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runswith · 4 years

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Travel notes: Italy (Rome). Entry 7 - March 4, 2003

Today: the first occasion of blue, cloudless skies since last Thursday. Impossible to tell from my hotel room 'cause the ancient wooden shutters outside the window are locked closed. The alleyway outside (actually a step or two above an alleyway -- more like a narrow, cobblestone passageway, clean and lovely) is deep in shadow during the morning hours, providing no weather clues apart from rain/no rain. It's only when I step out the building's front door that I get the picture, and this morning's picture is a fine one, w/ fresh, cool air. I got out early enough that no tourists were about, only locals on their way to work, beginning the day's activities.

My current squat is located near the Trevi Fountain, a major tourist collection point that is to a fountain what Niagara Falls is to a place where water drops from somewhere high to somewhere lower. A mammoth grotto kind of thing, really, an enormous pool into which water falls by way of a sprawling, grandiose expanse of statuary and fake rocks, located at an intersection of narrow pedestrian ways deep within a tangle of winding backstreets. The sound of the water falling echoes off the surrounding buildings in a way that multiplies it to pleasing effect. I can see why it attracts so many out-of-towners: it's fun and, considering where it is, an example of charming, entrancing incongruity. (Did I actually write that? "Charming, entrancing incongruity"? Someone stop me, before I kill again.) Plus, the pool is actually laid out in front of a huge white building, and the statuary and fake porcelain rocks all kind of morph out of the building's front facade, which looks much more intriguing than I suspect it sounds.

Something I love about Rome: fountains. They're everywhere. And not just the big honkin' buggers with loads of water cascading down over heroic statues -- little ones also, tucked unobtrusively away on back streets or on busy corners. Teensy things, more like fonts, really -- small spigots from which a quiet, modest stream of water falls into basins of no more than a bucket's capacity and often far less, often overflowing to the sidewalk. Possibly channeling a natural spring into a lovely urban detail.

But I blather.

I skipped breakfast at the hotel this a.m. Yesterday morning's turned out to be a debacle -- the dining room is a cramped, microscopic space into which nine or so tables have been crammed, making it uncomfortable and nearly impossible to move around. Not a place that produced much happiness for diners or staff. I went out walking instead, stopping in at a neighborhood joint for a cup of morning espresso that went down in friendly fashion.

My body's had it with this trip, I think, w/ its many miles of roaming about every blessed day. Eating experiences that can vary drastically from meal to meal, from the sublime to the ridiculous (last night's dinner had both). This morning as I dragged myself out of bed it let me know clearly that it's ready to go home.

So. Yesterday's field trip: the Roman Forum and the Colosseum.

The Metro, nearly packed to capacity, reminded me all over again how much I love studying people and, in particular, people's faces. They're beautiful things, faces -- living, organic canvases on which the inner life gets aired out in delicate, complicated ways. Bodies are great, too, don't get me wrong (yowza!), but faces are a whole other thing. And the Metro or a crowded bus is a prime location for taking them in. Something which has to be done carefully, of course, since it can easily get intrusive. (What's that old George Carlin line about elevator rides? Something like, "Nothing to do but not look at the other guy.")

There were a few 20-something couples on the train yesterday a.m., all in a romantic mood. Standing close, arms around each other, kissing softly, talking quietly, occasionally closing their eyes and kissing deeply. Something I've gotten used to seeing in Madrid -- open, easy demonstrations of love, affection. (Make love, not war, etc.) Other people talked quietly or endured their morning ride, eyes closed, still waking up.

Got out at la estacion Colosseo, as I passed through the exit turnstiles a guy dressed in a Roman Centurion costume, complete with fake sword, crossed in front of me toward a newsstand, running into someone he knew, a person in business dress. They stopped, shook hands, exchanged loud, smiling greetings, conversed for a while. (Later, I saw more of his kind, standing in groups of two and three, calling out to tourists "Take your peecture weeth us!")

And outside, under a low, gray sky, the Colosseum loomed. Off to the right lay the Forum, I headed in that direction, up a long slope via an old, old, old cobblestone path. The Forum and the Palatine Hill turn out to cover many acres of land, a major spread of ancient real estate planted in the middle of the contemporary city. The hill provides quieter, more contemplative wandering, at times through gardens, complete with orange and lemon trees and groups of school kids from all over running around like puppies. Other sections are more wide open, strewn with ruins -- walls and foundations of buildings, bits of columns and statuary. All up on a bluff from which one can see modern Rome spread out on other hills, the sound of traffic coming and going on the wind.

And yesterday came with plenty of wind. In fact, it felt like a sudden return of winter. Cold, gray, somber, at times hostile. People walked around with collars up and coats zipped. The expanses of grass and clover between the ruins up on the hill were sprinkled with tiny flowers, blossoms of white, yellow, pink shivering in the chilly breeze.

At one point, I heard the sound of voices raised, turned to see a 30ish French couple having an argument. He threw an umbrella to the ground, she kicked it. He turned away, pulled out a guidebook, retreated into it. She picked up the umbrella. He wandered off out of view, she followed.

Shortly thereafter, a more placid group of French women passed -- two 30-somethings, two in their young 20s -- one of them reading aloud from a guidebook, her voice sounding like music in the cold air.

The other part of the Forum is down in a natural basin that covers quite a bit of land, an area crowded with the remains of large-scale structures -- temples, baths, a shell or two of what were enormous buildings, feats of engineering all. Alive, yesterday, with large groups of high-school age kids from Germany, France, Spain, Italy, guided by patient, good-humored older folks.

And the Colosseum. Not what I'd expected. Yes, the main structure remains what I'd seen in countless images. Inside, though -- not the clean, wide expanse of sand I'd pictured. The circular lower level is filled with the remains of a network of structures, above which there was apparently a surface at the level of first ring of seats in which the blood-spilling took place.

Scaffolding now provides what arena-level surface there now is -- a wide passage cutting across the middle of the arena, extremely cool to cross, with a large deck area at one end. I found that if I devoted much thought to the original use of the structure I didn't enjoy being there very much. If I simply enjoyed being present in the moment -- the sun breaking through the clouds, people from all over the world in generally happy attendance -- I liked being there. I found stairs, headed up to the structure's top level, walked around there at a leisurely pace, discovering a short flight of steps that the original builders had thoughtfully provided for 21st century sunbathing. Parked my bum there, pulled out a copy of El País I'd picked up earlier and relaxed for a while, languages from all over the map drifting in the sunlit air around me.

