Episode FIVE – Thou Shalt (Not)
AN: I apologise for not posting for the last few weeks, but first it was a writer's block and then some serious thinking about where I want to go with this storyline, and then some rewriting of the chapter, and then to top things my computer broke down. Something to do with the Bios a computer pal of mine figures. Well, I don't know how long it will take to fix it or if it's fixable at all, but he let me have a couple of minutes at his computer to send the fifth instalment of my story.
Anyway, fatigue and alcohol is not a good combination. Staring into his glass he asks himself how many he had so far tonight and how many it were yesterday, the day before yesterday, last week, last month or even last year. Way too many he decides and pours the rest of his whiskey down the drain. When did a glass or three became his usual after work decompression aid and stress reliever? When had it become normal to have a glass of wine to dinner, even if it was just ordinary take-out? What kind of example did he, did they set for Juliet? How often had she seen her parents, her parent's friends and business partners with a glass in their hand or more or less discretely wiping their noses on their return from the bathroom? In anger, frustration, anxiety, happiness, at parties and celebrations, when bored or just when the mood or withdrawal struck them? Did she learn this way that drinking and using drugs were normal, acceptable behaviour? And her friends didn't saw it any different at their homes. Caught up in their own hectic lives, miseries and worries over work, money or a crumbling relationship they forgot or stopped caring about how much children saw. They failed their children. How much he had failed Juliet, he realised, when they had returned from the Hamptons.
The first thing he noticed when the elevator doors had opened was the bright writing on Siobhan's photo. And his first thought had been: Gemma knows! Only then he paid attention to the pounding music reverberating through the entire apartment. Hoping for the best and really expecting the worst he searched his way through empty bottles, bags of sweets and potato chips, half-eaten food, cigarette ashes, confetti and paper streamers. WHERE WAS JULIET? And if he hadn't been so furious, he would have spared a thought for his parents. Finally he knew what it felt like coming home to a trashed house and half-comatose children. What was WRONG with Juliet? Why wasn't she with her mother? What had happened in Miami to push his daughter over the edge? What had Catherine said to her to make Bridget's progress with Juliet null and void? He had no time to go back to family therapy with them. It hadn't helped anyway. In fact it had gone so bad that Siobhan had refused to let herself being terrorised any longer by a jealous eleven years old acting out. In the end he had seen no other option but to send Juliet away to boarding school since Catherine refused point blank to take her in, caught up in her new love with a concert promoter and accompanying him all over the world on tour. Besides, if he had been so hell-bent on getting her, he should keep her, she had spit.
Furious he began to clean up the mess. He had been so hopeful, when he had seen them in the bathroom. So what had changed it all? Why was Juliet blowing hot and cold? Confused he followed Bridget into Juliet's bedroom, watching her search for drugs. But hadn't he confiscated those after he had picked her up from the airport? And why did Bridget evidently know what she was talking about? He had never heard of Oxycodon before, let alone the symptoms of abuse. Apart from that, Juliet was his little girl. He had tucked her in, read countless bed time stories - if he had been at home for her bedtime - , sung to her clandestinely, carried her around for hours in the night, when she couldn't sleep or had been unwell. He had taught her to ride a bike, to swim and had explained patiently the world to her. How often had they walked hand in hand with her looking up to him with her big, innocent, trusting eyes, making him ten feet taller, when Catherine had long stopped looking at him in a remotely similar way, frustrated that he was married to his career and was more or less only around for Juliet. From the first moment she had gripped his finger – surprisingly strong for such a small thing and barely one hour old - she had been his little princess and he had been her hero, whom she had told all her little girl secrets and worries, knowing her daddy would fix them. How could Bridget ask him to stop being her daddy and act like a father? He was even surprised she cared at all, when she was truly only an outsider. She didn't understand their history. She didn't know that any meddling on "Siobhan's" part would make things worse, though he was really touched by her commitment, which endeared her to him even further.
But the feeling of her being far too knowledgeable concerning drugs, nagged at the back of his mind. He knew there was no cousin lurking in the familial background of the Kellys. What did he really know about Bridget's life between Sean's death and her coming to live with them? Maybe all his assumptions extrapolated from the little knowledge he had of her were wrong? He gave a phone call to his friend from Homeland Security, who was just on his way to go on a mission, but promised him to look into one Bridget Kelly, when he would have returned in a few days time.
