Chapter 8
Mary Margaret Blanchard had never held a paying job in her life. That's not to say she has never worked, however. Far from it. She had once been the heiress to Fairest Inc., the internationally acclaimed manufacturer of high end beauty products that had employed over twenty thousand people at its peak. While she had never held a formal title at the firm, she had been the unofficial face of the company since she was a teenager. This position required her to socialize with the upper echelons of society across the globe and entertain her father's extensive list of business associates on a regular basis.
If there was one thing she excelled at, it was hosting a gathering.
She nervously smoothed the invisible creases in her conservative knee length skirt and fumbled with the clasps on her jewelry. This was the first time she was hosting a party since her fall from grace and she wanted everything to be perfect.
The fact that she was going to be entertaining ten criminals only added to her growing anxiety. How did one behave around con-men? Should she act confident and suave or demure and invisible?
"There isn't going to be a photo-op for the tabloids, dearie," said Mr. Gold, looking up from his newspaper. "There is no need to impress anyone."
"Easy for you to say," she replied, looking at him critically from head to toe. "You're always impeccably dressed. I need your opinion; top button or no top button?"
"If you're planning on stealing someone's wallet I would go for no top button," suggested Neal looking slyly at his father. "Some men are easily distracted, I'm told."
Gold rolled his eyes at his son. "I think I hear some of our guests arriving. Why don't the two of you show them into the gardens and start pouring drinks."
Mary Margaret graciously welcomed them to her home as they arrived one by one, guiding them to the softly lit back terrace that overlooked the gently crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean. The caterers had put together a lovely spread of hors d'oeuvres and canapés while Neal had set up a bar featuring several types of hard liquor and various brands of beer. Classical music gently pumped out of hidden speakers and twinkling white lights glittered like thousands of fireflies in the night sky.
Everything was absolutely perfect!
"These are nice digs you got here, sister," mumbled a short man she had been introduced to as Leroy, his mouth full of plump shrimp. "The only thing missing is a pool. I got some C4 in my trunk. Just say the word and I'll blow a hole in the backyard. Save you a fortune in labor costs."
"I'll keep that in mind," she replied, backing slowly away from him. Good lord! What did she get herself into?
She then collided with an elderly woman wearing a long golden chain with what looked to be a dozen wedding bands around her neck. "I'm so sorry, Mrs…?"
"Just call me Granny, girl. Everyone else does. I've gone through so many names in my life I've forgotten what my parents called me." The older woman looked her over from head to toe. "So…you're the Fairest of Them All, are you?"
Mary Margaret felt her face flush in embarrassment. She shook her head and looked down at her shoes nervously. "No, I'm not. That's just some silly moniker the media gave me years ago."
"Nonsense! I used to read all about you in those rumor magazines at the hair salon. You were prettier than any of your company's models, especially your witch of a step-mother! They were right when they said Regina should retire as the face of Fairest and let you become the spokesperson."
"Oh my goodness!" added a tall girl with long dark brown tresses, Ruby she thought. "When you had your nervous breakdown and chopped off all your gorgeous hair I thought I would die! It was on the news for weeks!"
"I was drugged," interjected Mary Margaret, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Someone slipped me a poisonous combination of anti-psychotics. It made me a little crazy."
"Is that how you got that nickname?" asked Leroy, downing his second glass of whiskey in one gulp. "Something about you being nuttier than peanut M&M's?"
"Okay! That's enough of that," interrupted Neal, tactfully handing her a glass of champagne and a lifeline. He placed his hand on her lower back and guided her towards the buffet. "Mary Margaret, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"
He steered her away from the guests and bad memories and lowered his voice. "Sorry about that. I'll talk to them. It was so long ago and I didn't think anyone would bring it up."
"No, it's alright. I guess you can't run away from your past," she said sadly. "It always finds a way to catch up to you."
"Yeah, speaking of which…" Neal looked over at the patio door as a beautiful blonde woman and a kid stepped out onto the terrace. "That's my ex-girlfriend and love of my life over there. She really doesn't want to be around me so could you hang out with her, maybe? Keep her company?"
"Of course," she replied, thankful to have something to keep her mind off her own troubles. "Is that her son?"
"Adopted him two years ago apparently," Neal shrugged. "I don't know too much about him except he loves comic books. Let's get you introduced."
As Mary Margaret approached the new arrivals she noticed the rising tension emanating between Emma Swan and Neal Cassidy was palpable. Her posture became as rigid as a pole and she placed a protective arm around her son. Neal, on the other hand, began to fidget and tried to covertly swipe his sweaty palms on his jeans.
"Hey, Henry," Neal said, shooting quick glances at the boy's mother. "I'm glad you guys could make it. Uh…This is Mary Margaret Blanchard. She owns this house and she's our bankroller."
Emma's eyebrows shot up at the mention of her name. "Wow. It's not every day you get to meet a celebrity. Nice to meet you."
"A celebrity?" asked Henry. "Like an actress? What are you famous for?"
"For getting a haircut," replied a rather dashing man wearing an elaborate cravat. Jefferson, she thought. He winked slyly at her as he drew near.
Henry scrunched up his face and looked puzzled. "That's it? That doesn't seem too bad."
