In the gloaming, Evelyn Bellamy sat at a vanity table she often beguiled with during her high school years. Her eyes meticulously searched for the right shade of lipstick to wear to dinner; scarlet might be too inviting, the kind you'd only wear to events where promiscuity is encouraged — i.e. a Gatsbyesque affair. But maroon is too dark; it's dinner, not funeral — i.e. Dickinsonian affair.
The process went on for ten minutes; one swipe on the lips, then another swipe, but of a cotton pad. Nothing was working, and it was a direct insult to the woman as she used to be adept at picking what's right and wrong on her, for her, to her, but that wasn't the case that night — not with her very own Jay Gatsby around.
She resisted the urge to undo a button on her white sleeveless blouse as the weather got summerier. Her eyes darted at her lover's reflection in the mirror; he was whistling while reading Mark Twain. "How are you finding that book?" She inquired.
Tom Buchanan smiled at her question, "I like this Huckleberry fella; he does what I would in his shoes." His brutish self was proud that articulation wasn't a foreign concept to him.
"Hm, I don't know if that's a good thing..." Daisy chuckled as she picked another lipstick.
"You wouldn't get it," said the man. "You never had adventures like him."
The woman turned to face him once she painted her lips with Carmine. "Well, he didn't have adventures like mine. He wouldn't know what to do or say at dinner downstairs," she haughtily replied.
Paul hugged his body. "I'm shuddering just thinkin' about it," he jested. His lover gave him a mocking smile before facing the mirror again, ready to wipe the color and start over with a clean slate.
"Uh-uh, stop! That color is perfect," he interposed with urgency.
"It's orange..."
"And who else is wearing it? No one!" He sprang out of the bed to stand beside her.
"But Joe will be there—Pa told me he's back from California," Evelyn bemoaned.
"So?"
"He may have something for me, from what Ted implied, but I don't want him to gawk at me like a predator." The woman was reminded of her time at the Skakel's house in Connecticut; the gauche remarks and the leering eyes never did leave her unruly mind.
A mundane brown shade was chosen by her, but it was snatched from her grip in a nanosecond. "Look, you go with... Rum Raisin?" Paul jerked his head back once the repulsive name was uttered. "Nobody'll bat an eye!" He theatrically threw the object backward, miraculously landing it on the bed.
"But you go with Carmine?" He leaned closer, "baby, not only do you belong in Hollywood..." he lifted his lover's face with a curled finger beneath the chin. "Hollywood belongs to you."
Evelyn's green eyes never thought tangerine would make such a pretty color, but the man could be right — besides, she'd make him happier by letting him wear the pants for once. "So, you're saying I should seduce Joe into giving me a job?" But she would not switch the control without some first-class bon mot.
Paul wittily sighed, "Well, he'd probably want it the other way around..." he matched the tone she was going for, which only earned him a punch to the arm. "But, hell, why not? His perversion is the key to your success!" He put on a voice that eerily resembled used-car salesmen — except he was selling the love of his life, not a car.
Evelyn shook her head with amusement. "Fine, you're right... for once," she added.
Paul lent her a hand to grab onto. "Come, let's face the music together!" And with a smile, she accepted it.
They forged their way toward the battleground downstairs with love as their weapons and wits as their shields — and Bastille, who joined them at the last minute, by their side.
When General Bellamy and her cavalier — and Bastille — entered the battleground guised as the dining room, it was as though Hail to the Chief was playing; conversations died down, heads were turned, eyes leered on them, and not a person could break out of the spell she had cast.
Seated at the table were the man and lady of the house; Maurice and Julia, and their special guests; Bobby and his wife, along with a few of his siblings who'd found the time in their day to join. Lastly, Joseph Patrick Kennedy — the belligerent man with a plan — and his taciturn wife.
"I'd like to make a toast!" Maurice rose from his patriarchal seat, tapping his champagne flute with a spoon, giving no time for Evelyn and Paul to settle down on their seats.
"To my daughter, Evelyn..."
The guests expectedly shifted their attention to the star feigning a smile; she didn't miss the feeling of starry eyes on her skin — it never felt good coming from insincere people. If she had the stardom of Lana Turner or Ava Gardner, the scrutinizing orbs would be perceived in a better light, but until then, their façade bothered her.
