Farrah Jordan (la_renard) wrote in cambioncity, @ 2011-10-17 16:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | dex, farrah, fitz, group scene, gwen |
So... My sister is in the rickety boat out back?
Who: Farrah and Fitz, with a brief appearance by Gwen and Dex
What: Farrah comes to retrieve her sister, discovers a Fitz instead
When: Saturday Evening
Where: Fitz's Lake House
Farrah checked the address on her cell phone one more time, then the results of her GPS as she pulled into the driveway of a rather nice, obviously expensive lakehouse. She’d received a text from her sister a bit earlier requesting she come pick her up from this address, and if Gwen had managed to score a fellow that owned some property that looked like this, well then, she was going to have to take a few lessons from her little sister.
She hadn’t bothered changing out of the worn, fitted blue flannel and jeans she’d been working on a few online things in, figuring she could just pull in the driveway and Gwen would be waiting, but when she didn’t see her sister anywhere she parked her car, then climbed out to head towards the front door. As she walked she ran a hand through her hair, her fingers snagging on a few tangles where she’d been studiously running her fingers through it in thought an hour earlier. She probably looked like she just got up, but who was there to impress here? Gwen? Whoever she happened to be fucking?
With a slight shake of her head, she knocked on the door and tapped one booted foot on the porch as she waited.
Fitz had been having a rather relaxing night, as far as nights went. While Dex had been absent during the day, Patsy had decided to get her fill of company from Fitz instead. He was out on the stone verandah on the side of the house closest to the shore, an outdoor heater nearby (which Patsy was laying closest to). He was smoking very slowly, enjoying a cigarette in between each glass of wine, tapping the ashes out on an antique metal ashtray moulded in the formed of a twisting water snake, an item of his great grandfather’s.
As far as entertainment went, beyond his intellectual pursuits, Fitz didn’t need much. The purpose of the house by the lake was to separate him from the busy, cosmopolitan life he led, and it was water which truly did that. Just the sound of it was soothing, the waves gently lapping at the shoreline. Looking at the way the surface glimmered, under sunlight or moonlight or starlight or just the light from his windows, was distracting and calming. Happily, Dex’s boat was a decent distance away; even with Fitz’s good hearing, it was only when the breeze shifted in the right direction, and something happened to be going on, that sounds of his friend entertaining his guest could be heard.
Just then that was just what was happening, though, so Fitz rolled his eyes at Patsy, who simply pricked her ears up at him. He was startled by the sound of a thunk, though, which came from an entirely different direction, and realized that someone was knocking on his door. He levered himself out of his chair, idly crushing out his cigarette, and for a moment considered going around the house instead of through. But he shrugged and went inside, heading through towards the front door, Patsy at his heels.
Wondering who could be coming to see him so late at night, and hoping it wasn’t an emergency, he opened the front door without bothering to peer out through a window. He was about to ask if he could help the strange woman standing on his doorstep, when he realized it was the same woman he had seen at the beer gardens. So unfortunately he just looked at her in surprised silence, before instinctively going, “Hello.”
Farrah wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find when the door opened, though she had been hoping, obviously, that it would be her sister. When instead she found Fitz, looking as lovely as he had the moment he’d bent to help her retrieve her things in the middle of the Oktoberfest crowd, she took a visible step back. He’d run off on her that night without any further means of contacting him, of course, something to do with his friend, but she had taken it upon herself to do a little detective work. She knew about his ‘investment company’ and just about anything else he’d done on a business/public level since becoming an adult, but she hadn’t found out where he lived.
Now, she supposed, she knew.
Her brain spun, attempting to piece together what the evidence was telling her was happening here while maintaining a facial expression that she hoped didn’t read as shock. She licked her lips, figuring that any plans she’d made to ‘happen’ across him later were now null and void if he was fucking her sister, but that didn’t repress her urge to fix her hair, or apply some make up, or wear something just a little sexier than a flannel shirt and jeans with holes at the knees.
“Fitz,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Hi. Uhm, sorry to bother you. I’m just here to get my sister?”
She looked different than she had when he had seen her at Oktoberfest, but that didn’t mean all that much to Fitz. He liked - he appreciated - the fact that people looked different, in different settings. When he had dated a ballerina, he had first seen her in full scale makeup and costumed glory, but forever after that she had been almost eternally clothed in layers and layers of dancer’s clothes. It took forever to undress her, really.
So after he realized it was Farrah, he only noted she was less pristine than she had been the first time he had met her. She was not less attractive, though perhaps she was more attractive, to him. there was less illusion to the strong shape of her face. Patsy bumping her head against the back of his thigh reminded him he ought to reply to her. And once he did, he realized he had no idea what the Hell she was talking about.
“Your sister?” he asked, in genuine confusion (and also vaguely disappointed she had not for some insane reason magically come to see him). “You must have the wrong house, Farrah.”
Farrah’s lips pursed in confusion and she dug her phone out of her pocket to double check the address again. Maybe the GPS had taken her to the wrong place? If that was so, this was one hell of a coincidence either way. She turned her phone to show him the address that Gwen had texted her. “This isn’t you?” She asked. “My sister sent me that and requested a ride home. Apparently she’d gone home with some guy she met in a bar and now they’re both too drunk to drive.”
Fitz blinked, and looked at her phone. It took only a second or two for it all to click. “Hm,” he said, though he was doing a hidden, mental version of forehead-to-desk. Of course, Dex’s address was Fitz’s address. Beached, wrecked boats did not have a place to put the mail. He did not doubt that Farrah’s sense of direction had not failed her.
“Okay, come on in,” he said, stepping back and holding the door open for her, pushing Patsy (who was eagerly attempting to get a good look at Farrah) aside with his hip. “Would you like a drink?”
Farrah blinked at him, but took an obliging step inside the front door, her gaze dropping to the rather large, rather adorable fuzzball of a dog that Fitz was attempting to push out of the way. “Oh,” she said out loud, a soft, surprised, feminine exclamation at something utterly adorable, but she did not move in further, not yet. “I’d love a drink, Fitz,” she said, though she was already flipping open her phone to send a text back to Gwen. “But I’m supposed to be getting my sister and I should really figure out where she is.”
