Failures

Chapter 5

Rumple has fielded two unwelcome guests, his ne'er-do-well father and his ex-wife, both of whom asked for money. On Thursday, awake and without a hangover, he has unwittingly eaten tofu (which Belle prepared as a scrambled egg substitute) and he liked it.

Rumple had eaten all the food – every bit of the well-cooked and seasoned tofu - and put the plate in the sink. He then went on into his studio. He had more work to do on Corella's portrait but he put that aside. He had wanted to start on some new work.

He stood looking over his blank canvas.

He got up and looked out the window down on the city streets.

He went back to the blank canvas.

He went back over to the window and looked out beyond the city to the Blue Ridge of the Appalachian Mountains.

He returned to his blank canvas.

He looked at it and swore.

He had known what he was going to draw when he'd gotten up earlier but it had all been flushed out of his head.

All he could think of was a pale skinned beauty with bright blue eyes. How was it that Jefferson had described her? Perfect skin, gorgeous eyes, cute little figure. The tinkling notes of a celesta.

He pulled his notebook back out and looked at the drawing he'd done. He flipped the page and went out to his living room.

She was fluttering about – holding a book in her hand and reading while she worked. She was picking up stray bits of paper, dusting around his odds and ends, plumping pillows.

"Am I in your way, sir?" she asked, suddenly noticing him.

"No, I'm just waiting for inspiration," he told her kindly.

"How does that work exactly?" she asked him, setting the book aside and sitting down across from him.

"Inspiration?"

"Yes, that whole creative process. Where do the ideas come from?" she asked.

"From . . . everything," he answered. He'd never known how to answer that.

"It's remarkable. I've seen some of your earlier work. The feelings, the emotion that you are able to put on the canvas. I mean," she leaned in, "I can make a drawing that looks like whatever it is I'm drawing, but you seem to capture the . . . the essence of the thing. I guess that's what makes you the artist."

"I guess," he answered dryly. He realized that he was idly sketching her, this time focusing only on her face using a charcoal stick. Just a few strokes and he managed to capture her sweet expression. The music was there, so soft, so delicate, so pretty. He was well pleased with his efforts.

"You seem to be having trouble settling in to work," she observed.

"Yeah. I'm . . . I'm kinda in a slump."

"Does that happen often?" she asked, a little concern creeping into her voice.

"It goes in waves. I have ridiculously productive periods and then these spells of . . . nothingness."

"And you're in one of your spells?" she asked him. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Hell, no," he answered. "Well, maybe bring me some more coffee."

"Yes sir," she promptly got up and scurried off to the kitchen.

The phone rang and she stopped him when he went to pick it up. Instead she answered it.

"Mr. Stiltskin's residence," she answered in a warm voice.

Damn, but she was cheery. He watched her sway around while she chatted with the person on the other end. She had on several layers again, a white ruffled slip under a pink-flowered print on a dark background over-dress, white socks with lace trim and round-toed clogs. He had a very good idea of what lay under all those layers. It was pleasant to contemplate.

"He's working in his studio. Let me see if he's available to take a call," he heard her say.

"It's a Zelena Hart," she whispered to him.

He sat for a moment thinking. "Zelena? Zelena! Oh yeah." He swallowed and held out his hand. He'd been hoping she had finally got the message and was moving on.

"He's able to take your call Miss Hart. One moment." She handed him the phone.

"Hey, Zelena," he said into the mouthpiece without a trace of enthusiasm.

"Who the hell is there with you?"

"That is Miss French, my maid," he answered her.

There was a moment of silence while Zelena managed to collect herself, "So you finally hired someone to help get your place clean. That's wonderful. Now darling, do you remember you made a date with me for tonight and asked me to call to remind you. Said you might not remember," she purred into the line.

"Oh yeah." That sounded right. "What time? Where were we going to connect?" He couldn't remember any details.

"You were several sheets to the wind that night. I said I'd come by and get you. What's a good time? Seven, Eight?"

"Uhhh, I guess seven and we'll do supper at . . . somewhere?" He'd been going to suggest Curate but that was one of his favorite restaurants and he didn't want it to acquire any negative associations with his current 'girlfriend.'

"Perfectly lovely. I'll see you there darling," she told him.

