Chapter 8 - The Plot
Every knock his hammer made resonated loudly in the empty room. Effie stood dutifully next to the A-ladder, handing him nails as he asked for it. The shelving was almost done after half a day of working on it.
He glanced down as he plucked a nail from her outstretched hand. She was staring at him or rather, she had been staring at him with a spark of hunger in her eyes which he was sure had nothing to do with actually being food-deprived. He noticed the way her gaze had trailed over him when he folded his sleeves up to his elbow and the way it lingered on his ass as he perched on that ladder.
It was disconcerting to have that sort of attention on him.
With the final nail in place, he tested the shelf to see it would hold and climbed down from the ladder.
Peeta was outside the shop, supervising the installation of the signage for his bakery.
"Alright," he declared. "It's done. I'm off. You coming or staying?"
"Let me check if the children need me for anything else."
Truth be told, they had not needed her at all on that particular day but she had wanted to be useful and floated around helping where she could. A dusty half-renovated bakery did not really suit her image but she wanted to be present so they let her.
Haymitch leaned against the fence, drinking from his flask as he waited for her. When she finally emerged from the back of the bakery with a wave towards Katniss, he stood up and promised Peeta that he would be back tomorrow.
The walk home was relatively peaceful. The long walk from Town back to the Village used to be a chore to him but now, he was used to having her with him. She made it bearable by filling the journey with mindless chatters and news about little Finn's latest accomplishment – he managed to write his own name – of which she was very proud.
"Do you remember what I said about inspiration a few days ago?"
"If this is you trying to tell me that I need a shower then save it. I know I need a shower after all that work at the bakery. Want to join, sweetheart?"
He meant to tease but she looked him squarely in the eyes and a sly smile dancing on her lips.
"Do not make invitations you are not willing to see through, Haymitch," she patted his arm. "About looking for inspiration... I was going to suggest looking to the people around you. You never know if you can get a burst of ideas from there."
"You mean you?" Haymitch raised an eyebrow.
"I do not see why not," Effie replied with a grin. "I do not know how your writing process is but if you must, I can be your inspiration. You could... I am not sure truly but perhaps, you can write a character based on me or... or other people in this town. Oh! This town you live in can even be the setting."
Haymitch scoffed and looked away. There was something inherently wrong with her request to write a character based on her, a character in itself.
"I can see it already, Haymitch," her eyes sparkled with excitement. She turned around towards the direction where they came from. "A romance in a small countryside town. Maybe I met a man..." she suggested, "and fell in love with him. Well, not me. I mean character me, the woman you - "
"I don't write romance," he cut her off.
"It wouldn't hurt to try. You'll never know if you might have a knack for it," she insisted as a means of encouragement. "Or if a mystery is more your cup of tea, a dash of mystery in the romance will add spice to it."
"Murder mystery," he countered.
"With romance," she added.
Haymitch rolled his eyes. "It'll be short-lived."
"You are terrible," Effie chuckled. She stopped as they reached the fountain in the middle of the village. "I shall see you tomorrow."
"It's still early, yeah?"
She dangled a pair of keys in front of him.
"I'm going to that house – over at the end of the village," she explained. "I have to ensure that it is in proper condition for a viewing tomorrow. There is a couple coming in. Would you… If you have nothing planned for tonight, would you like to come along?"
When did he ever have anything planned? The way things were, he would likely ended up sprawled on his sofa with a drink and if he felt up to the task, he might work on his novel but he did not feel like spending his night alone, so with a shrug, he followed her.
His decision was something she was pleased with because a wide smile spread across her face.
The house was fully furnished which was the same when he bought his house. When she emerged from the kitchen, she handed him a towel together with a spray bottle.
"Just help me with that bay window. It has to look spotless. Only that, I promised," she added when she saw that he was about to argue.
She, on the other hand, went around dusting the house. They worked quietly together but he was quite aware of her moving around by listening to the soft footsteps to tell exactly where she was.
