| Subject: Chapter 259 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, October 25, 07:21:21am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
Extra warning: There's one, very mild obscenity here. I'll rate it 16 and Above, just to be safe.
Dreams in the Dark (259/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It didn't take her long to find the woman she was looking for, Adrian waiting patiently for her arrival. It had been clear to the older woman that there was a break coming, that her granddaughter needed only a little time alone to negotiate her way through. Nikita had always been a strong girl--had needed to be. No one with a mother like poor Roberta had turned into could have survived for long, otherwise.
This strong girl was here now, limped into the kitchen to find a full, hearty meal awaiting her; she was so stunned by the sight--practically a Hollywood vision of Thanksgiving dinner--that it took her a moment to be able to remember her original intentions, still so desperately hungry. She took a deep breath, as she looked back to her grandmother, but the air she took in only brought the scent of a million kinds of food her body so desperately wanted; the older woman smiled softly, nodding toward a chair--cutting her off before anything was said. "Eat." Her look firmed. "You need it."
For the most part, the blonde woman ached to follow this advice; she sat, speaking the rest at last. "I'll only get bigger." And then God help her, when it came to Madeline and the studio.
Adrian didn't seem the least bit concerned about this, nodding toward the food, taking a more scientific approach. "It won't help you much, if you don't. The less you eat, the less healthy you'll be. Besides," she went on, as Nikita sighed resignedly, reaching for a serving spoon, "your body won't thank you for it, if you refuse. The less food you eat when you need it, the more weight you're forced to lose, the more your body will put on, once you start eating normally again." She shrugged at her granddaughter's curious look. "It's just the way people are made."
Nikita wasn't entirely certain she understood this, never much having had the opportunity to *choose* not to eat before; that was something only the rich seemed to do. For much of her life, it hadn't been an issue. She began serving herself, giving up on the questions--more hungry than she could ever remember being before. She supposed it was what people meant when they talked about "eating for two."
She gave up on the reasons, and the worries, just now, simply enjoyed the fact that she wouldn't have to be hungry for awhile. This reprieve wouldn't apply to the studio--but maybe at least her life outside of it could sustain her.
It wasn't that Adrian had exactly been starving her before this, was more that Nikita had both been too fearful of the consequences of gaining weight and that it had never really occurred to her to ask for more than she was given. For so long, her appetite had remained, relatively, stable. She had never really thought about the fact that her needs were growing.
She was starting to see this now, however--as her grandmother certainly had. Ever since Michael had gone--for this past week or so, especially--Nikita had eaten the same amount she always had, never once thinking about the change the new life within her would bring. Of course, it was probably also true that--before the last few weeks--her child's presence had yet to be developed to the point where she began to really notice the change. Every woman was different this way--some nearly starving from day one, while others continued on as though nothing were any different. It was only one of a thousand different variables which made generalizations about pregnancy so very difficult to make.
Adrian watched her, then, almost smiling, as the girl's youthful lack of manners returned. She looked like the half-starved child she had no doubt been for so long; the smile faded, the sadness settling. If only she had been able to help her before.
It was this failure which made the woman so desperate to aid her granddaughter now, seeking an end to years of malign neglect. Perhaps they hadn't been entirely by her own choice, but they had certainly done their damage; her gaze moved in. It was time that she finally did something to protect her family.
Nikita had been busy eating--she suddenly realized--a bit like a hog which had been let loose in a nice new pen. She swallowed heavily and wiped her mouth more tidily, trying to regain her hard-won manners. The last thing she wanted to do was to make this woman doubt why she was helping her. She did enough of that sort of wondering herself.
She tried to eat in a slightly more polite manner, as she brought herself back to her original reason for finding her grandmother; she swallowed some mashed potatoes, before she began. There was no venom to her tone. "You wrote to Michael about that night at the house, didn't you?" Even as she spoke, her hand moved the fork in for another mouthful. She was simply too damn hungry to stop eating for long.
