And now, another chapter of Days of Our—wait a minute….
For those who wonder, divorces were uncommon and frowned-upon until the latter half of the twentieth century. Hence Wilson's waffling.
Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment
Great Gatsby © 2013 Baz Luhrmann
Wilson was in his backyard on a brilliant Saturday afternoon, happily tinkering with a new experiment, when the creak of his gate announced a visitor.
This was vaguely surprising, Wilson decided, as both Maxwell and Charlie had been too busy to drop in on him. That worried him. And yet the more he tried to think about it, the more his head ached. Every time that happened, he turned his attention to his science experiments.
He had gotten quite a lot of science done over the past several days.
Wilson sighed and glanced up to see who his visitor was. He was pleasantly surprised to see it was Willow.
"Maxwell said you lived next door," Willow said without preamble. "What are you doing?"
Wilson looked back at his machine, as though to remind himself of what he was tinkering with. "I'm making a rainometer," he announced finally. "It will predict potential precipitation."
"Ah," Willow said, walking over and looking at it. "I thought that was what the weatherman was for."
"Well, a few days ago the weatherman said it would be bright and sunny, and that any rain would end around four. He was wrong." Wilson frowned as he remembered that day. Agh, there was that headache again.
Willow was destined to aggravate it. Sitting down on a nearby upturned bucket, she asked about the day Wilson had been avoiding. "So how did it go?"
Wilson rubbed at his face, leaving a trail of dirt and grease behind. "Well, they met. And…oh, my head…."
"Are you okay?" Willow asked, concerned.
"No, I'm not okay," Wilson said, rubbing his temples. "It's just that…I don't care how happy they seem, there's the issue of propriety to consider—Charlie is still married to Tom, after all."
"People do get divorces."
"Not proper people."
"Hey," Willow said firmly. "Would you rather have her be living in misery for the rest of her life?"
"How would you know?" Wilson shot.
"I play tennis with her," Willow answered, unperturbed. "We attend the same club."
Wilson ground his teeth and played with a few loose gears. "Yes, I want her to be happy—but could she be happy with that stigma following her around?"
Willow smiled brightly. "Well, after the divorce we could always go murder someone—murder takes precedence over divorce as far as headlines go."
Wilson stared at her. "Tell me you're joking."
"Arson?"
"Miss Willow, it's bad enough I'm factoring into my cousin's potential divorce—don't talk me into committing any other crimes."
"Well then it's a bad thing I'm here," she said, adjusting her position; the bucket must have been uncomfortable, Wilson belatedly realized. "Because there's another party tonight, and you are supposed to be my date. Charlie will be there too."
Wilson felt pulled headlong into a situation he had absolutely no control over.
But, as a scientist, he also felt that if he lacked the information, then he needed to obtain it.
"All right," he said finally. "Just let me get cleaned up."
Wilson was surprised, upon arriving at the party with Willow, that Tom was with Charlie.
"I didn't think Maxwell would have invited him," Wilson said to Willow in an undertone.
"He didn't," Willow hissed back; Wilson noted she was uncomfortable with the idea as well. "He must have tagged along."
Wilson was pleased to note that Tom looked distinctly uncomfortable around these nouveau-riche, as he had called them. So the shoe was on the other foot!
Maxwell had seemed startled as well upon seeing Tom, but after a few moments' worth of chat, he had found a way to turn it to his own amusement: by introducing Tom as "the polo player", as an afterthought after introducing Charlie.
"I don't think I want to be introduced as the polo player," Tom confided to Wilson in an undertone.
Wilson felt a rather triumphant smirk steal across his face. "Oh, I could think of a few other designations I could have him introduce you as, if you want."
Tom's expression was thunderous.
Wilson didn't care—his earlier reservations had vanished, and he was walking on air tonight. He decided he was going to find Willow and have a few dances with her.
Tom, meanwhile, was trying to convince Charlie to go home. She was refusing, Wilson noted.
"You don't mind if I dance with her a bit, do you, pal?" Maxwell asked.
Wilson glanced over, deciding to enjoy Tom's expression one more time. He was relenting, saying he was going over to talk to some people—
In response, Charlie took a pen and pad and tucked it into his suit pocket. "In case you need to take notes," she told him.
It was Wilson's turn to be thunderstruck. Did that mean—did Charlie—did Charlie know about Tom's unfaithfulness?
He was back on solid ground, head whirling.
And of course, that was when Willow found him.
"Come on," she said, pulling him out onto the floor. "Let's dance."
