour. I was ready to excuse myself, wanting to avoid an awkward confrontation when he realized what had happened."
"Oh my," Lacey remarked. "Was he angry?"
"No, he was grateful. He told me that after his ugly divorce, he was happy to find that anyone found him sexually attractive and while he couldn't reciprocate, he was, nonetheless, flattered. Not interested, mind you, but flattered. We spent the rest of the evening, drinking more and finding out how much we had in common and, we've been fast friends ever since."
They were actively looking through the racks in "Game of Pretties," an upscale costume shop while Jefferson shared this story.
"Amazing," Lacey told him. "That could have gone any number of directions."
Jefferson stopped looking through the racks of clothing, "It could have. I guess it was just meant to be. Now, what did you have in mind for the Gala?"
"I don't know. We talked about a few ideas. How fancy is this Gala thing?"
"You've met Rumple's mom. Do you think she does anything by halves? It's all out."
"Should we get individual costumes or go as a couple?"
"A couple, definitely a couple – there is the whole Valentine's Day theme going on. If you have to go as a single, you don't go," Jefferson told her.
"So, do you think that Milah and Killian will be there?" she asked slowly.
Jefferson looked up. "Are you worried about seeing Killian again?"
"Killian I can handle. I know his weaknesses. It's Milah I'm more concerned with."
"Why?"
"I don't know. He brings her up now and again and I can't help but wonder how he really feels about her."
"Do you think he still has feelings for her?"
"I don't know, I guess, maybe. I mean, she left him, right?"
Jefferson nodded.
"He grieved. He felt rejected. All right then," she swallowed and began her confession. "I don't think Milah and Killian are in a good place and I can't help but wonder if she's reconsidering having ditched Rumple."
"And you're afraid that if she whistles, that he'll throw you over and run back into her embrace?"
Lacey bit her lower lip. "Yes."
Jefferson gave her a quick hug. "My darling girl. I've known him a long time. I don't see that happening."
Lacey sniffed. "All right. You're probably right."
"Probably?! Of course, I'm right. I'm always right," Jefferson admonished her.
Lacey sniffed and nodded. "So, what are you and Viktor going as?"
"Well, as always, Viktor and I take this very seriously and we've had several conversations about it. We've decided on Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."
"Are you Sherlock?"
"No, we decided to go against type and I'll be the Doctor this time. I'll be a flamboyant, out-going, perfectly brilliant Doctor Watson. Viktor will go as a dour Sherlock."
"Sounds lovely."
"Perhaps. I'm not sure if it's good or bad, but I already have enough in my own wardrobe to bedeck myself as the good doctor. I'm here to look for Viktor's cloak and hat. We'll have to pick up a pipe somewhere."
"Shouldn't be too hard." "Now how about you and Rumple? What costumes have you talked about?" "I mentioned Beauty and the Beast to him," she shared. "I don't know if he'll really go for it."
"Well, you certainly can lock down the Beauty role, my dear," Jefferson told her graciously. "But I can't see him wearing a furry head."
"Neither do I. Perhaps we could do something else to beast him up. I mean, it doesn't have to be a literal animal, but maybe something . . . I don't know . . . different."
Lacey was standing next to the make-up and body paint section. She picked up a greenish-gold concoction. "Would this look like scales if it went on a person?" she asked.
Jefferson looked it over. "Maybe. What are you thinking?"
Lacey sighed. "This is far out and I have no idea if I can ever convince Rumple to do it, but . . . what if he was made up . . . kinda like a reptile, with crocodile skin – they're pretty scary, kinda beastly," she said unsure of herself.
"Hmmm," Jefferson considered her idea. "Perhaps, we could glue on some claws and get a nappy wig." He grinned at her. "That could totally work."
"Yeah, then I need to get him into some leather pants," Lacey told him.
"With a silk shirt," added Jefferson. "Any ideas how you're going to get him in those pants?"
Lacey shook her head, "I'm afraid it may require subterfuge and a game of pool."
Dinner
That evening, without Jefferson joining them, Lacey and Rumple shared dinner, a quiet dinner, sitting in candlelight, eating off fine china and drinking from clear, cut crystal.
