Chapter Text
The domesticity of getting her teenage daughter ready for school always managed to put a crooked, although thoroughly pleased, smile on Carol’s face. Even though Rindy, at that point, was in her teenage years, she was still rather a suck in the early morning. At sixteen years old, Carol found herself having to wander into her daughter’s bedroom in the morning and practically pry her off the bed by her ankles, sometimes she even climbed onto the twin bed and tried to double jump her off of it, which always made for a lot of laughs after the initial irate grumblings. Carol was spry for a forty one year old broad, what could she say?
This morning, however, was a morning that she wasn’t particularly fond of - a morning when she knew she’d be sending her daughter off to school only to be picked up by Harge at the end of the school day. He would arrive outside the school in his new SUV, with his new wife, take Rindy to their new townhouse, and she would become an afterthought for two weeks until Harge and she made the trade off again. It was a never ending cycle. She hated it. But she loved her daughter and, ultimately… It was better this way.
Their divorce was hard, harrowing and emotional. Had it not been for being parents, it would have probably been a lot easier. There was a bit of thankfulness though, for Carol anyway, that it was something that they both wanted. They loved each other. She wasn’t in love with him. He didn’t want to be in love with her. No one was really shit to one another. It was just hard being together for so long, trying with such determination to make it work, that, when it didn’t, it felt like the world was falling down around them and they had no industrial umbrella to stop the debris from crushing their spirits whole.
Two years later, things were a lot more peaceful. That was something Carol was infinitely thankful for.
Putting the rinsed mixing bowl and some other miscellaneous dishes in the dishwasher from the night before, she glanced at her kid sitting at the counter on a barstool. As Rindy continued to demolish a stack of pancakes, strawberries, and butter flavored pancake syrup in record speed, something seemed off. Call it ‘mother’s intuition’.
“Hey.” Carol called for her attention as she closed the dishwasher, straightened up, and grabbed the hand towel off the counter to dry her hands with. Rindy looked up, blue eyes wide with question.
“Sup?” She replied through chewing. Carol’s lips formed a small smile as she tossed the hand towel carelessly back on the counter and grabbed her cooled coffee cup, wandering up to the other side of the counter in front of her daughter.
“You look… Very thoughtful.”
Rindy shrugged, avoidant.
“Just stuff.” She said.
“What kind of stuff?” Carol pressed, arching a well manicured brow.
Sighing a little, Rindy’s shoulders slumped a bit as she continued to cut through another bite of pancake with the side of her fork, trying to spear some strawberry along with it.
“Just school stuff.” She told her mother, keeping her eyes trained on her breakfast. Carol hummed quietly, inquisitively, and drew her coffee up to sip before asking and cradling it back in her hands.
“Babygirl, you’re not very subtle, you know that right?” A gentle smile of encouragement gripped the corners of her lips and Rindy finally lifted her dark eyes to gaze up at her mother. She appeared to think about it for a minute, and then she muttered.
“I really don’t like Mrs. Patterson.” She said, almost embarrassed.
Hearing that, Carol drew her coffee down to rest on the counter and leaned on it with both hands, intrigued. Her brows pinched together slightly.
“Mrs. Patterson? Your chemistry teacher? Why?”
“I just… Don’t.”
Carol gauged her daughter for a few moments before giving a small exhale. Rindy continued to eat but she no longer displayed the same enthusiasm. They’d had this discussion before but not for quite some time now.
“Okay… I do understand, but I need your help, honey,” She spoke calmly, smoothing her features to display something more open, serene almost. “You know what we say… I don't like it - which is what kind of feedback?”
“Subjective feedback.” Her daughter muttered through a mouthful of fresh fruit drenched in syrup. Carol had to bite back a smirk. Even at sixteen years old, sometimes she could see her bubbly, brilliant little girl.
“Precisely, wonderful, darling… Now what about objective feedback? What does Mrs. Patterson do to make you not like her? And how does it make you feel?” Carol gently tried to coax it out of her. At least, if she knew, maybe it was something she could bring up at the next parent teacher meetings, or talk about with Harge whenever he attended. It was good to get to the root of things early, she felt, and this was the first she was hearing of any friction.
Pushing her plate away, Rindy sat up and folded her arms on the edge of the marble counter, picking at the sleeve of her long sleeve shirt against her elbow. Her lips tugged over as she chewed gently on the inside corner of them, something she did when she was considering how to answer a question. Carol patiently waited, although glanced briefly at the clock on the stove to check the time. Luckily, they had had an early start to their respective days so there was still time. This felt important.