Of course it would be befitting of her to stay there with Fitz, have a drink, and see where things went, but... Well, she was just getting a bond with Gwen and she didn’t want to leave her stranded while Farrah herself attempted to hook up.
Once Farrah was inside the house, there wasn’t much Fitz could do about keeping Patsy away, since she had a whole lot more room to work with. The dog immediately went around him while he closed the front door, butting her head in a very friendly manner against Farrah’s leg. Anyone new seemed to make the dog exceedingly happy, which Fitz supposed he could understand. If he hung out with Dex too much, he started going a little crazy.
“Don’t worry, I know where she is,” he said. “I’ll show you.” It really wasn’t something he could explain, after all. He gave Patsy a stern look but, luckily, in her age she was less prone to jumping on people, and by Farrah’s reaction he assumed that dogs did not bother her.
He set off down the hall, not bothering to tell her to come with him, and using the moment of his back to her to adequately school his features. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling extreme consternation or something rapidly approaching glee, so he preferred to hide it. Once through the sliding glass doors that led to the back shore, he stepped aside and pointed out the ramshackle boat to her.
“My friend Dex lives in that thing,” he said. “He likes to meet beautiful women and take them home. Last I heard they were still quite busy, so. There’s wine, beer, coffee. Whatever you like, I probably have it.”
Farrah could not ever ignore the attentions of such a cute puppy and she hung suspended between concern for her sister, attempting to process what Fitz said, and paying adequate attention to the dog that was now actively seeking her attention. She barely had the time to make a noise of confusion before Fitz was taking off down the hall, so Farrah took off after him with only a brief pat on top of the dog’s head. She made it out of the sliding glass doors, and looked at the monstrosity of rusted metal that was perched in Fitz’s back yard. Out here, she could smell her sister faintly, and when she focused her attention on her other senses, she could just make out the sound of her - noises - echoing from the boat as well.
“Oh Jesus,” Farrah said, turning her back on the boat as she definitely did not want to hear Gwen doing that, and she couldn’t see how there was anything to do about it besides wait. She wasn’t even sure how one would go about getting on that death trap, and if she went and knocked incessantly on the side she would likely just be ignored. So, best to take her opportunities where they arose, right?
She gave Fitz an embarrassed smile, then rubbed at her chin before bending to the dog who was, once again, butting at her. “I think some wine would be lovely, thank you,” she said as she began scratching the dog behind her ears. “What a lovely dog. What’s its name?”
Before the wind turned, Fitz supposed the noise would be a bit distracting, at least for him, so he picked up his wine bottle - mostly empty - and his glass. “That’s Patsy,” he said, smiling a little. Fitz automatically liked anyone who took a shine to the dog; a lot of people, upon seeing how large Patsy was, tended to back off out of safety concern. “After Patsy Cline.” The somewhat surprising part was that Dex had picked the name.
He nodded over his shoulder, back towards the house. “Let’s go inside,” he said. Upstairs, where half the house had floor to ceiling windows facing the water, just leaving the deck doors open was just as pleasant as sitting outside, and it was a little bit warmer. At least in there they wouldn’t catch any stray sounds on the breeze.
“Patsy,” Farrah repeated, smiling down at the dog. “Well that’s the prettiest name I’ve heard all night. Patsy,” she cooed, leaning in and planting a kiss on top of the dog’s large head, then smoothing her hand over it. The dog really was huge, she noticed, but also seemingly impossibly friendly and sweet, so Farrah didn’t much mind snuggling up with her. Even with dogs that were otherwise touchy, she could usually come to an understanding with them pretty quick.
She stood after a moment, dusting her hands off on her jeans before nodding at his implication that they should go inside. “That sounds good,” she said, pulling out a phone to send a text back to Gwen letting her know she was at the main house and to text/call her when she was really ready to leave. “Is this really your house?” Farrah said as she tucked the phone in the front pocket of her shirt and had a look around again as they headed inside. “It’s beautiful.”
Fitz smiled a little at her. She was just as beautiful as she had been when he’d run into her, drunk, at the festival, and he supposed he ought to be grateful for Dex being a bit of a sleaze and finding beautiful young women if it meant that Farrah showed up on his doorstep again, in a much more relaxed setting than a beer garden. Despite his job and how often he had to be in busy situations, Fitz preferred calmer surroundings when it came to getting to really concentrating on someone. As a result he was approaching mastery at candlelit dinners.
“Thank you,” he said, stepping aside to let her in, but leaving the door open. He liked the fresh breeze. He left the cigarettes and ashtray outside, since he had more upstairs and, really, he didn’t much like smoking upstairs unless he was right by a window. He was a smoker, true, but he hated it when the scent lingered inside. He led her upstairs, where he had the kitchen and dining room and another living area, moving to open the doors to the deck before going back into the kitchen for clean glasses. “Any particular wine preference?” he asked.
Farrah was really going to have to do something nice for Gwen, she thought as she stepped past Fitz back inside his rather lavish home. It wasn’t a mansion, no, but it was beautiful and huge and spoke of the wealth Farrah had figured he’d had upon first meeting, then had confirmed later when she’d done a little checking up on him. She really had to give herself a pat on the back.
“I can drink just about anything, but I prefer Merlot, if you have it,” Farrah said, running her hand through her hair again and waiting to go wherever he would lead her. Dammit. She hadn’t even brought her purse, so it wasn’t like she could excuse herself to the bathroom to do some sort of recon on her face and hair. The only thing she could hope for, as it stood now, that was Fitzy didn’t mind an au natural woman.
Fitz checked the small wine rack tucked next to the fridge that he kept filled (which would empty itself in stages each week) and pulled out a bottle. “I do,” he said. He was a drinker, not a snob, so the bottle wasn’t the hugely pricey vintage most of his peers might whip out, but far be it for him to give Farrah a cheap bottle of wine.
“Did your sister just demand you come and get her?” he asked, setting aside the bottle he’d mostly emptied and beginning to uncork the new one. Luckily he’d started out drinking red, so he didn’t bother having to switch. “Because that’s rather kind of you.”
