Muddied Waters - Coda

Chapter Three - The Art of Diplomacy

Chelsea Redding sighed contentedly as she slid off her exhausted partner. She laid on her side for a moment before turning onto her back to stare at the crumbling plaster where the wall met the ceiling. Another piece seemed to work itself loose on its own as Jonathan Kendall took a steadying breath and turned towards her, trying to wrap his arm around her belly and snuggle close. She pushed him away and swung her feet to the floor, bending down to grab her clothing.

"Chelsea," he said, trying to sound mildly disappointed. It came out pouty.

"I 'ave to work," she replied, slipping on her overworn form-fitting dress.

"Right away, though?"

She ignored the question, trying to will the conversation that was coming to just go away on its own. It didn't.

"Chelsea," Jonathan said more forcefully. "Have you given any thought to what we talked about?"

She hadn't. "A little," she lied.

"Well?"

She could feel Jonathan's eyes on her. She could see his expression, though she didn't look at him. "Ye know what I think about it," she replied, sliding on her shoes.

"I was hoping you would at least see this from my-" he started.

"I know, Jonathan. I'd be deaf, blind 'n dumb if I didn't know what ye wanted. Lord knows ye've told me a hunnerd times."

"Then why not try? Why don't we just leave this place and be happy?"

Chelsea released an exasperated sigh. "Because ye haven't thought this all the way through." She tried on a smile and punched his arm playfully. "I," she punched him again, "implore ye, to consider what life we can 'ave together if neither of us 'as any way of findin' where to even start."

"Chelsea, we won't know if we never try. Look at me at least."

"What?" she asked, challenging his will to talk about feelings with her will not to.

"Are we or are we not a couple?"

"Sure."

"What do you mean, 'sure'?"

She shook her head confusedly. "Did I not answer the question?"

He stared at her with an expression that half an hour ago was the reason she jumped into bed with him for. Now it was the same expression that made her want to run the other way. She took a deep breath and decided it was time to be honest.

"Ok, fine. 'Ere it is: out of all the cocks attached to all the men I've 'ad, I enjoy yours the most." She wasn't lying.

"That's not what I meant."

"It's all I'm like to give ye, Jonathan."

"So you don't love me, then."

"That's not what I-" She threw her arms out in exasperation. "Ye wanna get married? Is that it? I'm tired o' these conversations, Jonny. What'll change? Instead of 'avin' a close mate yer fond o'shaggin' ye'll 'ave a whore fer a wife. Cause that's what I'll still be doin' while yer showin' off whatever cheap weddin' band I bought us."

"I earn too," he replied, the hurt showing clean and clear on his face as if she'd just given him a shiner. "I could provide for us."

"Ye make a pittance," Chelsea snapped, then, afraid she'd gone too far in belittling her favorite person to be around, added quickly, "ye're a fine minstrel, Jonny. 'Onestly. But ye work fer tips in a place where all the money brought in 'is spent on somethin' else. Maybe if ye sold what I did, some o' the customers that like other...aw forget it," she turned and left the room, leaving the horror-stricken Jonathan to dwell on the idea of a particularly uncomfortable career change alone. Walking down the stairs in the busy brothel, Chelsea quickly turned her attention to finding someone to pay her wages. Jonathan was hurt; he always got hurt. She told herself it was his own fault for having the naivety that came along with the delusions he held. She was very good at fulfilling near any fantasy a man could concoct but to be a doting wife was never on offer and never would be. She couldn't do it. She didn't want to. He would come around, like he always did. Avoid her for a while, pretend to be interested in someone else. He'd end up underneath her again, unable to deny the feeling that came when they were together. She wasn't lying either when she told him he was her favorite. If the day came when he really did break things off, it would be a sad one for them both.