One exceptional sight that presented itself to me: two 30ish German males in virtually identical black corduroy, vaguely cowboy-style suits -- matching black flared pants, black matching coats, vests, neckties, w/ white shirts and big, shiny buttons. Each wore a black cowboy hat, one of shiny leather, the other suede. Both wore thick-soled black shoes. They stood at the deck end of the arena-level scaffolding, leaning on the railing, studying the complicated network of structures on the ground floor, talking the entire time.

This world of ours: just one big kick in the ass.

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years

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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 9

AO3 link here

I am the first person in my class to be in a wedding. Joanie Merrill went to her neighbor’s wedding last year, but that is not the same thing at all. Being in a wedding is very different and much better.

I have known about my special job for six months, which is almost a year, and I kept it a secret for one whole month before Patty Fucci said to me in a mean way in the play yard that I should stop talking about the wedding because it was not so special and I counted to ten like Daddy taught me and said in a very nice voice, “Well, I am going to be an important participant, so I need time to plan and practice so I can make it perfect, Patty, and maybe you don’t understand that but so there.”

Then I maybe stomped on her foot, but only a little.

(Daddy told me that maybe I need to go back to counting to twenty, but he just doesn’t understand how it is in the third grade. It is very hard, and you need to Stand Up For Yourself and have A Strategy, like Mumma tells me when we play chess.)

On the morning of the wedding, I wake up Mumma and Daddy early, which is another Important Job, so I gave it to myself. I tiptoe into their room when it is still dark-dark out and I am going to whisper good morning, but Daddy sits up very fast and yells out, “What’s wrong?” before I even say anything. (He always does this, and it always makes me jump but also I like it because it means that if something is wrong, like when I threw up in the night, Daddy is ready to help me right away.)

“Nothing is wrong,” I say, and because now he is awake I go and jump onto the bed and crawl over him to the warm place in the middle. Daddy makes a big groaning sound from my knees and elbows poking him but I know it is pretend because I am small and he is very strong and my elbows are only a little sharp. “But we should start getting ready if we don’t want to be late - Uncle Bucky’s wedding is going to start very soon.”

“Not for another nine hours, it isn’t,” says Mumma into her pillow.

Daddy is sitting up a little, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Rosie,” he says, “what time did we say was okay to get up today?”

“Six o’clock.” We talked about it for a long time when I was going to bed last night.

“And what time is it now?”

“Three o’clock.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because six o’clock was too late and it meant that we would be late to the wedding and I did not want you to be embarrassed.” I snuggle under their blanket. “I was helping you. You always say helping is important!”

“You have a different helping job,” Daddy reminds me. “Maybe think about that instead.”

So I do for a while and I guess I forget how very important the Getting Up Early job is because I seem to fall asleep for a little bit. When I wake up again, Daddy is not in the room and it is not dark-dark out anymore, it is very bright. So I do the fast sitting up now and say, “What’s happening?”

“It’s just after eight o’clock,” Mumma says. She is over at the closet, making sure all of our wedding clothes look nice. “We’ll leave at nine, so you have some time to eat breakfast before then.”

I almost don’t eat breakfast to show that I’m angry that they didn’t listen to me and that they let me sleep, but eating is important to stay healthy and strong and do a good job. And since it’s very important that I do a good job today (and I am also maybe a little hungry), I go downstairs. In the kitchen, Daddy says, “Good morning, Rosie,” is a happy voice, but I say it back in a grumpy way to show him my Real and Honest Mood.

“What was that?” he says in the way where he pretends not to hear when I am rude, even though Daddy has extremely very good hearing.

So I do a big sigh and say, “Good morning, Daddy” in a nicer voice, and he says, “Thank you,” and gives me a plate with toast cut in triangles and a boiled egg in my special egg cup, which is yellow with red shoes painted on the feet and it says “Eggs on Legs” on the middle. Just when I finish eating, Mumma comes in with Emma and says it is almost time to go, so I run to get dressed in my car clothes and then I run around making sure everything is ready, until Mumma says that she double checked and we have the car all packed and if we don’t go now we will Really Be Late, so all there is to do is get in the backseat and do signing with Emma about the wedding until she falls asleep because she is still little and driving in the car makes her take naps.

Everyone is getting ready in the same place, and when we get there, it is already busy busy busy. I go into the kitchen first, because I have manners, and also because Mumma makes me, following behind me holding Emma by the hand while Daddy takes his suit and goes to find Uncle Bucky.

“Hi Nana,” I say, hoping that if I talk fast, Nana Barnes will do it too and won’t keep me for too long.

“Hello, Rose,” she says, and her voice is extra slow, like she knows what I was trying to do, but she does not use my middle name so I know that I am not in Any Actual Trouble.

Nana Barnes is not 100% my grandma (she is Uncle Bucky’s mother, and because Uncle Bucky is like my daddy’s brother, she is sort of like Daddy’s mother too) but Mumma and Daddy once weren’t my parents either, so I am An Expert about how families can be all different.

I go over to the stove and stand on my tiptoes to see while I ask, “What are you making, Nana?” and she says, “Oh, lots of things, for the dinner today,” because everyone is going to come back here to have a party after the Real and Actual Wedding.

“The cake looks lovely,” says Mumma, and I see where she is pointing in the shadowy corner of the counter and say, “Ooooh.” The cake has lots of layers, and so much frosting I think I could lick some off and no one would notice (which I would not do because I am not an animal or a baby, even if the frosting looks very delicious and so pretty, made into flowers like my name).

“Thank you, dear.” Nana shuts off the stove and turns all the way around to give me a hug, but then she sees Emmy, who is looking around at the kitchen. Nana puts out her hands and says, “Let me see that sweet girl,” and she picks Emma up, even though she is three now and really too big for that.

She does the sign for “grandma” over and over, and Emma copies her and gives a big smile and does signing back, and while they are all busy, I go to start my Big Job.

I have never been in Uncle Bucky’s old bedroom before, only his by himself apartment, but I know where it is, so I go knock on the door.