“Well,” Farrah started, tucking her fingers in her back pockets as she watched him work on the wine bottle. It was obvious she would have to tell him the truth at least about that situation, as God knew what, if anything, Gwen had already mentioned to the best friend that lived in the yard. Better to just be honest about it than bother synchronizing lies. “We haven’t really been sisters all that long. I mean, we haven’t known each other. I found out about her a few months ago and looked her up. I’m still attempting to get to know her, and get on her good side, I guess.” She gave him a faint smile. “She had a rougher situation than I did, and she’s not so eager to let me be her friend. Not that I blame her.”
Fitz raised his eyebrows a little bit, but he wasn’t looking at her, so at least the expression was toned down somewhat. That story was a bit of a first. “Why didn’t you know her? If you don’t mind my asking,” he added, as he poured two glasses for them both. He wondered what would happen if he ever found out he had another sibling; Dex would probably just have a vague jealousy snit. Or attempt to adopt said missing sibling. Sometimes you never knew with him.
Farrah chewed on her bottom lip in a momentary, silent contemplation of how much to tell him. Not that it was a story she minded, as she was quite content with telling others what an asshole her father was, but it wasn’t her story to tell entirely, not if Fitz was going to know both her and Gwen somehow, and she didn’t want to come off as though she was looking for charity or sympathy or anything of that nature.
“We have the same father, but not the same mother. She was raised in an orphanage in town, and I was raised by my mother.” She smiled a bit at him, then went to lean her elbows on the counter and watch him work.
Happily, Fitz had the good manners not to enquire further. “Ah,” he said. He stoppered the wine and held out her glass to her. He had poured rather generously. He knew, from experience, that the moment someone began to rely on you, you could never stop being reliable. Strangely, that didn’t stop Fitz from doing just that in almost every situation he could.
“I think that’s very admirable, Farrah,” he said. Some people would rather ignore an awkward situation than face it. He generally disliked conflict, himself, but when it came to helping other people he usually found himself sticking his neck out. “Still, I can try to make your wait a little less painless. Are you hungry?”
“Thank you,” Farrah said as she took the glass from him, a general sentiment applied toward his saying her actions were admirable, and the glass of wine he’d just handed to her. “Family is very important to me, so when I found out about her and the fact that we lived in the same city, not going to find her just seemed wrong. And no, I’m not hungry.”
She was very glad that she’d run into him again, as even a creature such as Farrah couldn’t overlook a coincidence on this scale. She found herself not really caring how long Gwen took with Fitz’s friend, as she was more than content to sit there and talk to him a bit more. At his offer of food she laughed and shook her head. “I just ate not too long ago, but thank you for your offer.” She hesitated for a moment, leaning her hip against the edge of the counter as she looked at him and holding her wine glass in one hand. “I’m glad I ran into you again, Fitz. I was thinking I was destined to never see you again after you took off.”
At her admission that she wasn’t hungry, he nodded, taking his own glass and motioning she come join him on the couch in the living area. The house was starting to be filled with the crisp, autumn scent of outside. “Ah, well,” he said. “I’m sorry for that. He tends to get rowdy when he drinks,” he said, nodding in the vague direction of the boat outside. “Not with women,” he added, hastily. “Just with other Alpha males. I had to pull him out before I had to haggle with security, and I try not to haggle when I’m drinking.”
He had a sip of his wine, considering her. He supposed Dex had made up for woefully screwing him over the other week, even if he hadn’t done it on purpose. “But you forget you told me where you worked,” he said, with a small smile. “I guess you got to me before I got to you.”
“Oh, right,” Farrah said, tilting her head a little at that memory after taking a seat on the couch beside him, but not close enough to invade his space. She took a drink of her wine, then smiled just a bit at him. “Were you really going to come into the Orchid to see me?” She asked, an amused lilt to her voice.
“Well, sometimes I end up there,” Fitz admitted. It wasn’t really his scene, but very few places in his line of work were. “A certain type of suited up businessman thinks there’s something that speaks high status if you meet and do business there. I would have certainly agreed to the next invite I got and might have even gone into stealth mode around the bar.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m sure you get that all the time.”
“Men in stealth mode around the bar?” Farrah asked, her lips curling into a full smile. “Hrm. Maybe. Though in that sort of business if one is acting too stealth a girl has to be wary.” She leaned in, conspiratorial, though it was mostly to get a better look at his eyes. “Stealth men are nearly always bad tippers.”
“Oh, that’s not so bad,” Fitz said, easily, his grin growing a little bit wider. “You control the flow of alcohol, after all. You don’t have to serve the bad tippers.” He didn’t bother adding the fact that he was a bit of an exorbitant tipper, at least when it came to good service. Unlike a good fifty percent of his peers, he didn’t find tipping to be something that would impress a female bartender.
“So then you could sit at my bar and I wouldn’t serve you,” Farrah continued. “What would your ‘being stealth’ involve? Wearing sunglasses at night? Perhaps an old detective hat?” She took another drink of wine. “Oh. A trench coat, though that would’ve foiled your plan entirely. I find trench coats achingly sexy.”
“No. Stealth mode involves asking the waitresses about you,” Fitz said, looking entirely entertained. And very relieved, now, about his collection of long coats in the closet. “And not leaving my name if you were absent. You know, the age old playing hard to get, though I suppose that only works for six and a half foot tall firemen. If you were there, who knows. Possibly I could pop up in your line of sight, and then pretend not to remember you while I ordered an impressive drink. Do you find scotch on the rocks to be dignified?”
Farrah pretended to think about it, then shook her head. “No. I mean, if you really want to impress a female bartender, everyone knows you should just walk up and order the fruitiest thing on the menu and ask for extra drink umbrellas. To shed the drink from your tears, of course,” Farrah said as if this were all very rudimentary. “The tears that you’ll be shedding over... Hrm, not an ex. I’ve heard the ex stories too often. An injured puppy! Women love dudes that weep for injured animals.”
“I’m very relieved you find crying to be attractive,” Fitz said, dryly. “I’ve been hearing all these stories lately that women prefer their men to have the emotional range of a rock. I’ll do my best to break down tonight and start telling you all of my issues I have with my mother.”