When Andrew stepped out of the elevator he smelled immediately faint traces of his cologne. And faint music or what passed as music these days among teenagers of the western hemisphere, reached his ears. As he called out for Siobhan or Juliet, no one answered, so he walked puzzled to his bedroom to change first, noticing the smell becoming distinctly stronger. And when he opened the door, the stench almost knocked him over. Bracing himself, he stepped into the room and stopped in front of his wardrobe. Where there once had been their clothes, empty racks welcomed him. The small bench was gone, too. What happened here? The AC was on full blast to fan fresh air into the room.
Following his hunch, he turned on his heel and closed the bedroom door firmly behind him and went to Juliet's room. He knocked, but got no answer, so he barged right in to find his daughter lying on her bed with a large, satisfied smile on her face. He knew immediately, whatever happened, his daughter was responsible for it. He looked at her. She just looked back with a hint of challenge in her eyes until it became a staring contest. How could he reach her? What could he say to make her open up and tell him what was wrong? And how was he supposed to keep his temper under control? He felt his jaws clench. This time he would not be provoked into a shouting match with Juliet. And so he just sat down next to her on her bed, took her hand into his and asked what happened, waiting for Juliet to come clean. But as Bridget had predicted, he got nothing but defiant silence. Eventually he started to talk. He talked about his worries and fears for Juliet, how he missed their closeness. He talked how he disliked her acting out and how much it meant to him to have her and Siobhan in his life despite all. He talked about how hard and competitive the business was, and how much he wished for some peace and quiet at least in his family life. And finally he told her about Siobhan being pregnant and how much they both were looking forward to it, how happy he'd be and how important it was to him, if Juliet tried to be a bit more agreeable, because Siobhan tried to be as well, so maybe they could make it work? A fresh start for them as a family? And slowly Juliet responded to him. Apparently she had missed her daddy, too, and in the end they had called a truce with Juliet snuggled into his side.
And Andrew was at peace. He didn't even mention his plans for her, as he originally had intended. He just enjoyed these few moments with his daughter.
After a long while they heard heavy footsteps and Bridget's high heels on the hardwood floor. She must have seen his briefcase on his desk, because moments later she called out for him. So he answered and went out to greet her in the living-room, passing the driver on his way to the elevator. Surprised he saw her rummaging through an opened gym bag next to his small business travel suitcase and a larger one containing an assortment of clothes they hadn't worn in quite some time. Taking charge she informed him that their clothes had to be taken to the drycleaners and the laundry service because they had absorbed the smell of his cologne and the bench had been picked up by the upholsterer. Some things were ruined beyond salvation, but hopefully her weddding dress was not among them. Andrew frowned heavily at that. This was not just acting out, this was a personal assault on his marriage. Glossing over it, Bridget told him she had gone to the Hamptons to pick up some of their spare clothes, but it wasn't much. And since it would be impossible to sleep in their bedroom, they'd have massive headaches come morning and with the baby coming, she had thought of staying at a hotel for the night. Besides she felt it important to leave Juliet alone for the night as a sign of trust and forgiveness. Being caught off-guard he joked about feeling weird to spend the night in a hotel in their hometown with his own wife. But would it feel less weird, if he didn't spend the night in a hotel with his wife, but say a stranger? A stranger as in some sort of role-playing? Intrigued had cocked up his eyebrow. What kind of role-playing had she in mind? Housewife and postman? Priest and nun? Hooker and client? Though he felt somewhat exited by the idea, he felt also wary. He had tried it once with Siobhan, but she had tensed up and in the end they both had been too self-concious and it had ended in a big mortifying disaster. Besides, did he really want to take it to the next level with Bridget so soon and in such a way? Wouldnt' it change things for them? Would it ruin what they had gained so far? Or was this the sign from her he had been waiting for? How did she feel about him anyway?
He was jostled out of his musings, when Bridget made a big show of taking out her mobile phone and pretended to call a number, waited a couple of seconds and then he smiled, catching on. By pretending to call her best friend to tell her about the date she had with a man she had met not an hour ago, she set the scenario. Apparently they were both participants of different conventions held at the same hotel, he had stepped out of the elevator, she had wanted to get in. Both hadn't paid attention and literally bumped into each other. And now they had a date.
A first date.