"For returning after a long year of studying." The nod Maurice gave her was nuanced, it was as though to say: fret not, child, I am with you. "I'm proud of you—we all are... as we impatiently await your graduation."
Once it was out of the way, Evelyn exhaled the breath she'd been holding since she stepped foot in the room. "Cheers, Pa." Her glass was lifted higher.
"Here, here!" Her opponent exclaimed with a peculiar smile — he was the most impatient of them all.
Maurice shifted his eyes to his next target. "And to Paul!" Every blue, brown, green, and hazel eyes in the room darted at him — he shuddered quite literally that time. "Perhaps the newest member of the family?" The older man winked conspicuously at the couple; making Paul red in the face.
There were murmurings all around the room, and when Evelyn tried to discern them, words became unintelligible.
Jack observed his family abashedly before speaking up, "Cheers, Paul!" And it influenced his younger brother to do the same.
"Cheers, Monsieur Olympian!" Ted playfully added, giving his other brother a mocking smile.
Bobby did not raise his glass any higher or lower, he was gritting his teeth, though — that much could be seen.
"May your love blossom and be blessed by the Gods. Santé!" Maurice took a sip of his apple juice as it was all Julia allowed after she heard what had happened in Cambridge. He'd gotten more than he bargained for when she gave him the silent treatment she'd mastered over their shameful years of destitution.
As glasses clinked and laughter erupted, Evelyn's gaze fell on the only man she desired to see on the battlefield. Her Romeo had worn a beige sweater with a dress shirt underneath — it was a ridiculous summer outfit if it wasn't for movie night. But as she was policing his fashion choice — or savoring the look — the man requited and let his eyes rest on her pondering face. Something sparked for the second time; something worth worshipping by the poets and swans, but idolatry in the eyes of God and His disciples.
Just as the two souls collided, an aging voice caught their attention. "Evelyn, I want to apologize for not being here on your arrival," said Lord Montague, noticing who and where the damsel was looking at.
Evelyn waved it off with her kind eyes and Hollywood smile — mistress of deception.
"I just got back from Los Angeles; met a friend who's working on a project for the Warner Brothers."
"Right..." replied Evelyn, the worriness in her voice rubbed him in the wrong way.
"Film project. Interested?" He placed a piece of white flesh on his tongue.
"You do know I'm still studying?"
"It's small-scale. Just enough to glam your portfolio." He carelessly gesticulated with his knife and fork as he spoke.
The woman looked askance at her parents, wondering if they had anything to do with this. However, she believed them to be innocent when Maurice outwardly glared at Joe, and Ted was giving her a knowing look.
"Look, Patricia would tell you the same thing if she was here." Joe took advantage of having a child succeeding in Hollywood; implying his power while completely overlooking her natural talents.
"What even is the project?" Evelyn remained unconvinced. She took a piece of her chicken and whistled to get Bastille's attention.
Joe smiled at the question — she'd fallen into his trap. "Have you heard of A Streetcar Named Desire?" He then lifted his eyes from his meal to relish the astonished faces of his children.
"Why, of course... That Tennessee Williams' play," Evelyn humbly answered, letting her hand be licked by her dog.
"I spoke to Elia, the director. They're still looking for Blanche DuBois for the movie." A smile crept into Joe's face as he finished his sentence.
Paul squinted his eyes, "Elia... Kazan?" The name had been lingering in his head for years, and it stayed for many more after this.
Joe nodded suspiciously, "Why, yes." He did not know where the boy came from or who he was; his keen knowledge slightly intimidated him.
"I auditioned for one of his early works."
Before Joe could respond, Evelyn chimed in, "I thought you hated Hollywood?"
Paul didn't hesitate to nod. "Yeah, because I busted my butt for that role and he went with Gregory Peck!"
Joe proceeded to tell Paul that he could squeeze him in the picture if he wanted, and while Paul was young and scrappy, he knew better—thanks to his lover—than to be in debt with a Kennedy. He rejected the offer, and by the look on Evelyn's face, he knew he did the right thing — Maurice even subtly nodded at him.
"Too bad, it'd be amazing to see you play the Polack," Bobby piped up, his voice had a taunt in it.
"Didn't he rape Blanche in the play?" Jean muttered to her sister-in-law, thinking no one could hear her.