Adrian nodded but didn't fill in the details--knowing that this was only an introduction for what the girl really wanted to know. "And?"
Nikita smiled, loving the woman--in all her mystery. "How'd you get it through to him?" She was somehow certain that it hadn't been by regular mail.
Her benefactor only shrugged--refusing, as always, to give out her secrets. "Does it matter? He clearly received it." That was all that was important, anyway.
There was a smile from her granddaughter, stopping between mouthfuls again. "You think I should have told him from the beginning." Adrian nodded--forcing her gaze to fall to the table. "I didn't know how to." Not with other people reading it. There was a shrug. "And I didn't want to worry him."
"I'm sure that would have been his reasoning, in reverse." The older actress's eyes were calm, when the girl's flicked back to them. "Would it have made you feel any better?"
Oh. Nikita sighed, gaze falling once more, the food, temporarily, forgotten. "No." It never made her feel any better to know that he was in danger and wasn't letting her know.
This observation alone settled this particular issue between them, neither of them needing any "I told you so"s to finish it. Adrian moved on. "Are you ready to hire Fredericks now?" It was long past time that she said, "yes."
She didn't immediately--as much as she realized that she would probably have to, in the end; she wasn't meeting her grandmother's eyes. "Tell me about him." She tried to remember that she was supposed to eat.
There was a sigh from the older woman, but she allowed the delay; it wasn't as though they were going to get the girl home, guardian in tow, tonight. "His name is Carl Fredericks. He's about three years older than you, a nice young man and quite skilled at his job." There was only silence in response, making her decide to move on to the rest--including the real information that she knew Nikita waited for. "His father was an employee of Mr. Murrin, one who met an untimely death. He's been well looked after ever since."
None of this was entirely encouraging, the younger woman's eating having slowed considerably, as she pondered. The least of her fears lay in the man's name. She had barely escaped the clutches of a "Karl" in her mother's house many years ago; he had seemed so much nicer than the rest, had nearly taken her in. Something inside her froze, her eyes going wide. She really hoped that wasn't a trait of the name itself.
"Eat," her grandmother instructed her, and she realized that she had stopped again; she picked back up, trying to think. But no idea she came to encouraged her now.
"Is he part of Mr. Murrin's . . ." How on earth did she put this? "Organization?" She nearly snorted. Her father had an "organization," as well. These "businessmen" were everywhere.
Adrian saw her struggles, noticed that she wasn't meeting her gaze; she couldn't blame her, given the fears she no doubt fought. She tried to settle them for her. "No. Like Geoffrey and Steven, he's not his father's official heir. There was no reason to make him part of that life."
This didn't really make her feel much better--and only partly because she was entirely uncertain whether such lack of legitimacy would really matter to such men, not if they bothered to acknowledge the children at all; her gaze rose to the older woman. "Does that really put your mind to rest about using him?" One of the many things that she didn't entirely understand about her grandmother was how she could calmly live with the knowledge that she owed that man so much.
The older actress just nodded, seeing where her granddaughter's fears came from. Owing Mr. Jones anything was a peril. Still . . .
"He owes *me*, Nikita. I'm not passing judgment on him or his 'organization.'" There was a shrug. "Some things are simply what they are."
This didn't entirely calm her grandchild, who was forgetting to eat yet again--feeling appalled at her connection to this woman. "Then that makes it alright?" Her voice was rising, remembering so much she had heard. "All of these things they do to people, the hold they have over this city, that's okay?! I can't believe that you would . . ."
Her, understandable, tirade was cut off by the presence of Steven in the kitchen. He came in quietly, delivering a note to his employer, before walking out again; Nikita's sigh was deep, her head bowed, as her hands massaged the back of her neck. It wasn't like she had any right to be judgmental; she too was the bastard child of one of these "businessmen." Her gaze was caught by her ever-expanding belly. But the last thing she wanted was to bring her child into such a life as well.
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