He hung up and handed Belle back the phone to put on the charger. "I have a date tonight . . . at seven. She's coming here."

"Of course, sir." Belle replied, dutifully putting the phone back and making a note in the calendar. "Miss Hart, I take it?"

"Yeah." He paused. "You should know that I have a stream of women coming through here who all expect to avail themselves of my services."

Belle looked at him dubiously, giving him a very slight smile and shaking her head.

She didn't believe him. He added, "Well, Zelena has been coming through here expecting to avail herself of my services. I've been seeing her for about nine months. I've been trying to break it off. She's cloying and possessive and not very nice. But . . . " he shrugged. "I don't know. She's beautiful and she'd let me do her – if I wanted to."

"You're thinking you don't want to continue to go out with her?" Belle asked. Satisfied with her efforts in the living area, she was now busy cleaning out some of the kitchen drawers, separating kitchen utensils from paperwork from tools from everything else.

"She's the daughter of a woman I had an affair with . . . it was a long time ago."

"Got the mother-daughter heebies?" Belle asked.

"No, in this case my heebies are more like the ones I get when I step out in front of on-coming traffic," he told her.

"You think she's stalker-crazy or something like that?" Belle asked perceptively.

"Maybe. It wasn't so bad when we first met. I mean, she was pretty eager and very accommodating, but it's not special anymore. And now, now I have to listen to her, you know, talk and . . . " he sighed, "put up with her pawing me. . . and . . . and . . . look at her," he replied.

"Then, call her back. Tell her something came up. Tell her you have another meeting," she suggested.

"But if I stop seeing her, I might never get laid again," he told her plaintively.

Belle sighed. "Well, I guess you have to decide what's important to you. Your self-respect or your. . . sexual satisfaction." Rumple pulled a face. Belle stifled a smile, "She's a sure thing, I take it."

"Absolutely. She tried to sit in my lap when I first met her."

"That was very friendly," Belle agreed.

"I was standing up at the time," he told her, dryly.

"Oh," she answered. "So, this will be a sock-on-the-door type of event, I take it?"

"Probably," he told her.

"Hmmmm," he heard her.

"I hope you're not judging me," he called out to her.

"Of course not, sir."

"I can tell. You are judging me," he said to her as she walked away from him. He called after her, "I like how you answered the phone for me. Keep doing that."

Seven o'Clock

Belle was the one to answer the door.

"You're that maid?" the statuesque woman demanded sourly. She was a glorious strawberry blonde dressed in a dark, sharp-edged style.

"I'm Miss French. I'm Mr. Stiltskin's maid. May I tell him who's calling?"

"Oh, he's expecting me. I'm his girlfriend," the woman said sweeping by Belle to come into the apartment.

"Miss Hart, then?" Belle asked.

The other woman just looked at her.

"Please come in and have a seat. May I get you something to drink?" Belle asked her graciously.

"Scotch, straight up," the woman told her.

Belle nodded. She first knocked on Rumple's bedroom door. "Miss Hart is here, sir." Then she prepped the drink although she opted not to use any of Mr. Stiltskin's good stuff. "He'll be out shortly," she handed the other woman her drink.

"I didn't know he gotten around to getting a maid," the woman said sitting down and scrutinizing her. "You're a rather dowdy little thing."

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Hart?" Belle asked, anxious to be away from this caustic woman. What had possessed Mr. Stiltskin to go out with her? Was it just sex?

And were all the previous women in his life such bitches? Belle considered. She'd met three of the women in his life, Regina, his agent, Milah, his ex-wife and now, Zelena, his current girlfriend. Regina, she didn't know very well but the other two – definitely bitches.

Rumple came out of the bedroom before Belle had a chance to retire to the kitchen pantry. "Oh good, you got Zelena a drink. Thank you, Miss French." Belle watched as Zelena stood up to grab Mr. Stiltskin and give him a kiss on the mouth, her arms around him, her hands running up and down his arms and his back. He didn't seem to be kissing her back, but Belle couldn't be sure.

The two separated and Rumple called back to her. "I'll be back late, Miss French."

