Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Give Them What They Want Part 1-May 1920

The Ritz-Carlton

Richard froze with indecision as he felt the first tendrils of panic setting in. He never thought he would see this day, and yet he was waking up in Clara's bed as the first light of day streamed through the balcony door. Clara stretched across his left side, a dizzying combination of silky skin and soft flesh and sharp bones, the bad side of his face buried in her hair. There were many things not right. He had drooled so much that her hair and forehead were wet, and he felt the bite of shame. The arm underneath Clara had pins and needles. He really shouldn't be in her bed as the day began.

Last night felt a dream. It was almost a year since Clara slammed into Jimmy's room, terrifying him before she, for some reason, she befriended him. Clara had left this room to find him on his first day in Atlantic City, bringing that odd picnic, and then a few weeks later he had woken her up to check on her. The lace strap of her pajama top had fallen off her shoulder, and she'd been warm and disheveled asleep in her bed. He'd been uncomfortable, but underneath he'd wanted to slide the lace strap back on her shoulder. Now he was in that bed with her, and he had taken off that same pajama top.

He had more than he ever thought he would. The problem was, he wanted more. And he wanted it now.

Clara stirred against him and rolled over on her back. He was still here, she thought, their skin warm and damp where it pressed against each other.

Part of her had been certain that when she woke up he would be gone. She stretched, feeling soreness in new places. Her mouth was so dry it felt like her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Oh goodness, if her mouth felt like that what did he feel like?

"Is the carafe or the glass better for you?" Clara asked as she unpeeled herself from him and leaned over to her nightstand.

"Mmm, I don't need..."

"I think the time for modesty between us has passed since we are, you know..." she gestured to their utter nakedness.

He turned red.

"The carafe. Please."

They both turned away while they drank. Clara fell back on her pillow, her mind trying to work out the various puzzles of her life.

Richard's hand shyly traced up her arm. "Are you. Okay?"

Clara rolled over so she was looking at him and smiled as she ran a fingertip down his chest. "Sad that we only have thirty minutes left before you should leave. I figure you'll need, what, ten minutes to get ready?"

As he pulled her closer, he thought he had always been a very efficient person. They could accomplish much in twenty minutes.

**********

Clara also considered herself an efficient person, but she had never showered so thoroughly in such a short amount of time. Last night, before Richard knocked on her door, she'd sat on her balcony and listened to the sounds of summer beginning. An Atlantic City girl she understood in her bones the importance of summer; Clara also felt the importance of this particular summer. Memorial Day had shown her that this summer was going to change her life.

The fight between Jimmy and her father on Election night had left her sick and scared; six months later she was still those things, but now she was something else. She was aware. For a long time, she had fully believed that she wouldn't have to make a choice, wouldn't have to act. The last twenty-four hours showed her she was going to have to define her priorities and do her best to make sure this feud didn't end in bloodshed. As the water rushed over her, she accepted one simple truth. She was her father's daughter. And therefore she was going to decide what she wanted, determine what she could live with, identify her allies, and act accordingly.