Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 15.1: 1967, George

Chapter 15.1: 1967, George

 

We're in a honeymoon suite, but we're not married. We've signed into the hotel as a newly married couple from Jersey, Mr and Mrs Franklin George. Signing into hotels as newly weds is our new game, and we adore being treated as a married couple by everybody. Its like we're eternally a honeymooning couple, it never changes. I'm giggling in my bloomers.

"Are those granny panties, Mrs. George?" Frankie laughs, snapping the waistband under my short pink dress with a perfectly curled finger.

"Hahaha! No! They're bloomers! See? They're puffy an-!"

Frankie pulls me onto the bed mid-word and I forget to breathe. Oopsie woopsie.

"Mm, you smell like cookies," Frankie sniffs into my curly blonde wig. "Cookies made out of cigars and brown sugar."

I allow him to hold me like this, so content I couldn't move if I wanted to. "I love you, Mr. George," I whisper to him as he snuggles his face against my neck, breathing me in.

"I love you, Mrs. George," he sighs happily from behind me.

The floor to ceiling window is bare, the curtains drawn all the way back. I don't know what would cause a maid to do this for a honeymooning couple expected to come in at night, but its there and I start to notice little white fluffy things falling past it. I gasp and Frankie looks up, immediately concerned.

"Frankie look, its snowing," I whisper to him in awe. 

"The first snow of Winter. Its a blessing," he sighs contentedly again, beginning to kiss my neck. I melt, feeling his warm lips wet my neck, wetter and wetter. My arms reach behind me, holding his face as his lips travel upwards. My eyes close, and my breath escapes me, going to another world. A world where its only us, only this room, only the snow falling just for us: the newly married couple, Mr. and Mrs. George.

"Do you want something to drink?" I ask him, my voice floating from somewhere unknown to me. 

"Do they have milk?" he asks like a child.

"Oh I don't know, maybe. I meant wine or champagne?" I whisper to him.

"Do we have to drink that? Do you want some strawberry milk? I can have someone go get a can," he says dreamily to me.

"But I want to drink champagne," I say, my voice a little harsher than I intended.

Frankie parts from me, and reality sets in. The dream, broken.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want you to drink champagne," he says to me, going away from me. My body makes a noise of protest inside, like a wailing kitten. I already miss his warmth, his familiar weight.

"Why, baby? We can do the romantic twisty arm toast," I say, trying to cuddle up to him on the side of the bed.

He slides away from me. My eyes go sad. His eyes are sad, too.

Very quietly, his voice reaches my ears. He sounds a lot younger than he is. His voice shakes just slightly, but this I catch. His innocence comes out. "You always drink too much. It scares me. If you drank a little bit, I wouldn't mind. Two glasses is fine. But you don't stop at two. Its like you don't know how to stop."

I don't know what to say to this. Inside, I am quieted, shocked. Is this what I look like to him? My mouth opens before I'm ready and I instantly regret it, calling myself stupid as I'm saying it.

"Everyone drinks like me, though. Paulie does, Avi does, Carl does. Everyone."

Frankie gives me a deeply upset look, one I can't quite give a name to. Its almost betrayed, mixed with something else.