Nothing Will Change

Chapter 57

Tommy had invited Grace to come to Ada's, only she didn't know it was Ada's house, or that Rose lived there too. He hadn't mentioned Rose over the phone to her, but it wasn't hard to find out they were together. Tommy didn't offer to take off her coat, but he held the door open to her as they came to the living room. She wore a teal blue dress that was too bright against the orange of the room. Hair shorter and dark makeup, she matched who she was entirely, just more expensive. Everything was getting more expensive, especially having a rich husband to pay for things.

"Is this your house?" She wondered as she hovered by the sofas.

"Yes. Have a seat."

He didn't offer her a drink, he didn't want to give her one. He also didn't want one himself, he didn't want to do or say anything he would regret. Tossing the cushion from the seat he chose, he sat down and took out his cigarettes. It wasn't unnoticeable that his mind was somewhere else. It was on Rose, his business, his brother and cousin in jail, though mostly Rose. That she wasn't there, that she wasn't safe.

Grace sat stiffly in her chair, looking him up and down, "do I not get a drink?"

He held a hand out, "please."

Slightly turning up her nose, Grace stood and moved to the small table of drinks, "you want one?"

"Yes," he decided regretfully.

"Still whiskey?"

"Yes."

She was dressed for a formal evening, she was dressed to impress. Tommy never mentioned anything other than to talk, so her silk teal dress and done up hair was with a reason. And that reason made him tense, it made him rush to light his cigarette. He would remind himself that all she was to him was a barmaid, the woman who betrayed him. He wouldn't allow everything else, he wouldn't allow nuance to take place. All she was doing was looking for his approval, looking for more.

"But other things have changed," she said, "I saw vans with your name on at the docks. And Rose's name in the papers..."

"Yes she's doing well."

His voice was rough like he wasn't with Rose, like there was spite instead of all guilt. Grace had approached him, standing close to his side with whiskey in her hand. Her perfume was expensive but floral like lavender, not like grass. He preferred grass as mundane as others thought. Grass was Rose, and it was distinctly her, Grace just smelt like perfume. She sat closer that time, sipping her drink and observing him smoke.

"Tommy, I really wasn't sure about coming tonight..."

"Rose knows you're here, she's busy," he cut over her, "I told her we were just going to talk. Do you just want to talk?"

Grace made an expression like she had been caught, so subtly an untrained eye wouldn't have seen it.

"Or do you want to talk about old times, drink whiskey..." He continued as she grew stiffer, "do you want me to tell you that I hadn't spent a day without thinking about you? And then go upstairs, and sleep together. Is that what you want?"

Two years ago she was just a barmaid, and Rose was just a seamstress. Before Rose was his Rose and before he was consumed there Grace, briefly, so briefly she never meant anything to him truly. But fundamentally he was a man, a man once drawn by two women not just one. That was what he should have told Rose, what she should have been there to hear. Grace lowered her gaze, which he hoped would mean that she was rethinking her dress and expensive perfume.

"But I told Rose, who I love, that we would just talk," he tapped his cigarette to the side, "so... Tell me how happy you are in New York and then you can go."