Paul, seeing Evelyn red in the face, cleared his throat, "Another reason why I shouldn't be in it." His hand crept on her shoulder.
Bobby snorted, "Too bad—you'd play him so well." That time the taunting was clear not only to Paul, but everyone else.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Asked Paul, riled up by mere words.
"Oh, you know... vicious temper, controlling, hard-edged–"
"Knock it off, Bob..." Jack intervened before he could finish; the man couldn't bear watching his brother making a fool out of himself, recklessly adding fuel to the fire.
Bobby dramatically threw his hands in the air. "What, I can't make jokes anymore?"
When Paul laid his eyes on Evelyn as if to say, "Can you believe this guy?" she couldn't muster the courage to speak up against her Jay Gatsby, so she pinched the stem of her champagne glass and slowly sipped it.
Julia, having seen enough of the inane argument, rose from her seat. "Look, I think everyone's a little cranky because I forgot about dessert," she said, looking at the awkward smiles around the table. "I'll go get it."
Before she could leave, however, Bobby halted her, "No can do, Mrs. Bellamy. Ethel and I must leave; we got a picture to watch." He reached for his glass and spontaneously swallowed the leftover drink. "Come on, hon. We don't wanna be late for the show." He grabbed onto Ethel's arm as he sprang out of his seat.
The woman turned to Evelyn and Paul, then back to her husband, "Are they coming? You said you were going to invite them—"
"I did," Bobby interjected just as his brother did to him. "But they're not coming..." he slyly smiled.
Paul feigned a surprised look. "Oh, we're not?"
"You can't be serious? Aren't you exhausted?" Evelyn asked. She knew exactly what was happening; some sort of hypermasculine dogfight, and she was not into it—not when F. Scott Fitzgerald, a friend of her father, wrote it, and not in reality.
"Not in the slightest..." he answered his lover without breaking the eye contact with Bobby. "...we should go if you want to."
Evelyn darted her eyes at the other man, practically begging him to end the game he was playing.
Bobby stared back and gave her the sweetest smile, giving her the false impression it would all be okay. "Well, then... let's show Paul how we roll," he coolly said, enjoying the way she gritted her teeth.
Jack suddenly chuckled, spontaneously lightening the mood. "You kids are outta control," he jested and got chuckles out of everyone — including Ethel, that was mostly out of confusion.
"Alright, enough chitchat. We don't wanna be late, do we?" Evelyn jeered, taking charge of the group.
Bobby nodded, "No, we don't." He clasped his lover's hand and left the disgruntled couple behind.
In her chartreuse Cadillac, Evelyn had her arms folded against her chest. Her weary eyes hadn't looked at Paul for a while; he could sense something was wrong. "What is it?" He asked, chagrined by her silence.
The woman needed only a second to respond, "That was stupid." And it stung him a little; she'd never been so painfully quarrelsome until Hyannis Port.
Paul exhaled. "What was?"
"He was provoking you."
"I know, and I called his bluff."
Evelyn scoffed — the Kennedys don't bluff. "You did nothing, you just proved him right."
"At what? Being an idiot?" His voice shifted into a tone she'd never heard before. Perhaps he was all that Bobby described; vicious temper, controlling, hard-edged, and curse you, Jack, for intervening!
Evelyn groaned. "Not this again—"
"No, say it, Evelyn!"
And there was silence — an uncomfortable, deadly silence. The kind that would end relationships if occur too often. And perhaps the future wouldn't be too kind to them if it repeats.
"You don't try to fight them, you'll lose," Evelyn morosely uttered.
Paul knew she was speaking from experience, and he could've been nice, but chose to be the smaller person, "Yeah, well, you'd know that!" He retorted, intentionally hitting her where it hurt.
In Bobby's car, it was a different story; a sappy little song was playing on the radio and they sang along word by word (good night, Irene... good night, Irene. I'll see you in my dream...) it had Ethel wondering if having his childhood friend around truly make Bobby a happier man than without.
"Evelyn seems a lot happier than when she left," she asked, a subtle inquisitive tone in her voice.
Bobby took his eyes off the road for a moment, giving his wife a contemptuous look. "Happier? Did you see how embarrassed she was at dinner with that ape?" How shameful it is when a man of culture and esotericism could not hold his tongue back.
