Chapter 7

Recovery

Ruby has dropped by the apartment and noted that Rumple has done a large number of drawings of Belle. Corella drops by later and warns Rumple that he could be developing genuine feelings for his little maid. Later, Belle tells a protesting Rumple that she wants the evening off to meet with an old boyfriend. Much to her amazement (and irritation) Rumple shows up in the restaurant and joins her and her date.

"So, this is the young man who drunk dialed you?" he asked her affably sitting down at their table.

"I . . . I did, sir," Will stammered.

"And what's going on with you and your wife?" Rumple asked him turning his attention entirely on Belle's date.

Belle took a drink, quickly finishing up her wine.

"She got a really lucrative job offer, but it will require long hours and we'll have to move," Will told him.

Rumple had signaled the waitress and ordered himself a second drink. Belle spoke up and asked the waitress to bring her the same thing he was having. At Rumple's glance, she smiled at him, "You're treating," she told him.

He shrugged and smirked at her. Then he turned his attention back to Will.

"Classic conundrum, young man. A lot of money, but will the relationship survive?"

"Exactly. You understand."

"You should be asking a different question," Rumple told him.

"Sir?"

"How strong is your relationship? If it's solid, it will withstand just about anything, not everything mind you, but just about. Stress makes a good marriage stronger, not weaker. If your relationship is weak, it's going to find some reason, any reason, to come apart. You have to decide. Now," he sat back, "what do you want from your marriage, from the relationship?"

Will hesitated only a moment, "Her happiness," he said. "But . . . I'm not sure this job will make her happy."

"Have you shared this with her?"

"I've tried," Will told him. "The thing is, I don't think she knows what will make her happy."

"Ah." They had gotten their drinks by this time. "Many of us don't truly know what will make us happy." Rumple took a drink and set his glass back down. "Sounds to me like you need to be talking with her. Why don't you take her out to a nice restaurant like this – a public place is so much better for this type of conversation – we tend to manage to remain civilized."

Will considered. "I have nothing to lose by talking to her."

"Exactly," Rumple toasted the young man. "And everything to gain. Now, why don't you give her a call. I'll take care of the bill here," he told him.

"I'll do that," Will told him. He got up, then stopped. "Thank you, Belle. You're a good friend."

"Glad to be of help," she told him perhaps a little sourly. And she and Rumple watched Will walk out of the restaurant.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Belle nearly spit at him.

"I just happened to wander by," he told her innocently. "And you'd been gone a while. I was worried about you."

"I was gone less than two hours! You couldn't find something to do for two hours besides deciding to come and horn into my evening?"

He thought about it, "I was concerned."

Belle finished the drink. She signaled the waitress. "I'll have another one of these," she told her holding up her latest drink.

"Aren't you drinking a lot?" he asked her.

"You were bored!" Belle scrunched up her face, ignoring his previous comment. "You didn't have anything else to do and the best thing you could come up with was to come here to torment me," she accused him.

"Hey, you came here to help a friend, right? At least that's what you said you were doing. And I showed up and I helped him. So, goal accomplished. Are you mad that it wasn't you that gave him the right advice or . . . " he leaned forward, his face inches from her own, and lowered his voice "were you here to offer him a different kind of help? Remembrance of things past? Friends with benefits kinda thing, perhaps?"

Belle gripped the glass in her hand, debating the merits of tossing the remnants onto Rumple's face. After a tense moment, she opted to chug down the burning liquid.

He leaned back smirking at her. "Not quite over him I take it," he murmured.

"All right. There was a while when I thought he might be The One, but I realized that we . . . we . . . we were too much alike. There was no energy in the relationship. We were great friends, but . . . "

He waited and when she didn't finish, he did, "But you weren't great lovers." Belle dropped her eyes and Rumple signaled for another drink for himself. "It's good to have friends," he commented.

"Yeah, but that's how all my relationships seem to go," she told him.

"I seem to be the opposite. I have these great loves that consume me. I can't think of anything except the woman, night and day, day and night. I have great lovers but not a lot of friends. In fact, I can't think of any women I would count as my friends."

"How about that Corella person? You seemed to be pretty chummy with her." Belle began guzzling her fourth drink.

"We understand each other," he thought about it. "Maybe that is a form of friendship."