“Mmm, could you please?” Farrah asked, fluttering her eyelashes. “Though you may have to take a break to call 911 for I will likely swoon under that wave of sensitivity. I know there’s a fireman out back, but he sounds far too intent on defiling my sister to bother him with saving someones life. “ She leaned in a little bit. “Unless you know how to perform cpr. Or are you the type that would just stand back awash in masculine pride at the dead female you swooned to death?”
“Last I checked, no woman has died from a swoon yet,” Fitz assured her. “Suffered irreversible brain damage, perhaps, but no death.” He patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. “So don’t worry about it. Emergency medical teams will get here in time for you to remember how to feed yourself.”
At that time, Patsy chose to make the long trek up the stairs; he could hear the muffled sound of her breathing through her excessive fur before she finally made it to the top, clearly in search of the new guest. Fitz could only assume she’d taken advantage of the open door downstairs and attempted to fetch Dex, to no avail. Sure enough, Patsy immediately came over and laid her head on Farrah’s leg.
“What if I swooned and fell on an invisible sword, Fitz? What then?” Farrah said in a very condescending voice that clearly indicated she was joking. “I bet you have loads of invisible swords around here.” She turned her face to act like she was going to bite his hand when he patted her shoulder, catching the tip of his index finger between her teeth, though she did nothing but hold it there for a moment, holding his gaze for a moment, then releasing him with a smile. She turned her attention to the fuzzy head that deposited itself on her lap and smiled brightly.
“Isn’t that right, Patsy?” She cooed at the dog, taking her large head in her hands once more and scratching her neck gently with both hands at once. “This is seriously the cutest, biggest dog I’ve ever seen. And she’s so sweet!” She turned her gaze back to Fitz and crinkled her nose in teasing again. “Obviously she’s a part of your plan to make all women swoon to death, along with your invisible sword collection. My psychic said I’d die at the hands of a beautiful man with a huge, adorable dog and an invisible sword collection. Damn. I’m more susceptible than I thought.”
Fitz gave her a faintly startled look when she nipped him - it was safe to say that he certainly hadn’t expected it. Maybe she was in some way telling him off for touching her, but she didn’t seem displeased. Then again, that didn’t always mean much. Or perhaps it was just the tease it was. In any case, Patsy at least distracted Farrah rather quickly.
“Oh, she’s Dex’s dog, actually.” Which was only true if you looked at who had brought her home. After Fitz had come back from L.A., the dog had seemed more than ready to adopt him. “Technically. So if your psychic is at all correct, you might want to be careful about swooning once he emerges from the boat with your sister. I’d have to say it probably wouldn’t be the first time.”
“The fact that he’s presumably been inside my sister negates any and all swoonability,” Farrah said, smiling at him. “So I’m afraid all of this is still going to fall in your lap, Fitz.” She took her hand from Patsy to touch his hair and smile. “I think these curls will make up for any and all technical ownership of the dog.”
“Wouldn’t it just break your heart if I told you this was the result of a perm,” Fitz replied, dryly. She did seem to like his curls, though, so that was a plus. He didn’t lean into her touch, though he would have liked to, and instead took another sip of his wine. It just seemed vaguely strange to him to overtly hit on the sister of some girl Dex had taken home. Despite them being good friends, they had never really done the ‘let’s date sisters’ thing. Mostly because both sisters wanted to date Dex, before sometimes then deciding they’d both rather date Fitz. It was just far too awkward.
“Is that so?” Farrah said, dropping her hand and turning her attention back to Patsy, who seemed glad to have it if the way she kept butting her head under Farrah’s hand was anything to go by. “It’s an exquisite perm then, if that’s the case. Can’t see the rod lines at the root or anything.” She nuzzled the top of Patsy’s head, then turned to look back at Fitz. “What sort of breed is she?”
Fitz watched her, smiling. “She’s a Newfoundland,” he said. When Fitz had first met her, he had not been sure what to make of the giant, massive dog Dex had taken to carrying around. But it hadn’t taken long to take a shine to her, as Farrah was obviously discovering.
“She’s very sweet and affectionate,” Farrah said, rubbing gently at Patsy’s ears. “On top of being adorable.” She’d seriously considered getting a dog once, or at least a pet of some nature, but Farrah knew enough about herself to know that her sense of attachment was skewed. It simply wouldn’t do to get as attached as she would to something that was going to die in 5-20 years. “I might have to stop back by again sometime, just to sneak cuddles.”
“You’re welcome to. She needs more visitors. Everyone thinks they need to pretend they’re stopping by to see me or Dex, but you really don’t need to fake it. We know that she’s the main draw.” He reached over, giving her the rough pat on the neck that all big dogs seemed to enjoy. “She’s always been sweet. But she’s gotten sweeter over the years.”
Farrah smiled with genuine fondness down at the dog, a rare showing of actual emotion that she usually kept wound tight, but it was appropriate in a situation like this, wasn’t it? She finally eased her hands from the dog’s fur to lean back against the couch, crossing her legs and picking up her wine glass once more to take a sip. As much as she liked petting Patsy and had no doubt she’d do it again very soon, she also hated to see alcohol go to waste. “That’s a rare thing. Getting sweeter over time, I mean,” Farrah said. “Most people/things/animals just turn into bigger dicks.”
“I suppose,” Fitz said, mildly. He didn’t think he had an experience that reflected that, but from what Fitz knew about his life, it was apparently different from everyone else’s in a lot of respects. “Though over the years I think my mother has remained relatively the same. Though I think she’d frost over if I referred to her as having aged.”
“I think that’s a mom thing,” Farrah said, smiling just a bit. “My mom has pretty much stayed the same too. It must be something they teach you how to do when you get pregnant. Or maybe it’s just a hormone thing.” Of course, the species that Farrah and her mother were only put her mother at about twenty-seven years older than Farrah, which in were terms meant they could easily pass for sisters as Farrah’s mother had not began to age. “What about you, Fitz? Are you as sweet as you’ve always been?”
Fitz had to laugh at that. He didn’t think anyone really referred to him as being sweet anymore. Ever. He was too sharp in his business deals, too unresponsive at various tantrums and meltdowns he’d faced in his career. “Depending on who you ask, I’ve gotten better or worse,” he said.