"Well, if you didn't start talking about rape at the table—" Ethel paused, she daren't resume when Bobby's eyes darkened and narrowed, getting in a defensive position. "Forget it. I just think it's nice to have her back; she lights up every room she enters."
A smile appeared on the man's face; he'd nod and say, "I know right?" if it wouldn't give off the wrong impression. He chose to mask his true feelings, "That's why she's the one going to Hollywood; not you, not me, nor Paul."
"What's wrong with Paul? I thought he was nice!" Ethel asked the question she had been dying to ask — what's wrong with the man who gets to sleep with the love of your life in the same bed every night?
Bobby rolled his eyes. "You've never been a good judge of character. Didn't your mother say that?" His taunting words didn't hurt her, it was the way he said it; colder than the ice cubes in a glass of Coca-Cola.
"I'll have a coke," Paul said to the boy working the concession stand. "You?" He didn't bother to look at Evelyn as he asked.
"None for me."
He went through his wallet whispering, "Why did I even ask?"
Bobby sipped his drink through a straw while gawking at the back of the couple's heads. He still couldn't wrap his head around the existence of their relationship — what's there to like about Paul besides his visage and physique that was sculpted by Adonis himself?
"They have popcorn!" Ethel gleefully remarked, coming into his view with two bags of popcorn in her arms. "Do you wanna take one or should I eat them both?" She teased, knowing exactly who he was scrutinizing.
When the film started, it was extremely blurry; Evelyn, even with her 20/20 vision, could not discern if Jerry Lewis was on the screen or some faceless entity.
"Hey, schmuck—focus!" An older gentleman shouted at the projectionist from below, and the picture gradually sharpened up.
"You think I'm gonna be like that when I'm old?" Bobby asked his wife who was seated on his left side. She merely shrugged with a smile, deep inside she was afraid of saying the wrong thing; being in a marriage with him was like walking on eggshells for the rest of your life.
Evelyn fidgeted with her bracelet, wondering how long the film would go on for.
Bobby, even in the darkened room, noticed every little movement she made. He leaned closer to her, "You okay?" His voice soothing the anxiety from creeping in.
"What, me? I'm dandy," Evelyn frantically muttered, and received a grin from him.
"You wouldn't use that word if you're truly dandy."
Seeing that Paul was too immersed in the picture, Bobby took the opportunity to take her hand in his. "Relax, Eve..." his tender voice was better than the pills she took every morning in front of the bathroom mirror.
Throughout the film, Evelyn noticed the warmth of Bobby's palm, his thumb rubbing her skin, the cool air around him, and the pleasant tone he used with her — it was almost perfect. They'd done this before — before Kick's passing, Ethel's reappearance, the heartbreak, the wedding, and the bus ride — that was pure perfection; some old man ogled them when they decided to be degenerative and started necking in front of everyone, it was one of their secret moments in crowded rooms.
"Don't go," Bobby whispered out of the blue, "Hollywood isn't the place for you." He swore Evelyn smiled at his words for a second, but he could've imagined it.
The woman turned to face him in the dark. "I can't," she muttered, shaking her head.
"Stay," he insisted, tightening the grip he had on her.
"I have to move on with my life."
And it was loosened. It didn't matter how strong of a hold he had on her, his father had sewn strings into each of her limbs to make her a marionette of his Hollywood dreams. Her emerald eyes that twinkled when laid on anyone, anyone at all, weren't a God-given gift; it was powered by the electricity that came all the way from California and surged throughout her body starting from her grounded feet.
The film was over; the ending was subpar. Evelyn was dying to sleep in her old bed, but Paul had to be the man with the bigger balls.
"Where to next?" He cockily asked the other man in the group.
"Paul, it's midnight," Evelyn muttered through a yawn.
"I thought you were gonna show me how you party down here!" Paul resumed in that tone of voice she hated so much; indelicate, low-class twang.
When Bobby would not entertain his question, he parted his mouth in amusement. "Ah, I see... that was a bluff, wasn't it?" And chuckled loud enough for everyone to hear.
Bobby stepped forward. "My wife is tired, I'm not gonna force her—"
"I'm okay," Ethel chimed in, puzzled by his words as she never said a word about fatigue.
