All the years of being broke
And all the spit and all the smoke
And all the fucking, all the drugs
All the love was not enough
You take my guts, I'll take the car
Welcome, stranger - here you are!
Never seen your face before.
Welcome, stranger!
Nice to meet you.
Laurie sees him again.
It's not too many years but it's enough. Fred's moustache is as clean and crisp as ever and Laurie's upper lip still burns, tingles with the memory of sensation.
"Hullo," Laurie extends his hand and as expected Fred remains tight-lipped and stiff. He does not take the proffered hand and rocks just once on his heels. Stationary, Laurie thinks. Stuck.
"How do you do, old chap?"
Laurie turns his black eyes onto a gleaming head of gold that has only ever been known to him as Amy March. He supposes he shan't ever call her by that name again.
"Well enough I suppose." He puts just enough leer into that to send Amy's slight smile into an even slighter frown. She takes his hand before he can drop it back to his side and he is reminded of her taller sister's grip. She never would have worn gloves, though.
They are both a welcomed reminder in his life why it isn't wise to keep close to anyone.
"They ask after you in Orchard House." Amy's reminder is none-too-gentle. He doesn't remember is she always made him bristle so, but he takes her other arm, careful to meet Fred's blank expression over her sweet head.
"You can tell them what you will, Amy dearest. It doesn't worry me." She nods primly though the three of them have moved off and Laurie considers what a strange collective they make, moving about the room to the tables and chairs by the grand windows.
All that light will make his head ache for hours.
He watches as he seats himself opposite the couple. Fred's hand does not leave Amy's arm until she has been tucked safely close to the table, her dress arranged properly and her parasol's handle has completely left her hand. The Englishman stands there a second longer and that is when his eyes truly meet Laurie's.
It takes his breath away, just for a moment.
Everything lies there. The Mistake. The lies Fred undoubtedly tells his blushing new bride, the lingering hope, the sorry dismissal. Laurie sees it all until it is almost unbearable but only five heart beats have passed and Fred takes his place beside Amy, his hand returning to her hand on the table.
What a tidy picture they present. Between Amy's fine curls and Fred's sharp moustache they are every inch the fashion plate. It is as though he has just looked up from a Sunday's read of a catalogue. Laurie shakes his head but neither is looking at him. No, they are far too pretty to be watching anyone but each other.
Laurie motions over the waiter and wonders how much wine would be enough to be written as 'inconsiderate' or 'dangerous' back to Mrs Vaughn's old home. The boy that comes over can be no older than he was when he left America last and Laurie takes the liberty of ordering for them all. Scotch for him, tea for Fred and lemonade for Amy. No one says anything.
The waiter leaves as quickly as he came and Laurie folds his hand over his stomach, leaning back in his chair. He is tall enough that it does not look entirely improper and Amy keeps her small smile and Fred's elbows find the arm of his chair.
"So how are things in Concord?"
Amy warms to the subject and he listens, faking idleness as he plays with the placement of his fork against the lace placemat setting before him.
"… And so Father is tutoring again until the school will find a place for him. I'm afraid Beth is not getting along so well."
He lifts his head at that and stills his hand. "She is unwell?"
Amy purses her lips and that is all she need say. Laurie returns his attention to the frilled edges of the lace and swallows. He has noticed Mrs Vaughn says nothing about her.
"Send my love to them, won't you?" It's an ashamedly naked moment for him but he can't hide the honest emotion in his voice and Amy nods quickly in return. He sees Fred's thumb brush absently back and forth over his wife's hand. It is not a nervous habit.
Laurie looks at them both again and thinks them converted. Converted to each other, to their mutual lifestyle of silly paintedness. Of screens and fans, parasols and smiles and every creature comfort their tired pale bodies could desire. It makes him sick, as sick as everything makes him. In a flash he imagines them rolling together, like marionettes in some smutty French play where a prostitute sticks out her tongue and another man makes rude gestures, the strings in their hands as pale sweaty bodies make nonsense beneath them to their tune.
It makes him sick.
Finally their beverages arrive and Laurie is quick to down his in one swallow. That, he knows, will make it back home. Amy tries valiantly to lower her eyebrows but Laurie has developed a talent for human observation since his self-indulgence grew into living.
He continues to think this little arranged meeting was not the wisest of decisions.
It is then he feels Fred's shoe bump against his. The man's brow is set and there is no telling if the movement was intentional or not.
"So, I don't believe I've congratulated you both in person yet."
Amy's cheeks colour as soon as he finishes and it is a very endearing gesture. Laurie is reminded she is still more of a girl than a woman and it makes something inside of him settle. That he should still recognise one March woman bears a lot of a good.
"Thank you, Laurie." Fred's voice is soft, but then he has never been the boy of Camp Laurence and cricket fields.
"Truly I think you make an excellent couple." He does not mean any malice by the sentence but it is not as clean as it should sound on paper and Amy looks at her lap. Laurie feels Fred's shoe against his own again and his eyes flick to the other man.
Amy says something but the Mistake is suddenly playing so vividly in his mind that all he notices is the way Fred's mouth remains that sensible frown. Laurie shifts his foot only and inch but it is enough. There is Fred's leg, strong and sure.
It's suddenly very plain to him how insulting it is that Fred should treat him with such distance. As though some faint slight-of-hand act, the press of their knees together, should accommodate for any feelings he might have. Yes, he used Fred but Laurie knows for damn sure he was being used that night too. It was as plain as the empty bottles around his apartment.
He knows it would be the same with or without Amy. Fred was and is ashamed and he will probably die that way.
Laurie was sorry that it happened. There was no use in lying about that, but shame… No. He only believed there was one being in the universe that was capable of making him feel such a way and there was an ocean lying between them.
He kicks Fred in the shin and motions to the waiter for another drink.
The Englishman whispers something to his wife, his lips somewhere between their shoulders where it is still polite for company and public and Laurie thinks, no doubt as close as they get in private quarters anyway. Amy nods and he watches as so much of their language is coded.
Maybe there is more between them than he had allowed.
"I'm so sorry Laurie, but we must go." But then, he knows Fred. "You see, there is another appointment I forgot about. Dear Fred just reminded me, we are due at his mother's within an hour." Amy explains as her husband stands to help her out of the chair. It isn't so much for inability or wifely deference as it is polite and necessary. It suits Amy.
"I wish we had more time," he says needlessly, waving the hand he had tucked under his chin airily. It couldn't hurt to seem insincere now.
"Perhaps we will see you at the Society Ball next month?" Amy takes her husband's arm and Laurie feels Fred's stare. He looks up at them both, his legs crossed lazily, his hat jaunted and he dares a careless smile.
"No, I think not."
"Sometime after, then?" Patient as ever, Amy remains unmoved by his half-performance.
"No. I think Paris is calling me."
"Perhaps we shall see you there." Fred speaks and Laurie feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him. Vaughn bows sharply before turning his lady in a neat circle and they leave together.
Laurie's drink arrives and the tall man buries himself in it. "Bye then," he whispers over the glass rim.