“Interesting,” Farrah said, smiling a bit around the rim of her glass before taking another drink. She looked outside the windows where a cool breeze was blowing in, but with it carried no sounds of her sister or Fitz’s friend, which was good. She didn’t think she could much stand listening to something like that, though she suspected if she listened a little harder, she would likely hear something. Not that she was going to. Fitz and his conversation were far more entertaining. “So, I know this is a faux pas, but how old are you and your friend, Fitz?”
It was beginning to occur to Farrah that she had figured FItz was around her age, which likely meant his friend was close to his age as well, which put all three of them a good bit older than her sister.
“I don’t think it’s a faux pas, but that might explain a few slaps I’ve gotten in this lifetime,” Fitz remarked. “I’m twenty-eight - nine in November,” he added, in case that was a sticking point. “Why, do you only date men under thirty?”
Farrah’s brows rose at that answer, unsure as to what part to tackle first. So, she went the easiest route. “November? What day? I’ll be twenty-nine on October 30.”
Fitz smiled. “November 4,” he said. So he was five days younger, it turned out. That made him wonder if maybe Farrah had been born elsewhere, because he certainly hadn’t ever come across her before, or he wondered if she had managed to elude him all through his teenage years of growing up in Cambion.
“Nice,” Farrah said, smiling and tracing the rim of her glass for a moment. “So... Your friend. The one that’s out there with my sister. Is he going to be twenty-nine soon too? Because my sister is twenty-one.”
Fitz was in the middle of taking another drink; he didn’t choke, but he did, unfortunately, cough a little on his wine. When she had showed up and he had pieced it all together, he’d assumed the age difference would have been by a few years. Not eight. He cleared his throat, trying to stop his eyes from watering. “Yes,” he said. “He’ll be twenty-nine in a few months.”
Farrah sighed wearily. It wasn’t like she could speak from a guiltless spot, as Farrah had been known to partake of the occasional older man in her day, and there was nothing illegal about what was going on out there. But still, things took a different perspective when it was your sister. “Ohhh dear,” she said with a shake of her head, unsure as to what to say. She didn’t want to insult his friend, though obviously he deserved to be insulted. “Awesome.”
“I’m very sorry,” Fitz said, setting his wineglass down. “My friend is apparently a cradlerobber.” Knowing Dex, the man probably didn’t know a thing about the girl’s age, or didn’t even care if it had ever come up. Far be it for Dex to recognize a girl’s youth and vitality; from his viewpoint, women never aged, after all.
Farrah gave him a startled look at his apology, then smiled. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sure my sister is out there willingly enough or she wouldn’t have left me hanging to go back for seconds or thirds or whatever count they’re on now. Though I’m glad she did.”
“I hear Dex can be persuasive,” Fitz said, dryly. Mostly he tried to stay out of being at all informed of his friend’s sex life, though sometimes it was impossible to ignore. Especially on the few times it had impeded on Fitz’s sex life.
Farrah sniffed a bit, but still laughed shaking her head. “Well. I suppose we all do wild and crazy things when we’re her age, don’t we? And some men, and women, I suppose, never progress past that age anyway, no matter how old they get.”
“Sounds like him,” Fitz said, mildly. Despite the irritation Dex inspired in Fitz, and the fact that sometimes the man could greatly piss him off in many areas of life, though, he was so far unwilling to say much more than that. Fitz might have no illusions about his friend, but he didn’t want to give Farrah the wrong impression.
Farrah shook her head, then smiled at Fitz. “This has been a very surprising evening for me, Fitz,” she said. “I thought I was going to be alone all night with a pizza and the TV or something. And now I’m sitting here with you, drinking wine, and waiting for my sister to get done with your friend in a rickety old boat in the back yard. My psychic did not mention this.”
“You need a new psychic. Or do without one altogether,” Fitz added, with a smile. “Life is better when it’s surprising. Besides, if you wanted predictable, I could have easily gotten you a pizza earlier, if you had asked nicely,” he added, picking his wineglass up again and finishing it off.
Farrah held her wineglass between her knees in her fingertips, shaking her head and smiling. “I just thrust myself on you in the middle of your night,” Farrah said. “Allowing me in your home, giving me wine and talking to me is beyond kind enough. Some dudes would’ve just made me wait in the car.”
“That would just be rude,” Fitz said, with a frown. A certain type of person would have made Farrah wait, and those were the type of people that Fitz tended not to associate with. “And I won’t pretend I was doing anything worthwhile. I view you as far more relevant to my night than staring at the lake.” She made for a very nice view, after all.
“It would be,” Farrah agreed. “But then again, you’ve got a lovely home and I look like I spent the evening working in a barn,” she said. “I used to work with a woman that insisted denim offended the material of her couch. Not that I’m saying you’re that way, but I am saying there are huge dicks in the world.”
Fitz gave her a look that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about. It was true she wasn’t dressed for an expensive restaurant or something similar, but as far as he was concerned people fundamentally looked the same regardless of how glossed up they were. There was something different about them, or course, but they were the same person. He liked when people didn’t try to cover that up. “You look lovely, Farrah,” he said. “And your presence on my couch improves it, trust me.”
He was utterly dashing, that was for sure, and seemingly so earnestly charming that she could nearly believe it, if she did not know the often true ways of man. Still, he had made her feel nice with that compliment, and she very much wanted him to like her, and wanted to get to know him more. So, she beamed appropriately under the weight of his compliment, going so far as to lift his hand and plant a kiss gently on the back. “You are a gentleman, Fitz Carver. What is Fitz short for, anyway? Or is it a nickname?”
“It’s short for Fitzwilliam,” Fitz said, only with the slightest air of embarrassment. It was a mouthful of a name, true, and very memorable, but he’d met or heard of people who had far worse on their birth certificates. “My mother had a strong fondness for literature and all those sorts of names. If my dad had had his way I’d probably be called Bob. I think he let it go because ‘William’ was in there.”
“Oh, that’s cute,” Farrah said. “Much more dignified than what I was named for, but I’m sure you can guess.” She nudged lightly at his leg. “Fitz is a suiting name for you, though. Much more so than William or Bill or Billy, I would say.”
