September 28
It was far too quiet for a Saturday night, in Madame Christmas's opinion.
She'd even decided to let some of her girls go home early, something which she rarely needed to do. In fact, she had just placed a hand on Claire's shoulder when Brigadier General Grumman trailed into the bar, looking sad, lost and utterly unlike himself.
"Claire, darling," she said quietly, her hand still resting on the younger woman's shoulder blade. "Would you mind showing my old friend to my private office? Discreetly, please."
"Not at all," Claire replied, brow furrowed in concern as her hazel eyes flicked up and down the older gentleman.
Chris remained behind the bar, watching carefully. Claire intercepted Grumman, greeted him cheerfully but quietly, tucked a hand into the crook of his elbow and steered him unobtrusively towards the back of their establishment. The private rooms for entertaining small, intimate groups were located there, right alongside a semi-secret back entrance to Chris's own private office.
If anyone were watching the pair, it would appear that the Brigadier General was the one leading the way, and that he'd had a prearranged meeting with the young hostess hanging on his arm. Not that anyone was actually paying close attention, but it never hurt to take precautions just in case. And it kept her girls sharp, Chris knew.
It was important to be aware of one's body language at all times, Chris told her girls constantly. The slightest flinch or flicker of an eye could give the game away if the mark were observant enough, or had observant enough security in place. Claire slipped into the role of eyelash-batting ingénue quite effortlessly, striking a fragile balance between innocent vulnerability and an "I-might-be-young-and-pretty-but-I'm-not-stupid" vibe. She really was starting to get better at subterfuge, Chris noted with an approving smirk. Grumman, on the other hand, was not behaving at all like his usual suave self. Anyone who knew him even moderately well would be able to see that something was amiss.
"What on earth has gotten into you, old man?" Chris murmured to herself. She raised an eyebrow at Sophie, who was across the room and laughing at something one of her patrons had just said. Recognizing the signal, Sophie rose gracefully, gathered the empty glasses from the table, and then sashayed over to the bar.
"Keep an eye on the front of the house for me, please," Madame said in a low voice as Sophie dumped the dirty glasses into a shallow plastic bin for the kitchen staff to deal with. "I'm stepping out for a bit; I've come across a matter that needs my attention," she explained over the soft clattering of glassware. "Go ahead and send Ada home if no one else comes in in the next half hour."
"Yes, ma'am," Sophie replied, a clean glass in each hand as she turned back around. "Oh, and that twitchy-looking fella in the lab coat is back in again," she added, gesturing in the correct direction with a subtle sway of her hips as she prepared fresh drinks. "Want one of us to chat him up?"
Madame spared a glance for the man in question, who did indeed seem twitchy.
"Hm. Involved with medical research, from the looks of him. It wouldn't hurt to start building a rapport. He may become a good resource in time. But don't lay it on too thick; tread very lightly with this one. I'll be in my office if anything comes up." Sophie nodded briskly, loaded the drinks on a tray and bustled off again.
Madame slowly mounted the steps leading to the 'public' entrance to her office, thoughts whirling in her head. When she opened the door, Claire was just pulling a bottle of scotch from the cabinet under the window, where Madame Christmas kept her own private stock for situations such as these. Catching her boss's eye, Claire placed the bottle on the desk alongside the two glasses she'd already gotten out, smiled at Grumman, and excused herself. As she passed Madame, she flicked questioning eyes to the door and back. Madame nodded, and Claire closed the door behind herself with a soft 'click.'
Madame crossed to her desk and settled into her chair, pouring out two measures of the pale amber spirit and passing one to her friend. He took it with a murmur of thanks, but didn't look up. Chris hadn't seen him looking so glum in ages. She pursed her lips and abruptly decided to skip the idle pleasantries and cut to the heart of the matter.
"You wanna tell me who died?" she said, sipping at her own drink.
"General Clifford, as a matter of fact," he replied flippantly. "But he was getting on in years, and had a rather nasty heart condition, so it wasn't exactly a shock." In spite of the unconcerned tone, Grumman's face was still ashen.
"All right," Chris said carefully, leaning back in her chair. "What brings you in, then?"
"I've been promoted," he replied. Chris's eyebrows shot up.
"Isn't that normally a cause for celebration?" she asked. "Major General, now, is it?" He nodded, a bit stiffly. "Congratulations," she said, holding up her glass in salute.
"The promotion also comes with a transfer, you see," he explained, toying with his glass. "General Clifford's death left a space to fill in Eastern City. I'll be leaving in a few weeks." Chris sat up straighter.
"Is that so?" She nibbled her lip, thinking over the possible pros and cons. "Don't tell me you're worried about the move?"
"Not exactly," he sighed. "I don't particularly want to leave Central City, but that's the downside of being employed by the government. One is expected to follow orders, oddly enough." Chris quirked her lips at the sarcastic remark.
"Yes, who'd have thought the military would require obedience from its officers?" she replied.
"I'm more concerned about having to take up the reins in a strange city, starting almost from scratch, with unfamiliar personnel under my command. I'd hoped for a position in Central, among men and women I know and have worked with for years. Not one in the middle of East Nowheresville."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Chris smiled. "Eastern City is much less of a backwater than it's generally made out to be."
