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Chapter Text

Evangeline Ellis-Cooks.

She ran her finger along the metal name plate as if it was brail, the coldness of the material shocking her upon impact. Her nails were painted a tasteful rouge, but the knacks and pulled skin on her fingers suggested differently from the varnish's clean disguise.

She turned back around to face the gallery, the wide open space filled with patrons much more terrifying than the little nameplate’s attempt at intimidation. The air kicked on, no one seeming to notice other than the goosebumps appearing on her arms. Her sleeveless black jumpsuit suddenly felt inadequate for the occasion.

She reached for a new champagne flute as a server passed, thanking him before quickly pressing her lips to the glass. It felt like a socially acceptable muzzle, but in a good way.

"Angel!" a voice boomed over the crescendoing chatter. She looked to him, her wine red lips forming a grin.

When she first met him, she thought he looked like a ken doll, with perfectly straight teeth and eyes that put the Atlantic to shame. He had the same haircut since they had met 10 years ago, but the short, light brown strands somehow still worked for him. With age, he had grown a little stubble and a couple of lines on his forehead, but he remained a picturesque version of Apollo himself.

"The woman of the hour," he spoke loud enough for everyone around to glance and smile fondly. "How are you feeling?" he whispered into her ear as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"I'm okay. I feel like I'm in the arctic is all," she responded gently, making sure not to spill her drink.

He immediately took off his navy suit jacket, wrapping it around her as he nodded to a group of older ladies onlooking with adoring smiles.

"Thanks," she remarked quickly, conscious of the audience.

He studied her face for a second, but she couldn't tell if it was in a good or bad way. He ran a gentle finger along the corner of her bottom lip, wiping off a smudge of lipstick like a concerned mother. Bad way.

His eyes flickered back to hers.

"I'm going to go speak to some of the campaign donors. We can't forget to thank them in your speech, okay?" he spoke as his hand remained softly on her cheek.

"Of course," she smiled half-ly.

He leaned in to peck her, walking away as quickly as the kiss.

She was alone again, standing awkwardly like a child in time out. As the coils in her chest began to tighten, she quickly reached for her jumpsuit pocket beneath the heavy overcoat.

"Hi, ehm, I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Andrew," a voice spoke calmly from in front of her.

She continued to search for something in her pockets, maneuvering uncomfortably in the jacket. She quickly retrieved the cigarette pack from her pocket, sighing with relief as her eyes met the man's chest.

"I'm a big fan of your work," he smiled awkwardly.

Her breath hitched at his large stature, tall and slim like a birch tree. He had the weirdest air of serene nervousness that she found a similar comfort in.

"Hi Andrew," she said simply, "want a smoke?"

He straightened his back as if a wave of cool had been shot down his spine, "sure."

She smiled to him as a cigarette hung from her lips before finding the nearest exit door.

The warm air hit her, causing her to sigh in relief as she stared at the new setting, dumpsters and all being illuminated by the reflection of local neon lights on mysterious puddles. She began pressing the coat jacket in search of a roaming lighter, but Andrew had already flickered his on for her.

"Oh, thanks," she said quietly, puffing smoke before he lit his own.

It was quiet for a moment.

"How's business tonight? Sold a lot of art?" he inquired as he sat on the sidewalk's ledge.

She shrugged her shoulders, looking down to him for the first time. "That's my husband job. I just make them," she said plainly.

"Huh," he remarked after exhaling smoke.

"What?" she giggled breathlessly.

"I just thought maybe Nick was a really enthusiastic art collector," Andrew laughed, shaking his head at himself.

She giggled, joining the spot beside him on the concrete, "really enthusiastic sales man."

It was quiet as they both smoked.

"That sounds bad. He's not like... controlling or anything. I just hate the.... pompous business side of things," she said, talking with her hands as if she was conducting an orchestra, only accidentally getting smoke into Andrew’s face.

He didn't seem to mind as he smiled into his lap.

