"That's wonderful!" Charlotte said excitedly. "Of course you should spend time with them. So did you want a drink or snack while you're here? Helen just bought some magazines for me at the market yesterday..."
"Oh, that would really be great. But," Celia said awkwardly, her freckled cheeks blushing. "Jack actually was the one who asked me over."
Charlotte was taken aback. Completely aware that shock was apparent in her tone, she repeated, "Jack?"
Celia nodded. "He telephoned late last night and asked if I wanted to come over this afternoon. I hope you don't mind too terribly, do you? Because if you mind, Charlotte, I promise I won't visit with him-"
"No, no, no!" Charlotte told her quickly, plastering a smile onto her face. "It's fine! I'm really glad he asked you to come over. He hardly ever has anyone to the house," she told Celia pleasantly.
"Really?" Celia asked, her face brightening. "He doesn't have many girls over?"
Charlotte's heart sunk at the reality of this. "Well," she stammered awkwardly, hoping not to give her friend false hope about Jack, and at the same time trying to convince herself that she didn't care if anything did happen between the pair of them. "He really doesn't have much of anyone over, boys or girls. So I'm glad you're here."
Celia studied Charlotte's face. "Are you sure? Because if you don't feel comfortable with this, I don't have to...I'd love to see those magazines or we could go out for an ice cream soda..."
"Stop, Celia," Charlotte told her with a smile. "I have to get ready for rehearsal, anyway. Go on upstairs. You know the way to Jack's room. I'll see you tomorrow." She nodded encouragingly at her friend, and gestured for her to go upstairs. After Celia disappeared from view, Charlotte let the fake smile finally drop from her face. She leaned back against the heavy front door and closed her eyes, letting everything sink in. It was a strange feeling, this internal pain she felt when Celia went upstairs to see Jack. But strangely, she wasn't so angry about it anymore. Instead, she was curious about where their relationship was going to lead. And strangely, her mind also wandered to Wes, who even though she only had met last night, was already invading her every thought. Just like Jack had for the past months.
But late at night, when rehearsals were over and her books put away, Charlotte was still plagued with nightmares night after night. They never left. Visions of her father, mother and brother dying played themselves over and over again in her mind, and with them came the new visions of Helen and Lewis suffering. And Jack, too.
And night after night, Jack came to her bedroom, wrapping his body around hers and stroking her hair until she fell asleep. Sometimes he would forget to go back to his own room in the morning, and Charlotte would find him sleeping beside her when she woke. She adored those moments, when she could lay next to him, feeling warm and comforted. She would close her eyes and pretend to be still asleep when he would go back to his room early in the morning and never mentioned their nights together, but she stored the memories in the recesses of her mind, and saved them for the times when she felt the most in need of them.
"Congratulations, Helen!" Charlotte cried happily, throwing herself into Helen's arms. She pulled away and excitedly thrust at her the massive bouquet of flowers she and Lewis had picked out that afternoon. It was Helen's closing performance of The Importance of Being Earnest, and Lewis had been sure to make it a full family event. Jack had willingly agreed to go to the performance, but had arrived with only moments to spare, and Charlotte had barely gotten a chance to see him before the show had started. But he did look handsome, in a crisp gray suit with a smart black tie, his hair even neatly combed to the side. He looked very different than how he had at the gala, the first night Charlotte had been to the theatre.
"Thank you, darling!" Helen said with joy as she admired the bouquet. She kissed Charlotte on the cheek. "Next time, it will be you who we're giving flowers to!"
"I hope so," Charlotte admitted. "If I don't turn out to be too terrible!"
"I don't think that's possible," Lewis told her with a smile. He passed in front of Charlotte to kiss his wife and embrace her. Sensing that they needed a moment alone, Charlotte backed away.
"So did you enjoy it just as much as the first time?"
Charlotte gasped in surprise, whipping around to find Jack standing right behind her.
"Oh, you startled me!" she cried, putting a hand to her chest. After regaining her breath, she nodded. "Yes, of course. Helen is an absolute enchantress when she's onstage. How can you not get sucked under her spell?" Her cheeks blanched when she realized how silly her words must sound to Jack. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh, yes," he nodded. "I've always loved Oscar Wilde's work."