“She makes me feel… She makes… She teaches in a way that makes me look ignorant,” Rindy looked up at her mother and saw nothing but encouragement for her to continue and a gentleness there. With that look, she filled her daughter with more confidence. “When I’m in class, I struggle with it. I’ve never been really good at science, I like to write and I like history, I can remember all of that stuff. But… I can’t remember the names of certain things or… Or, like, formulas and stuff. It’s like I can’t picture them in my head and when I don’t have answers she doesn’t really help me, she looks kind of annoyed and just moves on to someone else who does have the answer so I feel left behind. I’ve asked her for help but she just tells me I should study more, and that if she ‘helped everyone who needed help, who don’t take initiative to help themselves’ then ‘she’d never get anything done’. And I’m trying really friggin’ hard, mum.”
The storm clouds cleared and now sense was being made. Now this was something Carol could do something about.
“Oh, honey… She said that? It’s ludicrous… It’s her job! Ugh, and it’s nearly half way through the school year, I wish I had known earlier… We might have found you a tutor, do you think that might help?” Reaching for her daughter's near empty plate, Carol pushed it aside down the counter so she could lean on the cool marble on an elbow. She reached and rubbed her daughter's arm, giving it a squeeze of assurance. Rindy tried to smile but failed.
“I didn’t want to make things more stressful…” Sheepishly, Rindy looked up into her mother’s concerned gaze.
“More stressful? It wouldn’t be stressful at all, Rindy. I’m more concerned about you…,” Carol wished she could speak to this teacher one on one, get to the bottom of this. But she also knew that she should loop Harge in as well, just in case. Sighing, she gave Rindy’s arm a final squeeze and withdrew her hand, levelling a look at her. “Listen, let’s play it by ear but I’m going to see what I can do, we can figure out whether a tutor would be better that way you don’t have to feel like you need to rely solely on Mrs. Patterson. If you’d like I can try to speak to her in the hopes of smartening her up a bit… But I will leave this ball in your court, you just tell me what you need, honey. Alright?”
“Can I think about it?” Rindy asked and Carol immediately nodded, the corner of her lips curling.
“You can always think about it, you don’t have to decide right this second. When you figure it out, call me. We’ll take it from there. Together.” She affirmed and she could practically see the worry and the embarrassment roll off her daughter in waves, like water off of a duck's back, until she was afforded a small, but genuine, smile.
“Thanks, mom.” Rindy slid off her stool and rounded the counter, coming to throw her arms around Carol. Carol readily accepted that hug.
Resting her chin on her daughter's shoulder, still having a hard time believing just how tall Rindy was growing, Carol smiled and squeezed her tightly.
“Always.” She murmured, rubbing soothing circles across Rindy’s shoulder blades like she always did.
That was motherhood. All this and so much more.
A number of things needed to be done.
After Rindy left for school, Carol took the stairs up to the second floor of their house and ventured into her study - her home office -, where she busied herself with sitting down behind her desk and pulling her laptop toward her.
She looked over her schedule, checked her emails, and noticed that she would be trapped in back to back meetings for a few hours with some of the publications she frequently freelanced for. Honestly, she was thankful for it. Anytime working was less time spent thinking about how empty the house would be for the duration of two weeks. She had to take it one day at a time. Sometimes only one hour at a time.
Going over her drafts with a fine tooth comb, she managed to submit her most recent articles for editing and to be pulled apart so that she could craft it all back together again, however, doing that was often rare nowadays. In many regards, Carol Ross’s word was gospel. She was heralded for art quite like Anna Wintour was for fashion. She was art. She was media. And from a very humble coming of age tale to the career driven beast she was at current day, she had seen almost everything. Almost. Her word did not necessarily make or break an artists career, but it certainly did make many think twice before buying. She aimed to be as thorough and as objective as possible, although that wasn’t always the way things worked. There was always going to be an element of subjectivity in being a critic. That was just the nature of being a critic. Still, her attempts to be fair and reasonable were well founded.
From the time that Rindy left until the time that she was off school, Carol tried mightily not to look at the clock.
It wasn’t until her cell phone screen lit up at around five in the evening that she tore her gaze away from her laptop screen and peered through the lenses of her reading glasses down at the Call I.D. only to smirk. She reached for her phone, thumbed the accept button, and held it up to her ear.
“Abigail’s Mortuary and Taxidermy - you snuff ‘em, we stuff ‘em.”
Carol released an uncharacteristic snort of laughter and shook her head, slowly reaching up to take her glasses off her nose.
“You called me, Abby.”