"We try to help each other out as much as we can. In that aspect," she continued, only to fill the silence.

"And you help him with?"

She looked to him with a smirk, but he stared at the ground in front of them. "Well, as of right now, I'm helping him run for a senate seat like the supportive politician's wife I am," she said, inhaling smoke as he turned to her with a smirk.

"Yeah. I'll be honest, that's how I know him," Andrew said with a mischievous grin.

"Oh no, all bad things I hope."

Andrew laughed wirily, shrugging his shoulders, "I appreciate his charity work."

She furrowed her eyebrows at him, "oh no, is this one of those weird things where you're secretly a super fan? Or an assassination attempt?"

He looked at her sideways, catching on to her dry humor and laughing amusedly.

"I'm serious," she giggled, "I haven't got on the security guard thing yet. So please, spare me." She almost sounded as if she didn't actually want to be spared.

He continued chuckling at her, "you should really get on that. I can give you a recommendation or two."

She furrowed her eyebrows at him, confused as her cigarette ran out of tobacco.

"Angel?" Nick interrupted, swinging the door open behind them. Andrew stood up, wiping his hands on his black slacks before straightening his back. He towered about 3 more inches over the burly man, being one of the only people to ever make him look small.

"Hi Andrew, how are you bud?" Nick smiled a politician's smile, sticking out a hand for him to shake. Andrew shook it, smiling and unbothered by the casual 'bud'.

"I'm good, yeah, thanks," he said happily.

"I planned on introducing you two sooner or later. I'd love to see one of your shows soon, man. Seems like a good date night idea," Nick said, squeezing his wife's shoulder.

"Show?" she asked inquisitively.

"Yeah, Andrew is a musician. Grammy nominee. Didn't he tell you?" Nick beamed, smiling at the both of them while Andrew shook his head at his feet bashfully.

"He didn't, that's your job. Do I have to take everyone out for a smoke individually to find out their secret occupations?" she joked, only playfully offended.

"Well you can offer some of them coke, darling," Nick only half joked, letting go of her shoulder as Andrew laughed.

"Only for the big spenders, right?" she continued the bit, flicking the cigarette butt onto a rainbow puddle.

"Yep. But only after your speech," Nick said motioning them to come back in, "the mouth on this one Andrew, what are we going to do?"

As Nick disappeared back into the lightness of the gallery, they followed behind.

"Oh, Andrew!" her voice stopped him as he began to renter the exhibit, "I'm Eve, by the way."

He smiled warmly, "nice to meet you, Eve."

Chapter Text

Marsha caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, still tall and skinny as ever (she had been a size 4 since college). Her nose was long but tiny and upturned and outfitted with freckles that matched her brown roots, but not her slightly caramel ends. She wore a white tulle dress and looked practically the same as on her wedding day, only now with some crows feet that she complained about on occasion or always when drunk.

"And look at how lovely the hardware is. We really wanted that Irish farmhouse feel," Marsha cooed, nearly palming the black sink head.

"So, why are you in New York then?" Eve said frankly, tipping her fancy cocktail down her throat.

"Don't be silly Eve, there's no music business in Ireland," she replied, fixing the decorative hand towel that had obviously been altered with.

Eve watched her, a woman she had known for years, cosplaying domesticity. She had always known Marsha as an academic, a woman who scared men with how smart she was. Now she had seemed to succumb to this concept of "suburbia" that she had always detested.

She had nearly refused to attend Eve and Nick's wedding, stating her reasoning as Eve "throwing away her life to patriarchal ideals". Marsha and Sean married 2 and a half years later.

Eve hiccuped, "what makes you so inspired by Ireland anyway? You've never been."

"Could you quit being so sour? You know that's where Sean was born and went to grad school," Marsha huffed, brushing past Eve in the tight bathroom space.

"But he grew up in Connecticut," Eve said loudly from behind her, following the trail out of the bathroom.