He gave her a wide-eyed look. "But you said..."
Paul chuckled at the miscommunication between the married couple, confident it'd never happen to him and his woman.
"Well... if it matters, I'm pooped." Evelyn produced a popping noise from stretching her tired neck.
"You, Eve? You're never tired," Bobby affectionately quipped, which surely had Paul putting his arm around Evelyn's waist — a lousy way for lousy men to mark their territory, like a dog, but it does work quiet well with other like-minded dogs.
"If you're done for the day, we'll head home," Paul told her with eyes warmer than Julia's canelés that they didn't get to taste.
Bobby saw it on Evelyn's face; that same Juliet-in-love look she gave him when they sat on the roof that fateful night. He never thought the day would come when the amorous gaze reserved for him would be given to someone else. It enraged him deeply. To the point of Tom's fury upon hearing Gatsby saying, "Your wife doesn't love you. She's never loved you. She loves me."
"You know what? We will party."
And all eyes were on him when he uttered those words so recklessly. His wife wondered if it was worth it; letting him play with his childhood friend. And it amazed Paul how little shame he had; Evelyn was someone else's, but he didn't give a damn for social etiquette when she stepped into the parlor.
"What?" Evelyn asked, feeling betrayed.
"We'll have a beach soirée!" Bobby exclaimed and deviously clasped his hands together.
"No way, Bob..."
"Like the good ol' days, Eve. Remember those?" He lifted his brow, showing more of his angel eyes while grinning like the devil — a hybrid man.
The younger couple drove back home, while the other couple was off to find a liquor store — or any store that was still open at midnight and in possession of a pack of beer.
When Paul pulled up at the Bellamy compound, he lifted his foot off the accelerator and slowly, carefully, parked the car in her spot. "Very slick, Paul..." he said under his breath, twisting the key. Then he turned to Evelyn. "So, what's a beach soirée?" And the air thickened almost instantly.
"A pack of beer and cigarettes, and a game with the Kennedys. What could go wrong?" She sarcastically remarked while taking a scarf off her head.
Paul chuckled, he knew she never wanted any of this — but he also knew she would think highly of him than before if he pulled through the night with her still by by his side, not Bobby's.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Bobby honked once as he drove past the Bellamy house — it was time to party. The couple exited the car and lit up their respective Luckies on their walk to the Kennedy compound.
"Alright, hotshot. Let's get this party started!" Paul exclaimed when Bobby held up a melting pack of beer for them to see.
The men proceeded to the beach wordlessly, while the women stayed back to have a small talk while finishing their cigarettes.
Evelyn joined Ethel in leaning against the car to observe their men. "Goddamn man-child," she muttered wearily.
"Yours or mine?" Ethel asked in a humorous tone.
They met eyes, and in unison said, "Both."
Their feminine laughter filled the air, their friendship flourished in an unlikely fashion.
Once their laughter died down, Ethel snorted out of the blue. "You know it was supposed to be our anniversary?" Her eyes were coated with what could only be tears.
Evelyn masked her befuddlement. "Oh, it is! I might've forgotten..." her somewhat of an apology was received by a dismissive laugh.
"It's okay, Eve. I'm just upset that Bobby would forget our very first one."
Now she couldn't hide it anymore, the befuddlement was on full display; her jaw was practically on the floor and her eyes were bigger than the full moon above. "He forgot?"
"He told me he didn't. But he went out and came back with a gift, saying he'd bought it at a different time," Ethel said, setting her sight on the ground. "I didn't buy it for a second." Her tone wounded and cold.
Evelyn quickly realized that the argument Ted witnessed yesterday was about their anniversary. She then began her thinking process — is it better to stay out or butt in their marriage? It wouldn't be too hard to figure out if you're a sane, reasonable person.
She began, "What if..." and paused momentarily, "...he wasn't lying? Maybe he did forget the gift in the glove box."
Ethel couldn't fathom the smile that was on Evelyn's visage as she spoke — it was too daunting for her to even analyze it. "The gift was this." She took out a diamondiferous necklace concealed neath her blouse.
The initial smile on Evelyn's face faded quicker than the cigarette smoke surrounding her. Instinctively, she pressed her hand against her chest; where the very same diamond-encrusted infinity symbol lay still.