“Oh, so I did, very astute of you, Ms. Ross,” Her antics brought about a silent chuckle as Carol tossed her glasses aside and reached for the tumbler of scotch, neat, she’d poured not too long ago. “How are you, sweetie?”
Abby always called on Rindy’s return days. And, yes, aside from work, it always managed to make Carol feel just the slightest bit better.
“Oh, fine, fine. Surviving. How are you, darling?” Carol replied in a breathy non-committal way.
The ambience on the line was quiet. Carol had to assume Abby was at home.
“Doing just fine, as always. Had a killer headache this morning…”
“Did you drink any water today? Stay hydrated?” Carol asked in a lower tone, knowing full well that these days her friend mainly lived off a diet of coffee or some sugary caffeinated monstrosity from Starbucks.
She heard an exaggerated sigh and her lips curled into a knowing smirk.
“Yes, Carol. I drank fucking water. As much as it pains me to say.” Abby replied, feigning her annoyance at such a question.
“Good.”
“I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner with me. I feel like it’s been an age, I haven’t seen you since I got back from my trip to the Great White North.”
That was true. Abby had recently just returned back from Toronto but that was days ago.
Carol thought about it briefly and shrugged a shoulder to no one, resting her head back against the cushioning of her tall, leather office chair.
“What time and where?”
“Pastis? I’ve heard there’s a new little gallery that just opened up, it’s supposed to be a real thrill.” Despite the mild excitement that was supposed to be enticing, Carol’s nose crinkled slightly.
“Ohhh, no, Abigail. I am not working tonight.” Carol told her, her tone taking on just an ounce of seriousness.
She heard Abby scoff.
“Who said anything about ‘working’, sweetheart? I mean to just peruse… You know? Wander through a little bit. When was the last time you actually just went to a gallery to enjoy it and not for some grand work thing? It might be nice.” Abby explained.
She had another rather fair point. It had been quite some time since Carol had just perused a gallery as an active participant and not because she was slated to sit down and talk to an artist, or go see an exhibit in order to write it about it ad nauseum later on… And it was new? She gave a small hum. To Abby, it must have sounded like interest.
“Come on. Just say yes.” It was hard to deny her.
“Fine,” Carol drew out the word with dramatic flair through a sigh, giving it a tonality that was begrudging despite the fact that she truly didn’t mean it, especially as a smile played upon her lips. “What time?”
“I’ll drive - I’ll pick you up at 6:45. Be ready. Love you, sweetie. See you soon.”
“I love you too, darling.” Breathed the blond as they hung up the call.
Carol sat there in her study, sipping her scotch, for another twenty minutes.
It was good to have someone like Abby who was always ready and willing to pull her out of the reverie. But the unbearable, soul crushing loneliness… There were no words to describe it.
She was incredibly particular about certain things. Carol was a vain woman. She always had been. A place for everything, everything in its place… Harge often said, and it was true. She colored inside the lines always, despite art being a matter of risk, Carol didn’t take risks. She had taken one risk, once, and it nearly cost her everything. Thank god, Harge was a good man with a level of empathy that rivalled most, or else she would have lost everything.
When the crystal tumbler in her hand was drained dry to its last drop, she placed it down on a stack of paper and rose from her office chair.
She tread up the hardwood to her bedroom and into the ensuite. She showered, she got herself all gussied up, she moisturized, and did her make-up and hair. As always, Carol looked immaculate. She refused to expose herself otherwise.
Laying out a simple skirt/blazer combo, charcoal grey, she also withdrew a turquoise silken blouse from her walk in closet and a simple pair of black pumps too. Checking herself over in the mirror, she drew up a finger and carefully ensured her lipstick was not in any way, shape or form, over-painted. By the time she was applying perfume, her phone screen lit up with a text message that simply read ‘Downstairs!!!’. No less than three exclamation points brought to you by Abigail Gerhardt. Of course.
With the ghost of a smirk playing upon her lips, Carol took leave of her bedroom and descended the stairs to the main floor, to the front door, where she grabbed her black trench and her keys, her purse, and left behind the endless emptiness.
Their dinner at Pastis was splendid and everything either of them could have hoped for. It was easy to say that because Pastis was an institution in the city at this point. The West Side in Manhattan were familiar stomping grounds, with its clubs, and its niche shops, the Whitney Gallery… Carol couldn’t deny that she had needed a night out.
Abby assured her that the gallery she wanted to take Carol to was a fair walk. A reasonable jaunt, she’d called it. They shared many cocktails over the course of dinner. And although the rich food certainly soaked up quite a bit of liquor in their stomachs, they weren’t nearly as young as they used to be. They needed the exercise to work off the rest before Abby drove them home.