"Oh my god, I can't deal with you tonight. I'm going to force you into a corner with one of his boring journalist friends," Marsha replied, rounding the hallway corner as Eve followed behind.

She turned to her as they entered the tiny living room, filled with 20 overgrown guests. "I mean, it's a house warming party, Eve. You're suppose to say 'oh, how gorgeous!', 'oh, how exquisite are those door knobs!'. You know, like normal people do," Marsha whispered intensely, making sure that no one could hear emotion from her.

Eve giggled, "you're right. I should be more polite. I love the light switches."

Marsha groaned loudly then, rolling her eyes, "you're insufferable."

Eve smiled to herself, happy to successfully get on Marsha's nerves before the stroke of midnight. As she put the lavender vodka concoction to her lips, she spotted Sean approaching her from across the room. She quickly began to look for a way to escape.

"Big E! I'm so glad you could make it!"

She hated when he called her that.

"Sean, how wonderful to see you here," she joked dryly before downing the rest of her drink.

"Listen, Marsha hated your painting above the mantle just over there, but I insisted we keep it up. I mean, isn't it just so much more elegant than a widescreen?" he laughed dork-ily.

She shrugged her shoulders, "I think Marsha's right. I'd rather watch the US bomb Syria on the news than stare at that painting all day."

"Oh, you're so funny!" he chuckled, "speaking of news, I didn't expect you to be here tonight. I'm sorry to hear about Nick, we really did everything we could."

"Thanks. I appreciate it," she smiled halfly, "and he's fine, trust me."

"Oh yeah! I saw him on Page Six with all his buddies in St. Tropez. My invitation must've got lost in the mail, huh?" he said, laughing too hard at himself.

She placed her empty glass on a nearby side table, trying to join in with his laughter after feeling bad for being so quiet. Her eyes wandered the room, returning to their original mission of finding an escape route as Sean started talking about chess or something.

Everyone looked vaguely familiar to Eve. She had definitely been properly introduced to them all by either Nick or Marsha or Sean over the years, but something was fogging her brain and ability to identify. Slowly, it can back as their faces laughed or cringed or remained pretentiously blank; affairs, society scandals, tax fraud, and weird BDSM kinks all flooded her memories as she acted as an all-watching eye.

Suddenly, in a moment of luck, the table beside her shook. The condensation on her empty glass caused it to slide off the edge, making her inhale sharply and grab it right before it shattered on the floor.

"Fuck," she muttered, her hair covering her face as she dropped to pick up a few ice cubes from the floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," a voice said from above her as she fixed her hair behind her ears. Sean made some noises like a disapproving father to a messy baby, but they both chose to ignore it.

"It's okay, really," she said in an exhausted manner, finishing picking up the last of the lavender petals that were sticking onto the floor.

"Oh, Evangeline, hi," the voice spoke softer as she stood back up, "I'm sorry, I didn't see the table here. I- should I get a towel? Did it spill? I-I can get you another. What were you drinking?"

Her eyes finally looked up to him as she rubbed her hands on her pants, her lips turning into a genuine smile for the first time tonight at the sight.

"Andrew, right?"

"Yes," he smiled kindly, visibly relaxing at her calmness, "how are you?"

"I was fine until you dropped my drink. Asshole move, dude," she joked.

"She's joking," Sean reassured what Andrew already knew. "I didn't know you two knew each other?"

"I really am sorry, can I make you another? It would make me feel a lot better," Andrew offered, unable to look away from her eyes.

She smiled kindly, "I'd like that."

He nodded, causing her to follow him to the nearby kitchen area and leaving Sean in the dust. The small area was outfitted with green cabinets and white countertops, resembling less a countryside farmhouse and more a testament to Marsha's Architectural Digest consumption. Eve put her nose to the fresh white lilies on the counter, notifying Andrew that her cocktail of choice would be a rum and coke.

"I've got to say, I'm impressed you remembered me," he commented almost to himself, finishing the drink.

She furrowed her eyebrows, "what makes you say that? How could I forget you?"