Fitz couldn’t help but grin. “Was it Farrah Fawcett?” he asked. He didn’t bother mentioning that a good deal of people called him Bill or Will. No need to bring up those names; he had a good division between personal and business relationships, and he wasn’t about to mix her up into the latter.
“I’m afraid so,” Farrah said with a heavy sigh. “My mother was unconscious at the time, so my father got to name me and he chose to name me after her when he saw I was blonde. Because clearly, all blonde women need to be named Farrah.” It was a memory that she had of her father before he had left, of sitting on his knee and being shown a picture of Farrah Fawcett. At the time she had considered it a compliment because her father obviously thought this woman was beautiful, but now, as an adult, she realized it was just him being a douche. She shook her head. “But, at least most of the other Farrah’s I’ve met were born in the mid seventies, so I’m usually the only Farrah around.”
“My mother admired Farrah Fawcett. I remember, she used to be obsessed about getting the same hairstyle.” Fitz said, with a faint smile. He shifted his weight, getting to his feet, taking up his empty wineglass. “Would you like another glass?”
“Oh, no thank you,” Farrah said after a moment of contemplation. “Presumably I’ll be driving Gwen home tonight, and from what I understand she won’t be in any shape to get behind the wheel, so I should just keep it to one.”
Sometimes Fitz forgot that other people did not have the tolerance for alcohol that he did, so he apologetically nodded his head in agreement. “Of course,” he said. He noted that instead of following him back to the kitchen counter, Pasty stayed parked right at Farrah’s knee.
He uncorked the bottle he’d opened earlier, and poured himself half a glass. “So how often do you work down at the Orchid?” he asked. “And why the Orchid, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I work there a couple times a week,” she said with a shrug. “Usually only on nights that they’re very busy, or the regular, full-time bartender needs a night off. Sometimes more than that, but not too often.” She rested her elbow on the back of the couch and slid her hand into her hair to cradle and hold up her head, thankful that her hair at least felt clean and soft. “And I started working there because when I moved back a few months ago I put my applications in all over town and they were the first to call me for an interview. The money is good, and the tips are beyond decent.”
“Ah,” Fitz said, moving to join her back on the couch, sitting just a little bit closer than he had been before. Farrah seemed to him now much more approachable than she had been at Oktoberfest, even though she wasn’t flirting with him nearly as much. She seemed more realistic to him, as Fitz always felt unsuitable to women who seemed to have unreal expectations of men. “I can see that. Do you get more or less tips than the women onstage?” he asked, his voice very dry and neutral but his face flashing a somewhat devilish grin. He wasn’t going to pretend, after all, that she didn’t work at a burlesque club.
Farrah huffed a laugh. “Well, I’m not sure,” she said in an equally dry, neutral voice. “I’ve never really compared notes with any of them, though I’m sure if I knew the sort of money they were making I’d have to sit down and cry. They deserve it, though, I think. Takes quite a bit of bravery to be naked in front of a whole room of people. I don’t think I could do it.”
He raised his eyebrows at her and grinned. “Nor could I,” he said, straight-faced. The idea of him stripping - in a teasing or seductive matter, no less - was utterly laughable. “I haven;t really the figure for it, after all. But you really must commend those girls for being able to do that job. That must be why I don’t enjoy those establishments very much, though - I can’t really forget that it’s a job, not some fantasy pouring out of my subconscious.”
“Yes, well, believe me, it’s far sexier than the same sorts of establishments they make to offer to women. Male strippers are usually some of the least sexy men I’ve ever seen. The sort of man you don’t want to watch take their socks off, let alone pay them to parade around in a g-string covered in baby oil.”
“I just don’t understand the thrill in watching that sort of performance,” Fitz said, mildly, trying very hard to scrub the mental image she’d given him out of his mind. “I’m not sure I understand the point of it. It seems to be either wasted effort or delusional, depending on how you look at it.”
“Agreed,” Farrah said in agreement. “Can’t argue with that. There are lots of things that are sexy and exciting in a one on one basis when it’s clearly being done just for you, but a room full of strangers sort of negates any and all sexiness, at least where I’m concerned. Though there are a few hundred big tippers in the city that disagree, and God bless them.”
Fitz laughed, shaking his head and bringing his wine to his lips. He couldn’t argue with that. And if the way the world was meant that women got big tips from men, well, who was he to judge? Men were overpaid in comparison to everything else, after all.
When he listened carefully, he could note that there didn’t seem to be much coming in on the breeze. He rocked forward in his seat, and stood up, holding his hand out for Farrah. “Come on,” he said. “You should see the view.”
Farrah took his hand, noting that they were warm but not soft or feminine, his grip firm, which she found to be a relief. “It seems you have a view on every side of your house, Fitz,” she said as she followed him obediently, stepping around Patsy very carefully.
“This is the best one,” Fitz assured her. Besides,outside he’d also be able to tell if Dex was finished, where he could go down and kick his friend in the head for taking barely legal girls home. He let go of her hand once they were out on the deck, and he pushed aside a deck chair he had previously rearranged another evening. “See?” he said, stepping aside to let her join him. The lake was calm, its surface shimmering.
It smelled nice out there, fresh and spicy the way autumn should smell, and Farrah sighed a bit in contentment as she leaned against the deck railing with one hip, looking out over the water. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Peaceful too.” It went without saying that the boat occupying her sister and Fitz’s friend could not be seen from there, which added to both the beauty and the peace, she had to think.
Fitz leaned his elbows against the railing, making himself look out at the lake instead of her; she was far more preferable to look at, but it was generally more acceptable to stare at a view than a woman, apparently. “I think my dad made two major purchases in his life,” he remarked. “My mom’s wedding ring, and this land. I suppose as far as spending money goes, he put his in the right places.”
Farrah didn’t look at him after he delivered that line, keeping her gaze on the lake but making an appropriate noise that would indicate not only that she agreed, but that she was impressed he though so. Silently, though, she had to wonder if he, or if anyone, could legitimately believe something like that. Farrah liked nice baubles as much as anyone else, but she also believed in being honest with herself. Her mother had had a rather decadent engagement ring, and was standing proof that just because a man drops money, does not mean that he loves you, or that he’d be willing to keep his dick in his pants on your account.
