II: Bartering
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Gossip Girl. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non-profit way.
Strange dreams gripped Blair that night of her sitting resplendent on a dark throne as faceless shadows—her supplicants—floated around and awaiting her commands. A low Gregorian-like chant resounded around the room and Blair felt her dream-self revel in the sheer power that pulsated through her. Then, a tall, commanding figure came through the shadows that dream Blair immediately recognised.
Chuck Bass.
She arose from her throne and slowly moved towards him as if she was wading across water on a moonless night. He held out his hand, breathing her name like a dark caress as she wordlessly placed her pale hand in his. Their eyes bore into each other while the shadows evaporated around them as if the heat radiating from the pair was almost unbearable to their hollow shades.
And that was the first of the many dreams about shadows and Chuck that would assail Blair.
The following afternoon after a successful morning of teaching Ruby basic letters, Blair took her lunch into the small, private balcony of her room that overlooked the busy, milling streets of the Upper East Side. She slowly munched on the soft white bread as she listened to cacophony of sounds from the streets below. The only vegetation on her balcony was a drooping plant and a long-dead lavender bush in a crumbling terracotta pot.
"Blair?"
Blair inwardly rolled her eyes and turned to face Penelope's nurse, Vanessa, whilst simultaneously wondering why Vanessa intruded upon the only private space Blair harboured. Vanessa was a pious woman who constantly urged Blair to read the Bible with her in the evenings. Her inky black hair was pulled back into a severe braid and she was dressed in sensible black lace-up shoes and a highly starched navy blue nursing dress.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Bass requests your presence."
Blair immediately placed her sandwich down. Mrs. Penelope Bass was not a woman to accept tardiness and the last thing Blair wanted was for Penelope to be thrown into hysterics.
"Why would she want to see me?" Blair asked as she followed Vanessa down the silent, sterile cream corridor.
"She did not divulge her reasons to me. Maybe it is to chart the progress of her daughter?"
Blair thought it was highly unlikely since Penelope had never displayed any maternal solicitude towards Ruby, and had been more interested in downing a bottle of red wine.
Just before Vanessa opened the door to Penelope's room, she murmured in an undertone to Blair: "Make sure you don't utter anything that could agitate her. She has been in a restless and unstable mood all morning ever since her husband left at first light without any notice or farewell to her."
Blair kept her face deliberately blank at the mention of Penelope's husband. She was surprised he was even able to arise at the arrival of dawn considering the amount of liquor he had consumed if the stench of his breath was anything to go by last night.
"Mrs Bass, here is Miss Waldorf as you requested," chirped Vanessa, fluffing up Penelope's pillows.
Penelope grunted and gestured for Vanessa to leave them alone. Blair could not help but notice Penelope's gaunt features and hollow eyes. Though Penelope was being ravaged by cancer, it was obvious that she had not lost any of her vanity, for she was gowned in a pale pink chiffon nightgown, her corn blonde hair was curled into tight ringlets and her face had been thickly applied with make-up. She appeared like a grotesque mocking of a queen in the last throes of life.
Penelope's kohl lined eyes narrowed at Blair and such poison gathered in her face that if Blair had been made of lesser mettle, she would have stepped back in shock. "You," she spat.
"It is I, madam," coolly responded Blair.
"You slut."
Blair fought down her temper. "There is no need to sully my honour, madam. I am no common whore—I am your daughter's governess."
"You're a common whore, a slut! I know what you and my husband have been doing—I know he has sought your bed and you have plied him with French tricks!"
"I have done nothing of the sort. I have barely made the acquaintance of your husband."
"Don't lie to me, you bare-faced harlot!" she screeched, managing to pull herself upright. "I know why my husband hired you!"
"You are mistaken—I'm not sure who is feeding you this false info—"
"How dare you assert that I am lying, you—you—"
Blair barely had enough time to duck before Penelope threw a vase at Blair with surprising strength. At the crash of the vase, the door swung open and Vanessa barreled in. Penelope was sobbing and screaming out profanities, her hands thrashing out as Vanessa attempted to subdue her.
"Get out!" Vanessa ordered Blair, her eyes clearly displaying that she blamed Blair for Penelope's outburst.
Blair did not need to be told twice.
Penelope's tortured shrieks and Vanessa's vain placations still echoed in Blair's ears as she hurried away with her heart pounding in shock.
Blair thought it best if Ruby was taken away from the oppressive atmosphere of her house, so they spent the remainder of the afternoon at a small park four blocks away.
Blair sat on the bench and watched little Ruby, who inherited her father's sharp features and her mother's blond hair, chase pigeons with gleeful abandon, seemingly untouched by her father's demons or her mother's madness. To Blair, Ruby was the little flower that grew amid the strangling weeds of the Bass household.
But Blair pondered how long Ruby could remain unstained by the darkness and hollowness of her parents and grandfather that seeped into every crevice of their surroundings.