He goofily slid the drink to her, as if he was a saloon bartender serving up his regular. She barely caught it, sending him warning eyes with her encouraging giggles.

"I'm such a fan of your work, it's just flattering," he spoke, a hand put to his chest.

She smiled at him kindly, then down to her drink, "I appreciate that, thank you. But I don't think I could ever quite forget one of the tallest people I've ever met."

He shook his head at her, disapprovingly but with a smile, "shame you don't seem to remember me for my cunning wit and charm."

"I'm learning to," she smirked back as she pressed the glass to her lips. She took her first sip, swallowing and attempting to give the least reaction possible as he watched her.

"It's Irish, isn't it?"

"There's barely any soda in here," she giggled, having been caught.

He chuckled with her, both their eyes darting to the doorway of the kitchen and spotting Sean moving their way, still in a conversation with someone on the other side.

Andrew looked to his feet, "well, I'm glad I finally got around to meeting you. If I'm honest, I went to one of your earlier exhibitions, but I was too timid to introduce myself."

She looked at him, bewildered, "am I that scary?"

"I mean this in the most endearing way possible, ehm, but you- you are kind of an intimidating presence," he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink.

"But, I- I think it is a good thing. Elusive, but also a survival tactic."

She scoffed, feeling the alcohol mix with absolutely nothing else in her system, "you make it sound sexy. I think of it more as an inconvenience to my femininity."

He smiled for a second, quiet as he stared at her.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Ladies aren't meant to be brash or intimidating," she said airily, holding a lily on her fingertips. "If my mother had heard you say that, she'd have me put in a mental hospital. Her daughter, anything but a lady to her superior: a man."

Andrew watched her as she rubbed a petal between her fingers, feeling the smooth textures. She sighed, "her and my younger sister are so alike in that way. I guess I take after my dad more. I don't know, and you're not being paid to care."

"Of course I care," he said gently, more gentle than the flower her hand had just left.

Her lips parted to say something, but her breath caught at the softness of his eyes.

"Drinks made? Ready for the grand tour, you two?" Sean shouted, making them both jump a little.

Eve smiled to Sean, "I've already seen the bathrooms."

Chapter Text

Sean opened the mahogany door to his study, revealing a desk, a multitude of bookcases, and a small door left open and centered on the opposing wall. White, sheer curtains billowed inwards with the draft, pushing in fresh air about the room. Yet, it still stunk of cigars and marijuana.

"Sorry, this is the only room Marsha lets us smoke in," Sean said, pushing past them.

A few older men chatted in the corner of the room, looking comically Silicon-Valley-esque. They all gave Eve disapproving looks, presumably for being the first woman to invade the boys invite-only club.

"And our final stop, the grand finale, the pièce de résistance... the view," Sean announced, pushing the curtains away from the open door.

Before them was a beautiful New York skyline that would put the movies to shame, each neighboring building's windows illuminating a story of their own.

The terrace was no bigger than the bathroom before, 3 people making it feel crowded. Sean stood in the doorway as Eve went to lean over the edge, trying to look for anything she recognized. Andrew joined her side to do the same.

"Gorgeous, right?" Sean said from behind them.

"Stunning," Andrew answered, only staring at Eve.

She looked back to him then, smiling widely with excitement but catching his hooded eyes glancing away from her lips.

"So, I have to ask. How do you two know each other?" Sean questioned loudly, still leaning in the doorway.

Andrew's eyes moved back to meet hers. She stared at him with a cruel smirk, her eyes squinting with discipline at his behavior. She was only blushing a little.

"This guy is, like, my biggest fan," Eve said, causing Andrew to drop his head and chuckle.

"She's probably not wrong."

Sean chuckled, "what a small world!"

Eve smiled at him, then to her boots. Marsha actually worked for Columbia and Andrew was presumably signed to them, and she knew that the "coincidence" was not a coincidence at all.

