Chapter Six: Celebrating Fish's Absence
A/N: Another chapter! I'm pretty excited, guys!
Because Fish was gone, Oswald was bringing his mom to the club to celebrate what would soon be his. Because this was a special occasion for him, I dressed up—and I even put on mascara. With a redheaded woman with sky blue eyes in a periwinkle-colored, ankle-length dress as my reflection, I felt more than justified in feeling sexy. I'd decided against the tight, skin-hugging black cocktail dress for two reasons: His mother would be there, and I wanted to hide the knife that was laced to my thigh behind a garter. My ginger roots had grown in the past year to my shoulders and I pulled it to one shoulder.
I heard my phone buzzing on the bathroom counter. I picked it up on the third vibration.
"Sylvia?"
"I'm on my way out," I commented.
Oswald snickered, "It's like you already knew why I was calling."
"I've been getting ready," I said distractedly, "I'll be there soon."
"Good. I sent Gabe to meet you outside whenever you are ready. Is he there?"
I peeked outside the window and saw a car waiting for me.
"I see him."
"Good. I love you."
"Love you too, see you soon."
We hung up simultaneously. I looked at the little penguin plush doll that sat on the bathroom sink, and gave it a little pat on the head before leaving the apartment. My white two-inch heels clicked the concrete as I stepped outside, noting the gray atmosphere. Gabe crawled out of the driver's seat, and opened my passenger door gracefully.
"Looks like it might rain," I told him.
"Well, it wouldn't surprise me," said Gabe conversationally in his deep baritone.
He closed my door as I was situated and came around the other side, getting in and starting the car once more.
"You look nice," Gabe pointed out.
"Thank you. Is that a new tie?"
He touched his own suit, and straightened it with my observation. "Yeah."
"It looks good."
"Thanks." He said, and that dopey grin creased his lips the entire drive to Mooney's club.
When we parked, he did the same as before—he went to the passenger door, and opened it for me. I thanked him. He escorted me to the center of the club. The last time I was here, Fish had stabbed Oswald in the hand with a needle pin and I had only been seconds away from killing her.
Ah memories.
"Dear?" Oswald greeted, smiling.
"Sorry, just reminiscing," I sighed.
He kissed me on my cheek, and I beamed. His mother was talking to one of his other friendly followers (as friendly as one could be) and I admired how well she looked. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she wore make-up.
"You tell her about the club?" I whispered.
"Only what she needed to know," said Oswald just as softly. He frowned a little. "She ruined my surprise."
"Guessed it before you could say it, huh?"
"Of course."
"Well, can you blame her?"
Gertrud passed between us, walking over to and insisting that Gabe dance with her.
Oswald watched his mother for a moment before turning to me inquisitively: "What do you mean?"
"You are capable of obtaining the things you want. You wanted a club—you'll get it. She knows it," I said, pointing at his mother. "She may not know how you'll get it or why, but…. she knows your potential. Just like I do."
Oswald beamed at my praise: "You really know how to make a man feel good about himself."
"We both know."
Oswald startled when I licked his ear, and he staggered to get his affairs back in order.
"Not in front of her," He said urgently, his eyes darting to Gertrud.
I grinned mischievously. "You'll have to kiss me in front of her on our wedding day, you know. Might as well start practicing."
"Kissing is one thing, Pidge. Licking me is another."
"Well, I wanted to lick something else, but I decided against it, so you should count yourself lucky." I said slyly.
He sent me a stern look.
"I'll behave," I promised, kissing him gingerly on the lips, and he returned it.
Gertrud then gestured vigorously for me to join her in dancing.
"I really don't want to dance."
"It's a waltz," She said as though this would make me feel any better.
It didn't.
"I'm not the waltzing type."
"No, no, no—come on…." Gertrud insisted, taking my hand. When I hesitated, she looked at me oddly. "Do you know how to dance?"
"I can dance like a restless third-grader drunk on the firewater of personal achievement," I joked, "If that's what you mean."
"No, no," She giggled. "This is more elegant, classier."
"Then no, I don't know how to dance." I confessed—I could feel my face burning.
I avoided Oswald's gaze.
She and Oswald had a taste for flair, for all things that were sophisticated. Their way of dressing said so and for Christ's sake, Oswald could speak French and he understood German. His mother's apartment alone reflected antique and class. And apparently, she knew how to ballroom dance. So, I could only guess she might have taught Oswald as well.
And then there was me—The middle-class girl who grew up with a lawyer for a father and a soldier for a brother, with half of her childhood spent pickpocketing unsuspecting fuckers because nothing else seemed to entice me. In that kind of situation, I would never have dreamt that I would want to know how to waltz.
