| Subject: Chapter 280 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 280) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, April 02, 07:17:05am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark continued (273>)" on Monday, March 05, 07:03:06am
There was only one detail she had found even marginally out of place, only one real opening; she finally sprang it on the woman, hoping to gain *something* out of the evening. It had been singularly dull, otherwise.
Nikita could almost see it coming, noticed the too-nice smile the columnist gave her; it reminded her of Madeline, made her secretly cringe. Hedda's voice was poisoned honey, as it finally emerged. "The baby's room is just *lovely*, my dear." The inquisitor's eyes widened marginally--all simple, innocent curiosity. "But shouldn't it be further along by now?"
The question alone made the actress desperately grateful that she had finally started the renovations--the delay probably unforgivable. Most women would have had paint samples and wallpaper swatches in hand two seconds after the death of the benighted rabbit had alerted them to their forthcoming little arrival. But she had waited for several months, leaving herself open to scrutiny she truly didn't need; her sigh was undetectable. And that said nothing about the situation of her poor child.
She still felt a little guilty for this oversight, could feel the sensation pricking her heart, as her mind ran quickly through her reasoning--however bad it might be. Part of it, certainly, had been due to the fact that she had learned of little Adrian's existence just after that terrible attack, the day after her breakdown from witnessing the hideous Hillinger's death. That alone had been quite difficult to survive, had made it impossible to focus anywhere else--but, too soon after that, she had also learned of her husband's coming departure, of the fact that he would so soon be stolen from her. From then until the end of the year, she had been able to focus on nothing else. The fact that she and Michael had been able to get so far as deciding on their child's name had been a bit of a miracle, as it was.
This truth flashed through her in the seconds before she answered Hedda's question--so many others following soon. Perhaps she should have started the renovations soon after her husband's departure, but such focus hadn't been easy. Thinking about anything other than how desperately she missed him seemed impossible still.
Given all the other, deadly distractions of her life, it was probably some sort of minor miracle that Nikita had ever remembered the needed preparations for her child's arrival. Certainly, no one around her had mentioned them--not her husband or anyone else. For some of them, such as Helmut and his friends, such considerations were clearly ones they need never cope with. But her grandmother was another story; she kept the confusion out of her look. Why Adrian had never prodded her to take the first step, she had no idea at all.
She left this lingering mystery to another time, her smile to her inquisitor soft--finding the lie she needed waiting on her tongue. "I'm afraid that's both my and Michael's faults. We were debating for months over how it should look." Her smile deepened, along with the semi-lie. "I think we're going to have a son, so I wanted it to be mostly blue. He's hoping for a girl, so he was thinking that pink would be better." She gave a laugh she hoped to heaven wasn't too big or fake. "That's why it took us so long to compromise on yellow and blue."
"Mm," Hedda murmured suspiciously, knowing instantly what foolishness this was. Still, even if she bothered to dissect to the truth, she was convinced that it would give her nothing too interesting, nothing which she could publish, at least. And Kitty's lie would make an amusingly-innocent tidbit to leaven her daily dose of scandal.
She left this statement as it was, therefore, half-wishing there were more. Still, as profitable as it would be, she couldn't quite bring herself to hate the young girl. She had never been desirous enough of Samuelle to be jealous, was not so overwhelmed by the actress's beauty or talent that she felt the need to tear them apart. The couple's marriage--well, their *official* marriage, anyway, their earlier one far more interesting--was actually rather tepid, as news; her sigh was quiet. And it did help to have the weepy Women's Page stuff ready to fill out her columns, whenever she was left a little short.
She didn't move in for the kill, then, although she certainly could have. While she could have played up Michael's desertion of his wife far more greedily, could have hinted at all sorts of things, she saw no profit in it, just yet. It was all just a bit too dull to tempt her.
It wasn't that she was unaware that the actress's life was far more hideously eventful than she ever let on. Had she wished to, the columnist could have covered months of space with tales and hints of the woman's unseemly family and connections. But none of that would profit her. Volker and his odd companions looked likely to be of future aid; Adrian was never to be messed with. She had yet to discover exactly what would upset Jones the most, as well. And she didn't in any way want to find out by error alone.