"Noticed that Andy is a fellow Irishman, huh? We're basically brethren!" Sean spoke obnoxiously.

Eve looked back up to Andrew, who was trying to keep a smile to himself. "I'm so sorry," she said genuinely to him, causing them to both burst into laughter.

"Ah ha, sharp one. Watch out for her," Sean pointed between the two of them. His phone lit up in his pocket then, "Marsha's texting me about the finger foods. Duty calls."

It was quiet for a moment then as Eve swirled her ice cubes around in her empty cup, making an untuned rhythm. She looked from it and to Andrew, who had been staring and grinning down at her the entire time.

"So," he sighed, "how do you, ehm, have the pleasure of knowing those two lovebirds?"

Eve giggled breathlessly, "college. Marsha was my roommate freshman year and has been my best friend since. She's seen me at my absolute worst so now I owe this to her."

"What do you mean?" he furrowed his brows at her. 

"You know," she tilted her head, "house warming parties, bridal parties, baby showers... whenever that's going to happen. Life is much more transactional than we think, Andrew."

He smiled stupidly at her matter-of-factness.

"What about you, why are you here?"

He toned down his amusement to a grin, "I'm in town for the next couple of days. I have a gig or two, but mainly press and business."

Andrew looked to her for a response, but she was still listening quietly.

"Marsha wanted me to meet some new industry people for album production reasons tonight. And this is better than a lonely hotel room, isn't it?"

Eve made a face, attempting to take a sip of her nonexistent drink and being shocked at the disappointing outcome.

"Oh, am I wasting your time then?" he teased sassily.

"Oh god no. You're lovely company," she replied genuinely, but with a drunken giggle.

"So you're saying Sean and his mates aren't?" Andrew joked sarcastically, causing her to laugh again.

His eyes burned into her as he watched her giggle into the side of her slim hand, her wedding ring glistening in the moonlight. His smile fell, but his cheeks hurt from their former smiling position.

"I'm sorry to hear about Nick's loss, by the way," he said, quieter and more serious.

She smiled barely at the street then, tilting her head as if she was stretching it or maybe like a confused puppy.

"That's very polite of you. But frankly, I'm not. Don't tell anyone I said that though," she replied in the same quiet tone as she looked to him.

He grinned at her, "I promise I won't."

She nodded an appreciative nod, swallowing as she looked away from him and back to her empty drink.

"I just don't think I'm a senator's wife. I don't think a higher power put me here to have an official Twitter account dedicated to my husband's political achievements."

He stared at her for a moment, serene and with a small smile.

"What's your purpose then? By this all mighty higher power you mentioned," his voice spoke darkly from above her.

Her eyes flickered to him, catching his face half-illuminated by the study's light for the first time. She studied the dichotomy for a moment: half his image was softened but simultaneously darkened by moon glow, the yellow lamplight brightening his other side but it revealing his sharp features at the same time.

She had nearly forgotten what he had asked. Her eyes moved back to his, mouth ajar.

"If I said 'to make art', you'd think me predictable... if you don't already. But selfishly, I do think my purpose is to fulfill my passions... and to maybe, in turn, help some people along the way," she said.

He smiled at her reassuringly, bobbing his head either in agreement or to the muffled music coming from behind and beside them.

"Can I be honest with you?" she spoke, quieter now.

She kept her eyes on her drink, taking his muffled and deep "mhm" for a resounding yes.

"I read about you all night after my exhibit."

He snorted kind-of, "did you now? And what conclusion have you drawn up on me, darling?"

Bravely, she looked up to him.

"God, you have it so easy," she responded sharply to his 'darling', grinning wildly at him as she shook her head.

He smirked at her, "surely your research didn't tell you that."

She rolled her eyes away from him, biting her bottom lip like a schoolgirl as hints of pink sparkled her cheeks.

"Because if it did, I'll have to stop the presses immediately. Libel, defamation, slander," he joked in a serious tone of voice.