Only capricious time would tell.
That night, Blair was drawn to the closed restaurant of the hotel where a grand piano lay. Bart Bass had given her clearance after Blair had told him she would also be able to teach Ruby to become proficient in the piano. It was her nightly ritual to sit at the sleek instrument and let her fingers run up and down the keys, playing any melody that suited her mood. It was her release from the exertions of the day and brought back memories of her beloved father, Harold, teaching her.
Her father.
The man who died when Blair was only twelve with scurrilous rumours swirling about of him indulging in nocturnal activities with the stable boy, and leaving her mother, Eleanor, destitute from his debts. Eleanor had died two years ago after succumbing to drink and being worn out by the beatings of her drunkard second husband, Cyrus Rose.
Indeed, becoming a governess was Blair's mode of escape from Cyrus and the suffocating life of poverty and abuse in Brooklyn.
As she came to the conclusion of a little melancholy piece she had composed herself, she heard someone clap three times.
"Who's there?" she called out to the shadowy room that was only lit by the small lamp on the piano. Her skin prickled with tension.
The flicker of a cigarette lighter briefly signaled to Blair where her unwelcome nighttime visitor was situated—by the bar that was behind her in the far corner of the spacious restaurant.
It left her in no doubt as to whom the wraith was.
"I never knew you could play the piano," Chuck drawled as he lit his cigarette that momentarily engulfed his face in a dark orange glow and made him seem as if he was tipping on the edge of a hellish inferno.
"Are you accustomed to watching people in the darkness, Mr. Bass?"
"I thought you were far more pleasing to watch than the bottles of fine Scotch whisky lined neatly on the shelf."
Blair stiffened as she felt his hand lightly brush across the bare nape of her neck. "Such an elegant figure wasted in this gilded cage," he whispered.
Blair made a move to rise and depart from the room, but his body was positioned right behind her, thus making it impossible for her to move without creating an unwelcome scene.
He lowly chuckled, making Blair tense up even more. "Do not fear me, Miss Waldorf," he breathed, his hand once again straying to her neck and twirling lazy circles on her nape. "Contrary to the ugly rumours of me, I do not make it a habit to violently take resisting women. I prefer it when they are warm and pliant."
Humiliatingly, Blair could not find her voice.
His fingers drifted from her neck to her shoulders. "I heard that my dear wife attacked you this afternoon?"
"It was nothing that I could not handle. I know she is unwell," Blair managed to choke out.
"Yes." His voice was dark. "Yes. But all the same, I am sorry on her behalf."
"Don't be. I don't need your apologies," Blair bit back.
His hands paused at the nape of her neck and Blair realised how vulnerable she was. Did she push him too far?
He sounded amused. "You are a tigress beneath this prim veneer of yours."
"I'm no wilting lily," she retorted, attempting to regain some power.
His hands re-commenced their exploration of her neck. Blair could feel her heart thudding erratically and her cheeks flushed. She had never been so vulnerable and humiliated.
"I have an offer, Miss Waldorf."
"And what would that be?"
"You can play the piano, and while you do, you allow me to watch you. In return, I'll give you extra money that will accelerate your path out of here and allow you to find yourself a decent situation for yourself."
"Do you think I am some sort of whore like your wife described?"
He trailed a finger from the tip of her neck to the base of spine, causing Blair to involuntarily shiver. She could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, "I mean to watch, Miss Waldorf—though if I stray occasionally and caress this magnificent neck of yours, or your arms that are hidden underneath these long sleeves of yours, you will have to endure it."
"No."
"I think you should consider, Miss Waldorf. I would hate to have to let you go on the account of my wife's delicate nerves and send you back to that delightful stepfather of yours."
"You wouldn't."
"I would. I've been doing some research on you, Miss Waldorf, and I know what kind of drunken brute your stepfather is. I know that you long to raise yourself out of that God-forsaken rut you were born into."
Rage coursed through her that she nearly trembled with it. "How dare you."
"I dare, because I'm a Bass, and I have no iron moral compass."
"Damn you," she said in a quiet voice that pulsed with loathing.
"I already know I am damned, Miss Waldorf. If I'm going to Hell, I'm making sure that I am going to revel in my mortal life."
He then bent his head so his mouth was by her ear. "You pretend that you are so virtuous, but I can see that you are ambitious. Do this little deal with me and I promise that I will ensure you marry well and have a better fortune than what you have now. Your stepfather and Brooklyn will be a mere unpleasant memory that can be shelved away and never taken down again."
Blair knew she had no choice if she wanted to advance in life. "Fine. I agree."
"Good. I knew you'd see reason."
He released his hands from her. Blair immediately stood up.
"Good night, Miss Waldorf," he said formally, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light.
"Good night, Mr. Bass," she stiffly replied, and turned to leave.
"Our agreement begins tomorrow night," he called after her.
Blair did not respond.