Then again, Fitz had seemed to have one of those lovely, nuclear, storybook families from what she’d gathered already, so who knew.
“Lots of land,” she said with a nod, looking around. “And it’s a beautiful home. If your father bought it, why don’t your parents live here anymore? If you dont mind me asking, that is.”
Fitz smiled slightly. “I built this house. Before we had this falling down old cabin that my parents moved out of a long time ago. We ended up tearing it down. And Dex parked his boat on top of it.” He didn’t add that they’d kept the land with the specific purpose of wanting access to water. “It was easier to live in the suburbs.”
He shifted, turning towards her a bit. She had a nice, strong profile. “Mind if I ask you something?” he asked.
“Ahh,” Farrah said, nodding slightly and turning to brace her hands on the railing, looking down at the water. This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned spending her evening at all, but it had turned into a rather relaxing, nice one, she had to admit. At his question, she turned her head to look at him and smiled a bit. “What’s that?”
Fitz chalked it up to the fact she looked like less of a vamp than the first time he’d seen her, because he was oddly relaxed when he spoke. “Can I take you out to dinner?” he asked. “I think this just meeting to drink might be bad. Nutritionally. And there would be no chance of Dex ruining it. Not without me killing him.”
Farrah blinked at him, then smiled after a moment. She supposed she should be thankful that he apparently didn’t mind his women looking rumpled, as this had magically turned out to be a wonderful evening indeed. “I’d love to go to dinner with you,” Farrah said with a nod while still smiling. “Just tell me when and where.”
Fitz wasn’t aware he had been nervous until he felt a wash of relief at her response. For some odd reason, it didn’t seem like he could ever get over the nerves associating with asking someone out, even if it was just a faint anxiety. “Do you like Mexican?” he asked.
Farrah visibly brightened even more,contentment obvious in her expression. “I love it there. Though you’re not allowed to judge me for how much I’ll eat there. I tend to go overboard in that place. It can’t really be helped.”
“What if it’s good judgement?” Fitz asked, raising an eyebrow at her in a bit of a playful look. Really, a hearty appetite at El Campestre wasn’t exactly required in a dinner companion, but it was certainly nice to have. Fitz himself tended to eat a lot, though he was nowhere near Dex’s level when it came to ripping through food. “How does Monday at 6 sound?”
Farrah grinned in return, bumping her shoulder gently against his. “Monday at six sounds perfect. I suppose I should give you my phone number and address and so forth, if I’m going to expect you to take me on a date, yes?” She plucked her phone out of her shirt pocket and began pressing buttons. “And you should really give me yours too. Otherwise I will be unable to spam you with random texts and or pictures as they occur to me throughout the day.”
Fitz motioned for her to hand over her phone, and swiftly entered his number with the sort of speed typical in someone who organized half his day on a handheld device. “I welcome any and all texts, as long as they aren’t boring,” he told her. “‘Having an okay day, just bought a Coke Zero’, et cetera.”
Farrah sighed heavily as he handed back her phone. “Well, I should forewarn you that I’m always buying Coke Zeroes. I’m incorrigible like that.” She put her phone back in her pocket and smiled at him. “And allow me to just put out there right now that I don’t want a text from you at all unless it includes a picture of your penis. Because I think that’s what women should be inundated with on a daily basis. Just texted pictures of cocks and balls. It’s what we like.”
“Great,” Fitz said, snapping his fingers and looking disappointed. “I was totally going to do that, but now that you’ve said it it’ll look like I’m only doing it because you told me to.” He ran his hands over himself momentarily before being able to locate his phone in his left jean pocket. Because she’d offered to give him her address, he figured he would be picking her up from home. “Where do you live?”
Farrah rattled off her address, giving him the time to type it into his phone before rattling off her phone number as well. Her house was small and cute, definitely not as lavish as his, though she supposed it didn’t truly matter what he thought of it, did it? “I’m looking forward to it already,” Farrah said. “The date, the food, the company, and the few pictures of your penis a day.”
Fitz laughed, saving everything and tucking his phone away. “Come on,” he said, pushing slightly away from the railing. “We should go and rescue your sister.” He let it at that, figuring it would be in bad taste to throw in an additional joke.
“Probably should,” Farrah said, mirroring his actions and pushing away from the railing as well. She ran a hand through her hair, mentally preparing herself for whatever was about to happen when she encountered her sister and Dex’s friend, and mentally schooling herself to not behave like a school marm, at least in front of FItz. “Are you going to call them or does beating on the boat work?”
“I usually just kick the boat and shout,” Fitz said, with a shrug. “But we can call and go the more polite route, if you like. Or just send your sister a text and leave Dex to be surprised.”
Farrah laughed as well, pulling out her phone and tapping out a text to Gwen that said if she was done, they really had to get on the road and put her phone away. “Sent,” she said. “But should I be worried about a surprised Dex? If I’m going to be looking at your penis all week, I should probably save all my penis quota up for that.”
Fitz was about to tell her that she didn’t have to worry about that, before changing his mind. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. He glanced over at her, then almost tripped over Patsy. “You are everywhere,” he muttered, nudging her out of the way.
“Aww,” Farrah said with a laugh, rubbing at the top of Patsy’s head as she passed. “World’s cutest roadblock ever, I’m sure.” She wasn’t sure how Fitz intended to ‘handle it’ but she was interested to see it, none the less. She was glad that she’d told Fitz how young Gwen was, as he’d seemed suitably put off by it, so she could count on him to at least give Dex a hard time.
Fitz headed down the stairs as soon as he saw Farrah was following him, then went out the opened back door to set off across the sand. The beach fluctuated in being comprised of worn down sand and pebbly rocks, but since the boat was on a stretch of shore that used to hold the old house, the beach was pretty nice out by where Dex was.
His way of ‘handling it’ wasn’t exactly delicate. Fitz just slammed an open palm against the side of the boat. “Dex!” he shouted, in between hits. ”Send her out, please and thank you! If you intend to come out yourself please put on pants! It would be appreciated!”