That was nothing like he had imagined for a bit of role-playing. He had half of a mind to call it off, when something occurred to him. Though his last first date was close to six years ago and he was seriously out of practice, this evening was a golden opportunity for them. Under the cover of pretending to be somebody else, they could get to know each other like the two strangers they really were. They could ask each other all the questions that burned in their minds, but couldn't ask as a "married couple" because they were supposed to have already the answers.
And when she had finished the imaginary phone call and looked questioning at him, he nodded his consent and stepped over to the sideboard where he left his briefcase. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually pulled off his wedding ring, remembering when he done so the last time.
It had been one of their worst fights ever shortly after he had found out she cheated on him and eventually Siobhan had stormed out. Suffocating in an apartment where everything reminded him of her he had sought refuge in the streets of New York City. After walking aimlessly around for a while to calm down, he had ended up in a little, crowded bar. Drowning his sorrow in whisky he had eventually noticed a Latino woman with short dark hair and milk coffee coloured skin scowling into her Gin Tonic. She must have felt his gaze and their eyes met. She had been nothing like Siobhan and that had been the attraction for him. An hour later she had pulled off her wedding ring and he had pulled off his and proceeded to pound her into the mattress in a nondescript room of a middle-class business hotel near by. There had been no tenderness, but rather a need to exorcise their frustrations. She had left scratches on his back, he must have left at least two sets of fingerprints on her body. And when she had tightened around him for the last time that night, he had felt vindicated and utterly exhausted. She hadn't known his name, he hadn't known hers. They had been passing ships in the night.
The next morning he had woken up hung over and buried under a mountain of guilt, feeling like the greatest idiot ever, convinced he had been set up by Siobhan. And for days afterwards he had waited for her to slap incriminating pictures onto the table and start making demands. But for once Siobhan hadn't been at the top of her game. And he had vowed to himself to never cheat on his wife again. It was just not worth it, because for all hell Siobhan put him through... he loved to be married to her. He loved to belong to someone and have someone belong to him. He loved the closeness, the trust and the honesty between two people in love.
He couldn't do it. It felt all wrong suddenly. He was a widower of only a few weeks. And he had loved his wife, very much so, at least once. And deep down he still mourned her in a way. But then Siobhan's ring was laid next to his, partly covering it, and to him they looked somehow connected. And he looked up into Bridget's concerned face. Her eyes told him that they didn't have to do this. It was just an idea to make the best out of a bad situation with no strings attached. In fact it gave them the perfect alibi for asking questions about each other, they couldn't ask as a "married couple" because they were supposed to know already the answers.
So he gave her a soft smile and told her he'd pick her up from the hotel lobby in two hours calling her Bonnie to her face for the first time, which came as a surprise to her but to her credit she adapted quickly and called him Andy in return.
So, what to do and where to go? Putting out all stops? Eventually he decided to keep it simple. He wanted her to concentrate on him, not on a stretch-limo and expensive food in an upscale restaurant, where the chances a business partner or a distant acquaintance interrupted their date were high. And so he led her to a small, out of the place, cosy Italian restaurant, where Mamma lovingly terrorised the guests and Pappa was in the kitchen working miracles on simple food with lit candles on the chequered tablecloth and common breadsticks serving as anti-pasta. And it paid off. Bridget had given him her sweet smile and from then on time flew. In the soft candlelight she looked so goddamned beautiful, soft and approachable. She listened attentively to his tales, laughed at his small jokes and gave him the feeling of being the most interesting man in the world. He even told her stories from his childhood he hadn't told Siobhan because they had been so silly and half forgotten anyway and explained patiently to her what exactly he was doing in "finances". And in return she made him laugh and regaled him with her own life story. They talked about books, music and movies. And when he finally paid for their meals at two in the morning, he felt like floating on a pink, fluffy heart-shaped cloud with his feet dangling merrily and him watching the wonderful world below him through rose-coloured glasses.
He accompanied her to her room, hoping for the natural conclusion of a successful first date. Bridget smiled at him sweetly, thanked him for a most enjoyable evening... and closed the door into his face, without even the tiniest and chastest kiss on his cheek. Disappointed his face fell a bit. But as they were married he expected the door to open immediately again. But it remained closed. Frowning he knocked quietly and stage-whispered "Siobh" to signal her he considered their role-playing over and they were again Andrew and Siobhan, a married couple for almost five years. But even louder knocking and a forceful "Siobhan!" didn't open the door for him. Noticing the curious glances a couple passing by shot him he realised he made a spectacle out of him.