It was because of all these factors that she was willing to let the woman, mostly, go--provided that no evidence came up to disprove her suspicions about the evening's "tip." The most she could say without destroying potentially-intriguing deals or angering those who were *not* to be angered was that the actress had gotten rather a late start on redoing her baby's room. No. There was far more to be mined in eking out the details of a star's nursery than anything she could gain by that.
It was as this decision settled that the phone rang. Before the actress could rise to get it--her body, despite her studio polishing, currently a bit unwieldy--the boy Fredericks came out of the kitchen to answer; Hedda watched with intense interest, hoping for something more. But it wasn't to be. "It's for you, Mrs. Hopper," he nodded politely--every inch a refined butler, rather than the obvious bodyguard he was. She smiled, as she rose. Still, if *her* father had been a man such as Jones, she might well have hired a few more like him, as well.
She already had a few men looking after her--some stars a bit testy, when she made them her centerpieces; even had it not been for the actress's dangerous associations, it would have been too dull a detail to report. She smiled at the room, as she took the receiver, giving her hostess a polite apology. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I gave this number to a friend." Then, she listened--a bit longer than the conversation actually took. It was much better to make them all wait.
Such tactics were habit by now, her joy in watching her subjects sweat immense. Still, it was only to her amusement to see more curiosity than fear in Kitty. Whatever the more deadly aspects of the woman's life, it was clear that she didn't have anything particularly personal to hide.
The columnist listened to one of her assistants' reports, then--discovering exactly what she had expected. Shears had gone out with Sash, had then disappeared for 30 minutes to an hour or so, and gone home--alone. While the time in between should be checked out at some future point--assuming the man ever became enough of a star to make such research profitable--this settled the last of her questions; it did all make sense. The "tip" this evening had undoubtedly been from Madeline herself; she was smiling slightly. Someday, she was going to have to settle up with the woman, for all of her annoyances.
This intention lingered, as she hung up at last. She wasn't certain what exactly had prompted the tutor's decision to start this wild goose chase--whether she had hoped that something would somehow come of it or whether she had simply wanted to distract attention from elsewhere--but it wasn't of importance just now. If it were the former, then the woman was delusional. If the latter, Hedda would discover it eventually; she always did. She smiled at the actress, not entirely unkindly. All she could do now was move on.
Nikita could see her intention, was doing her very best not to show her relief. The columnist's voice was bright as always. "I'm *so* sorry for taking up your time, my dear. But thank you so much for showing me around your sweet little home." The actress made herself smile at this false cheer, making the first moves to rise. It was becoming, more and more lately, a process of shoving her stomach up into the air and then hoping that the rest of her decided to follow; she suspected that this tendency would only worsen from here. Hedda's hand waved dismissively, nearly to her relief. "It's quite alright. I'll see myself to the door." Her wave to her photographer was far more dismissive, but he looked much too bored to care. "Do tell that beautiful husband of yours 'hello' for me." With that, and one last glance around the living room, she was gone. And Nikita was left to let out an epic sigh of thanks.
It wasn't until they heard the woman's car retreating, however, that they were able to really relax--Fredericks coming around to the front of the couch to stare at her worriedly, Annie joining his look from the kitchen door; Nikita was too damn tired to notice, her head flopping onto the back of the couch, her perusal of the ceiling beginning. There was a second of intense silence, as she sighed quietly. "What the *hell* was that about?" she wondered at last. But neither of her companions had any answer at all.
Fredericks' sigh was silent, but his fear was far more intense. If Hedda wanted something, he knew, she would eventually get it; his gaze returned to the door, which had finally seen the woman's departure. Now, they just had to wait to see what it had been.
Extra note: I apologize again to anyone who needs it for using the real-life Hedda here--and I freely admit that I have no idea whether she had any particular bodyguards. The woman just *loves* to put in an appearance. Even if I wanted to, she's a little hard to stop.
[End of Part 280]
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