Now I wish I had.
Apparently, my face was turning the shade of my hair because Gertrud smiled apologetically.
"I'm sorry, mein lamm, I thought you knew—no matter," Gertrud said, taking my hand. "We shall remedy that! I will teach you."
"Oh god—no…." I began to pull away.
"No-no, come back, there's no better time than now!" Gertrud persisted, and she pulled me back to her.
Gabe was grinning and I saw Oswald trying to hold back a laugh.
"Just put your hands here," She directed, taking my left hand and placing it firmly on her shoulder while she held the other one. And her left hand rested on my hip. "Now…. we go one, two, three… then one, two, three—don't look at my feet…."
"Then how am I supposed to know where I'm stepping?"
"Just look in my eyes, look in them—not down. Up."
"I am looking at your eyes! But that isn't helping my coordination."
"Just relax into it, my girl," Gertrud said sheepishly. "And don't forget to breathe."
"Oh right," I said, suddenly letting a huge puff of air escape me.
I hadn't even known I was holding my breath to begin with!
"Seriously, Mrs. K, I'm not really—" I began once more but she silenced me with her louder version of "One, Two, Three".
"You see," said Gertrud as she led the waltz, "every young lady must know how to dance."
I muttered, "One, two, th-three….one, two" (then blurted) "How do you dance when there are other people knocking into you?"
"No one will knock into you," She consoled.
"So, does everyone in your family know how to do this? Fucking how?"
Gertrud giggled, looking at Oswald, "She's funny, isn't she!"
"Never a dull moment," He agreed, smirking.
"I pity the youth," Gertrud said, looking back at me. "No one knows how to dance...properly."
"That's not true—I can do a mean Macarena. Did they ever teach you the Cha-Cha slide?"
When she looked at me oddly, I wondered if I should have even said anything. My face only burned a little more.
"Okay, now you spin."
"Spin?" I repeated.
"Spin! Weeeee!" Gertrud sang, taking my hand over my head and forcing me into a twirl, then just as quickly, she pulled me back into the three-step count.
"Oswald!"
"You're doing well, Sylvia!" He responded teasingly, "Just remember: 'one, two, three'!"
Gertrud winked at her son before twirling me again.
The violinists were giggling on the stage as they continued the waltzing music. I was only growing more nervous, and for reasons I could not explain. It was so very odd: I didn't mind cutting Timothy the Umbrella Boy in half but the idea of stepping on Gertrud's toes scared the shit out of me.
"If nothing else, you keep in mind," Gertrud mentored. "You never lead. The man leads."
"What if I want to lead?" I countered.
"In this day and age, no one leads," She all but grumbled. "In old times, men led. You are a woman—you don't lead the dance. You lead in other things."
"Well, that's a little provocative," I started but she interrupted with—
"And, spin! Weeeee!"
I made an effort and sang "Weee' with her although mine came out shakier and more nervous.
"At the end of the dance, you dip," said Gertrud.
"Dip?" I repeated.
"Yes. You tip back."
"I thought you said dip, not 'tip'."
"I did," Gertrud returned.
Oswald chuckled when his mother looked at me with just as much confusion when I didn't understand her meaning.
He came to stand in front of me, looking at me as he told his mother, "I'll show her."
"Such a good son. You show her how it's done," Gertrud said proudly, patting his cheek. She smiled at Gabe, saying, "You want to try?"
He nodded respectfully.
Oswald held out his hand, palm up, and I bit my bottom lip when I took it. Giddiness suddenly shunned all the nervousness from my brain. He pulled me close to him, slow and gentle; as learned from Gertrud, I placed my other hand on his shoulder. He smelled nice—like cologne and soap.
His unoccupied hand slid along my lower back; fingers spread. I felt completely hypnotized as he said in the softest of tones, "When I tilt you back, your foot farthest from me lifts up; the other one will stay grounded."
"If you say so, Mr. Penguin," I whispered.
Oswald snickered as he tilted me back. Unused to the dip and loss of gravity, my hand on his shoulder immediately gripped him as I gasped when my head fell back (although gracefully); I felt like I was hanging upside down, and was looking in the direction of the night club's entrance. He pulled me back up and I smiled at him.
"Let's do it again," I said eagerly.
"Your wish is my command." He said, making me blush.
We slow danced, slowly moving our hips in rhythm; a sweet, slow swaying so he didn't have to move his knees as much. In some ways, dancing with Oswald was similar to making love. He had the same intense gaze as he took in my every reaction.
So mesmerizing, so fucking handsome. God, now I really wanted him. Fucking mother of….