"It was very short," replied Jefferson. He turned his attention to the blonde and bowed deeply, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. "Emma, darling, it's been too long!"
Beside her, Neal groaned and rolled his eyes. Jefferson seemed to brighten at the other man's reaction. "And I see you have a new addition to your family. My Grace is about the same age as your young man. Perhaps we could all get together for a little 'play-date' when all this madness is over."
"Why settle for that when we could have a real date?" asked a scruffy man in a black leather jacket. "August W. Booth, at your service."
"Really?" asked Emma. "With the middle initial?"
"The 'W' stands for wasted," said Neal dryly, "which is how he spends most days."
"It's actually Wayne, although I have been known to enjoy a drink every now and then. How about it? Would you like to join me sometime?"
"If you don't I will!" said Granny. Mary Margaret stifled a laugh when she realized Granny was blatantly admiring Mr. Booth's behind. She had to admit, it was quite the view.
"Sounds great, August," said Neal enthusiastically. "I would love to see you as lucky husband number 13. Ten to one odds say he doesn't live for more than 2 years!"
"No bet!" laughed Emma. "She'd wear him out in less than one. Wouldn't you, Granny?"
The two ladies embraced warmly like close family. Mary Margaret was beginning to feel out of place in her own backyard! She backed away from the group of old friends and made her way over to the bar to fix herself another drink.
"I guess it's true what they say," said Ruby somberly, grabbing a beer from the cooler. "Blondes really do have more fun."
"It certainly seems that way sometimes, doesn't it?" They watched in bewilderment as the three men continued to fight for Emma's attention, although Mary Margaret couldn't help but think that August and Jefferson were more interested in irritating Neal than actually winning the young woman's favor.
Granny, meanwhile, seemed absolutely fascinated by Henry. She grabbed his poor face between her firm hands and squished it as she turned it this way and that, studying it closely. After a few minutes, she smiled brightly and kissed his forehead, leaving behind a pink lip imprint on his skin. She sent Emma a thumbs up.
"I haven't seen Granny look so happy since her tenth husband died," said a red-headed man in a trench-coat and carrying an umbrella. "Hey, Ruby."
"Archie!" Ruby launched herself around his neck and gave his rapidly reddening cheek a quick peck. "I heard you moved out! Way to finally cut the umbilical cord! So how do you like living on your own?"
He looked down sheepishly and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "Oh, well…it's nice I guess. It can be a bit lonesome at times though."
"Hmm. Perhaps I can help." She reached up to straighten his tie and affectionately smoothed it over his chest. "It just so happens that I know of someone very warm and cuddly who would love to snuggle up next to you every night."
Archie's face flushed so deeply you couldn't tell where his skin ended and his hair began. He looked at Ruby with such longing that Mary Margaret felt she was intruding on a truly personal moment.
"Her name is Pongo and she is the most beautiful Dalmatian you have ever seen!" she finished, much to Archie's dismay. "You should really think about adopting her. Walking a dog would make a great cover when you're on the job."
Mary Margaret cleared her throat loudly to ease the tension. "Excuse me, Archie, but we haven't been officially introduced. I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard. May I take your coat and umbrella?"
He shook her hand warmly but tucked his umbrella under his arm. "Archie Hopper. If it's all the same to you I'd rather keep this with me. It's kind of my lucky charm."
"It's all part of his gameplay," explained Ruby slyly. "Give her a demonstration. You can do me if you want."
Poor Archie's face was now scarlet but he shook out his arms and flexed his neck, like an athlete readying to compete.
"How do you do, Miss Lucas?" he asked, taking her hand in both of his. He leaned in for a hug and lingered just slightly longer than normal. When he pulled away, he smiled brightly at Mary Margaret. "There! How was that?"
"Um…what exactly did you do?"
"Hold out your hands." He tipped his umbrella upside down and out tumbled earrings, a necklace, two bracelets, and a watch.
"No one ever thinks to look inside an umbrella. It's the perfect place to drop my assets."
"Archie is one of the best pickpockets in the country! There's nothing he can't lift!"
Mary Margaret unconsciously reached for her mother's necklace around her neck and sighed in relief when she still felt it there. She would definitely have to be careful around her new business associates.
Checking her watch, which fortunately was still around her wrist, she thought it was time to get Mr. Gold outside to finally greet his guests. Although all her instincts told her Mr. Gold is a bad man, she couldn't help but trust him.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all.
Leaving Ruby and her love sick puppy behind, Mary Margaret climbed the stone steps to her patio door. She could hear Mr. Gold's Scottish brogue clearly through the glass. Their last guest must have finally arrived.
Hoping fiercely that the new arrival wasn't another oddball like Leroy, she slid open the door and walked straight into one of her dreams.
Could it be? "Is it really you?" she asked breathlessly.
"Mary Margaret," he replied disbelievingly. "I never thought I'd see you again!"
"Oh," said Mr. Gold casually, with a smirk. "Do you know David? What a lovely coincidence."
"Yes! We once…" she faltered. "I'm sorry. I don't understand. What did you call him? His name is James."
The young man looked down at his feet and ran his hand across the back of his neck. "It's David, actually. I'm kind of a…a con-artist."
He looked up sheepishly, just in time to see her fist flying towards his face.