"And how about you and . . . what's her name? Regina?"

"She's my business manager," he shook his head.

"But she seems to look out for you, more than someone who's just a business manager might."

"Maybe . . ." he sounded doubtful.

The two sat quietly.

"These are really good. I'm going to have one more," Belle told him and signaled the waitress for yet another drink.

Rumple frowned but didn't say anything. He pursued the topic on hand. "But that's it, huh?" he asked. "You think that I have just those two women as my friends?"

"Well, I don't know everyone you associate with. There may be others."

"There aren't," he told her and took another drink himself. "What about you? Do you have a lot of male friends?"

"I think . . . maybe. There's Will, of course. Then there's . . . Gary. We dated all through high school and he got a big athletic scholarship to play football. We dated for about two more years and were actually engaged. But I caught him in bed with somebody else."

"Another woman?" Rumple asked.

She shook her head, "Another man."

"Ouch," Rumple winced.

"Yeah. We decided to go our separate ways."

Rumple nodded, "Understandably."

"But we're still friends. He's playing professional football now and has come out," Belle told him.

"Gary? Wait a minute! Not Gary Gaston? The linebacker? You dated him?"

"Yeah. We were big-time serious for several years. I was so stupid, I never suspected. I thought he was just being respectful and treating me like a lady. When I caught him with his boyfriend, it all came crashing down. He later apologized and told me that if he could be with any woman, it would be me. He thanked me and then came out and . . . well, it's all worked out for him." Her beautiful blue eyes were blurry and her speech was beginning to slur.

"So, tell me about your other boyfriends," he urged her, surprised at her willingness to share but also suspecting the alcohol was playing a role.

"Well, most recently there was August, but he was too involved with August to get involved with me. And, let's see, I wouldn't count Keith. Oh, I briefly dated James, but he's with my best friend now, well at least until she dumps him, and then there was David, who's with another one of my friends now. Oh, and there was Graham but his job took him away."

"You slept with all these guys?" Rumple asked her.

"What?! You can't ask me that!"

"Well, you were the one to bring them up. I'm just trying to be interested and supportive," Rumple told her. He leaned in, "So, no, you didn't sleep with all of them. Did you sleep with any of them?"

Belle rolled her eyes. "Oh, good grief. It's not always about sex," she told him.

"Yes, it is," he told her. "But we were talking about friends. Are any of these guys friends? If you had to move, would any of them come and carry boxes down three flights of stairs for you?"

"Well, David and James would, I think. Oh, there's also Leroy."

"Who's Leroy?" Rumple asked her.

"You know," she told him and started giggling.

"Noooo," he told her. "I don't know."

"You dooo," she said, smiling at him. "I never dated him, of course. But he's a friend and a guy. He's the custodian for your building. And I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend."

"Oh!" He made the connection. "Oh yeah, I know Leroy. And he's one of your male friends? And he has a girlfriend?" Now that was hard to imagine.

"Oh, of course, there's Jefferson." And she took another gulp of her drink.

That caught his attention. "Jefferson? You just met him."

"Yes. He's very nice. He keeps asking me to go out with him. There's a poetry reading that he thought I might like."

"Poetry?" Rumple focused on his own drink. "Yeah, because he's sooo interested in poetry. Listen Belle . . ." How much did he need to share about his best friend?

"What? He seems very nice," Belle finished off her drink. "These are reeeeally good. Should I get another one?"

Rumple looked at her. Her eyes were bright and her skin flushed. She looked amazingly pretty, really, really pretty. He felt his pants get tighter. Damn.

"Probably not."

"Well, I don't care what you think." And Belle signaled for another drink.

When the waitress came, Rumple shook his head. "I think the lady's had enough. I'm taking her home. I'll take care of the check."

"Hey, I wanted another drink," Belle protested.

"Belle, what's twelve times fourteen?" He left cash on the table.

She scrunched her face up while she was trying to do the mental math. Her eyes crossed. "Oh my. I'm a little dizzy."

"Yeah. I thought so." He stood and held out his hand to her. She got to her feet . . . and staggered. "Come on, dearie," and he stood behind her, bracing her with an arm wrapped around her.

He helped her out of the restaurant and walked with her back to his apartment.

"One hundred forty-eight," she suddenly said.