"She's someone famous and well-known where she came from," he began as he sprayed one corner of the window. "One day, she decided to drop by this remote, quiet town to view a house."
"Is this about what we talked about earlier?"
"Yeah," he nodded, rubbing on a particularly difficult spot. "Drawing inspiration from people I know."
She stopped dusting to look at him.
"Is it based on me?"
"You told me you want to be famous, yeah?"
Her eyes widened in surprise that he remembered that fact. Effie dropped the feather duster on the cabinet to move closer to where he was and perched on the arm rest where she indulged his tales.
"She came here to get away from it all. The years of fame had taken its toll…"
"Oh, years, is it?" Haymitch teased.
"Years," she affirmed in all seriousness. "It can be quite exhausting, Haymitch, to be hounded day in and day out by paparazzi."
He shot her an amused glance.
"Or maybe…she's here to get in character," Haymitch suggested. "Method acting, you know?"
"An actress? How marvellous! I like that very much. How would you write it then?"
The last pink glow from the sun had faded and darkness had begun to descend upon the town. Haymitch abandoned his task to look for a light switch and when he turned it on, Effie had moved from the arm chair to the foot of the stairs. She gestured upwards, her intention clear. They had to check on the second floor before the potential buyers arrive in the morning.
"She'll stay at a house, far away from the main town. She'll need some place quiet to practice her craft, yeah? It's an important project – the movie of the year, maybe?" he began plotting. He was talking faster than normal, the blood rushing in his veins as the excitement of having a story in his head began to wash over him. "So she – uh – she signed a lease for a couple of months and it worked well, she was diligent in memorising her script."
"Then she met a man."
He stopped at the top of the stairs landing, a hand on the bannister. Effie glanced behind her shoulders when she sensed that he wasn't following.
"I was going for a horror story of how you get mauled by wild boars and after a few weeks, Hollywood came to know of your terrible, unexpected demise when a jogger stumbled on your mangled body."
"Haymitch!" she gasped. "You promised me romance, too."
"Fine," he exhaled, "if you're contributing to this story then, alright, we can go with her meeting some man."
"A writer," Effie grinned.
It made him pause. His skin prickled. Haymitch rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling.
She was standing by the door to the master bedroom, watching him.
"A writer… He – He saw the script she had and he – " He grappled for the words as he fought to keep the uneasy feeling at bay. "He thinks the script is shit."
"How about…" Effie stepped closer to him, so close that he could smell the shampoo on her, "meeting a writer who is alone, brash and impatient, sometimes even rude but with a good heart. He's everything that she is not."
He had to look away. It sounded… He wasn't sure if they were talking about the characters in his story anymore.
"Sounds corny," he mumbled.
"She is smitten, I believe," Effie went on. "There is something rough about him, something that attracted her to him."
His breath hitched and the words left him. All he could do was to stare at her. She held his gaze and waited for him to continue his part. Leaning against the door frame, he said, "Turns out, he was only after her fame and her name."
"Oh, but that is heart breaking," she exclaimed, a hand on her chest. "What about true love?"
"What about it?" he raised an eyebrow.
"I supposed fair is fair, you did say horror and having a heart broken is a tragedy. But you won't break my heart will you, Haymitch?"
That question took him off-guard. He startled badly which meant his reaction was likely quite apparent to her because she seemed uncomfortable as well. The heat rose in her cheeks but she stood her ground, tilted her chin up, silently demanding an answer.
"You're not... We're not the… I'm not the writer in that - "
Whatever he meant to say was silenced by the kiss she pressed to his lips. Her fingers curled on the collar of his shirt and she tugged him forward. The sweet taste from her lips exploded in his mouth and he wanted – craved - more. He leaned in further, chasing her lips, the softest thing he ever felt but paradoxically, she was also insistent. He was soon eagerly returning her kisses, forgetting all the reasons why he was there in the first place.
Somehow, they blindly managed to stumble into the master room and he promptly kicked the door close. Effie fell onto the bed, pulling him down with her.
Whoopie whoops, there we go! Leave your reviews for me :)