Feeling a bit deflated, he returned to his lonely room and his too big and too lonely bed. He hated sleeping alone and apart from his wife. It made him feel cut off from her. Hadn't she liked their date? Had he been too soft or too forceful? Had he paid too little or too much attention to her? Hadn't she liked the food or the restaurant? He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Was she still hung up on Malcolm? Or was he simply not her type? Who said that identical twins had to fall for the same man? Just because he found her beguiling didn't mean she was equally fascinated by him. Maybe he had been put into "I had fun tonight, but let's stay friends" category? Critically he looked at himself and found his muscle-tone wanting. When Siobhan had lost her interest in him, he had let himself go a bit. Not that he had become flabby, he couldn't afford that without damaging his image and therefore his business, but more defined muscles and regular visits to the gym wouldn't hurt his case, he concluded, especially in comparison to Malcolm, who looked rather fit and athletic as far as he could tell from the college homepage's photo. And Andrew hated nothing more than coming in second best. So maybe she wasn't in love with him yet, but since when did he give up so easily? So she was a bit harder to get than others, but she had definitely evoked his hunting fever and he loved nothing so well as a good chase and a challenge. He would make her fall in love with him, rather sooner than later. He wanted Bonnie. He was sure. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, her laugh, her golden hair, her sexy body, her sense of humour, her compassion, her sarcastic tongue, her intelligence and her street-wise knowledge that shone through, her strength, her perseverance, all about her completely enchanted him. He knew he was falling helplessly and hopelessly in love. And it felt great. He didn't want to know more about her and have her checked out. For once he wanted to discover all about her together with her in their own time and speed. She would trust him and tell him all about herself on her own terms. He would wait forever, if necessary. First thing later that day he would call off the investigation of her background. He wouldn't listen anymore. He wanted to trust her. All else was just minor details. He felt giddy and the bed was still too cold. He would never be able to fall asleep. So he got up again and seconds later he waited for her to pick up her phone, which she eventually did. And then he was tongue-tied. It was too soon to tell her without having at least an idea how his chances stood with her. So he only told her how much he had enjoyed their little role-playing and how much closer to her he felt at that moment, hoping she would tell him the same. She replied that she had enjoyed spending time with him and getting to know him – all over. He laid down and let her voice warm the bed sheets for him. Dear God, he felt like a school-boy with the hugest crush imaginable.
When he came home knackered after a very unproductive day in the office that evening, he was glad that Bridget suggested take-out as dinner to make it as simple as possible. Besides, it was not the food he was looking forward to but the company and their fresh start of trying to have a functional family life. But the atmosphere proved to be stifling and too quiet. Neither Bridget nor Juliet was in a remotely talkative mood. Maybe he had too high expectations of coming home and everybody told everyone about their day and had a lively discussion over dinner like a Hollywood dream of a loving family life? Realising he had to do his part as well he gave it a push and reluctantly Juliet picked up the ball, but only to use it to set Bridget up, he realised with mounting horror. Like a train wreck he could only stand by and watch it happen. Why had Bridget gone against his wishes and used the subway? Why had Juliet followed her? Was he the only one in this family committed enough to at least try to make it work? He was so disappointed in them. He had thought Bridget had understood that Mrs Andrew Martin didn't use public transport, but on the other hand it would not do for the employees to know that Mrs Martin went to NA meetings for whatever well-meaning reasons. Their "knowledge" usually ended up splashed all over the gossip rags and blown out of proportion and context. He should rather commend her for her careful consideration of their reputation, he realised. Eventually he simply asked her again to just leave it and trust him. Besides, he needed to put the blame for this fiasco where it belonged. Juliet had no right to snoop after Bridget. And who had been the little voice in her ear to convince her that she would be sent to a rehab program just because Bridget had wanted to do some research on drug abuse – allegedly, the annoying voice in the back of his mind trumped up. And again he shushed it determined.