"What?!"

"You'd asked me twelve times fourteen. That's the answer," she told him.

"It's one hundred sixty-eight," he corrected her.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he told her guiding her along.

She continued to lurch and stumble and several times nearly fell. As they stood in front of the door of his apartment, she lounged against the wall. Once he opened the door, she fell into him, her arms going around him, his arms going around her. She sniffed him.

"You smell really good," and then to his consternation, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his throat, her lips soft against his skin.

She lifted her face to his and their lips were almost touching.

"Am I drunk?" she asked him.

"Li'l bit," he told her. She was floppy and wobbly, slurring her speech and struggling to focus her eyes.

"I don't know that I've ever been drunk before. It's kinda nice."

"Uh huh . . . you say that now," he remarked pulling away. He helped her across the threshold. "What did you have for supper?"

"Same as you – the moooolaaaay frites. Frites, frites, frites!" She dissolved into giggles for a moment. "The all-you-can-eat moules frites. I got mine Parreeeesienne style. Why you ask?"

"Just wondering," he said neutrally.

"Why?"

"Because you chased a couple of glasses of wine with four Briser le bourbons."

"They was good."

"Uh huh. They're made of bourbon and ginger beer. And for an inexperienced drinker like yourself . . . " he didn't get to finish.

"I feel sick," she interrupted and, breaking away from him, she managed to run to the bathroom.

He sighed, stopped to pour himself a whiskey and followed her in. Fortunately, she'd been able to get to the toilet and was kneeling in front of it, losing much of the alcohol she'd consumed and a great deal of her supper.

"Well, that was unpleasant," she told him.

He leaned against the sink. He sighed, "It's not over, sweetheart."

"Oh, I'm sure . . ." but he was right.

The vomiting continued for a while. He fetched her some crackers and cola during one of the interludes. He held her hair back. He said soothing, comforting things. When she was totally exhausted, he helped her back to his bed and removed her shoes and socks. He covered her up and using his fingers, brushed her hair out of her face.

He sighed and went out to the living room to settle himself in. Why had he gone after her?

She'd been right. He had been bored. She'd only been in his life a couple of weeks but already when she wasn't around, he missed her. And he'd thought this ex-boyfriend of hers sounded like a scumbag come to call. He felt protective but, no, not jealous . . . well, maybe a little jealous. Yeah, he was a little jealous.

He knew she wasn't interested in him. He didn't think she even liked him.

He sighed again. And turned on the television and watched a favorite old movie, Laura. He finally drifted off with the blue light flickering.

The Morning After

Belle wasn't used to waking up in a strange bed in a strange bedroom.

She had never awakened in a strange bed in a strange bedroom.

She felt awful. Her head was killing her. Her mouth tasted like cotton soaked in socks.

Her eyes were stinging.

Her body hurt.

Her hair hurt.

Where was she?

She managed to look around, marshalling her cognitive resources, limited though they were at the moment, and recognized his bedroom. She cautiously turned over and was relieved beyond measure to find she was alone.

How had she got here?

She remembered the restaurant. And he had come in and interfered in her date. Will had left to talk things over with Ana. She had been mad, she had been furious and, out of spite, she had ordered what he had been drinking, several of them. She didn't remember getting back to the apartment, but there was a memory of her being violently ill.

She peeked under the covers. He'd taken off her socks and shoes but otherwise had left her clothed. Belle took a deep breath and got herself up. She definitely needed some of her hangover remedy. Gingerly she made her way out to the kitchen. Rumple was sitting at the counter drinking coffee, eating some eggs (real eggs), bacon, hash browns and toast. The smell of food, normally welcomed first thing in the morning, was turning her delicate stomach.

"Well, good morning Sunshine," he greeted her gently.

"Mornin'," she managed to croak out.

"May I get you anything?" he asked.

"No . . . thank you. I'll get . . . yeah, make me some toast, please," she corrected herself. She went into the fridge and pulled out her hangover cure ingredients. Slowly, she began mixing things up. He watched her moving deliberately and carefully, allowing her space while he popped in some bread to make her toast. She had a variety of ingredients in the Hangover Cure. He'd never remember all of them – pedialyte, tomato juice and a number of odd additions like milk thistle tincture, turmeric and borage oil. She finished mixing it and chugged it down. She took the toast he'd fixed and poured honey on it and took a couple of bites.