"Really? I didn't know you read plays," Charlotte commented.
"Charlotte," Jack said with a little laugh. "My father is a playwright and my mother is an actress. Of course I like to read plays. I grew up on them, like other children grow up with fairy tales."
"Oh," Charlotte said, surprised. "I suppose I just don't know enough about you, still."
"I don't think we know very much about each other, still," Jack replied with amusement. Charlotte smiled. It was unusual to have such casual, comfortable conversations with Jack. She enjoyed it.
"Hello, beautiful," Wesley said with a grin, coming up to Charlotte. He took her hand and kissed the top, in his usual gentlemanly way. He looked the part, too, with his jet black suit and white tie, his hair expertly slicked to the side. Charlotte's cheeks flushed the moment she saw him.
"Hello, Wes," she replied with a grin. During the past days, Charlotte and Wes had grown closer, spending breaks between scenes getting to know each other. They kept making plans to have dessert or dinner after a rehearsal, but somehow the plans were always cancelled due to schoolwork or other commitments. Wes had made it a joke that it seemed as if Charlotte were avoiding him, but this was definitely not the case. Even Emilie approved of Wes, and had given him one of the biscuits that her mother always sent with her to rehearsals, which were usually only reserved for Emilie and Charlotte.
"How are you this evening?" Wes asked politely.
"Very well, thank you. I had forgotten you would be here tonight," Charlotte told him truthfully. "Did you enjoy the show?"
"Very much." Wes nodded eagerly. "And Helen is of course always a treat to watch onstage." He then turned to his cousin. "Hello, Jack. It's nice to see you after so long. How are you, cousin?"
Charlotte looked at Jack tentatively. She had never seen the two interact before, but after everything she had heard, she didn't expect a warm response.
But instead of reacting violently, Jack nodded curtly. "Hello, Wes. It's good to see you, as well."
"Wesley!" Helen cried, breaking through their trio and embracing her nephew. "Oh, I'm so glad you were able to come tonight! How wonderful that the entire family is here. You all mean so much to me." She pecked Jack on the cheek, and he laughingly shoved her away.
"Helen, dear," an elegant woman in fur said in a rich voice as she came up and took Helen by the elbow. "I hate to interrupt your evening, but I've been dying to come over and meet the big star." Then, to Charlotte's surprise, the woman looked straight at her with piercing green eyes. "Is this the little French girl we've all been hearing so much about?"
"Yes," Lewis said proudly, coming to stand beside Charlotte and putting an arm around her shoulders. "This is Charlotte Martin. Charlotte, this is Clarice Hilden. She's been a patron of the theatre for many years."
"Charlotte, darling," the woman said grandly, taking her and kissing each of her cheeks. "I've heard so much about you. Oh, you're so beautiful! You'll look so lovely onstage. Is it true that she inspired the entire play, Lewis?"
"Every bit of it," Lewis said honestly. "When I met Charlotte, I just knew there was something different about her. The character she portrays is not exactly like how she really is, but she inspired the story. And then it just took on a life of its own."
"Well then. She must certainly be a
very special little girl," Clarice said with a wink.
"She very much is." Lewis looked down at Charlotte with a kind smile.
"Damn," Jack muttered under his breath, running his hands through his hair. Charlotte could tell he was frustrated by his red cheeks and blazing eyes. "Excuse me," he said rudely, beginning to push between the group to leave, but hesitated for a moment and turned to Clarice. "Oh, hi. By the way, I'm Jack. Helen and Lewis' son. But don't worry, I'm sure you wouldn't have known that, anyway. Since it's been made pretty obvious to everyone that they don't even care." He brushed away angrily, leaving Clarice looking rather shaken.
"I'll go see if-" Charlotte began, starting after him, but Lewis took her arm and halted her. She could tell that he was angry with Jack, and angrier than she had ever seen him.