"It's not too much, is it?" Rumple apologized when she came in from her shopping.
"Oh my, no," she told him. "It's lovely. I just wasn't expecting anything . . . "
"I had it catered from Curaté. They sent over some of their best dishes and I pulled out one of my favorite wines." He wasn't looking at her.
"This is wonderful. I would have been happy with canned soup and a grilled sandwich."
"Well," he paused.
"What?"
"I have an ulterior motive," he admitted. He held out her chair and then sat down across from her.
"Yes," she invited him to go on.
"While you and Jefferson were out gadding about, I had a meeting with Nolan, your father and . . . my father."
"Oh, my. How's the new business going?" she asked.
"Surprisingly well. At least, no one has discovered how my father is skimming off the till just yet. Your father seems very happy, at least. And apparently, they made money during the last month."
Lacey nodded, "That is pleasantly surprising."
Rumple hesitated. "After the meeting, my father . . . he asked again about having lunch with me."
Lacey didn't say anything. She waited.
"I . . . I agreed to meet with him . . . tomorrow in fact," he glanced up at her.
"You think you're ready for this?"
"No, but I've decided that it's not going to go away." He looked down at this plate for a moment. "Could you . . . would you please come with me?"
"You want me to come to lunch with you and your father?" she asked.
"Please," he asked. "I just can't imagine lunch between us going well. Hell, I can't imagine it going along without one of us assaulting the other, unless there is someone else there to . . . "
"Buffer the situation?" she suggested.
"Exactly," he agreed. "You will come?"
"Of course. Tomorrow, you said?"
"Yes, please." He paused again. "And I should probably tell you a little about my father."
"How bad is he?"
"He'll hit on you, even if he's aware that you and I are a couple."
"I think I can handle that," Lacey told him.
"Oh, don't underestimate him. He can be absolutely charming. That's how he got my mother to drop her drawers."
"Well, she was a teenage girl and . . . " Lacey smiled at him. "she wasn't in love with someone else at the time."
Rumple looked at her, "Oh, yeah, yes. Yes. That might help."
Lacey looked around. "This is really nice," she told him, taking in the supper he'd ordered in. "I'm used to take-out being in a box or a bag. This is so much and it looks really good."
"It's not too much?" he asked again.
"No, not at all. But, you should know, I won't be expecting something like this every night. A box or a bag or even, cooking something here, would be fine. You, having supper with you, is plenty for me."
"You are a lot easier to please than my ex-wife."
"Please," Lacey told him.
He laughed, "I'm sorry. I should not . . . I cannot . . . compare you to my ex-wife. She was never satisfied with anything I did. You are nothing like my ex-wife."
"That's good to hear," Lacey muttered to herself.
He cleared his throat. "Lacey, listen. I wanted you to know that just because we . . . uh . . . we . . . uh . . . last night, we . . ."
Lacey waited.
"I'm not expecting that you're going to want to . . . uh . . . be with me again . . . like on . . . any kind of a regular basis."
"Why would I not want to be with you?" she asked, puzzled.
"Because . . . I'm . . . me," he said. "I mean I can understand getting carried away one time, but that doesn't mean you necessarily want to be . . . uh . . . "
"Carried away every night?" she suggested.
"Right," he agreed gratefully.
"Listen, Rumple," Lacey told him searching for the clearest words she could find. "I'm in love with you. I want to be with you. I'm hoping, I'm expecting, to sleep in your bed and have sex with you. In fact, I'm looking forward to having a lot of sex with you."
Rumple looked a bit dazed but nodded slowly. He didn't say anything.
"You are all right with that?" Lacey finally asked him.
"Yeah, yes. I'm getting there. It's just not something I ever expected to find . . . ever. You . . . I . . . never . . ."
Lacey shook her head. "You poor thing." How much damage had his parents, his wife, his paramours done to him? The man had no clue . . . .
"Really," he told her. "You are easily the best thing that's ever happened to me. And if you are sincere about wanting to have a lot of sex with me, I do have some ideas of some things we may want to try." And he gave her his slow, soft smile.