She calmly sighed, "How beautiful..."
If Ethel wasn't standing so close to her, she'd yank her necklace and throw it somewhere far. But alas, it must stay hidden — just as Daisy's feelings for Gatsby for the first six chapters.
"I know! It almost made me forgive him," Ethel said, giggling like she'd forgotten about it all. "Well, come on, then." She threw her cigarette far away before making a beeline for the beach.
Once she was left behind, Evelyn quickly took her necklace off, pocketing it. While it sacrilegiously hurt her, she knew it'd hurt Ethel more if she saw it — Bobby had some explaining to do.
Once she arrived at the beach, the men were already halfway through with their cans of beer; laughing like a couple of old friends — it was strange to their partners.
"Alright, my turn. Truth or dare?" One of them asked the other, and Evelyn knew right away the night wouldn't end well with that kind of game ongoing.
Paul scoffed, "Is that even a question? Dare."
"I dare you to get in there." Bobby pointed towards the sea and took another sip of his beer.
Paul, in disbelief of his cruelty, asked, "You mean swim in there?!"
"Yes. In the freezing cold water, pretty boy."
Evelyn let out a relieved sigh once she found a dry spot on the sand to sit on. "You don't have to do that, Paul!" She yelled out as Bobby's grin grew wider.
"I have no choice..." Paul sighed defeatedly. He stared at the water — thankful that it was summer — and after some time prepping, briskly made his way into it. "Christ, it's cold!" It was cold enough to freeze his veins momentarily.
Bobby couldn't hide the great pleasure he got out of Paul's suffering; his guffawing showed exactly that. "You are officially baptized, Paul!" Then, the group broke out in a round of applause, with an impressive wolf whistle from Ethel.
"Shit, I'm freezing!" Paul exclaimed with his teeth chattering from the cold. Once he was out of the water and regained composure, he looked at the faces around him and decisively landed his sight on one of them. "Ethel, truth or dare?"
The woman doubted he would be nice to her after what her husband did, but she yielded. "Dare, but don't make me regret this," she warned him.
A mischievous grin similar to Bobby's was pasted across Paul's face as he said, "I dare you to join me in the water."
Ethel's eyes widened as she was given a lesson regarding giving the benefit of the doubt. "No!" She exclaimed.
"Yes!"
"God, no!"
Bobby hastily approached her and grabbed onto her waist. "In you go, hon!" He lifted her off the ground to bring her closer to the ocean.
"I should've picked truth!" Ethel shrieked as the water waved ferociously against her legs.
In the high-spirited moment, Evelyn was left on her own. She reached for a can of beer and cracked it open. As she was chugging, the infinity necklace re-emerged in her headspace. She had thought the pendant was a sacred symbol of their love and loyalty to one another, but it clearly meant more to her than it was to him — it must've been just a mere object to the man. Could he really be that cruel?
"Truth or dare, Eve?"
It was suddenly her turn to be humiliated, and what's even worse was Bobby's the one with the privilege to do so. Evelyn broke out of the trance she was in, wondering how long she had been left out by the group.
"Truth, I'm too drunk for a dare," she jokingly answered and took a sip of her lukewarm beer.
Bobby licked his teeth, seemingly excited by the answer. "Do you actually love this sonuvabitch?" He pointed at Paul, who was just as shocked as Evelyn at his question — yet couldn't help but wonder the same.
The woman felt a pang of guilt when it took her a while to craft an answer — Robert, you idiot... you just can't keep your mouth shut, huh? — her eyes shifted frantically at the ocean, the sand, the beer in her hand, and eventually her true love.
"I do love that son of a bitch," Evelyn answered, eyes darted at the man who was shaken to the core by her answer — he wondered if she had forgotten her promise to love him till her dying days.
From the proud look on Paul's face, Bobby knew he couldn't back down that easily. "You're right, it's not like he has anything else to offer!" The most outrageous statement was made by him at exactly one thirty in the morning — and sure, he could blame it on the alcohol by noon, but everyone would know it wasn't mere Dutch courage.
Paul clenched his fists so tightly he could feel his fingertips pulsing — the Kennedys had a way of getting under your skin using only words, and it wasn't something he was used to; a fistfight would be a hell of a lot easier to win than whatever this was. But he decided to try and speak the language Bobby spoke, "I have unconditional love for her—something you couldn't offer." Having been around the Kennedys, he'd learned a thing or two; mentioning their sordid pasts in front of their oblivious loved ones would surely make an interesting conversation.