She laughed at him embarrassingly hard, unintentionally leaning into his side as she did. As he giggled along, he placed his hand on her back then to stabilize her and, selfishly, to feel the warmth of her.

"I’d really love to hear your thoughts... on me,” he basically whispered as their laughs mellowed. She was still in his side somehow.

She sighed, moving away as his hand slid off her back.

“You see, I'm undecided if I’m honest.”

He raised his eyebrows at that, chuckling in disbelief as he tried to read if she was being sarcastic or not.

Her eyes flickered up to him with a drunkenly brave smile spread across her lips, "I think you teeter the fine line of pretentiousness.”

He looked down at her, biting his bottom lip and furrowing his eyebrows. His face read as if she may have offended him.

She shrugged, “but so do I. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. A lot of artists who don't meander to popular culture walk that same line. Think Leonard Cohen.”

"So your complimenting my ostentatiousness?" he giggled, appearing to take her comments lighthearted.

"Andrew, by no means do I think you're shallow or that your work isn't great but-“

"But!" he interrupted loudly, his eyebrows raised in a jokingly offended manner.

"But you went to a private boarding school as a child that costs $8 grand a year,” she chuckled in disbelief at his taking offense.

He went to say something in response but his mouth let out no words. He stared at her for a second, his lips open and brows scowled now.

“As if your husband didn't go to one that costed 5 times that?” he said more calmly, seriously.

“I didn’t mean-“

"Nick’s family for decades has ran on a platform of making the rich richer. And you support him, endorse him. What does that make of you?”

She looked at him in disbelief, wide-eyed. He stared at her for second before turning away from her, putting a hand on his hip as he ran his other hand through his unruly hair.

"Hi,” Marsha’s voice spoke softly from the doorway, “am I interrupting something?"

He turned to Marsha, beginning to open his mouth to speak.

“No, of course not,” Eve spoke up quietly.

Marsha looked between them both, Sean sneaking up behind her as she did.

"Hopefully you put Eve in a better mood, Andy!" he exclaimed, making Marsha jump and Eve look to the ground.

Andrew chuckled awkwardly.

"Well, we’re making a speech and I think you two should be there,” Marsha spoke quietly.

Chapter Text

Marsha,

I'm sorry I didn't stay longer after the big announcement. I feel terrible that all I got to say was "congrats" and then run off with the terrible excuse of food poisoning. Please do forgive me — I hope this doesn't waver my chances at being named godmother.

I really am so happy for you two, beyond words potentially. I know you'll be a great mother and Sean a great dad, or whatever the word for "father" is in Irish. I think the world should fear the spawn of you two though, as it may be too intelligent and headstrong for anybody's good. I also know you'll throw the best birthday parties because your reveal of the nursery that night had me (don't tell anyone this) in tears. Have you thought of names yet? I know we had a list in college that I'm sure I can find in my computer documents somewhere.

Nick is really happy too, I'm sure you've heard from him. He was, and still is, really heartbroken that he couldn't be there for the announcement. But, he's back now and insistent that we do dinner once you and Sean return. Nick also wants me to triple check that you two will be at the WWR gala too. It's almost headache-inducing how much I've heard about it since he's been home. I keep telling him surely you two will be back by then, that is if Sean doesn't "accidentally" detour you to the British Isles.

Speaking of Nick, I think he has too much on his plate right now. In the midst of being promoted to COO and juggling his past responsibilities with new ones, he’s having to deal with Greta plotting my next art exhibition in (out-of-tune drumroll please) Los Angeles. And he’s… encouraging her?

I really thought Nick and I were doing better. Well, I mean we were before he came back from his congressional bachelor trip with a professional metric-fuckton of obligations. It feels as if they’re feeding off the chips of porcelain from our marriage that I thought we had epoxy-ed back together. Does that analogy make sense?

I mean, for example, when I asked why Greta had to be so involved in my career and my exhibitions and this whole LA scheme, he made it a point to tell me: "Your work averaged $25,000 less before her”.