Gemma's coming by was the icing on the cake. She had been Catherine's bride's maid and she had been good enough of a friend to stay friends with him after his divorce and remarriage - much to Catherine's angry chagrin. She had even bonded with Siobhan over fashion and interior decoration. He felt somewhat ashamed, now that she presumably knew. He felt he should console her, be the friend for her as she had been for him, but it felt too awkward. How could you tell your friend that you knew about the affair, but never deigned to let her know for mostly selfish reasons, when said friend had the perhaps slightly dubious decency to want to let you know? But then Bridget stepped in and maybe this was foremost a wife/mistress sort of thing to hash out between them? Or was there something else going on underneath it all, something Bridget apparently knew but not him? Gemma was far too quiet, which was rather disconcerting, knowing her fierce temper and tendency to let her opponent have it with two barrels no matter the consequences or any regard for diplomacy. Maybe this wasn't about the affair at all? Was there a chance that Gemma still didn't know? Then what...? It turned out was just about the loft. Gemma was one gifted architect and it WAS rather disappointing that she wanted to step away from this job, because she would doubtless transform this large, empty space into something magnificent. Still busy to figure out if it wasn't really a good thing for Bridget's cover, if the two couples separated for a while, he missed his clues. Of course they'd understand and of course they wouldn't hate her. Convinced the disaster was averted he excused himself to do some damage-control on the next construction site so to speak. The hoping it was just a phase–method hadn't worked, the daddy-approach had failed, it was about time to act like a father. And so he made a lunch appointment with his daughter for the next day to discuss her future.
Later in bed he turned towards Bridget and tried to discuss, if it wasn't for the best, they would sell the loft. Although with the baby coming they needed more space. Had Gemma said anything more to her? But Bridget had been unresponsive and preoccupied on both topics. So he contented himself with reaching for her hand in the darkness and giving it a squeeze trying to show his support in whatever had Bridget so rattled and hoping she would open up to him. But she kept silent, her cool hand in his limp like a dead fish. Sighing he rolled back. It was so Bridget. With her it was always two steps forward and one step back he began to realise. Or maybe they were both so independent and so used to handle their problems on their own that it simply didn't occur to them to share their burdens with each other? At least he knew he needed to relearn to trust and to rely on somebody else. And if that was Bridget's problem, too, then maybe they could relearn together? Maybe she would follow his lead as she seemed content to do, if he was more open about his worries and showed her he trusted her to be there for him and that her help was appreciated?
Juliet reacted predictably, when Andrew informed her she was to start at a public school the next day – she blew up. What he hadn't anticipated and convinced him further he was doing the right thing was her flippant statement that he should buy her way into private school. Did they teach children at private schools that money and mind-altering drugs were the universal problem solvers? She was at the age where she shouldn't ask what things cost, but why she was able to afford them and others were not and if there was any fairness in that, calling him a bloodsucker and soulless robber baron and arguing with him over dinner about environmental problems and women's education in Third World countries and questioning the Great Order of Things and her place in it. She needed a fresh perspective and other influences than her friends in her life and this was her chance, if only she understood it as such. He just couldn't get what had gone so wrong. And then he got his answer – the old problem "Siobhan" but this time with a new twist. When had she learnt that her father had broken his vows to her mother?
The phone call to Catherine, currently with her husband in Australia accompanying him on his scouting travels for suitable concert halls and dates of the Beach Boys™ World Tour 2011/12, had gone exactly as anticipated. Six years later and they still managed barely to hold a civil conversation. Catherine was a Farnsworth and Farnsworths had temporary separations and affairs on the side, but they did NOT divorce, which had resulted in a rather ugly divorce with Juliet as bargaining chip by the Farnsworth attorneys. Presenting him with the choice to either step away from claiming full custody for Juliet or pay every cent back the Farnsworth family had ever invested in his company, they had gambled on him not being able to do either and come back to heel as a consequence. Money was insignificant in comparison to his child, but it had also been impossible for him to walk away from Siobhan. She had been everything Catherine had not. Catherine came from old East Coast money. Born at the top of the food chain she had never really understood his hunger for "more" and his ambition to advance. Siobhan had understood his greed for power and money. He wanted to be the ultimate mover and shaker of the financial world, the one the President, the Queen and the Saudi Princes called, if they were a bit in a bind and needed advice… or money, they didn't want anyone to know about. Less would have been unacceptable, then. He had felt the kindred spirit in her as if he had been meant for her. And in that desperate situation Olivia had come to his rescue. It was a pity that only few people took the time to look beyond the tough business woman image she presented to the world. And it was even sadder that she let even fewer people see her vulnerability and loneliness. He would never forget the day she closed the door behind her and leant against his desk and asked the all-deciding question of how much money he needed to get out of his unhappy marriage. In the end Juliet and his freedom had cost him nearly everything he owned, nearly everything Olivia owned and a considerable loan from the banks to pay off the Farnsworths and get full custody. But he had never regretted it once, even if he had paid back the last instalment only last year to Olivia who had shown incredible patience towards him paying back what he owed her, acknowledging that Andrew Martin™ had to look the part of a successful businessman with a Park Avenue flat, a house in the Hamptons, a racing boat and part ownership of a successful racing horse. They had even briefly considered buying a house in Aspen, but Siobhan had hated the cold. She was a creature of warmth, sunshine and the sea and so they dropped the idea.