"I'm so sorry for his behavior," he told Clarice apologetically, his voice tense. "My son sometimes forgets how to be a gentlemen. I hope you'll forgive all of us." He stalked from the room, after Jack. Charlotte began to follow him, but Wesley took her arm.
"Maybe it's best if Lewis goes after him, Charlotte," he told her quietly.
But she couldn't stay behind. She cared too much about this family. She needed to go to Jack. Charlotte shook her head at Wesley and pulled away, following Lewis from the room and outside onto the balcony, back to the first place where she really talked to Jack that night so many ago. That terrible night when the bombs first fell. The realization of this shook Charlotte a bit, but she pushed those memories aside and followed out onto the balcony.
Jack stood at the balcony, draining a glass of alcohol. Lewis approached him with anger, snatching the glass from his hand.
"Hey!" Jack cried angrily.
"What was that in there?" Lewis asked, ferocity in his voice like Charlotte had never heard before. His dark eyes, usually so passive and calm, were bright with anger, in a way that reminded her so much of Jack. They were like mirror images. "How dare you act so disrespectful to such an important patron of the theatre. I would like to think your mother and I raised you to be better than that. You may not have known Ms. Hilden personally, but you can bet that we would have introduced you, just as we've introduced you to every other person you've ever encountered at the theatre," he snapped angrily.
"And you introduce me with drawn faces and regretful tones," Jack countered. "Don't act like it's some big reward for your friends to meet me. We both know that they've heard the stories and know my reputation. We both know that I'm known as the troublesome misfit child of the Careys. But it's all right. Everything will be better now, because now you have a new trophy child to parade around to all your friends. I'm sure Charlotte will make far better small talk and produce polite fake laughter better than I ever could."
Lewis just looked at his son for a moment with wide eyes. But then they narrowed. "Is that really what this is all about? You're jealous of Charlotte?"
Charlotte began, "Lewis, I don't think-"
But Jack didn't say anything. He just kept glaring at his father.
"Jack, how could you really be so ungrateful?" asked Lewis. He now sounded truly disappointed. "How could you be jealous of Charlotte? A girl who has been taken away from her family, taken away from her home, uncertain when she'll see either again? What did you expect your mother and I to do? Did you expect us to keep her in the attic? To not spoil her with the same treats that we give you? Or did you expect us to leave her in France and not help her at all? Is that what you expected from us?"
"No! No!" Jack blurted, frustrated.
"Then what?" cried Lewis, clearly not understanding. "What did you expect from us, Jack?"
Jack didn't say anything. His eyes wandered, and then fell to his feet. He put his hands in his pockets. He looked like a little child, reprimanded.
"It's the play," Charlotte finally murmured quietly.
"What?" Lewis asked, only just remembering that Charlotte was even there.
"It's the play, isn't it, Jack?" Charlotte asked him. He looked up at her, his eyes so childlike, so helpless. "Lewis, everyone keeps going on about how I inspired your play. It's all anyone talks about. And I can't speak directly for Jack, but if my father had written a play inspired by my brother, and there was no mention of me...I can't say that I wouldn't be upset. In fact, I'd probably feel very upset. Maybe like Jack is feeling now."
Lewis looked at his son in surprise. "Is this true, Jack?"
Jack sighed. "Dad. Charlotte has been here mere months. And suddenly everyone is talking as if she inspired the next great English play. It's all a bit...much."
"Jack," Lewis told him seriously. He closed the space between him and his son and put a hand on his shoulder. "I have been a playwright for far longer than since Charlotte has been here. And I don't mean to sound conceited, but I've written my fair amount of good shows. The two just don't correlate. I've had my inspirations from many people." He looked his son in the eyes. "And Jack, I've been your father for eighteen years now. And in those past eighteen years, every single show I've written has been inspired by you. Every single role. You're my son, my one and only. How could I not be inspired by you every day?"
Charlotte tried to gauge Jack's response, but his face didn't change. He just stared at his father, perhaps in awe, perhaps in surprise. Lewis pulled him into an embrace, and Jack held back tightly. Charlotte envied them, wishing she were still able to hug her own father. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, wishing the emptiness would leave.