I hoped that Daddy would answer, but instead one eye peeks out and a voice says, “What’s the password, kid?”

I know it is Mr. Howard Stark, who I am supposed to call Uncle Howard but I Do Not Do That because of the time when I first met him. I was much littler and he came to get Mumma to come help him with something for work, and while we were waiting for Daddy to get home to stay with me, I had An Incidence Of Temper, and instead of being polite about it, Mr. Howard Stark said, “Jeez, Peggy, can’t you get that kid to pipe down?” Which made Mumma say, “If you must be you, I’ll ask you to do it elsewhere,” and she told him to go sit in the kitchen.

“If you must be you, I’ll ask you to do it elsewhere,” I tell him now, trying to sound as much like Mumma as I can, and he laughs and says, “Well, she’s yours, alright,” and I hear Daddy laughing from inside too.

“Is that my helper out there?” Uncle Bucky asks. “Let her in, Howard.”

Inside, it is even more crowded than the rest of the house. Mr. Jim is there, all the way from California, and he winks at me to let me know that he has my movie magazines - everyone knows that it’s better to get them from close to where the movie stars live. Mr. James from England is there, and he tips his hat at me so I curtsy to him. Mr. Jacques has the window open and is holding his cigarette outside, which means that he doesn’t want to get in trouble, so I won’t tell. Mr. Gabe is there, trying to read a book in the corner because he wants to take the test to be a teacher, but Mr. Hat keeps interrupting him. (I made that name for him, because he wanted me to call him Mr. Dum Dum, which is mean and I did not want to do that.)

Daddy is standing against the wall looking at everybody and smiling. I know it’s because they’re his friends and he misses them sometimes. Daddy and Uncle Bucky and everyone were soldiers in the big war, and Mumma was their boss. Now they live far away from each other, which is sad, but they like it when they can see each other for special things like this. (The only one Daddy and Uncle Bucky usually get to see is Mr. Howard Stark, which is Too Bad For Them.)

Daddy is all dressed up already, but I know what he looks like in his suit, because he did a fashion show for me and Mumma after he got it fixed by the sewing man. (Emma was already asleep because she is still little.) I told him he looked handsome, but Mumma didn’t say anything, so I said, “Doesn’t Daddy look handsome?” and she said, “Yes, he certainly does,” in a strange kind of voice that I guess was okay because it made Daddy smile. Then Mumma said, “It’s been quite a long time since I saw you in a suit,” and Daddy said, “Well we’ve been a little busy. Don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t be seeing me in it for long,” and Mumma said, “You might be right about that,” and then they said the fashion show was over and it was my bedtime.

“Hi, Rosie Posie,” says Uncle Bucky from where he is sitting on the bed. He is wearing the pants and the shirt from his suit, but not his jacket.

I do not let just anybody call me Rosie Posie, but Uncle Bucky is one of my favorites so I go over to him and say, “Happy wedding!”

“Thanks, Rosie,” he says with one of those special smiles that looks teensy but actually means that he is very, very happy. “Are you ready to help with your big job?”

I stand up very straight and say, “Yes!” in a Very Loud Voice, which makes Mr. Howard Stark laugh while he is pretending to cough. I will kick him for that later and tell him that He Knows What He Did. (Mumma sometimes says that it’s her job to keep Mr. Howard Stark in line, but it’s nice to help people, even people who are very good at their jobs like Mumma.)

Uncle Bucky reaches over to the little table next to the bed and picks up the most fancy and beautiful box: it is shiny silver and just the right size for me to hold. I reach to grab it, but Uncle Bucky picks it up high and says, “Hold on, now.” He makes his face very serious and says, “Are you absolutely certain you’re ready for this?”

I put my hands on my hips and say, “It was my idea, Uncle Bucky!” which is true. First he asked me if I wanted to do the flowers, but I said I did not want to do that because then I would have to share that job and I wanted my own, and also doing the flowers is boring and all you have to do is walk. So instead I said that I would be the ring girl - the rings are very interesting, but also very important and they will be around for much longer than flowers, probably forever.

“Oh, is there an inventor in the room? Am I speaking to the world’s first ring girl?” Uncle Bucky says, pretending, still holding the box too high, which almost makes me stamp my foot and grab for it. But then instead I take a big breath and say very calmly, “Yes, you are, so please give me my special ring carrying box.” And he does.

It feels just perfect in my hands, but I don’t even have a chance to open it before Daddy says, “Rosie, why don’t you take your box over to the other bedroom? I think it’s time for you to get dressed.” And he is right, it is much too late for me to still be in my regular clothes, so I go over and find the right room and knock there.

“Come in, Rose!” Mumma calls, and I open the door just enough for me to come inside.

This room smells very pretty and perfumey, and I take a big breath that makes me sneeze and everyone laughs. They are all in matching dresses, silvery blue with pretty floaty skirts: Mumma and Aunt Becca and Aunt Josie and Miss Violet (that is Aunt Josie’s Best Friend In The World and they also live together; I would like to live with my best friend, who is Bella Solomon, because it would be like having a sleepover all the time, but when I told Daddy that, he just looked a little sad and said, “Someday, if you want, Rosie girl”) and two ladies I don’t know and also Miss Layla, who looks absolutely extremely beautiful in her wedding dress.

I have seen pictures of Mumma at her and Daddy’s wedding, but it is my first time seeing a bride in real life and I say, “Oooh,” out loud and everyone laughs again.

“You can touch it, if you’d like,” says Miss Layla, and I make sure to walk over instead of running because it is crowded and also I am very mature. Once I am in front of her, I very carefully feel her sleeve with my fingers: it is so smooth where there is silk and so fancy where there is lace and it is so white that her skin looks very dark and beautiful.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

“I want one just like it when I grow up,” I tell her. Then I whisper to her, “And I looked at the weather in the newspaper, and it is not supposed to be windy, so you will not have to worry about your big skirt flying up and showing everyone your underpants.” Miss Layla looks a little surprised that I am telling her this, but probably also thankful. Weather Checker is also a very important job, so I added it to my other very important jobs. But then thinking about Miss Layla’s underwear makes me forget about weather checking and also about being quiet, because I say, “Are you wearing fancy underpants too, like your dress?” out loud and Mumma covers her face.