Catherine, shocked beyond imagination, had never really been able to forgive him. They had pushed their luck and she had lost everything – her husband and her daughter. Even if she never had been really close to her because Juliet had always been closer to her father. Catherine had become to be known as the first Farnsworth in known family history to have ever divorced. Ashamed and embittered she had fled to Miami, where she had remarried quickly enough to loose the stigma, but it had never really vanished. Generally the Farnsworths preferred to walk the other side of the road when they happened to meet with Andrew Martin.
But this time Catherine had crossed the line in her petty games of revenge. She had told Juliet the truth, or at least the truth as she saw it, conveniently forgetting that their marriage had been dead and buried long before they had made that fateful trip to Vegas and that she was equally to blame for that failure.
And when he looked for Juliet to explain what really happened before and after he had met Siobhan, he realised she had snug out again – the night before her first day of school. Running out of options, he had waited for Bridget to come home, worrying himself sick over both of them. Where were they? What else could he do to find his princess but phoning around? Finally, close to midnight he heard Bridget's steps. Reminding himself of being more open, he told her about Catherine and Juliet and confessed his desperate worries and asked for her help. And Bridget came through for him.
The bouncer recognised Juliet from her photo on his mobile phone and confirmed she was inside. Putting the question aside how a fifteen year old girl managed to get into a club, he texted Bridget and fidgeted until she arrived. He needed her here or he was liable to do things he would regret later. It didn't take long to find her – and with her was her friend Erica. Well, that friendship was over, as far as Andrew was concerned. This girl had a really bad influence on his daughter and she had lied to him, when he had called her earlier this evening asking if Juliet was with her. Feeling the rage building in him, he felt Bridget's touch on his sleeve. It was the first time that she deliberately touched him. And relishing it put him in an enough mellow mood not to immediately start yelling at Juliet and dragging her home either by the arm or the hair – he wasn't picky in his current mood.
Confronting Juliet had been difficult and it forced him to reveal details of his marriage to his daughter, he felt she didn't need to know yet or preferably not at all. And it irked him that Juliet parroted Catherine's torrent of hatred and attacked Siobhan again. As if Siobhan was the root of all problems. Yes, maybe Catherine and he could have worked things out, but he hadn't wanted to. And he had wanted even less after he had met his lady in red. He didn't agree to Bridget's taking the blame once more and apologising, because she neither was to blame nor was she responsible. But apparently this was what Juliet had been waiting for and what she had needed. She fought for a moment with herself but then it felt like the sun peaked out from behind storm clouds. And the fury receded and in its wake it left a lonely, insecure, little girl who only wanted to go home. And it melted all his tightly controlled anger away. If she had been smaller and younger, he would have picked her up and cradled her against his chest to protect her from all things evil, his little girl. And he could have burst from love for her and Bridget, but eventually he just took her into his arms, trying to give her the shelter and the security she so needed and wanted and mouthed a heartfelt 'thank you' to Bridget.
But his happy bubble burst when Gemma called. He heard her crying and knew she needed him tonight. So he trusted that Bridget had things under control at home and made the detour to the Butler's home – only to find Henry in an odd state of mind. But Juliet took precedence in his mind and he made do with going home. Gemma's problems could wait until the morning.
AN: The perfume story is a true story of my life. I played once as a little girl with my mother's perfume bottle, pretending to be a lady getting ready for the theatre I think, and sprayed the scent VERY GENEROUSLY over all and everything. Her entire bedroom just stank! As my mother was a firm believer of punishments fitting the crime, she made me sleep in her bedroom in the stink and she spent the night in my room. I remember I had trouble falling asleep that night and the next day I had a headache.
Anyway, I appreciate any all reviews you might want to send me.