Wilson found his way to a quiet patch of garden balcony a while later, requesting respite from the dancing. Willow obliged, thankfully, grabbing someone else and swinging him around a bit. Wilson couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the fellow.
"Say, pal!"
Wilson glanced over to see Maxwell and Charlie walking by him. "I'm going to go show Charlie the garden," Maxwell informed him.
Wilson felt his eyebrows furrow. Didn't he show her the gardens the other day?
Charlie filled him in. "It's a secret, dear—don't tell anyone."
"Ah," Wilson noised, nodding slightly. He watched them go, and reflected that once again, he was supposed to be guarding someone else's secrets.
He turned and picked something to drink off of a passing waiter's tray, trying to sort everything out in his mind. Think scientifically, he told himself as he took a sip.
"Funny thing about this Maxwell fellow."
Wilson nearly choked on his drink. Tom had come up next to him without him noticing. "Oh really?" he managed.
"Do you know that no one knows anything about him?" Tom asked.
"I could say the same about you," Wilson retorted.
"I'm almost certain he's up to no good," Tom continued, not paying him any attention.
"The same could almost be said about you—I'm certain of the fact, however."
"I'm going to do some digging on him."
"You're just sore because he keeps introducing you as the polo player."
Tom scowled at him. "Have you seen my wife?"
Wilson took distinct pleasure from lying to Tom's face. "No, I have not seen Charlie recently," Wilson told him. Not within the last three minutes, he added silently.
"I'm going to do some digging on this Maxwell fellow."
"You've said that already."
"I'm going to go look for Charlie," Tom said, walking off.
"Don't forget to pay your rent!" Wilson parted cheerily, toasting him and enjoying the glare he received.
Wilson took a drink to steady his nerves.
"Hoo boy," he noised.
Wilson found Charlie later, once the party was winding down. She was sitting on the front steps, staring out across the sound.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting down next to her.
"Hmm?" she noised, glancing at him. "Oh, I'm all right," she said, returning her gaze to the darkness. She always seemed to come alive in the dark, Wilson noted.
He played with his fingers for a bit, not wanting to approach the subject but feeling he had to.
He was interrupted in his effort by Charlie talking again.
"We had a nice long chat in the garden."
Wilson started. "You and Maxwell?"
She nodded. "He wants me to leave Tom."
Wilson wasn't sure what to do. He was fairly certain he could provide her some information that would make it easier, but…. "And…what do you want?"
Charlie heaved a sigh. "I don't know….He wants to go back to before, but….I don't know what I want."
He thought for a moment. "Well…I want you to be happy."
She smiled at him. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could snap our fingers and all this mess would be gone? You, me, and Maxwell on our own desert island. And Willow too—I've seen the way you two look at each other."
Wilson reddened a bit, prompting her to laugh. "Oh yes! You do care!" She flung her arms around him. "You two will be my own personal project—I'll fling you together in closets and spread all sorts of rumors about you!"
"I'd rather you didn't," Wilson told her, although her enthusiasm was infectious. He took a deep breath and held her away from him a bit. "Listen: what you said to Tom earlier…."
Her face fell. "Yes, I know," she said. "I know what he's like. It's why we left Chicago."
"Then why stay with him?"
Charlie gave a shuddering sigh. "I…I…."
"There you are!"
Wilson and Charlie both turned to see Tom coming down the steps towards them. "Come on—we're leaving."
"Wilson and I were having a chat," Charlie informed him.
"You can chat with him tomorrow," he said, pulling her up. "We don't need to stay here."
"You could come to tea tomorrow, Charlie," Wilson said, standing. "And you could leave the polo player at home," he added, with a pointed look at Tom.
"We're leaving," Tom said again, pulling Charlie along. She looked back at Wilson with an expression he couldn't decipher.
Wilson glanced around, realized that everyone else had just about left.
He went once again in search of the host.
Wilson found him loitering by the pool, picking up some odd or end every once in a while, seemingly lost in thought.
"Charlie just left," Wilson announced, raising his voice a little. "I think she had a wonderful time."
"She didn't like it."
Wilson blinked at the flat statement Maxwell had given. "Huh?"
Maxwell looked up, gestured vaguely around. "She didn't like it."
"She said you chatted in the garden," Wilson prompted.
"We did—I'm trying to convince her…." He trailed off, staring across the sound. Wilson noted the green light.
"It's not like you can erase the last eight years," Wilson informed him.
Maxwell, meanwhile, seemed to have found new resolve.
"Watch me."