A Moment After

Belle took a moment to herself. It was still early in the evening on Thursday. She had plenty of time to get to the Green Dragon, meet up with her friends and get back to the apartment, especially since she wasn't expecting him back home until the wee hours. She hadn't mentioned to Mr. Stiltskin that she would be going out, but it wasn't like he owned her or anything. She had been on the job since seven that morning. No, Belle felt she was perfectly privileged to be going on for one evening to connect with her friends.

And they were already gathered at the Green Dragon. They greeted her with cheers.

"Haven't seen you in forever."

"Ruby said that you had gotten a job working for Rumson Stiltskin."

"What are you doing for him?"

"What's he like?"

Belle ordered a glass of the house pinot noir for herself and sat down. She took a breath and dove in. "I am working for Mr. Stiltskin but it is the least glamorous job imaginable. I'm trying to keep his place clean, keep his calendar and sober him up. He's brilliant but . . . rather unpredictable."

"How hot is he in person?" Ruby asked. Ruby was Belle's best friend ever. The two had connected when they were both in middle school and had never been out of touch. Ruby was the wild one of the pair, Belle much more stable and studious. They complimented each other, Ruby urging Belle to loosen up and Belle holding Ruby back from some of her more audacious plans.

Belle sighed. Her other friends, Mary Margaret, whom she'd also known since middle school, and Mary Margaret's roommate, Emma, who had only recently joined the group, all leaned in to hear her answer.

"Give, give, give," Ruby pushed her.

"He's . . . he's got beautiful eyes and beautiful hands . . ." Belle hesitated and finally added, "and a tight ass."

'Woo hoo!" Ruby exclaimed.

Ruby was about to asked her more about her employer but Belle interrupted, "Listen, he's rather stressful to work for and I really would appreciate it, at least for this evening, if we didn't keep talking about him. I need to get away and I want to hear what's going on with you all."

Ruby nodded in agreement but added one more thing, "Just so you know, I've started a pool. When will Belle sleep with her hot boss?"

"Oh no, please," Belle begged her friend. "We don't have that kind of relationship.'

"Yet," Ruby persisted. "If you want, I can give you a blind date on the calendar."

"No, please. Please, let's change the topic," pleaded Belle.

Emma spoke up, "I met someone."

The group turned to her. "And?" Ruby turned her attention to Miss Swan.

"He's a little older than me. He's a financial planner, very stable, very steady."

"The complete opposite of Emma," Mary Margaret told them. "I've met him. He's perfect for Emma. A gentleman with a little edge, a little mystery."

"Gotta a picture?" Ruby asked and Emma dutifully pulled out her phone to pass around the picture of her latest, a dark-haired fellow with a serious expression.

"Tell them how you met," Mary Margaret urged.

Emma smiled. "My stupid bug had broken down," she began.

"Again," the other women said at the same time.

"Yes, again. Anyway, he stopped and helped me get it going and then invited me out for coffee."

"Coffeeeeee," Ruby said salaciously. "Yeah, I've had a lot of 'coffee' dates."

"We just got coffee," Emma insisted. "And a second date."

"Why did you say he was mysterious?" asked Belle.

Emma pulled a face, "Eah, he won't talk about his family."

"Oh god, he's not married?" Ruby asked.

"If he is, he's got a complete double-life thing going on. I've been to his place a couple of times and it's totally a bachelor pad. I just think he doesn't get on with his parents and doesn't like to talk about them," Emma explained.

"Ohh," Belle said. "That's kinda sad." She turned to Mary Margaret, "How about for you?"

Mary Margaret smiled. "It's getting serious between me and David."

"David? Didn't I date David?" Ruby asked.

"One time and so did Belle, one time, but that was a while ago. We've been dating more than six months," Mary Margaret shared.

"Six months with the same guy?! Euue," Ruby said. "Doesn't that get boring?"

"Not at all," Mary Margaret assured her. "Not when it's the right guy. We just seem to be wonderfully in sync. I've met his mother and she's a sweetheart."

"He's introduced you to his mother?" Belle repeated. "So, it is serious."

"Yeah, I think so," Mary Margaret agreed. "We're talking about how many children we might want and what kind of house we could live in."

Ruby groaned. "I am sooo not ready for anything like that."

"Well, what's going on with you?" Emma asked her.

Ruby shrugged. "You know, I've been seeing that surgical resident, James, for a couple of weeks."