"Still. It's an unexpected setback in my career; one which I didn't foresee. All of my contacts are here, Chris. I'll have to start all over again."
"Come, now," Chris admonished gently. "I'm sure you'll be back up and running in no time. You can always write to your old friends if you need assistance, you know. And it certainly won't hurt to have contacts in both Central and Eastern. Wider network, yes? But that's not all, is it? Something else is bothering you."
Grumman looked up at that. He stared at her steadily for a moment before looking back down at his now-empty glass. Chris waited patiently.
"I still haven't decided what I want to do about the girl," he said at last. Ah-ha, thought Chris.
"You haven't decided?" she asked. "Or you had but recent events have caused you to change your mind?" He huffed.
"My decision changes from moment to moment, Chris. To judge by the boy's letters, it really does sound as though she is doing well. I'd just about decided to leave well enough alone…but now there's this promotion; another factor to take into account."
"Ah. You're thinking of the increase in salary," Chris guessed. "It would make it easier to afford a larger place in Eastern City, one with an extra bedroom. And to meet all the little costs inherent in raising a teenage girl: school fees and clothing and an allowance and the like."
"It's not just about the money, though," he admitted quietly. "I'm also worried about what will happen when your nephew's alchemic education comes to an end. That bloody fool Hawkeye will just bring in some new arrogant little punk bastard, who will torment the girl simply because he can, and she'll endure it all in silence because she knows all too well how much her father needs the damn money," he spat, bristling with anger. "And her father will ignore it until she has marks on her skin, in which case he'll throw the little monster out and bring in another one and it will start all over again!" His face was red, now, and his chest was heaving.
"Will you write to him, then?" Chris asked softly. "Make the offer to take her off his hands?" Grumman rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm down again.
"I don't know what to do, Chris," he admitted quietly.
"The choices are much more difficult when you have a personal stake," she replied. It was no wonder he looked so glum, she thought, filling up his glass for a second time.
"Every time I think I've made up my mind, I change it again five minutes later. Her father is a proud man. If I offered to help, he'd refuse me. And that's not a guess; he's refused my help once before." She nodded, remembering their last conversation, and Grumman cuffed an impatient hand through his thinning hair.
"You mentioned taking steps to change her legal guardianship, when we spoke last," she prompted.
"But if I take her from him by force, she'll hate me before she even gives me a chance, because he's her father and she loves him and separating them would make me a monster in her eyes. I want her to be safe and happy, Chris, but I couldn't bear her hating me. And then again, if I do nothing and let things continue as they have, she'll continue to suffer from Hawkeye's stubbornness and neglect, and I don't want that either. Now, with this promotion, I'll be even farther away from them, so if something happened and there was some chance I could have stepped in to help, I won't be able to because I'll be too far away to be of any use. I just—I don't know what to do," he finished helplessly.
"You know," she said slowly, choosing her words with care. "Your granddaughter isn't so alone or friendless as she imagines herself to be. There are plenty of decent people in that town who can help her should the need arise. People who have helped her in the past." Grumman's eyes narrowed as he studied her.
"You think I should leave it alone, don't you?" Chris raised a shoulder.
"For the time being, perhaps. While she's clearly been bullied in the past, she's safe and happy at the moment. As you said yourself, she's doing well. When my brat leaves, and she loses her closest ally, you can reconsider the other options."
"Closest ally…yes, that fits." Grumman said softly. "He's good for her, your nephew. I can see that. He's been… drawing her out of her shell. Building her confidence. Teaching her how to trust."
"And she's good for him as well," Chris agreed with an unusually gentle smile. "He's learning that he must be a trustworthy man in order to earn trust. That he must be gentle with those who are vulnerable. And, perhaps most importantly: that you can't judge a woman by her face. Your granddaughter certainly isn't the wilting lily she seems to be at first glance—there's quite the tiger underneath that soft, innocent façade." Grumman chuckled, relaxing just a bit in his chair.
"She does seem to take after her mother," he said. "Reconsider my other options, you say? Well, it really is a pity that arranged marriages were never the fashion in Amestris. I'm certain you and I could have come to an agreement in regards to this particular pair," he added, with a shadow of his usual smirk.
"My dear friend, there is plenty of time for that down the road," Chris replied with a wink and a shark-like grin. "But I was actually thinking about vetting potential pupils on your son-in-law's behalf, and sending them his way, discreetly, before he chooses another rotten apple." Grumman stared at her.
"Well for pity's sake," he said, looking stricken. "I'd never even thought of that." Chris's eyes softened.
"As I said, it's more difficult when you're emotionally involved. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we?"
"Yes…yes, I'll be sure and look into it," he mused.
"Now, while we're here," Chris added, "We should discuss your transfer and the effect it will have on our current arrangements. Do we need to work out new codes for when we need to contact each other, or will the usual ones do? Meeting face to face won't be impossible, of course, but it will pose some logistical challenges," she said.