"I can see your mom being a dancer in the past," I said, looking over Oswald's shoulder to see Gertrud teaching Gabe the step-count (anything to ignore the burning need between my legs). "She could be an instructor."
"She only teaches those who she considers worth her time."
"Well, I should definitely feel honored."
He said playfully, "As you should."
"And I do," I returned, half-seriously. "Dancing with me in front of your mother—that's a nice honor too. Before you know it, I'll be sitting on your lap."
"One step at a time," He cautioned.
I gave our feet a glance, and snorted, "Literally."
He tipped me back. I squeaked, and started laughing as I was back to looking at the doorway, upside down, the world spinning. But this time, a figure was standing a few feet away from me; Oswald noticed too, looking up.
"Jim!" He said, smiling widely.
He guided me back up so I could stand comfortably on my feet. Jim looked awkward, but attempted a friendly smile as Oswald welcomed him. Just as soon as he had come in, Gertrud noticed and she strolled leisurely over to us.
"Another handsome man at the party," Gertrud cooed. "I am so lucky."
Ah, so she liked Jim—that was a positive thing!
Oswald introduced them: "This is Jim Gordon, the detective I've been telling you about."
"So nice to meet a friend of Oswald's," Gertrud said sweetly and slyly she said to him, "I'm Gertrud Kapelput."
Ah…. she likes-likes Jim.
Oswald and I exchanged looks as Jim glanced at me uncomfortably before he took Gertrud's pre-offered hand and swiftly kissed the back of it.
"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Kapelput."
Awkward.
"Uh Mother, Jim and I have some very important business," Oswald said gently, and he coaxed her back to Gabe as she muttered, "Oh so sad, so sad".
Gabe quickly pulled her into another little dance and I watched them briefly before turning to see Jim looking at us oddly.
"It's a little early to be celebrating, don't you think?" He muttered.
"Well don't just stand there. Sit," Oswald encouraged, ignoring his warning, and gestured to one of the tables.
"This won't take long."
"I insist. Sit." Oswald said eagerly.
Jim did as he was asked, but gave me a glance as soon as he sat.
"What?" I demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Are you sure you should be here? He and I are talking."
"And your point is?"
He began to complain.
"Don't worry, Jim. Sylvia is in regular attendance for these types of discussions," Oswald said calmly, glancing at me with an endearing smile.
"That's not very reassuring," Jim said, looking at me pointedly.
"Whatever business you have to discuss with him, you can discuss in front of me," I said smoothly, taking my own seat beside him and crossing one leg over the other.
Jim gave Oswald a look.
Oswald said comfortably, "She means well."
"Well, I don't want her overhearing." Jim emphasized bitterly, glancing at me once more.
"Then you best speak very quietly so I don't hear you," I said sarcastically.
Seeing that I was a lost cause, Jim surrendered.
Oswald smiled at the two of us before turning to him: "I'm so very glad you called, Jim Gordon. It has been too long since we last saw each other. I was thinking you might have forgotten about me."
"How can I," Jim muttered as he sent a bitter smile towards me, which I returned ever so sarcastically. He said to Oswald, "I need a favor."
And Oswald's face just lit up with glee.
"Do you know a Narcotics Detective by the name of Arnold Flass?" Jim queried.
Oswald nodded, "I've heard the name."
"I'm investigating him and his crew for murder, but I've hit a wall. He's too well-connected. I figured since Don Maroni runs the drug trade, you could find somebody with the goods on Flass. But—"
"Shh!" Oswald hushed. "Say no more. Favor is done. I'll make some calls."
"And what do I owe you in return?" Jim asked suspiciously.
"Friends don't owe friends, silly," He said, smiling happily. "They just do things because they want to. Because they're friends."
"Nobody gets hurt."
"Of course. No one gets hurt," Oswald reaffirmed.
And when the deal was struck, Oswald smiled again and he offered to commemorate the occasion with a toast of champagne.
"So, you're a part of this kind of work now, are you?" Jim questioned as he and I watched Oswald fulfill his promise to his mother by dancing with her. It was another slow dance; they kept a reasonable amount of space between them.
We stood as he drank his glass of champagne.
"Well, not to drag your name in the mud, but you are the one who came to him for this kind of work," I reasoned coolly.
"Are you going to be the one he sends to get information on Flass?"
"No."
"He's told you already?" Jim asked, glancing at me.
"You're interrogating me again," I reminded him as I poured a glass of champagne for myself. "And you know how much I despise that."
"That's not an answer."
"Whatever. Anyway, it's a 'no'. I'm not going to be the one who gets the goods on Flass, but not for reasons you would think."
