The rest of the week practically flew by. Pre-finals preparations had put everyone on edge. Everyone that is except Chester...and Yvette. For his part, he simply continued working through his studies, unconcerned about a few tests, final papers, or oral arguments. For her part, she expected him to attend to her as she always had, but it was clear the dynamic had been broken. She wasn't sure what the new dynamic was, but it didn't make her happy.
It was only a couple of days since the "transition" as Chester had come to think about it. They sat across the table at a small café for dinner.
"What do you know about these young men?" She feigned disinterest, sipping her wine, but he knew better.
He paused, feeling more at ease than he'd felt with her since...he couldn't remember when. She was asking him, putting him in a position of importance. He let the feeling wash over him, not willing to leave it alone.
"What?" She looked at him, confused he wasn't responding to her. She smiled grimly. "Oh. I get it. Well, don't gloat too long, little brother. It's not good sportsmanship. And who knows, the table may turn again."
He just shook his head, knowing she'd never change, but feeling free of her influence. Finally. "Millard comes from excellent stock," he began, reciting the background Roxie and the others had given him. "4th generation royalty or something. Great-great is/was an Earl."
She looked unimpressed. "They're as likely to be poor as anything else. Earls don't mean much."
He tipped his head, puzzled. "Whatever. Apparently his family's got some land. Like half the state of Vermont or something. You can get the particulars from Roxie if you need them. He's got a lot to lose, that's for sure, or to give...depending on how you look at it." He smiled, pleased with his small attempt at humor.
She didn't acknowledge it. "And the other one?"
"John Capstold. Noveau Riche, according to what I learned." He was reciting the facts as he'd practiced them. John was going to be a tougher sell, if he wasn't careful. "Folks came into some money through odd circumstances: an inheritance or lottery. Something. Anyway, they're more than flush, but it's clear they've not learned discipline. Typically, John's not up to managing the fortune they've built up. He wasn't born into it, so it's...heck. You know the type, Yvette." All scripted, practiced in front of the mirror, and all true, but the women kept telling him presentation was everything.
She nodded, knowingly, and distracted, preoccupied by the possibilities, her mental calculator going crazy, working through the scenarios.
"Doesn't this feel a little...cheap?" He couldn't resist the need to share his discomfort at enabling Yvette's next steps.
"Cheap? How so?" She looked at him confused and then laughed, a high bird-like trill. He felt his jaw tighten. "Chester, grow up! The stakes are anything but cheap. These boys know what they're getting into – and if they don't, well, it's time to go to school."
He looked down at his plate, wondering if having all this money was really worth it. Maybe he should just let her have it.
She interrupted his thoughts. "And what they had been doing to Catie..."
"Catherine," he corrected her.
She shook her head annoyed at the interruption. "Catherine. You're certain that will be enough...leverage?"
He shrugged again. "It's all news to me. Roxie has plenty on Millard, as far as she's said...I've only seen one instance, and it was pretty horrible. But if she's got stuff like that on both of them, it shouldn't take much convincing."
She sighed, turning her attention to her drink and her meal – it all sounded so...sophomoric. Her options were limited. It was clear Lyssa's endeavor wasn't going to turn the corner any time soon, and she couldn't go back to Daddy for more funds; he'd made that clear last year. Traveling took juice, a lot of it, and damn if she was going to change her lifestyle. She'd been living this life for far too long to let it go. No, she needed cash, and she'd need it before the year was out. If it meant sinking her hooks into a different vein, well, maybe that wasn't such a bad option. Get rid of the sick step-brother.
She looked at him as if for the first time: pathetic, weak and likely under the thumb of that middle-class bitch Roxie. He was lost to her, in any event; Arthur had made that much clear. He was of no further use to her, so he could rot in Roxie's hell for all she cared. But right now, he seemed to be her only avenue to a new source of funding, so she put up with him.
"Fine. I'll try my best. Now let's not talk about it anymore." She looked back at him before returning her attention to her dinner.
* - * - * - *
"How did it go?"
Roxie approached him before he'd had a chance to close the front door. She was in her pajamas – a sheer silk ensemble he recognized from one of the New York houses. The rest of the house was dark, with only a table lamp on in the living room – it was pretty late he realized.
He shrugged out of his coat and looked at her, suddenly shy. "Okay, I think." He lowered his eyes.
"Did she bite?"
He thought she meant literally for a moment and looked up to reassure her when he realized what she was asking. "Yes. I think she'll be calling you for whatever you've got."
She helped him hang up his coat and turned to him, sliding her arms around his ribs, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Chester?" She pulled back to look at him.
He saw something in her look, a glint of mischief and a...tenderness...he'd not seen since...he couldn't remember when...his mother? "What?"
"I'm..." she hesitated, her hands sliding down the sides of his blouse to rest on his waist. "I think I'm falling for you." She stared at him, waiting.
Vulnerable. She looked vulnerable and it triggered an emotion he'd never felt before. Protective, predatory. He mentally shook his head, keeping his face still and looking back into her eyes. At the same time he wanted to bite her, bite her neck, inflict pain and take out all of the years of humiliation he'd been suffering, even as he felt a flood of compassion and warmth. He was afraid if he opened his mouth he wouldn't stop himself. The new feelings raised his heartbeat from anxiety. What is going on?
She moved her fingers, pulling the blouse out of his slacks and quickly unbuttoning it, running her fingers up his smooth chest. "The other day...in my room. I'm sorry if I went over the line." Her hands returned to his waist, undoing the clasp on the slacks. He realized she was stripping him in the front hall of the house where anyone might catch them. He gasped as she peeled his clothes down, his peter springing out into the cool air.
"Roxie," he finally whispered. "We...you...not here!" He waved his hands around at the darkened rooms and the stair, expecting at any moment someone might appear.
She was kneeling now, slipping the pumps off his feet and moving the pile of clothes aside. "You're right, Chester. Come with me." She handed him his clothes and led him by the elbow to the living room, where, if anything, he felt even more exposed. His peter jumped at the thought of being caught. This was public space, not just the council floor – it would be terrible for both of them. He shivered at the possible consequences.