"Do you want me to get out the Tiger Balm and rub your head?" he asked kindly.

Her eyes met his. "I . . . I don't think so. . . . Thank you. What happened? I remember you barging into my date and, then, Will leaving. And I remember ordering whatever it was you were drinking and then things are kinda fuzzy."

"Well, I tried to get you to stop drinking but you shouted out that you were white, free and twenty-three and could do what you damn well pleased."

Belle's blue eyes grew enormous. "I never said any such a thing!"

He relented. "No, of course you didn't. You just blithered on about your ex-boyfriends and then tried to get in my pants."

"Oh, please, please tell me that didn't really happen," she had closed her eyes and was rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"You were a perfect lady." Except for the little kiss you planted on me. "I managed to get you back here and then you threw up your supper and what alcohol that hadn't already been absorbed into your system. I got you into my bed and then covered you up and . . . well now, here you are."

"Thank you. I . . . I'm quite embarrassed. I don't usually drink."

"I would have never guessed," he told her.

"But I was really mad at you," she pouted. "I am really mad at you."

He shrugged, "I thought you knew I was an arse. And I've gotten loaded for worse reasons than being mad at someone. No need to apologize, my dear. Do you need to get some more sleep?"

"What time is it?" she looked over at the clock. "Good grief, it's almost ten. No, I need to get to work. I had wanted to finish cleaning out your pantry today and your dry cleaning should be ready and I. . . I can't remember but there were some other things."

"It's all right, Miss French. Just take it easy. You need to re-hydrate and . . . get better."

The phone rang. She went to get it but he waved her off and answered it. "Hello."

There was a brief moment and without saying anything, he hung up the phone.

"Wrong number?" she asked.

"As wrong as it can get," he told her. "Now," he turned his attention back to her. "Anything I can get you?"

"Thank you," she told him looking down at her feet. "You've been really nice about all this."

"What? You think I'd fire you for getting drunk, especially when I was the reason?"

"No, but you've not rubbed my nose in it or lectured me or anything. You've been nothing but supportive."

"Well, I've had enough hangovers to realize that they are punishment enough. You don't need another person on your case."

She gave him a weak smile.

Chasing a Donation

"What do you think?" He was standing in front of a mirror dressing in a black Armani suit with a dark burgundy shirt. Belle stood behind him. She had watched him try on several shirts and tie combinations.

"Who is this woman?" she finally asked him.

He didn't answer right away. "Why do you think it's a woman?" he finally asked.

"Because you never take a moment's care with your personal appearance unless there's a woman involved," she told him beginning to re-hang rejected shirts and ties.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I just want a second opinion."

"Uh hummm," she told him. "The great artist wants his maid's opinion regarding how well his clothes are working for him?"

"Well, yeah," he answered. "I know I have an exquisite color sense but when it has to clothes, I'm like every other man. I want a woman's opinion."

Belle looked at him, gentle disbelief reflected in her open expression. "You look . . . very nice." Oh lord, the man looked good enough to eat, starting with those long, agile fingers and . . . or maybe start with the lips, they were certainly kissable enough. Maybe just kiss him on the throat. The tailored suit just accentuated the sharp compact lines of his body and made her want to run her hands over him. "Very nice," she repeated.

"You think," he stared at his reflection. His eyes strayed to his little mori kai clad maid with her round toed shoes, her ruffled socks, a long pale blue ruffled slip, the short blue embroidered skirt and pretty white lace embellished tunic top. Pah! What did she know about fashion? She dressed like a twelve-year-old Japanese girl.

But it suited her, the ingenuousness, the sweetness, the gentleness – it all suited her. He still heard those soft, dulcet tones of the harmonicum when he looked at her, light, delicate, fairy-like. She looked like some sort of confection, like a decadently frosted cupcake. He could almost taste the honey-vanilla rose fragrance in the frosting.

And he so wanted to rub his face into all that frosting.

Get a grip on yourself, old man! He told himself. She's half your age and is involved with a string of hard-ass boyfriends – young men who are more than capable of offering her a proper pounding.

