His enormous suite, billed to his own account for the luxury, was like a beach at the end of summer – empty in a lonely, ghostlike way.
Gold travelled from room to room, sometimes pacing, sometimes wandering aimlessly. Every once in a while, the small, fancily decorated table would catch his notice, with its crisp, lacy tablecloth and expensive wine in a bucket of ice, completely at odds with the more casual meal of hamburgers he'd ordered (Belle's favorite).
Granny had outdone herself, even adding the extra pickles he'd asked for, and Belle had not arrived in the last 20 minutes since he'd spent expecting her.
Skin tingling with fear or foreboding, he checked both his watch and the alarm clock near the bed. They both confirmed the time, and Belle's concerning absence.
He called her, but there was no answer at the apartment. It gave him hope that she might have been on her way.
But a half hour later, she still hadn't come.
Gold was beginning to panic. He needed to see her; hadn't really realized how much until now. Needed it like he needed the air in his lungs and the ground beneath his feet. It had been too long, and like a plant living in the shadows, was slowly dying without her light.
Not knowing what to do, he sat on the bed and picked up the hotel phone again.
Granny answered after two rings.
"This is Edward Gold."
"Hello, Mr. Gold," said the woman, steadily and businesslike. "I trust everything was to your satisfaction?"
"Indeed. It was very nice. I was just wondering if there have been any messages left for me?"
With a small grunt, as though she knew exactly the situation, Granny replied, "Can't say that I've gotten any, but I'll double check with the others. One moment."
Gold waited, bouncing his foot on the floor anxiously. Moments later, the old woman came back to the phone.
"No messages, Mr. Gold. Would you like me to contact you immediately if somebody does leave one?"
Squeezing his eyes shut, Gold said, "Yes, yes, let me know."
No alternatives but to try Belle's number again, Gold called her once more, and this time left her a recording on her machine.
"Belle. Sweetheart, where are you? I'm worried." Breathing deeply, he asked, "Are you there? If you are, please pick up."
The machine cut him off before he could say more.
He placed the phone on the receiver and jumped to his feet again, aggravating his already sore leg.
At the table, the mostly-melted ice bucket and cold hamburgers seemed to taunt him. Giving up, he went to sit at the table he'd been so excited to present to Belle, and opened the wine. Removing his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, he dipped his throwing elbow into the ice and winced at the bracing cold. Then, slowly, he lifted the wine and began to drink straight from the bottle.
He didn't really keep track of things after that – he vaguely remembered finishing the bottle, staggering to the bed, and falling facedown – but it might have been an hour or two before he heard heavy knocking on the door of his suite.
Belle, he thought, getting up and making a beeline for the door. It was only a setback. Maybe she'd just been nervous, like him. Granny could send them fresh meals and-
Gold opened the door to Neal, who had his hands stuffed in his pockets and a chipper smile on his face. "Hey, finally. I've been knocking loud enough that other guests were sticking their heads out of their rooms. I was waiting for you at the gym but you never showed. I made Granny give me your room number."
Gold scowled. Maybe he'd have to take that generous tip back from the meddlesome concierge after all. He liked Neal, but all he wanted right now was to be alone.
Ducking under Gold's arm, Neal made his way into the suite. He whistled softly when he saw the discarded jacket and empty bottle on the floor.
"Jeez, what happened? Belle here?"
"No," Gold growled, response instant and vehement.
Shaking his had, Neal picked up the wine bottle and set it back on the table. "You know, chief, you need to throw tomorrow!"
"I don't need to hear it." The door rattled with another knock, this one softer. Panicked, Gold started for the bathroom to throw water on his face. Belle couldn't see him like this. "Neal, that could be her. Can you…"
Rolling his eyes, Neal did as he was bidden.
Patting his face dry with one of the embroidered hotel towels, Gold glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Neal was right; he could have looked better. But his blotched face and heavy eyes would have to do.
Hoping he would have the courage to face Belle, he tentatively left the sink.