I have probably embarrassed everyone. They are probably going to make me go live in the woods so they do not have to be embarrassed of me anymore - and we do not even have a lot of woods near here, so it will probably be far far from here. Maybe I should run away so they cannot send me away first!

But I do not do that. Instead, I take a big breath and make myself say, “Sorry, Miss Layla.”

“That’s alright, Rosie. It’s all family here.” She rubs her chin. “In fact, since I’ll be married to your Uncle Bucky in just a few hours, why don’t you start calling me Aunt Layla?”

“Really?”

She smiles. Her teeth look about as white as her dress! “Really.”

I never got to meet Mumma’s brother, or hers and Daddy’s parents, so I always like when I get more family. Now I have so many aunts and uncles, and it’s almost like I have cousins too because of Aunt Becca’s kids. There are the boys - Jimmy, who is ten and Too Old For Fun, and Billy, who is only four - and then there is Barbara, who everyone has called her Baby since she was born and who is almost just my age.

“Where is Baby—I mean Bebe?” Now that she is older, she wants to have a different nickname. She was going to try Bobbi, but I said that Bebe was like Baby in French, which is fancy.

“She’s getting ready at our apartment with her father and her brothers. They’ll meet us there when it’s time.” Aunt Becca checks her watch. “Speaking of which…”

“You’re absolutely right,” says Mumma, and then she helps me put on my special dress, which is silvery blue like everyone else’s but is shorter and more of a kid dress. I am about to mention that I would be able to wear A Grownup Dress when Mumma says, “Hush please, Rose,” and one of the grownup ladies I don’t know says, “That really suits you, Rosie,” and Nana Barnes pokes her head in and says, “It’s time, girls!”

Daddy and Uncle Bucky and their friends are already gone, and now it is time for everyone else to line up to get out of the house. We are going to drive over to the City Hall for the wedding. When I asked why they were not going to have their wedding in a church - there is a church near our house and it feels like every week I see people going to get married inside and I am never invited - Mumma said it was because Miss Layla—I mean Aunt Layla and Uncle Bucky come from families who go to different kinds of churches from each other, so City Hall was A Compromise. When I asked what that meant, she said, “It’s something your father and I worked hard to learn,” which doesn’t make any sense because City Hall has nothing to do with figuring out not to feed Emma mushy bananas because they make her throw up everywhere.

But I knew what she meant about their families, because of the time when Uncle Bucky came home with Aunt Layla and they said that they were going to get married and Nana Barnes got a strange look on her face so Mumma and Daddy told me to go play somewhere else but I stood outside and listened with my Spying Ears. Then I heard Nana Barnes say, “Is this really a good idea?” and “You’re very different from each other...You come from different worlds,” and “Think of what the neighbors will say!” And Uncle Bucky said, “I don’t give a rat’s—” but Aunt Layla said in a very soft and pretty voice, “No, James, it’s fine. I understand that your mother is concerned that a PhD in chemical engineering might not have much to talk about with someone who has a master’s in mechanical. And I thank her for considering that I might have a hard time reconciling myself to marrying someone who’s such a new American citizen: after all, when your grandparents were still first considering getting on the boat over from Ireland, mine had already been ten years out of Babe Ruth.” (Later I asked Mumma and after she said I shouldn’t listen at doors, she told me that it was actually Beirut, but I still like mine better.) “And, of course, there’s the idea of a Boston girl marrying a New York boy, which is cause for a war itself. But I do love you, James, and it’s rather convenient to marry someone who works in the same place, as you can visit the cafeteria together. So I suppose I’ll persevere through all that.”

Everyone was quiet and I held my breath until my eyes got so big I thought they would maybe pop out of my head, but then Nana Barnes said, “Well, with a tongue like that I suppose you’ll fit in with the family,” and Uncle Bucky said, “Is it any wonder I’m marrying her?” Then Daddy said, “You’re damn lucky she even agreed to have you, Buck,” and Uncle Bucky said, “I’m no PhD, but even I know that,” and everyone laughed.

Now Nana is actually friends with Mrs. Adele, who is Aunt Layla’s mother. They are at the back of everybody, telling Aunt Layla and all the ladies to, “Come on now, girls, get into the cars!” There’s a big line of cars on the street. I go in between Aunt Josie and Miss Violet, because Mama went back to make sure that Daddy took Emma’s other clothes when he took Emma.

I hold my special shiny box that matches my special dress in my lap. Aunt Josie and Miss Violet are talking about how many people are going to come to the party this afternoon. I take sneaky looks to both sides, pretending to be watching out the window: everyone knows that I love to see where my daddy lived when he was my age, even though he says it looks different now. But I am not really doing that, I am checking to see if anyone is paying attention to me. They aren’t.

I open the box just a little bit, but I do not see the rings. So I open it a little more, and then a little more, until it is all the way open, but I still do not see the rings. I turn it over and shake the box, but nothing happens. I scream a long scream inside my head.

I have lost the rings.

Uncle Bucky and Aunt Layla need the rings to get married.

I have ruined the wedding.

“Rose?” Aunt Josie asks me. “Is everything alright?” She is a teacher, so she says she knows a little about Being A Young Person, but she works at high school so she does not know about being exactly my age. (Miss Violet is a teacher also, but Aunt Josie teaches English and Miss Violet teaches science and I think you can tell.)

“Everything is fine,” I say, because I know what Mumma would do now, which is be Strong And Brave and fix everything. But we are farther and farther away from the house where I must have lost the rings, so I am just a bit confused about how I can fix this.

Baby—I mean Bebe comes over to me right away as our car pulls up and I get out. “Hi Rosie!” she says, and I say, “Hi,” but very quietly. I am thinking about if anyone would notice if I tried to walk back to the house. But I did not go to Girl Scouts like my friend Chrissy Parker and so I cannot read maps and I would probably get lost forever. But maybe everyone would like that to happen now that I am the Wedding Ruiner.

“Maybe we can borrow her dress after the wedding and play Bride,” says Bebe, who does not seem to notice at all that I am Having A Crisis. She is still holding her flowers, and I cannot believe that it will be Bebe who is perfect while I have ruined my Very Important Job before the wedding has even started.