"Belle had dated him too, right?" Mary Margaret asked.

"One time," Belle agreed. She did seem to have a lot of first dates she realized.

"It's been great, but . . . well," Ruby was hesitant.

"Well?" it was Belle's turn to push.

"I was waiting for him at the hospital and I met this other guy," Ruby confessed.

"And?" Emma pushed this time.

"Totally not my regular type of guy. He's kinda nerdy and really sweet. He's a psychiatry resident doing rounds there. James was running late and I ended up talking with this guy for . . . well, a long time. The best listener ever."

"So, did he ask you out?" Belle asked.

"No, but, well, James and I are winding down and I was really thinking of giving this other guy a call. He's so shy I can't imagine him calling me."

Belle shook her head, "You aren't ever going to settle down, are you?" she asked.

"Not when there are so many nice guys out there, noooo," Ruby said.

Very Late That Night

Belle made it back to the apartment before midnight. She checked on her father and then returned to the little bedroom she'd been shoved into, the bedroom that had become her special world. She had spent only a little time cleaning in here, both throwing stuff away and moving items into other rooms. The man had apparently used the room as if it was one giant junk drawer. After she had re-arranged the furniture and added in some feminine touches, it was beginning to take on her personality. She had brought up her e-reader and phone recharger.

She found herself a little wound up and not ready to sleep after her evening with her friends so she poked around in the room. She opened the closet and cringed – full of artisty things, canvases mostly. She pulled them out.

Interesting. These were all drawings and paintings of two women - a lovely brunette woman with dark eyes and a sultry manner and a gorgeous red-head with a ripe sort of beauty. The women were in various stages of dress and undress.

Why had he put them in here?

The sultry dark eyed brunette, she quickly recognized as a younger version of the man's ex-wife. She hadn't known he was painting when he was married to Milah but then thought that he must have done it for recreation – his talent hadn't sprung out fully grown once he'd moved to Asheville.

She wondered if the other was the woman he'd been engaged to who had thrown him over at the last moment. The red hair made her a candidate for Zelena Hart's mother. He'd probably put the portraits in here so he didn't have them sitting around as reminders. Probably not a good idea to take them out.

She took them out.

Belle sat on the floor looking at the multiple portraits. The brunette was breath-taking but her eyes were harder in some of the pictures – whether these were the earlier ones or the later ones, Belle did not know. As for the red-head, there was something in her demeanor that set Belle's teeth on edge. She was beautiful, yes, but there was no warmth. The artist had unwittingly (or, perhaps, with intention) captured this. The idea that Zelena Hart was her daughter made sense – both women had a predatory air about them.

Belle returned the portraits to the closet. She'd be able to hang her clothes but there was no room for any shoes. Well, she only had a couple of pairs. She had tackled the antique desk next and had been able to relocate the handful of folders and miscellaneous office supplies she'd found into the kitchen office. It would work well for her underwear and her socks.

Yes, things were coming along nicely. There was already a cable and internet connection in the little room so she had managed to connect her own little television set. She'd settled in watching reruns of The Artful Detective when she realized she had finally dozed.

A noise awakened her.

A glance at the clock. Two o'clock . . . in the morning. There was banging and laughter and shuffling sounds. She went to the door of her bedroom and listened. A woman's voice and a man's.

Must be Mr. Stiltskin and Miss Hart. She peeked out to see.

The two were in the process of undressing each other. Both appeared to be very drunk. They were laughing and kissing each other. Their hands were under their clothing. Belle quickly, as softly as she could, shut the door.

She could still hear noises so she opted for ear plugs. She went back to her bed.

The next morning, Belle took a tentative look out the door. Furniture had been shifted around and she spotted Mr. Stiltskin's tie, his shoes and one of his socks. She found his jacket and then his shirt. But, she wasn't finding any female apparel and that puzzled her. She stopped, hesitating when she got to his room. She didn't want to disturb the happy couple, especially if they were in a state of dishabille or, worse, in the middle of doing it.

She listened. There were no sounds. Should she check on him? Or just leave him alone. He had, after all, survived being left to his own devices before she'd started working for him.

She decided she'd go back and work in the kitchen – there were more drawers and all the cabinets to be gone through.