After a marvelous dessert that neither of them could really describe using the English language - being as it was all hums, haws, and moans of delight throughout -, they paid their respective bills and left the restaurant to walk arm and arm down the cobblestone paved streets.
The cool air hit Carol’s cheeks and she reveled in it. She took Abby’s hand and drew it into the crook of her elbow to hold as they strolled. The ever bustling city was a delight on a Friday. The flush on her cheeks, warm and a stark contrast to the cool breeze, electrified her buzzing senses. Their pace wasn’t quickened, it was relaxed. To outsiders, they may have even looked like a pair. And for all intents and purposes they were. The silence between them was welcome, but Abby was the first to break it with a question.
“You never did tell me what happened with Jenny, dear.”
Carol inwardly sighed. Oh, Jennifer.
That had been a foray into something neither of them were prepared for.
“It didn’t work - nothing more, nothing less.” Carol told her but she heard Abby hum sharply alongside her as they walked beneath the ever darkening dome above, painted with purples, pinks, yellows, and blues.
“And what was The List this time, Carol… Surely, you’ll have another.” Abby sounded amused, like it was all an expectation. Carol couldn’t help but swallow that bitter pill, because her dear friend was right. But she wasn’t about to admit it.
“There’s no list, it just didn’t work.”
“That’s a crock of bullshit if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Abby.” Carol warned her, although this hardly ever worked. Abby gave her a plain look.
“Come on, Carol. Might as well tell me, I do love the satisfaction.”
Carol flashed Abby a look of mild annoyance. The look reflected back at her smoothed down her barbs though. No judgement, not even teasing, was reflected in those eyes. Genuine curiosity paired with a good natured humor was what she saw, and when the hand resting upon her inner elbow squeezed its encouragement gently, Carol relented, the corner of her lips tugging into the faintest of smirks.
Turning her sights back to the street ahead and the street lamps that are gradually lighting the way, the other pedestrians and party goers either passing one way or the opposite way around them, Carol replied in a dry tone.
“It didn’t matter where she was in the house, she could have been sitting on the toilet for Christ’s sake… Her socks. She’d take them off. And then she’d just leave them there, like suddenly they no longer existed the second she took them off her feet. Always… I could tell wherever she was in the house by a trail of fucking socks. That never matched! Never,” Sighed Carol. Abby immediately ugh’d and chuckled, ever so leaning into Carol as they strolled onward, shaking her head. This gave Carol a bit more confidence to continue. “She shortened words that didn’t need to be shortened… She said perf. She said deece. As though saying perfect or decent was just too much work. She burnt boiling water. She never used coasters for her drinks. She was terribly greedy in bed and to kiss… Good fucking lord, it was like kissing a brick wall. Hard. I’ve never known anyone who kisses like that, my bottom lip and my chin never hurt like that after kissing anyone…”
“And you saw her for months,” Asked Abby incredulously before adding though a laugh. “I wouldn’t have lasted a week!”
Lifting an elegant shoulder in a shrug, Carol just gazed onward.
“I thought I would give it an honest to goodness shot, she was otherwise quite sweet at times…”
“Did you ever introduce her to Rindy?”
“Oh, god no. I would never until I was very sure. I don’t want my daughter getting close to anyone that I see unless I’m certain.” Carol sounded as though just the thought scandalized her.
Sighing through a small, airy chuckle, Abby just shook her head, obviously amused with her own thoughts, but then she lifted a hand and pointed with her finger.
“There it is! I knew it was around here somewhere.” She announced proudly, warranting the questioning look from Carol that said ‘you had no idea where we were going, did you’.
That questioning look was short lived as they began to pick up the pace just a little.
The closer they drew, the more light filtered out of tall windows and poured out in front of them. A sign was becoming clearer, it jutted out from the brick wall on a steel bar, hung and swung just so fractionally by the force of the breeze.
The Habsburg Modern
Carol wracked her brain to consider whether she’d heard of it. If she had, it was recently, and it was brushed off. She didn’t remember it being there.
And so they got to the doors and Abby dropped her hand from Carol’s elbow so that she could reach for the door handle, a large brass bar on clear glass that showed only glimmers of what lay beyond it.
“M’lady.” She gleefully offered, opening it for Carol to walk through.
Carol did, without hesitancy, her eyes immediately drawn to the space and the curated pieces stretching out before them.
She didn’t even realize that a small sound of delight rose in the back of her throat… Every prior topic melted away as her gaze scanned the immediate area.
God, she loved galleries.