He managed to smile back at her. "All right then. I'm going off to meet with a Sarah Fisher. She's a very wealthy diamond heiress, rolling in ice, and they're wanting me to convince her to make a donation to the local arts program. Don't know why they wanted me to approach her," he muttered.

"Oh, I do," Belle couldn't stop herself from responding. When he looked at her, she blushed. "I . . . I just think that you're an excellent ambassador for the arts. And, I know when you want to be, you can be quite charming."

He smirked at her. "I guess I can be. Regina is wanting me to butter her up . . . and, if that doesn't work, she wants me to lick the butter off."

Belle had an image of him licking butter off of her own self. She took a brief moment and refocused. "Well, I'm sure you'll have a good time," she told him. She reached up to straighten his tie. It was an innocent kind gesture but it brought her up right next to him. They were standing very close together.

He wanted to reach up and push the stray strand of hair away from her face and then cup her chin and bring his lips down on hers, soft at first, but then hard and satisfyingly possessive. But he couldn't imagine she would have welcomed his attentions.

He sighed, "I know you've got an evening out with your friends, right?"

"Yes. We're meeting at a local bar for a couple of drinks. Nothing special."

"Well, have fun. I doubt I will," he told her.

Belle watched him leave, appreciating him walking away.

They had been so close there. If he had just leaned down maybe an inch or so. She hadn't meant to start anything and apparently hadn't, well at least not where he was concerned.

The Green Dragon

Belle met with her friends at the Green Dragon, their favorite bar. Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Emma – her bestest friends in the whole wide world.

"How's it going?" Ruby asked everyone.

"David has asked me to spend Thanksgiving with his family. It'll just be his mom, him and me."

"Oooh, Thanksgiving. Serious," Ruby said.

"Yeah, very serious," Mary Margaret agreed.

"Are you thinking there's a ring in the future?" Belle asked.

"Maybe," Mary Margaret agreed. "David's not the kind of guy to suggest we live together – he's going to go for marriage from the get-go."

"Wow," was all that Ruby said.

"Are you seeing that psychiatry resident or are you still with James?" Emma asked Ruby.

"The psychiatry resident. His name is Archie Hopper and I'm having the best time. He is so easily scandalized. The first time I went down on him, I thought he was going to turn redder than his hair."

"Oh, TMI," Belle reminded her friend who had few compunctions about sharing deeply personal information. "How about you and that financial planner, car repair guy you hooked up with?" she asked Emma.

"Still going on. He's opened up a bit about his family. Apparently, there was a really nasty divorce between his parents – mom was sleeping around on his dad."

"So, he's kinda gun-shy then?" Belle asked.

"Oh yeah. Which is fine with me. I'm not quite ready to settle down with any one guy, but . . ."

"What? You think he might, maybe, just could be . . .?"

"The One," finished Emma, blushing.

"Belle, how are things going for you?" Ruby asked.

Belle sighed. "Going nowhere. I'm making good money and it's for honest work but I'm . . ." she didn't finish.

"How's your dad?" Mary Margaret asked.

Belle sat quietly. "He seems to be getting worse. I'm thinking he probably needs to close the shop and go into some kind of assisted living situation. I can't give him the attention he needs and I worry about him."

"You know, if there's anything any of us can do . . ." Ruby didn't finish. The other two women both nodded.

"Thanks. The money's going to be the issue. My dad's only income is social security and it's not much. I'm hoping that maybe, if I sell the business that could help – and I've got an offer from our building's custodian. It was surprising – you wouldn't think that he'd be the florist-type, but if we can work out the financing, it could help a lot. And he's agreeable to dad continuing to work there as long as he can."

The group nodded somberly. Belle looked up, "Hey, I really didn't mean to be a downer. I'm dealing with it."

"Right, of course you are," Ruby told her. "None of us here can help with money, but if you need someone to run him to the doctor or pick up something for him or check on him – stuff like that – we're here for you."

"I know, thanks," Belle told them.

Thanks so much to those folks who are sticking with this little fun story and, especially, to those who were kind enough to leave a thoughtful review: Wondermorena, Grace5231973, aynwy, jewel415, and Erik'sTrueAngel.

NEXT: Rumple has an odd encounter with a patron of the arts. Later, he shares with Belle some things about his perceptions that make him different (special) when compared to others. Belle goes on another date.