"What reasons do you have?" questioned Jim, glancing at my attire. "You're not exactly dressed for the occasional mugging."
"I'm so happy my work amuses you," I said cynically. "I could poke fun about how you're playing 'Clue' and getting paid for it. But I don't. Anyway, don't worry about me: I can kill a man just as easily in a dress as I could in a jumpsuit."
"Nice to know," said Jim, rolling his eyes.
Sensing my irritation, he dropped the topic.
"Do I want to know what I walked into earlier?"
I grinned broadly: "I don't know. Do you?"
"I'm honestly afraid to ask."
"Well, at least you're honest."
Oswald finished his dance with his mother, who had resumed her little dance with Gabe, her favorite student, and she began to sway to the violin's slow, melodic tune.
Jim suddenly jumped and I startled, looking quickly at him. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants, glanced at the caller ID and sighed, "I have to go."
He kissed my cheek: "I'll see you later."
"Yep."
He left quickly without another word to anyone else. Oswald looked at me curiously, and I shrugged.
"Work, probably."
"I see," He mused, smiling. "He's a busy man, isn't he?"
"I've never known him to be any other way," I said casually, before drinking the rest of my champagne, then I poured another glass, adding with an afterthought: "I met with Victor."
Oswald's ears perked at the name.
"Or rather," I said quietly, "he met me. In the middle of the night….in my apartment."
Oswald narrowed his eyes, saying with an edge to his tone, "And what happened?"
"It wasn't anything like that. Strictly business. But I think it's interesting that your first thought was one of infidelity. Rest assured, if I ever have the urge to cheat on you, you will be the first to know."
"How thoughtful," Oswald said with a sarcastic smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Of course, I never would do such a thing," I comforted, rubbing his forearm. "You know that."
I leaned in and kissed him. But he didn't reciprocate. Not yet defeated, I pushed my lips against his bottom lip, my hand on his shoulder fell to his chest; taking the collar of his jacket, I pulled him closer to me.
"You do know that, don't you?" I urged, looking at him reproachfully.
Oswald glanced at me. I couldn't even begin to wonder what was going through that beautiful brain of his but whatever suspicions, whatever the paranoia he was feeling seemed to break down and my insistent display of affection pulled him through it. His eyes—shining brilliantly in the red lighting above—only appeared that much more soulful. And it felt like he was searching my own, to seek out the smallest lie.
I cradled his face in my hands.
"Forgive me if I think badly of you," Oswald said apologetically. "But I have seen the way other people look at you."
"And do you see how I look at them?" I returned patiently. "I don't see them. I only see you."
He turned his head ever so slightly so he nuzzled my palm with his mouth, kissing my right hand.
"The others are just wallpaper."
Oswald nodded, and seeing that reassurance, I smiled. He kissed me again. And it was only broken naturally when we glanced up to see that Gertrud had taken to the stage and started dancing, a small sway here and a twirl there.
"You said you had business with Victor?" He asked, his voice business-like once again.
"Regarding that proposition you mentioned earlier in the hospital. He wants to train me, to make me a professional killer. Like him."
"And did you find out what he wants in return?" Oswald questioned calmly, although there was still a possessive edge to his tone.
"He wants nothing I can give him. More or less—He's just looking forward to the bragging rights, to say that he taught me. Apparently, he thinks I can be one hell of a threat."
"Are you thinking of doing it?"
"If it makes me sharper, deadlier—then I'm all in."
Oswald looked reluctant to speak about my working with Victor. His lips were pressed together tightly, and he said nothing in return. His silence wasn't reassuring. I touched his jacket, fidgeting with the little buttons, and moved myself closer to him.
Oswald thought for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"When do you start?"
"Couple hours. Or, at least, that's the plan," I said gently. "Falcone wants Victor to check on Bob, make sure everything's ship-shape with Fish and her punishment. Victor wants me to come along, a job orientation, so to speak."
Oswald placed his hands around mine, and he avoided my gaze. His jaw flexed as he contemplated this decision.
"I want this," I implored. "I never have wanted to do something so badly in my entire life. But I don't want there to be any bad blood between us."
He was silent.
I said softly, "Do you trust me?"
He kissed my hand. "I trust you, Pigeon."
"Thank you."
"Anything for you," Oswald promised. "Do you have to go home and change?"
"Yeah," I said reluctantly. "Do you need me to bring your mom back or anything?"
"No, I'll ask Gabe to do it. She seems to have grown fond of him."
"Do you need anything from me?"
"Just be careful, Sylvia."
"Will do."
I left the club to change out of my outfit and into something—as Victor instructed—with a different flair.