But it is too late to come up with a plan, because Aunt Layla comes out of her car and starts walking with her family up the steps. I try to hide at the back, but Mumma sees me and says, “Rose, why are you dawdling?” and takes me by the hand.

City Hall is very big and very beautiful. It feels like I am going to meet the president, except if I met the president, he would probably take one look at me and Put Me Right In Jail.

I think about how they would have to make little prison clothes just for me and I hate that so much that I decide that it is time to give up fixing things by myself. “Mumma,” I say, very quiet, so no one else can hear. But I guess it is too quiet, because she doesn’t hear me either. We walk up all the stairs, and at the top I see everyone in a huge group waiting outside a big room. I pull on her hand. “Mumma!”

“What is it, Rose?” For just one second, I think that I will tell her and she will fix everything so everyone will not Hate Me Forever, but then she looks away from me and says, “Oh, there’s your father and your sister.”

Daddy gives us a big smile when we go over to where he’s standing by Uncle Bucky and their friends. “It’s almost time,” he says. I take a big breath and start to talk, but Mumma is looking at Emma and saying, “Oh, she fell asleep again? Honestly, I think simply looking at a car has her closing her eyes. Here, let me take her.” And just because she’s taking sleepy Emma, they have to kiss, which is something Mumma and Daddy do All The Time.

“Some things never change, huh, Cap?” says Mr. Hat, which I don’t understand because Daddy’s name is Grant or sometimes Steve like my name is sometimes Rose and sometimes Rosie. “You spent the whole of the war looking to do that with Carter.”

“Pipe down, you loudmouth,” says Uncle Bucky in a strict voice I’ve only heard once before, but it just makes everyone laugh, and Mr. Jim says, “Guess that hasn’t changed either.”

And then, before I can even say anything, the tall doors are opening and a man who is bald and wearing a special, shiny black dress (I guess he did not want to be left out when everyone was So Fancy) says, “Are you all here for the Barnes-Mansour wedding?” And Nana Barnes says, “Yes, we are. Are you ready for us?”

“I guess that’s our cue, Rose,” says Daddy and he starts to bring me inside with him. He is too busy whispering to Uncle Bucky to hear it when I say his name the first time, and is helping Aunt Layla’s grandma through the door the next time I try to make him pay attention, so it is Perfectly Understandable that what I do is shout very loudly, “DADDY, I HAVE LOST THE RINGS SO I WILL GO RIGHT TO JAIL IF YOU TELL ME TO AND YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE MONEY FROM MY PORKY PIGGY BANK TO BUY NEW ONES.”

Everyone is quiet and staring at me, except for Emma who is still sleeping. I look down at the floor and stay very still. "I'm sorry," I say and hope that Uncle Bucky and Aunt Layla will hear me and know that I am Absolutely Ashamed Of Myself for what I have done.

But then Daddy says in a quiet voice, "You never had the rings, Rose."

That makes me look up at him. "But you gave me the box," I say, and shake it in front of him. Daddy usually has a good memory, but sometimes I have to remind him of things, like that he said that we would "have a discussion" about getting a puppy.

"Yes, but we were going to put the rings in once we had actually gotten here, remember? We talked about it last night." Now that he is mentioning it, I do think I recall something about that part, but I was very focused before bed on all of my important jobs that I might have not been really paying attention to this one tiny detail.

He puts his hand in his pocket and takes out two little velvety boxes. "Here. I'm sorry, Rosie. I should have reminded you."

Uncle Bucky bends next to me. "He's always been like this. Half the time he forgets to tell people the most important things."

"Next time, I'm sure he'll be more clear," says Mumma, who is leaning down to me even while still holding snoozy Emma.

And then Aunt Layla is there too, and she says, "I wasn't planning on there being a next time. In fact, I'd like to get the first and only time started." She takes her father's arm, then says, "If you could get up front, please, James."

After that, everything goes Just Perfectly. Bebe takes her flowers and I have my ring box and we go up to the front with Daddy and Uncle Bucky and Aunt Layla and her friend named Camille, and everyone else sits. The man in the black dress, who is the judge, says big words that sound important, and Uncle Bucky and Aunt Layla both answer him with big smiles, and then I open my box for them. Uncle Bucky has one arm which is metal from Things That Happened To Him In The War, so he wears his ring on the other hand, and he keeps touching it and smiling as the judge says it is time for a kiss.

(I guess Mumma and Daddy are contagious.)

Nana Barnes is crying during the wedding - I ask Daddy about it later, and he says that part of it is happy crying because she loves Uncle Bucky and is glad for his special day, and part of it is sad crying because she misses Uncle Bucky's father and his little sister, who are both dead and are not here to celebrate - but then she wipes her eyes all up and tells everyone to come back to the house for the special party and we all do.

It is even more crowded than it was this morning, and people are standing in almost every single spot, talking and laughing and eating all of my nana's good food. Bebe and I get big pieces of the cake and make a song about the wedding that I decide we will perform for everyone later, but before we can get up and announce ourselves, Uncle Bucky and Aunt Layla come over.

Uncle Bucky is not wearing his jacket anymore, and he has his arm wrapped around Aunt Layla's shoulders. They are both a little sweaty because it is Hot In Here, and also they found a little place to dance and all of their friends brought different records to play.

They hug Bebe first, and that is fair, because Bebe is not the one who was A True Embarrassment at the wedding. But then they hug me too, and say thank you for helping us get married and I look at the floor and say, "I don't remember it that way," and Uncle Bucky says, "Rosie, you made our wedding so special that everyone is going to remember it forever. And look." He shows me his ring and Aunt Layla's which are next to each other because they are holding hands. "You did your job just perfectly. Got the rings right where they needed to be."

"I guess that's true," I say, and start to make little traces on the floor with my shoe, but then stop because Mumma is always telling me, "Don't Scuff, Please, Rose."

"It's absolutely true," Aunt Layla says. "You've been a big help all day long. In fact," she looks over at Uncle Bucky with a tiny, tricky sort of smile on her face. "I don't think I answered your question from this morning."

I try to think back. "What question?"

"After you told me about the weather.” She leans close to me. “You see, I am wearing special underwear today."

