The Favoured, The Fair and Ms. Vérité Claire

13 In The Dark (Part 2)

"And you never saw him after that?"

"I've made an art of the silent treatment," Julia said. "Like I said, when I don't want to be found, I'm not." He raised his bottle to her and they drank to her achievements.

"So, Mr. Bigshot, once perks are reinstated where's the first place you're going to fly LuxCanAm to?"

"Now this I've thought about," he smirked, peeling at his beer bottle label. "I'm thinking I'd like to research the family tree a bit. Not the immediate, low-hanging, disappointing branches, mind you. My brother's in an expensive tower somewhere on the West Coast conning people out of their life savings and the old man's stumbling around the armpit of Thunder Bay, last I heard. But there's salt in my blood and I think I'd like to feel in touch with something on that level. Spend a little time near the Irish and Mediterranean Seas."

"Not the sea," Julia frowned as though she were somehow involved in his future plans.

"You don't think you could ever make peace with it?"

"The ocean could rise up and spit every treasure it ever swallowed out at my feet and I still couldn't bear to be near it."

Orson nodded in understanding, smirking as he repeated the word, "Spit".

"That does feel like how I got here. Must've coughed out my father's side," he said.

Julia wondered at how confident Orson could be and yet think so little of himself. She was dying for some clear sense of what he really thought and felt about her.

"Can I ask you something? The day we first met, how come you were so rude to me?" He shifted in his seat and gave her a dry smile. His discomfort made her laugh. "I mean not knowing you'd ever have the chance to explain to me that it was your 'default setting'?"

"Look, it's like this: I've known a lot of nice people, who do a lot of nice things for others because of how it makes them feel about themselves. It's their entire identity. Ok, so at the end of the day nice things are being done, but the motivation is purely selfish. Pretty girls are the worst. Someone who looks like you bending over backward to be nice to someone like me is generally charity, if not penance. I just couldn't give you the satisfaction." He smiled wryly and let out a short gruff laugh at himself. "I am what I am. Of course, I know you now. I know you don't care what anyone thinks of you."

"Mostly."

"I know you trust people about as much as I do."

"Sometimes I worry that's the real worst thing I've done. Like, when I'm on my deathbed, I'll regret judging the world too harshly."

"You? How could anyone think you judge the world harshly? Look at who you hang out with!"

"Ah, but I like you. How's that fair to the population in general?"

"You don't like me," he said. "You're just used to me."

There was an opportunity to say something more, but Julia struggled to find the right words. "I'm actually having a great time," was the best she could and before she could attempt to do better, Orson leaned over the table to whisper in her ear.

"Would you look at these assholes?" he said. "Every guy in this bar is still staring at you and I'm starting to take it personally. Let's get out of here before I have to teach someone some manners." He held her hand as they walked out the door and her insides fluttered.

Dinner at the chateau was tense. Hal and Nina were carefully not saying things. Brom was carefully not saying things. Orson stayed monosyllabic and Julia definitely weighed her every word afraid of giving herself away. The only two who seemed to be without secrets were Don and Anita who told stories about a recent trip to Antigua as riveting as a slideshow. Donald may have had Verite's style and largesse, but he did not have her same gift as a raconteur. Still, Anita hung onto every word he said in a sweetly proud manner as though she was the envy of everyone in any given audience.