Which, to be fair, is true. But you and I both know I never cared about the money, and I told him that too. His response was: "Because you never had to, Evangeline" and "You can't possibly expect me to raise a family off a starving artist's budget".

(Side note — I swear he thinks that you getting pregnant is going to rub off on me like some contagious disease, no offense.)

Sure, he apologized later and surprised me the next day with a tennis bracelet that Greta probably picked out, but it's still keeping me up at night. Is that so wrong?

Oh, how I wish you were in New York still. I hope your travels have been, and continue to be safe. I never even thought about how you'll be unable to travel once you're farther along.

Message back when you can. You’re on vacation, I know, but I also know you'll have your email open on all the train rides. All the love and safe travels.

Keep my godchild safe,
Eve

—
—
—

Eve,

You know me so well. I’m currently pretending to be busy as Sean points out the anatomical oddities of every mountain goat we pass by. I think he just said one of them had a fifth leg, but I just nodded in response.

First off, I was absolutely going to ask for that baby name list. Not necessarily for name-picking reasons, but for us to look over and laugh once I get back. Maybe it could even serve as a cute baby shower addition if we do decide to have one. Then again, I’d be quite embarrassed for people to see “Sylvia” and “Didion”.

I have to be honest with you. I find it odd that you're still questioning your husband and his mother's weird relationship. Greta has been this controlling since Nick and I were children. My mom even called her an "authoritarian asphyxiator" once when we were on a joint family vacation in the Hamptons. Needless to say, they didn't speak for the rest of that summer. But, Nick is Greta’s only son, and you're roped into the tyranny by proxy. Don’t you think that since she no longer has a political campaign to run, she needs her next fix of, dare I say, asphyxiation?

Nick was out of line for what he said, but at least he apologized. He’s just trying to do what's best for you in his head, but I think the issue lies in him prioritizing Greta’s version of what's "best for you" instead of your own satisfaction.

And LA isn't all that bad. You know I travel there all the time for work, so of course I can help you make it as painless as possible. We can talk about it at the gala, which I spoke to Nick about (to relieve some of that headache of yours). I’m going to be helping out a bit there since I owed him a professional favor.

P.S. I find it very interesting you're sticking with your food poisoning shtick. Get your story aligned by the time I get back since it'll be the first thing I inquire about. Or I’ll have to ask Andrew myself.

Much love from deformed mountain goat land,
Marsha

Chapter Text

Eve stared blankly at the stained glass window in front of her, trying to analyze the various colors distorted by the bottles of whiskey and spirits hanging in its foreground.

"What can I get you miss?" a handsome bartender inquired, pulling her from the daydream.

"Two Jack and Cokes please," she smiled kindly to him.

His stare lingered for a moment, the much younger man smiling charmingly at her before turning back to his station.

It was a shame the atmosphere was opposingly shrewd and stuck-up, but it had to be when the reservations list was reserved for the top of the top and their entourages of 10+.

She wasn't excluded from this grandiose performance.

"I hear you're taking off to LA soon," a woman from beside her spoke up loudly over the live jazz music.

Eve recognized her as Jane Lewis, an accomplished critic who ran in the same artistic NYC circles. Eve smiled politely, but she knew Jane's observation was objective rather than celebratory.

"That's why I'm here tonight. Business affairs that I'm currently letting my husband handle while I buy time over here," Eve replied, tipping her head to the bartender.

"Isn't it a shame that we have to become alcoholics just to escape from our husbands?" Jane commented, laughing into her own glass.

Eve giggled wearily, noticing a hand from beside her pushing the fresh drinks into view. She grabbed both the cold glasses, looking over her shoulder to the hands' owner.

Her dark eyes flickered up to the stranger, his face shadowed and partially hidden by his long hair. With the stained glass behind him, she questioned if she was in the presence of a holy apparition.

"Didn't want these to spill... again," his voice spoke deeply, not a stranger or phantom of Christ at all.