When Ethel turned to face her husband, he pretended not to notice and continued to make faces at Paul. While Evelyn, in her drunkenness, tried to tell her lover to cut it off by only using her eyes.
Bobby shifted his attention to her. "Did you tell this bastard about us, Eve?" He furrowed his eyebrows together, making his eyes disappear in the shadow of disbelief.
"I-it was a long time ago! When I thought he was just another stranger on the bus." Evelyn tried to explain but realized her effort was futile when Bobby scoffed and turned his back on her. And Paul was undoubtedly hurt hearing those words escaping the love of his life's mouth. It took her a while to realize it was a lose-lose situation either way.
"Alright," Ethel sternly said, "I think we should call it a night." She stood up, ready to leave — it was all getting a little too much for someone thirty-eight weeks pregnant with an overly active baby.
Finally, a hush. When the people stopped talking, the sound of oceanic waves took over. Bobby tentatively left with his wife, glaring at the other couple before doing so. And Paul, wounded like a doe, ignored Evelyn's pleas and headed to her parents' house.
Evelyn was left to sit alone and drown her sorrows as the sea sirens belted a bewitching song to lure her into her demise, however, she was too busy with her Pabst Blue Ribbon to even consider drowning herself in anything other than beer. Just before drunken numbness could set in, there were footsteps in the sand approaching her.
"Eve."
It was none other than the man who started the games; every single one of them: the good, the bad, and the ugly. He returned to the scene of the crime after sending his pregnant wife home and guiltily told her he'd be back after cleaning the mess they made at the beach.
Evelyn lifted her head, unintentionally glaring at him. "What are you doing here?"
Bobby was taken aback by her icy voice; it was he who was supposed to be hurt. "Thought I should at least clean up. It was my idea, after all." He bent down to pick up the empty cans lying on the ground.
The woman couldn't help but stare at him while she finished her drink. "Why did you do that?" She asked, her breath smelling of cheap beer.
"Do what?" He asked back, halting his duty as the garbage man.
"Asking that stupid goddamn question." Evelyn's voice was sounding more and more like her aunt who loved cigarettes so much that her vocal cords changed permanently — this to say it was gravelly. "You're gonna ruin everything I've built."
"Why do you always say it's me who ruins things? You never say no to me." He gave her a derisive look.
She dropped her eyes to the ground, embarrassed by the call-out because it was true — since the beginning of time. She scrambled for a retort. "And you take advantage of it," was all she could come up with; it was weak and ad hominem, but nonetheless a retort. She awaited Bobby's response, but he looked off with a pitiful look that only evoked uneasiness in her. She followed his eyes and found herself savoring the salty breeze on her face and the glimmering black ocean under the moonlight.
"I'm sorry," said Bobby in a tender voice.
Evelyn's tight expression faded from her face, an apology was all she ever wanted from him; when he hit her in the face with a volleyball, when he married another woman, and when he thought he had the right to question her love for another man.
The man stepped closer to her. "So, Paul knows about us..." he reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
She narrowed her eyes. "He knows about my past, yes."
"I guess that's why he hates me." A strange phenomenon happened when he lit his cigarette; a small flame burst and disappeared.
The woman rolled her eyes at his statement and wondered if she must correct him every time — can't he say something unassuming for once? "He doesn't hate you."
Bobby scoffed with a smile. "Then why is he uptight when I'm around?"
Then the stern, menacing look Evelyn had in the beginning made a return to her face. "He's scared, Robert. Not uptight."
"Scared?" His brows were lifted.
"You people are always condescending and supercilious with outsiders." Her accusatory tone made situation worse.
"You people?" Repeated Bobby incredulously. "Have you forgotten you're one of us, Eve?"
"Remember Mike?—Michael Vogel?" She asked without skipping a beat.
He threw his hands in the air. "Ah, here we go..." and stepped away in frustration.
Evelyn stood up, stomping her way towards him for a confrontation. "Remember when he came over for dinner, and you humiliated him for dropping out of Harvard?"