But then, over his father's shoulder, Jack looked up at Charlotte with his piercing gaze. There was a moment of understanding between them, as if he were inside her mind telling her, I never hated you. I never did. All I felt was anger, that you seemed to be the one thing my parents needed and never got from me. But it was never about you.
Later that evening, as Charlotte tried to fall asleep, she heard the door quietly creek open. As Jack climbed into her bed, she could feel his soft pajamas against her skin and smell his musky soap. These were the scents and feelings she usually associated with her tears, when he would crawl into bed to comfort her. But this time, nothing was wrong. This time, they both slept peacefully.
"You didn't make me one of those?" Jack asked Charlotte as she passed him in the hallway a few days later, a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. She had been kept so busy with rehearsals lately that is seemed her life was a regimented schedule. Topher drove her home from school, she ate a quick dinner while pouring over schoolwork, before changing out of her uniform and rushing to the theatre for rehearsal. By the time she got home in the evening, all she wanted to do was sleep. She barely had the energy to even read. She would just slip into some light pajamas, perfect for the June heat, and crawl under the covers of her bed. Sleep instantly overcame her.
"You can make your own sandwich, Jack!" Charlotte told him pertly. "Do I look like your wife? If you're hungry, you can make something yourself."
"Ah, sounds like too much work for me," Jack joked. "So I suppose I'll have to find one of these so-called wives. They sound as if they're a pretty good investment." Charlotte liked Jack how he was now-like a teasing brother. He was still grumpy in the mornings and sometimes drank at night, but everyone had their faults. Charlotte was just glad that she finally knew more of his attributes.
"Good luck finding one with that attitude!" Charlotte teased as she walked into her room. "No girl is going to want a husband who only wants her for her cooking!"
"An ugly girl would!" she heard him yell back from the hallway. Charlotte laughed and shook her head, setting her plate and glass on her desk. From the hallway, she heard the telephone ring. After a moment, Jack called for her.
"Charlotte, it's for you."
Charlotte sighed and went back out to the hallway, where Jack was holding the telephone out for her. "Who is it?" she asked, already presuming that it was Celia.
But Jack made an odd face. "It's Wesley," he replied, sounding less than amused.
"Really?" Charlotte as
ked, taking the receiver from his hand. Jack nodded, but stayed where he was. "Really, Jack, are you going to give me any privacy at all?"
"This hallway is for everyone," he protested. Charlotte shot him a quick glare. "Fine," he scowled back at her. "But don't take too long."
Charlotte rolled her eyes as he retreated back into his room. "Hello?" she asked into the phone.
"Hi, Charlotte? This is Wes."
Charlotte smiled just hearing his smooth, calm voice. "Hi, Wes. How are you?"
"I'm doing well. And my mood is even better since I heard the good news."
"What good news?" Charlotte asked excitedly.
"Mr. Danube has come down with a terrible case of the flu. So I suppose that it's not very good news for him, but wonderful news for us since it means a break from rehearsal! I asked Helen if I could give you the good news myself."
"No rehearsal tonight?" Charlotte twirled the telephone cord around her.
"Nope. You sound a little disappointed, Charlotte," Wes told her.
"It will be nice not to have to rush to finish everything tonight," Charlotte admitted. "But I have to say, I am a little disappointed. I love going to rehearsals. I love seeing everyone and seeing how the play is coming together."
"Normally, I'm exactly the same way," Wes told her truthfully. "Why else do you think I wasn't able to stay away from the theatre while I was at University? But I have to say, I do have an ulterior motive. I've been dying to take you out, Charlotte. Do you think we might be able to tonight? Please, you've left me waiting for so long."
Charlotte smiled. It had been ridiculous how many times they had already put off their first date. And she did wanted to go with Wesley...even if he made her nervous and excited both at the same time.
"Yes. Let's go out tonight," she agreed. "Who knows when we're next going to have the chance?"
"Perfect," Wesley exclaimed, a smile in his voice. "Don't rush, at all. I'll come around at about seven o' clock to give you some time to finish your schoolwork and get ready. There's this restaurant I really want to take you to, and I'm positive you're going to love it."
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