Lunch
"Oh, I see you brought someone with you." Peter Gold stepped back and looked Lacey over. "Delighted, most delighted," he gave her a smile, very much like Rumple's smile. She got a quick glimpse of where Rumple's charm, when he chose to display it, came from.
"Yes, Father, this is Miss French. She's . . . my . . . she's a very good friend."
"And you felt you needed someone else here, so we wouldn't end up at each other's throat," surmised Peter. "Great idea." He held out the chair for Lacey to sit. "You must tell me, my dear, how you know my son."
"We met taking shelter from a sudden rainstorm," Lacey told him. "I overheard him give his address to someone and I later showed up at his apartment . . . with a proposition."
Peter gaped at her a second and then started laughing. "Excellent. A young woman with a sense of humor. You're doing better for yourself, son. Your previous women were all dull stick-up-their-arses."
"So glad you approve, Father," Rumple muttered.
Their server came by and both Rumple ordered whiskey. Lacey and Peter got iced teas.
"Not drinking?" Rumple asked his father.
"Part of my rehab. Avoiding all manner of temptations," his father explained.
"Please tell me you're not on Step Nine and trying to make amends."
"No, no, I wanted to see you just to . . . aw fuck . . . I don't know why I wanted to see you again. I can't imagine us ever having a real father-son relationship."
"That ship sailed a couple of decades ago," confirmed Rumple.
"And I don't expect forgiveness and sure as hell don't expect understanding. I'm not sure I understand myself."
"So, why are here? You need a kidney or something?"
"No, I've survived my youth and middle-age surprisingly intact. I just . . . felt . . . there was this emptiness where there should be . . . you."
Rumple finished his whiskey.
"I think I just want us to be able to be in the same room without blood and venom dripping from the walls," Peter added. "I want . . . " he struggled to find the right word.
"Tolerance?" suggested Lacey.
"Yeah," Peter was obviously grateful for the intrusion. "I just want us to be able to tolerate each other."
"You know my problem with this?" Rumple asked. "You have done and said all this before, many times before."
His father nodded. "And I always screw it up. You can't trust me not to screw things up."
"Got that right." Rumple was shaking his head. "I don't know. I really don't know," he admitted. "I'm going to have to think on this."
"I know I don't deserve yet another chance, but I'm asking for it anyway."
"I'll think on it," Rumple repeated.
"I can't ask for more than that."
Supper
"That went better than I expected," Rumple told Lacey as she heated up some tomato soup and sliced some cheddar to set on some buttered bread. She began heating some more butter in an iron skillet.
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I was especially happy that he didn't make a pass at you."
Lacey shook her head. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you, but he kept trying to put his hand on my knee under the table." She set the sandwiches into the hot, melted butter.
"That sonofabitch!"
"It's all right. He kept his hands to himself after I jabbed my fork in his leg."
"Now that's my girl. I guess that's why he winced and got all quiet during the dessert course. I just thought he was getting sentimental and stupid."
"Just stupid. Now, where are you with your feelings regarding your father?"
"He seems to be making an effort, but, Lacey, he's made these gestures before. It's jailhouse religion. He's come clean, he's seen the light, he's a new person, but it never lasts. If I could trust that he's changed, really changed, it would be easier."
"Perhaps, you can agree to toleration as long as he seems to be walking the straight and narrow. It might help him stay sober," Lacey shared.
"Oh jeez, then I might end up being a factor in my father's rehabilitation. I don't know I want that burden."
Lacey finished frying up their cheese sandwiches and plated them.
"This is a nice sandwich," he complimented her. "Soft and gooey and crispy at the same time."
"It's the butter. When I was in my old motel room, I'd wrap them in foil and then I'd iron them. I can do peanut butter and banana sandwiches the same way."
"Impressive. Looks, intelligence and she can cook, too."
"Are you being a smart ass?" she asked him.
"Not at all," he assured her with his quiet smile. "I'm learning that you're a woman of many talents and I'm taking great delight in finding out more and more about you."
"What would you say to a game of pool tonight?" she asked him guilelessly.