𝗜𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗔𝗳𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘀 | 𝐁𝗼𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲/𝗥𝗙𝗞

XLII: "A Midnight Soirée"

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.