He came back to the main room to find that Neal had welcomed not Belle, but the team owner, Leopold White.
"Mr. White," Gold said, trying to summon enthusiasm. Leopold was a good man, and a better owner could not be found in the league, but he had so been hoping it was Belle.
Rubbing at his grizzled white hair, the man smiled faintly. "Good evening, Edward. Do you have time for a chat?"
Hoping his boss wouldn't smell the wine on his breath, Rumple nodded. "I do. Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you."
Neal jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door. "I'm just gonna catch you later, Eddie. Good to see you, as always, Mr. White."
"Goodbye, Neal," said Leopold, and Neal nodded as he left the suite.
Walking toward the small table, Leopold lowered himself into one of the chairs and curiously lifted one of the tin lids off the plate of likely-spoiled meat and wilting fries. Replacing the lid without comment, he continued, "Wasn't easy to get to you. I had to prove my identity to a rather feisty guardian of a concierge."
Gold chuckled. "Granny treats me right. I've known her many years."
"You weren't even on the register. 'Rumpelstiltskin'? Now that's the most interesting alias I have heard in my entire tenure as owner of this team. I suppose your fame comes with a price."
Wondering where Leopold was going with this, Gold shrugged halfheartedly. "Can I get you anything?" The wine was gone, the food was inedible, but there was always the minibar.
"Oh, I'm quite all right. Please, sit with me," he invited, and Gold joined him at the table. "It hasn't been the most magical year, has it?"
Laughing in acknowledgement, Gold said, "No. There's always next year, though."
Sighing loudly, looking as though he wished he had taken up Gold's offer of a drink, Leopold confessed, "Not for me, I'm afraid. It's something of an open secret. But what you don't know is that it became official not long ago. Edward, I sold the Tigers."
In the last of the evening light, filtering weakly through the windows, Gold suddenly became aware of how old Leopold looked in that moment.
There was a heavy silence. "That is…good news?" Gold said, and the ending almost came out like a question.
"Is it?" Folding his hands, Leopold shook his head. "Edward, you have been the heart and soul of this team. Like family. And through all the negotiations, they never even spoke up."
Confused, Gold rubbed at his elbow, working out the stiffness that the icing hadn't helped. "Spoke up about what?"
"They are planning to trade you to the Giants."
For the second time that day, Gold felt like the rug had been yanked from under his feet, and his world was spinning with no way for him to catch up. "I see," he said finally. "And you came here to warn me?"
"Not quite." Looking at him sadly, Leopold explained, "I am not sure how to say this. I've been watching you for 18 years. Nothing has given me more pleasure. You're one of the 'Old Boys', they were golden. They had that special pride. When they were finished, that was that. Nobody had to show them the door."
Feeling a bitter taste in his mouth, Gold said, "You think I should retire."
"I do, son. It wouldn't hurt negotiations, and it would serve those S.O.B's right."
Staring down at the lacy tablecloth, delicate and beautiful like his Belle, Gold stammered, "I just…I don't know what to say." Leopold had been perhaps the only person who understood what the game meant to him. And now he was advising him to throw it away.
Scoffing, Leopold said, "I know you must have at least considered it before. You've been wise with your money, correct?"
"I've just…I've always been a Tiger."
"I know, Edward. That's why this is killing me. You know, my own father bought this team when I was 7? I grew up watching the Tigers. I was going to leave the team to my Mary Margaret, but she doesn't even like baseball, even though she's married to David. Everything's changed, you see? The players, the fans...tv rights, the arbitration...everything's different. The game stinks, and I...I can't be a part of that anymore."
The shrill ringing of the phone cut into their conversation, and Gold signaled to it. "Do you mind if…?"
"Of course not."
Hastening to the phone, Gold answered the call. "Hello?"
He heard a static, warbling noise, and then Belle's unmistakable accent, speaking words that were hard for him to understand, either because of the phone or her own emotion.
"Hello? Belle? Where are you?"
" 'M 'ere," he could barely hear her say. "Downstairs. I think I should leave…I didn't want…Worry you."