"You know," says Uncle Bucky in a loud voice, "I think it's probably time to wrap this party up." But I just laugh at him.

"It's not even dark yet!" I tell him, and he makes a face at me. Then Bebe grabs my hand and says, "Let's go dance," and I run with her to where Mumma and Daddy are dancing to a fast song. They are very good, and I almost start to show off my dancing that I learned from them, but then I decide that this will just be dancing to Unwind After A Long Day.

I was a particularly excellent helper today, after all.

More chapters here

#Steggy #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Bucky Barnes #things left behind fic #I can't BELIEVE this chapter was the longest one #whatever here ya go

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hooksandhappyendings-blog · 7 years

Text

Will Work for Coffee: Chapter 6

When Killian Jones returns to New York to keep his company from running into the ground, Emma, the director of marketing finds herself swept up into a dangerous game of sex and submission as he uses his power as CEO to dominate her in every possible way.

Words: 3k

Rating: Explicit

Alright you gluttons, I promised I wasn’t back but here I am. Just goes to show that nothing fuels a muse like comments telling you how much you’ve been missed. I have no doubt you all will agree this update was worth wait. It was fun to write.

WARNING: You all will be happy to know this fic contains dubious consent, forced orgasms, and a teensy bit of rough housing.

You can also read this fic on ff.net and Ao3.

Chapter 6: Office Romance

When Emma woke she was in an elevator.

The lights were dim and soothing above her, and looking down into her eyes was Killian Jones. She realized with a start that she was in his arms.

Without a conscious thought she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. She didn’t know where they were going, and she didn’t care. He bent his head and kissed her. She reveled in the taste of rum on his lips.

When the doors opened he didn’t stop. He set her down on a small table in the dark foyer and pulled out his cock.

“Wait! I’m not ready!” she said.

Without hesitation Killian fell to his knees. He scooped his arms under her legs and pulled her to his mouth so roughly it made her gasp. Emma relaxed into the sensation of his tongue on her bundle of nerves. She could feel her body coating her pulsing walls with moisture. When he entered her with two digits she tangled her fingers in his soft black locks and begged for more. Just as she was about to tumble over the edge he rose to his feet and lifted her up.

They kissed down endless halls until they came to a kitchen. He laid her on the marble counter and impaled so deeply almost came from the delicious stretch. Killian sighed, clearly enjoying the moment, “You amaze me, love”

She closed her eyes and groaned, “It’s so deep.”

He chuckled darkly, “I know. But you can take it. And so few women can. It’s like you were made for me, Swan.”

“I like the way it feels.” she whimpered as a blush crept up her cheeks.

Killian smiled greedily down at her. He came down to kiss her her softly, “You like taking all of daddy’s cock?”

She nodded eagerly.

The scoundrel straightened and grinned devilishly down at her.

“Fuck me.” she moaned, “I need it.”

Killian then proceeded to fuck her senseless on every surface of his kitchen. He was an animal, kissing her ravenously while pumping into her for what seemed like hours. By the time they made it to the living room they were both covered in sweat and panting like dogs. He made her come apart all over a very expensive looking bearskin rug by a crackling fire and didn’t stop until the sun rose. She noticed through her euphoric state that he never lifted her legs too high as many men did to maximize the depth. “Killian!” she moaned as she came again. He growled into her neck, fucking her through it.

When he finally released himself inside her she breathed a sigh of relief. He body felt like a rag doll. He’d never fucked her that long before and her insides ached terribly. She winced. When she opened her eyes Killian was looking down at her. His eye flitted to her hand gently rubbing her abdomen.

Fuck.” he spat. “I... You’re....”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I just need some juice. I feel lightheaded.”

Standing suddenly Emma immediately lurched as the world around her spun. She fell into Killian’s waiting arms. “You need to eat something.”

“There’s a juice bar down the street.”

“Real food, Emma, not that bloody grass water.”

“No,” she shook her head stubbornly, “I’m not done detoxifying yet.”

He guided her to the couch and sat her down and instructed, “Stay there.”

Emma laid down and closed her eyes, drifting in and out of sleep for an indiscernible amount of time until she was woken by the most amazing smell.

Immediately she sat up straight. Killian came to sit beside her, now dressed in plaid polo pajama pants and a simple black t-shirt. In front of her was a white paper bag dotted with grease splotches leaking from the contents inside. It was from Granny’s, an old school diner on her block that served the best burger and fries in the city.

“I may have gotten some information about your eating habits from Miss Blanchard. A double bacon cheeseburger with everything except mustard. You’re favorite cheat meal.”

Emma looked longingly at the bag. She could smell the salty fries. “I... shouldn’t.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Swan. One cheeseburger won’t kill you.” Emma reached forward and tore into the paper bag. She unwrapped the foil with shaky hands and took a huge bite of the sandwich. She groaned.

Killian laughed. He put his feet up on the coffee table and stared at his phone while she finished. She scarfed down every bit and wiped the grease from her mouth. Finally, Killian spoke, “I’m going to give you that Olympic sponsorship you want.”

Emma’s head whipped around, “What?!”

“I know you’ve been asking for it since you were promoted and I want to give it to you.”

She squinted her eyes in suspicion, “Who?”

“His name is Jefferson Hat. He’s a swimmer. A very talented one. He’s set to break the world record for gold medals at Sweden and I’d like you to be there to see it.”

Emma froze, her jaw in mid chew. “You want me to go to the Olympics next month?”

“Aye. Zelena was kind enough to give me two VIP tickets to the games and an absolutely gorgeous accommodation in a castle.

Emma inwardly screamed. She had told Zelena to do that, but it was meant to get Killian Jones out of her hair for a week, not drag her into another one of his seductions. “Mr. Jones--”

“Emma,” Killian said softly, taking her hand, “contrary to what you may think, I’ve been alone for a very long time. I would like nothing more than to share this experience with you.”

With a hard gulp she swallowed her fry. There it was again. That look in his eye. It said so much more than his lascivious leers and wolfish grins. “I... um...” she stuttered, “I have to think about it.”

He looked baffled, “Darling, what’s there to think about? It will be just the two of us. We can make love all day and all night. And we can... well... we wouldn’t have to pretend there. You could be my date, not my employee.”