"I've been more concerned about our…written communication," Grumman confessed rather sheepishly. Chris rested her chin in her hand and smiled at him.
"Of course you have. I can arrange for any letters to be forwarded to you. As long as they continue to come to me, old man, I promise I'll send them on. I hope you like sweets, by the way. My Juliet's taken to confectionery of late." And boxes of homemade candy made an excellent vehicle for bundles of private letters that one wished to remain as private as possible. "If we aren't careful, that girl will have us all twenty pounds heavier before a month is out," she sighed.
"My dear friend, I'm certain that a bit of extra padding on your bones couldn't possibly detract from your usual dazzling radiance," Grumman said gallantly. Chris snorted, pleased to see his usual personality reasserting itself.
"Say that to me again in about 10 years, you incurable flirt," she retorted. "Menopause is not kind to the women in my family. I'll be roughly the size and weight of a grizzly bear, no matter what steps I take to prevent it. Just you wait and see."
"My very dear woman, surely it will be more than ten years. You can't possibly be old enough to reach menopause by then."
"Flatterer," she replied dryly. "Though I've always had a talent for deception where it's necessary, there will come a time when I won't be able to lie convincingly about my age. Until then…well. I've been thirty for more years than I'd care to admit, and no one has ever questioned me on it," she smiled.
"You're quite skilled with smoke and mirrors, my dear," Grumman smiled in reply. "And surrounding yourself with distracting, shiny objects that draw attention where you need it to be drawn certainly doesn't hurt either. Did I ever tell you that you had me fooled? I was more than a little shocked when I learned your true date of birth."
"For heaven's sake, keep that information to yourself, man. Or I'll have to hire an assassin to protect my secrets," Chris laughed. "Back to the matter at hand, if you please! About our codes…supposing we stick to the basics? At least until we have a good reason to change."
"Agony column?" Grumman asked, referring to their practice of placing coded ads in the paper requesting or imparting information. "With the usual pseudonyms, I presume?"
"Yes, I think so. I've become rather attached to my alter ego." They spent several more minutes hammering out the details of their clandestine communications, though most of it was hardly necessary, in Chris's opinion.
"Oh, don't say that," Grumman argued lightly. "You never know who might be watching. And besides—it's rather fun sometimes, isn't it? Bit like being a kid playing spy." Chris rolled her eyes, but didn't disagree.
"Now that that's settled," she said, shifting to unlock the drawer where she normally kept Roy's letters. "I have a little something extra for you this time."
Grumman blinked as she set the jar down with a soft plunk on the desk between them.
"Jam?" he said, incredulously.
"Indeed. My nephew sent it to me. Seems his teacher's neighbors often express their affection with gifts of food. Keeps his daughter quite busy this time of year, I understand. He sent us a dozen jars of various preserves just last week. I thought you might like some nectarine jam."
"Dammit," Grumman swore softly, clutching at the jar with both hands as though it were something precious. "You know, you're not helping me stick to my resolve, here," he managed after a moment. "It's awfully tempting to secure myself a quiet, young, hardworking housekeeper to take with me to the East. And one with highly praised culinary skills, too."
"Well, you haven't tried the jam yet. It could be terrible. And then you'd be stuck, wouldn't you?" Chris said, patting his arm.
"All right, all right. I suppose I'd best leave her where she is for now. If her circumstances change, though…" he trailed off thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth over the side of the glass jar.
"You'll know it just as soon as I do, old man," Chris promised solemnly, rising from her chair. "Now, it's getting late, and I have a bar to run."
"Yes, of course. Forgive me for keeping you from your business. Thank you, my dear. I am indebted to you," he said, rising from his chair as well. They both knew he wasn't just referring to the jam.
"I'll put it on your tab," Chris said softly.
Unsurprisingly, when he opened the office door, Grumman found young Claire waiting outside, somehow managing to look both seductive and completely innocent.
"Ma'am," she said, nodding to Chris. "Brigadier General, sir, if you'll come back this way with me, I'll see you out to the main floor. Would you like another drink before you leave?"
"No, thank you, dear. I think I've got everything I came for. Good night, Madame Christmas," he said.
"Good night, Major General Grumman. And congratulations again on your promotion."
"Promotion?" echoed Claire, already leading him back the way they'd come up. "You naughty thing, you should have told me! Here I am calling you by the wrong rank like some ignorant barfly. Major General, was it? Congratulations!" The door fell softly closed behind them, and the bright chatter faded as the pair descended the steps.
Chris paused while locking her desk drawer, suddenly struck by one of Grumman's comments.
"Arranged marriage, indeed!" she snorted. "If that were a viable option, somehow I doubt either party would protest very hard!"
A.N. Thank you all so much for the lovely, encouraging reviews! (And a special thank you to my 'guest' reviewers Sarah, Sweetdeath04, Otaku03 and cokyz, whom I am unable to thank individually.). I also very much appreciate the story/author favorites and follows! :D I am very grateful for your patience-updates are taking a bit longer due to my hectic schedule, but I will do my best to get back on a regular schedule as soon as possible.
xoxo Janie