"Eve, have you had the pleasure of meeting the irrevocable Andrew," Jane spoke frankly from beside her.

Eve stared at him for a second longer as he moved into the light.

"Irrevocable?"

It was quiet before she looked away and back to Jane, who stared at Eve curiously through her own drunkenness.

"I haven't, no," she finally replied, pressing one of the freezing glasses to her lips.

Jane furrowed her brows, "how odd. I thought your husband or Marsha would've introduced you two by now."

"Nice to meet you, Evangeline," his voice spoke from behind her, his smooth roll of tongue causing a trail of goosebumps to run along her exposed neck.

Jane snorted, "no need to be for formalities, Andy. She's just as debauched as the rest of us in this scene."

Eve cocked her head at that, pursing her lips at Jane's remark.

"Andy is in music, Evie. Wonderful musician, really. Surely you've heard of-"

"How wonderful," Eve flashed a quick smile to Jane, "but I must be going now. It was nice seeing the both of you."

She began to walk away with the drinks, letting the sound of the music guide her walk and hide Jane's snarky goodbye.

Eve squeezed past men in sports coats, bowing her head as she watched her drinks and feet.

A horn squealed, causing her head to pop up as the band laughed. She glanced around to see if anyone else was startled by the noise. Everyone else was still chatting, flirting, arguing.

Her eyes caught Andrew's. He had been following her, his large stature making it hard to keep up with her fast pace.

The band began to play again, and somehow she was farther from her table. She slipped out of the crowd, making her way to a hideaway behind a distorted glass wall.

Eve placed her drinks on a nearby side table, then wiped her damp hands on her skirt.

"So you're really following me now?" she spoke up, feeling the presence of a shadow behind her.

He hesitated.

"I don't mean to be creepy-"

"I know your assumptions about me," Eve said at the same time.

She had turned around when she said it. He looked at her curiously, but with a confused grin.

"I don't think you do," he said calmly.

"You've made them very clear," she laughed in disbelief.

He cocked his head to the side, "no, but you made your assumptions about me very clear."

"If you expect me to back track-"

"I don't. You were right," he shrugged.

Her lips parted a bit. The music seemed to heighten as she tried to think of something to retort with.

"Who am I to judge you?" he asked, in a sort of snarky manner.

"You know nothing about me," she replied quietly, looking away from him as a side of her mouth guiltily raised.

“Indulge me, then.”

She looked back to him, wide-eyed and sort of amused at his boldness. She studied his face, trying to figure out if he was being serious or not.

She rolled her eyes away from him, “God, I'd rather drown.”

He smiled sheepishly, glancing away to the bar. Nick was sat by Jane now. It looked as if he was either inquiring on the whereabouts of Eve or receiving a lecture on the patriarchal power implications of male bartenders and female waitresses. It was both.

"It's hard to drown in New York," Andrew spoke quietly and matter-of-factly.

She looked out to where he was looking, leaning in to whisper, "I'm going to assume that's one of your ostentatious metaphors, only because I believe your geographical skills are a bit better than that, Andy."

He looked back to her at the snarky mention of his pet name, causing him to grin widely. She looked away from him, concealing her own amusement by biting her bottom lip.

"How tragically beautiful you'd be sinking in the Hudson," he said softly then, picking up her wrist delicately, "I think this bracelet could act as your cement brick, hm?"

She watched as he admired the diamond tennis bracelet in the Edison bulb light. His eyes seemed to be analyzing every bone in her hand, every piece of skin, every wrinkle and crevice.

She moved her hand from his gentle grasp, "is it too flashy for you? How is it that you are so much better than all of us in your naturalistic highness of glory?"

He shook his head at his boots, his hair following his movements as he chuckled to himself.

"I can't wait until I owe you the honor again, Andy," she said quietly, beginning to walk away.

"Soon enough," he said out to her.

She looked back to him as Nick called her name.

Andrew raised her own glass to her then, all before taking a sip of the drink.