She stood suddenly, “I should be getting home.”

“Emma--”

“I’m not interested, Killian. Don’t ask me again.”

She watched his face fall into an expression confusion, then anger. He stood, looking imposingly down at her. “I’m not asking you anything, Miss Swan. I am telling you that as director of marketing for my company you will attend the Olympic games and oversee our marketing interests at all PR events relating to them.”

Through gritted teeth she asked, “And is there a reason why I have to sleep in the same bed as you?”

He shrugged, “I am your employer and you will do as I say.”

“Fine.” Emma turned to go but he caught her roughly by the arm.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you tonight.”

Without thinking she spat in his face making him flinch. He looked at her with hurt and shock in his eyes. She said, “Well I’m done with you.” and stormed out of his apartment as fast as she could.

KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE

Two weeks later Emma walked into The Russian Tearoom. It was beautiful. Ornately decorated in rich reds and garish gold. She hadn’t been here in years and was pleased that she had an excuse to go. She was doing an interview for a position in her department and the place was always nice and quiet, perfect for talking.

The hostess at the door said pleasantly, “Right this way, Miss Swan. He’s ready for you.”

As soon as they entered the dining room Emma felt her face drain of color. The entire restaurant had been emptied except for a lavish red and gold couch and an elegant table set with tiers of small cakes and sandwiches and caviar. On the couch lounged a surprisingly sober looking Killian Jones smiling like the devil in his signature black suit and red tie.

“What is this?” Emma asked in horror.

Killian stood, walking over to her, “It’s our first date.”

“You rented out the entire restaurant?”

“Well, I couldn’t have anyone seeing me in such a romantic place with my employee, now could I? And you...” he said, taking her hand and kissing it softly, “I don’t want you getting a reputation. I... I wouldn’t want anyone thinking less of you--”

She ripped her hand away and spat angrily, “Mr. Jones, if you’re going to fuck me just get it over with.”

He looked at her, now growing angry, “What the blood hell is the matter with you? I thought--”

“You thought what? You thought I liked you? You wanted me to be obedient so that’s what I was. I gave you what you wanted so that you would give me what I want. That was our arrangement. And now you have. Is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Jones?”

He startled her by grabbing her by the throat, “You insolent whore.”

She smiled cruelly, internally relieved. This was how she wanted it. Rough. Hard and meaningless. “That’s better. Violent sex is what your good at, after all.”

He was furious, just on the edge of exploding, “I can see you’re not interested in anything more.”

She scoffed as best she could with her breathing slightly restricted, “From you? What could you possibly give me?”

For just a moment the fire in his eyes softened. The look was almost pleading, “Everything.”

Emma swallowed her inner turmoil, “Well, as you said. I’m not interested.”

With that his rage reached a tipping point. He growled angrily and turned her around, slamming her front onto the beautiful table. She heard his pants come undone and felt him pulled her dress over her waist and rip her panties as he loved to do. In an instant she felt the head of his large cock at her entrance. She panicked, “Wait!” Surely he could tell she wasn’t ready. If he took her like this it would hurt, badly.

He froze, but his grip on her waist remained tight enough to bruise, and for a moment she thought he as going to do it. She could hear him seething, his breaths heavy with wrath. She had injured him, and he wanted to do the same to her. Finally he grabbed her by the hair and held her right where she was, making her wince. Then she felt his hand come down on her ass so hard it made her cry out. “It would seem your training is not complete. I suppose I’ll have to show you what happens when you disrespect your superior, Miss Swan.” And with those dark words he dragged her roughly out of the restaurant and into the car waiting outside. She knew something terrible awaited her at his apartment, but she didn’t care. Pain was better than the sting she felt when he looked at her with affection. This was nothing more than an office fling and he had no right to turn it into anything more.

Fear eventually settled in her stomach as the car made it’s way to the upper eastside. He was angrier than she had ever seen him. She wondered if he would go too far? Then balked as she realized the thought excited her.

He held her painfully by the arm and walked her to his penthouse and then to his bedroom, all in silence. When they got there he ripped off his tie and wrapped it around her head several times until her mouth was completely covered, then he used another tie from his closet to secure her wrists to the headboard. She was laid out on his bed for him, her body shifting uncomfortably, as he looked down, eyes sparkling at her with some dark intent. He ripped her dress clean off and she screamed in anger, but the sound was hopelessly muffled.

Killian unbuttoned his shirt as he walked over to the decanter of rum by his bed. He poured himself a glass and downed it all at once. Then he poured another.

Emma waited patiently as he got drunk, downing glass after glass until she was in shock that he was still standing. Finally, he turned to her, “You know what you’re problem is, Swan?” he slurred.

She only glared at him in response.

“You have known nothing but pain you’re entire life. All the people who were supposed to love you -- you’re parents, you’re foster parents, your foster siblings -- they hurt you. I had hoped that I could show you another way. Just as I had hoped...” he looked down and sighed, “...that you would show me another way.” He sniffed, taking off his belt, “But it would seem the both of us are just gluttons for punishment.”

Emma felt her eyes well with tears but willed them to dry before they fell. How did he know? She shifted uncomfortably, watching him prowl about the room like a lion playing with it’s prey.

“There’s only one way to break a woman like you. Those walls of yours are coming down, right now.”

Fear settled in her belly. Whatever he had in store for her she wasn’t gonna like it.

Once he was undressed he slowly crawled on top of her with a predatory glint in his eye. He surprised her by kissing her sloppily on the forehead. The smell of rum was coming off him in waves. His speech slurred more as the drink caught up to him, “Tonight I’m going to make you come until it hurts. If you resist, I’ll force it out of you and that won’t be fun.”

Her chest heaved as Killian kissed his way down her chest to her breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. The noises she made in response were barely audible. When he had thoroughly abused one he moved on to the other, his hands never leaving her flushed skin. Her eyes fell closed despite herself. It felt good. It took everything in her to resist the urge to writhing beneath him in search of some friction. her breathing hitched as he made his way down, taking her bundle of nerves in his mouth and licking it with all the reverence she didn’t want and hadn’t asked for. She tried to halfheartedly kick him off but his strong sinewy arms held onto her legs tight. He began to devour her, his stubble lighting up her nerves in an agonizing and delicious way. Her breathing grew labored and she began to see stars.