So, she was surprised mid-morning when Rumple appeared in her kitchen, wearing a ratty brown bathrobe. She'd been sitting at the counter taking a short break, absorbed in her latest library book and a cup of coffee sans liqueur.

"Sir, can I get you anything?" she asked putting the book down and standing up.

He looked at her, bleary-eyed and vacant looking. "Hangover?" he muttered and slumped down in one of the chairs.

"Yes sir," she answered assuming he wanted her cure. She popped a piece of bread into the toaster and began prepping the electrolyte, tomato juice concoction she had developed long ago. She added her special ingredients. She handed him a glass of the miracle red liquid and spread some honey on the toast. "Here you go."

"Zelena's gone," he told her after swigging down The Cure.

"Are we pleased?" Belle asked him, putting her cookware she'd used to prepare The Cure into the dishwasher.

"No. Yes. Yes. I think, yes," he seemed confused. "She was kinda . . . all over me. I felt . . . used?"

"Uuu hummm," she responded.

"Never got comfortable with her. I mean, I know she always expects sex, but . . . . Well, when it came time for the magic . . . ." He shrugged and made an empty-handed gesture with both hands.

Belle blinked. "Sir, I'm not sure I'm the one you need to be telling this to."

He yawned. "Why not? You throw out my garbage and wash the skid marks out of my underwear. I don't know that I have any secrets from you."

Belle gave him a small smile. "All right then."

"She gave me the speech that women give men about 'how this happens to all men sometimes, blah, blah, blah.'"

Belle took a drink from her own coffee cup. "Never has happened to any of my men."

He glared at her. "Well, good for you," he said sourly. "Truth was . . . she just doesn't do it for me anymore. I mean, she's gorgeous, but . . . there's nothing. I pretended I was drunker than I was and got her out of here."

"And will you be seeing her again?" Belle asked.

He shuddered. "Oh god, I hope not. I've added being a failed lover to her ever-growing list of disappointments."

"You poor dear," Belle patted his hand.

"Are you disappointed in me?" he asked.

Belle hesitated. "Sir, it's really not my place."

"Oh god, you are disappointed in me."

"Well, sir. You have all these extraordinary talents and you seem to spend so much of your time drinking and recovering from drinking and not. . . using your talents. It does seem a bit of a waste."

He looked at her. "Come here."

"Sir?"

"Come, follow me. Bring the book." He got up and went into his studio. She hesitated about crossing The Threshold. "Come on," he gestured.

"Am I being invited into your studio?" she asked, surprised. "I thought this was absolutely forbidden."

"Come ooo-on," he repeated irritably and waved her into the large room. She stepped inside, into the forbidden zone.

"Sit," he told her and gestured to a stool in the middle of the room.

Belle sat down. "I'm not fixed up or anything."

"You don't need to fix up . . . or anything," he told her and he taped a large sheet of paper to an easel.

"But I have some laundry to do and I really need to get the floor in the bathroom," she protested.

"Shut up," he ordered her as he continued to work. "Open the book like you're reading it. And smile for me."

She smiled.

"No, smile like you did when I told you that I had a stream of women coming in and out of here availing themselves of my services . . . yeah, that's it." He was working quickly, using pastels, stopping to spray the paper from time to time. It took him less than thirty minutes.

"There. I'm happy with that. I think I'll call it Young Woman with a Book."

"Can I get up?" Belle asked him.

"Yeah. You want to see it?'

Belle came around and looked at the quick pastel effort.

She looked . . . luminous. She had a faraway smile and looked completely absorbed in her reading. It took her a moment to say anything. "I . . . look . . . beautiful," she told him.

"You are, very beautiful."

They stood a moment looking at each other before Belle tore herself away. "I . . . I . . . I'm sure you have other things you need to be doing. I certainly do." And she backed away and scurried out of the room.

Rumple looked at the picture for a long time. It was inspired. The first inspired thing he had produced in . . . a long time, a very long time.

Thanks so much to Grace5231973, Wondermorena, Jewel415 (guest), arynwy, and Erik'sTrueAngel for their gracious reviews. Readers, followers, favoriters and reviewers all encourage me to keep writing – thank you all.

NEXT: There's an odd phone call. Two more visitors drop by. Belle goes on a date