Nothing Will Change

Chapter 10

Polly was already waiting in his office when he came home. Sat impatiently with one leg over the other, she had no clue why he asked to talk to her privately, but could guess its importance as he silently joined her. He first took a drink, offering to Polly which she turned down to, and sitting down. Perhaps it was not wise to be drinking more after talking with Rose, but he was beyond the point of justifying his actions. Tommy was beyond a point where he could keep track, though he would never admit it, sitting with his palms on the desk as he gulped his drink in one.

Like a hawk she watched him, waiting for his voice to sound so she could swoop in to implicate him. He waited for it like he was a man dying of thirst and she was liquid he was so desperate for. Tommy was so desperate to hear what Polly would have to say, to hear even an inclining of a scowl would be enough to satisfy him, that he leant forward in his chair and left his eyes on the desk between them. Whatever her comment would be it would not be what he wanted to hear, but no matter what he would listen. Scoffing, Polly took out her cigarettes and lit one, puffing out smoke from the harsh brown stick between her fingers.

"What is it Tommy?" She began, "because I don't have the time to sit and drink with you."

"I told her..." He trailed off, collapsing back in his chair as if he was holding his breath, "I told Rose why she shouldn't have gone to the wedding."

"...What exactly did you tell her?" Polly questioned after a brief pause, her cigarette held between her fingers shading the room in an uncomfortable grey. The whole room was dark and drenched in black, though at the very least, the glare arising on Polly's face was comforting. Tommy did not answer, which led Polly to stand up and raise her voice, "what the fuck did you tell her Tommy?"

"I told her what she wanted to know."

"Jesus Christ Tommy this is exactly why I said I'll tell 'er!" She shouted, waving an unimpressed hand as he rolled his eyes at her, "she's not part of this world and now you've gone and dragged her into it."

"She's been part of it since she made this suit," he flicked his head down, "she can... Read me Poll, and I don't know if I want her to."

Tilting her head, Polly then sat down at his sudden openness. It seemed most days she needed a crowbar if she even thought of opening his thoughts, so she was puzzled to see him speak without his normal shield. Had he put it beside him? Had the whiskey disarmed him for her benefit? If only it could be a drink that could control him like they both were thinking. They gave too much credit to the brown liquid, too much power for such a small bottle. It was taunting but it held no strength, for it was the fawn haired woman who kept pouring it.

"Oh it's about time," she smirked back in her chair, "what does she know?"

"She knows everything the town knows, she knows why Campbell is after Freddie and Ada, she knows enough that it's no longer use staying clear," he explained, staring back at his glass, "but she doesn't know enough. I won't to give her that."

"Good. She's too good for it," Polly continued to smirk and that alone made Tommy anxious, how she could read him even more than Rose could. At least she could be oblivious to his urges, but Polly in a house of mostly men, could tell within an instant of how he was truly feeling.

"Bring her here, I'll talk to her, barely got to know the girl," she continued, tapping her fingers onto the arms of the chair, "but be careful Tommy, you men fall so easy for pretty faces like that."

Scoffing, Tommy stood and gathered his coat, leaving before he could hear another comment, but it was hard to fight a smirk of his own. He hadn't fallen, he had hardly known Rose for long, though suppose he should put more effort. Would she be so inclined to dine with the king like a duchess of another country? Could he imagine her dressed in a pretty dress with jewelry to match and her long hair pinned from her face. Perhaps he was, imagining her in such a way. While he instructed Grace to wear red, he would hope Rose would wear blue, not to companion her name with a dress of the same shade. A blue like the ocean, but not deep like the Atlantic, but pale like shore off the White Cliffs of Dover.