Once she was soaked with arousal he crawled back up her body and ground his hard length into her. Looking straight into her eyes he asked her a surprising question, “Have you ever imagined that I was more to you than just your boss, Miss Swan?”

She glared at him and shook her head. Without hesitation he lifted both her legs over her head and slammed his cock into her, it’s unhindered length going deeper than ever. Too deep. She sobbed at the agonizing feeling of her back wall stretching to accommodate him. She moaned pathetically but it came out as barely a grunt. Killian began to pump into her, fucking her fast and hard. Her g-spot erupted in sensation as the pleasure quickly built. Her walls pulsed only a few times before spasming hard. The orgasm was intense, but he fucked her through it, leaving her gasping for breath when it was over. Killian said in a dark timbre, “Every time you lie to me I’m going to make you come apart. If you wish to leave this bedroom with your sanity I suggest you start telling the bloody truth! Now, I’ll ask again. Do you have feelings for me?”

Again she shook her head. With an exasperated huff he pounded into her again, this time making her come in minutes. She told her body to stop but no man had ever shown such talent in understanding how to make her react. He asked the same question again and she gave the same answer several more times. At first she was in heaven. He brought her to orgasm at least a dozen times in less than an hour, but the hours dragged on, and the orgasms continued. Soon she lost track of time. When he asked her the question she could do little more than sob, which wasn’t an acceptable answer. When she didn’t give in he began to play with her clit while his hips did the work. That made her gush everywhere which was just as painful as it was euphoric. She struggled against her bonds but there was no escape. Finally Killian removed her gag. She begged him, “Please, Mr. Jones. No more.”

Killian wiped the tears from her face and looked down on her with pity. “You care for me, Emma, I know that you do. Just admit it and I’ll spend all night taking taking care of you.”

“Why would I have feelings for?!” she screamed spitefully.

He pumped into her hard making her grimace, “Because deep down you know that you and I are just alike. We both know what it’s like to be left alone. We have the same scars, the same fears. We can make each other better.”

“Or worse.”

He growled, “Come. Now.”

She shook her head stubbornly.

Killian place a firm hand on her throat. “Emma, the longer you resist it the more it will hurt.”

She gritted her teeth and focussed all her energy of suppressing the pulsing pleasure inside her.

The rhythm of his hips faltered as he said, “Don’t make me do this to you. Not this way.”

Tears streamed down her face as the truth started to surface. It was a truth that was foreign to her but had clearly been there all along, buried beneath piles of her own self-loathing. Still, she couldn’t say it. That would make it real.

When she refused to answer, Killian reached down and rubbed her until she clenched around him. The scream that came out of her was terrifying. As her eyes rolled back into her head she knew the truth. She loved the way he made her feel. No man had ever satisfied her like he did. She thought of the way he kissed her. It was like he wanted to consume her soul. Of all his little tricks and talents his kiss was his greatest weapon. Nothing got her wetter faster than his hungry lips, and she knew, had always known, that when he kissed her it was fueled by something more than sexual passion.

When she finally came down from her pleasure she cried desperately, “I can’t care about you!”

Killian stopped all motion. He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily from excursion. “Why not?”

Emma couldn’t speak. Her body was twitching and shaking uncontrollably. She wondered if her nerves had suffered permanent damage. The room around her was spinning, but she caught the look of startled confusion in Killian’s blue eyes. She answered through uncontrollable tears, “Because once you’ve used me you’ll leave and then I’ll be alone again.”

The look on his face was indecipherable. Partly because she couldn’t read it, partly because she couldn’t see straight. She felt his hand cup her cheek and couldn’t stop herself from leaning into it. He kissed her, softly at first, then harder. As their lips grew sloppy Emma longed to wrapped her arms around him. “Untie me.” she begged breathlessly.

Killian didn’t hesitate. Once her arms were free they returned to each other in a passionate embrace. She felt herself driven wild with want. It was unlike any feeling she had ever known. He always turned her on, but this was different. It wasn’t just his touch she craved. It was him. Another man could have kissed exactly like him and it wouldn’t have been the same.

He was right. She had done enough research to know that he was an orphan, just like her. A rich orphan, but still. He knew what it was like to be alone. He knew what it was like to be afraid of love.

She wrapped her legs around him, this time soothing her abused sex on his warm abdomen. His hands roamed her body, an appreciation, not a seduction. It felt so right and so wrong. He was her boss. If this went bad she could lose her job. If it went really bad he could go to jail. These thoughts raced through her head but in the end gave way to the feeling of his lips on hers. As the truth spilled out like a river breaking a dam Emma was forced to faced all the feelings she had been ignoring. She did want him, more than anything in this world. Every day she came to work hoping he would call her into his office. Every time he touched her she felt like a schoolgirl. There was a pain in her stomach that was growing with every second. It was so intense it was almost unbearable. She realized with a start that it was the exact feeling she had been trying to suppress. And now it was free. All her fears were validated in one instant. She wanted to be with him so badly it hurt, and there was no going back now.

They kissed until dawn when she finally fell asleep in his arms. It must have been almost a decade since she’d done such a thing, but nothing had ever felt so right. He didn’t go more that a few seconds without kissing her shoulder or the back of her head. She was glad he couldn’t see the tears falling onto the pillow they shared. The happiness she felt was so cruel. How could such an amazing feeling last?

But it was too late for her and she knew it. Her fate was entirely in his hands because if he left now, she would never recover.

Before she drifted off, Emma took the hand that was holding her closely to him and kissed it, hoping it said what her mouth simply couldn’t. He responded by lacing his fingers with hers and holding her so tight she could barely breathe.

When she slept she dreamt of love and loss. Of happiness and heartbreak. It was undoubtedly a taste of what was to come.

Thanks for reading!! Updates should get more frequent although I am devoting a lot of time to my book because I am soooo close to being finished so they won’t be quite as frequent as they used to be. Or at least, that’s what I say. But fortunately for you my book doesn’t have an option for comments that flatter me into writing more so I’m sure I’ll spend more time on ff than I should.

#captain swan smut #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #cs smut #cs fanfiction #cs ff #cs fanfic #smut #dubious consent #dubcon

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