"No!" he cried. "Please stay there. I am on my way down." Frantically he hung up and rushed to the door, past Leopold, who asked, "What do you want me to tell them?"
He had almost forgotten the reason Leopold had come to his suite to begin with. "Look, I need some more time…to think…" He opened the door and prepared to run for the elevator. But before he left, he added, "The game doesn't stink, Mr. White. It's a great game."
He left the elevator almost at a sprint as he rushed to the lobby. There was no sign of a beautiful woman with a bag of books, and panic clutched his chest.
"Mr. Gold!" cried Granny, who had spotted him. "I'm sorry. She left, I couldn't stop her. I offered her a cab but she insisted she wanted to take a walk in Central Park and clear her head."
Central Park? When it was about to be dark out? Not once slowing, Gold ran for the exit, breezing by a bellhop who brightly said, "Go easy on our boys tomorrow, Eddie!"
Gold jogged along the paths of the park, under the shade of trees that would soon be losing their leaves, and finally spotted Belle, sitting on the bleachers of a small baseball diamond. He smiled. She must have wanted him to find her, gravitating to the spot he'd be most likely to notice.
She was curled up with her knees near her chest, her trusty bag of notebooks and novels with her, as he had guessed it would be. Some things, years couldn't change.
Gold approached her carefully, then became concerned when he saw her wiping at her eyes with a wad of white paper. "Belle? Are you crying?"
His fingers naturally reached for her face, wanting nothing more than to tenderly wipe away her tears, but she pushed his hand away and dug a small roll of toilet paper from her pocket.
"What's the matter?" Gold asked, daring to sit next to her on the worn metal bench.
"They didn't have Kleenex in the ho - hotel bathroom," Belle whispered, tearing a few sheets from the roll and sniffing as she tried to control her voice.
"I don't understand. What's going on, Belle?" He knew they hadn't left each other on the best terms, but this was something he couldn't contemplate. What had he done to upset her so? She had even agreed to meet him for dinner in his suite. Had something changed?
"I've been sitting in the lobby for the last t…t…two hours," Belle said, licking her lips and staring purposely in front of her, not meeting his eyes.
Without warning, she slapped her hands into her lap. "I'm sorry I didn't call today. I could tell your voice was worried and I-"
"If something's wrong, Belle, just say it!" Gold begged. How could he help her if he didn't know what was distressing her? "We never…" He let himself trail off forlornly. "We never had to fake it."
As he took her in, all her beauty and misery, she seemed framed by the green of the surrounding park, the color of grass thriving after a rainstorm.
He waited.
Finally, Belle said, "I'm leaving. I'm going to London."
Shocked, Gold nearly slid from the bleachers. She couldn't…Couldn't… "What?"
"I was offered a job. A very good job; the one I always wanted. An editor's position. I tried all day to think of a way to tell you, but I just couldn't. I still can't."
"What can I say?" Gold begged. He wasn't even sure what he was asking of her: to stay, to explain, to give him words to make things right.
"I can't tell you that, Eddie. But it's going to be okay. It'll be all right. I knew it, the day I first met you five years ago."
"What, what?" he asked, and never had he felt so lost.
"I've always known," Belle continued, almost to herself.
"Knew what?" he burst out. She was pulling his heart from his chest, and she didn't even know it.
"You never needed me. You and the ball the diamond, you're…" Her hands gestured helplessly, tissues trailing along like a banner as she searched for the right word. "Perfect. Your perfectly beautiful thing. You can win or lose the game all by yourself…"
Her head bowed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She got up, folding her arms and turning away from him.
No, this could not be it. This couldn't be the last time he saw her. Their story could not end this way. He stood, taking her arm. "Have supper with me tomorrow night, Belle, after the game. We'll go somewhere special."
"I can't. My plane leaves tomorrow afternoon, they wanted me there a week ago, then you called and I wanted to see you. I wanted to say goodbye." Throwing her arms around him, she murmured into his ear, "Goodbye, Eddie."