He spun around at a startling pace to face her. "That was ages ago, and I apologized!"
"The damage was done!" She barked, enduring the shock. "I swear, if you ruin what I've built with Paul-"
"Oh, get over yourself! Not everything I do is about you, Eve!"
Bobby lied through his teeth, but she did not see through it; tears naturally welled up in her eyes and her breathing grew erratic; it was a classic sign of her panic attack. He quickly realized what was occurring and tried to console her, but she'd rather turn her back on him.
Not everything he does is about you; his world does not revolve around you; and he may have thought he'd die when you left, but he didn't. Why didn't he? Because he forgot about you. These are all true. He's not trying to insult you; he's merely stating facts! ...but that does not make it less hurtful. Where did he get the nerve to be so upfront and solipsistic?
"Why is it that every time we meet, we must fight?" She asked with a quivering voice; like a barbed wire was wrapped around her throat.
Bobby lowered his voice, "Look, I'm sorry—"
"You say you're sorry, then you hurt me again..." she turned, giving him a glimpse into her melancholy. "...And the worst part is I let you — I play your goddamn game."
He stared at her terrible woe with vacant blue eyes. "Evelyn, there is no game. It's what I have to do to feel alive in this wretchedness."
"Wretchedness?!" She snarled. "You have everything you'll ever need in this life!"
Bobby dragged his longing gaze across her figure, smiling weakly when he met her eyes. "Not everything..."
Evelyn's heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She felt the need to flee when the urge to give in was getting stronger by the minute.
"God, why do I let you do these things to me?" She pressed her freezing hands against her salty face. "Why do I let you look at me with those angel eyes?"
The man inched closer and tenderly grasped her wrists, revealing her glassy emeralds. Their eyes locked and he bore his longing gaze into her soul; careless for the world around. He had waited three hundred and sixty-five days to be so close to the woman that her sultry, boozy breath intoxicated him.
She helplessly fell into his embrace; their heartbeats synced like a pair of waltzers in a ballroom.
"In crowded rooms, lonely rooms, doesn't matter where... they're always on me," bemoaned Evelyn.
"Because I look for you in every room I'm in."
"And if I'm not there?"
"I leave. My soul will look for you." Bobby's undying soul would look for her in the second circle of hell and the seventh heaven if she'd reciprocate.
"I have a vile soul," said Evelyn.
He flippantly chuckled, "I have known you for sixteen years—that is far from the truth." You are many things, but vile isn't one.
She grinned at him, knowing she could prove him wrong with one sentence, "I dream of you as Paul sleeps beside me."
But Bobby's smile only grew wider. "And I dream of you even when I'm awake," he unthinkingly answered.
It must have been about the worst thing she could've done — dreaming of another man while she was in her man's embrace, but confiding in him was a leap of faith she couldn't regret — because at his lips' touch she blossomed like a flower.
The moon, being the only witness to their forbidden love, shone brighter, a tidal wave appeared, and the world wasn't the same gloomy world when Evelyn broke the kiss — they were in an entirely new garden; a terrestrial paradise without God to judge them and a snake to worry about.
"I can't believe we did that," whispered Evelyn with an unrestrained smile on her face.
"You've never tasted so good..." Bobby licked his lips, tasting the malt on them.
"We should head home."
The woman reluctantly freed herself from the warm embrace and followed a moonlit path heading towards her house. It was a quiet journey for a while — the man behind did make some noise trying to light his Luckies — until she was interrupted.
"I lied," said Bobby, coming to a halt.
Evelyn turned on her heel; doe-eyed and lips parted like a curious child.
"Everything I do is for you... and everything I say is about you."
The light mounted on a tall post above them illuminated the smoke escaping Bobby's mouth as he uttered words of love — something his wife did not receive on their anniversary.
"I know, you nincompoop."
Evelyn watched in amusement as Bobby's eyes lit up instantaneously from being called an idiot — love is never logical. And when she turned to continue her drunken walk, he stopped her once more; that time with a firm grip on her forearm.
"I think you're going the wrong way," he said, looking almost heavenward.
She was confused by his words before realizing his gaze wasn't at the sky or Zeus but at the top of the closest house in the vicinity — the Kennedy house.
The night was far from over.
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PS: Hi hi, I am back! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a like and comment what you think of it <3