Farrah couldn’t stop a laugh at Fitz’s display, a loud, happy sound that easily made its way to Dex’s ears, though the rusted outer walls of his boat. He smiled at Gwen as he pulled up his pants, fastening the top button and silently insisting to himself he’d been going to do that anyway, even without Fitz’s insistence.
“Sounds like he kept her happy, at least,” Dex said, running a hand through his hair, which added more to the rumpled state of it as opposed to smoothing it, which he’d only been half going for. And anyway, he didn’t really give a shit what Gwen’s sister thought or didn’t think, but he was in an astoundingly good mood, the sort of mood that landed everyone hugs and rough back slaps, and in Gwen’s case, another kiss when he turned around and smiled at her. “You ready?”
Gwen had managed to maintain a state of drunkenness, contentment and drowsiness, interruptions by Dex notwithstanding. When Farrah finally texted to say she would be coming by the boat shortly, she’d only bothered to get herself halfway dressed before trying to go to sleep on Dex again. But then the godawful banging started and he started moving around.
“I suppose,” she murmured, grabbing at the rest of her clothes and pulling them back on, making sure to grab her purse and her cell phone. She didn’t much like leaving things behind, though she always seemed to be doing that. “Carry me up,” she demanded, childishly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Dex smirked at her, gently lifting her up with the reverence that he treated all women on some level or another, shifting to keep her weight steady as he climbed up the steps to take them to the main deck, not bothering with shoes or a shirt. Fitz had only requested pants, after all.
He grinned hugely at Fitz once they were on the deck as there was a certain amount of pride to be had in having a woman like Gwen in your arms. He noticed the tall blonde beside him, of course, noticed the similarities between that girl and the one that was currently in his arms, including the fact that she was pretty too. Suddenly, he had a thought and he looked at Fitz suspiciously. He hoped they hadn’t been doing what... Well, he would’ve been doing. That girl looked far too bitchy.
Fitz did his best not to stare at the tousled girl Dex was carrying out. He motioned impatiently for his friend to get on with it, not bothering to tell him to handle with care. Dex just tended to do that anyway.
Gwen kicked playfully at Dex, but she’d figured she’d spent enough time with him. It was time to go home with her sister. Gwen tried to read the older woman’s facial expression, but found it somewhat difficult; and that made her feel a little bit guilty. She hadn’t been keeping her sister very much company, had she?
“Hi Gwen!” she exclaimed, to cover up her guilt. “Thanks for coming to get me. I didn’t have the cash for a cab fare. I guess you’re Fitz. Hi Fitz.”
“That’s Fitz,” Dex said belatedly. “He’s my brother. And this is Gwen, Fitzybilly,” Dex said, shouting down from the deck in probably a louder voice than he needed to use, but that’s how Dex operated anyway. “Hi, Farrah,” he said to the blonde woman that was standing probably a little too close to his best friend, he had to decide, but that would be a matter to discuss later. He didn’t want to talk about how Gwen’s sister was giving him the stink eye in front of her.
He moved to the ladder and started the decent back to flat ground, noting Farrah’s obvious gasp of alarm and shaking his head gently. It was far less cute than when Gwen had done it.
Gwen was feeling too used to Dex being alarming to actually be bothered by it by now. So she let him carry her down and set her on the ground, and when her feet touched shore she immediately moved to Farrah, snuggling against her. They weren’t really at such a stage of siblingship (she wasn’t entirely sure how it went) but she was drunk.
“You don’t look like brothers,” she said, archly. They looked more different than she and Farrah did. Well, she knew from Dex randomly mentioning the man that they definitely weren’t related anyway, but she was feeling troublesome.
Farrah’s arms wrapped protectively around her sister, shooting Dex a look like he’d come very near to running over a baby stroller with an SUV in the process. This man was HUGE and touched her sister far too easily, as though he had the right. Gwen was obviously drunk or Farrah doubted she’d have an armful of her sister right then, but she did not think about that just then.
“That’s because he’s from another mother,” Dex said, looking back at the way Farrah was looking at him without dialing down his smile or his obvious pleasure. Fuck that girl, he was having a good night.
“Are you ready to go?” Farrah asked Gwen, tilting her head down to look at her.
“Right,” Fitz said, finally talking. Mostly he just felt impelled to speak because he could tell by Dex’s mannerisms that the man was unimpressed with Farrah. Which Fitz was not going to abide for the moment. He stepped back now that Gwen and Farrah were together, figuring he ought to give them some space. “I’ll see you on Monday, Farrah.”
Gwen shot a little grin in his direction, but inwardly shrugged to herself. Farrah could do worse. “Yeah, let’s go home,” she said, already glancing around, wondering where her sister had parked her car.
“Monday it is,” Farrah said, turning a smile on Fitz and patting Gwen’s back gently. She turned her attention to Dex, briefly, shooting him a small, tight smile even though she was already gently pushing on Gwen’s back to direct her to the car.
Dex gave Farrah a wide, beaming smile just for spite, then waited until Farrah’s back was to him and he’d had a long, appreciative glance at Gwen’s backside before turning his gaze to Fitz and giving him an obvious WTF look. What the hell was Fitz doing seeing this woman again on Monday? Hopefully it was just a work-related thing.
“Too many tall people,” Gwen complained to Farrah, though maybe it was the fact that she was sinking against her sister - who already had several inches on her - that made it seem a little overwhelming. “When did everyone get so tall?”
As soon as the two women were what Fitz judged to be an adequate distance away, where voices had gone faint and Dex had stopped oggling, he swiftly rammed a punch into the taller man’s upper arm without a shiver of hesitation.
“You deserved that,” Fitz said, with complete surety, not taking his eyes off of Farrah.
Dex’s brows furrowed to transform his face into a sulk, both at the fact that Fitz had taken physical action against him and at the fact that said physical action had taken his attention away from Gwen’s backside as it retreated. He didn’t bother rubbing at the punch as it hadn’t hurt that bad, but he did push Fitz back just a bit, but not hard enough to push him down. “What the hell for?” He said, then rubbed at the back of his neck. Gwen’s sister’s snit must’ve been contagious.
“I can’t really put it into words, but trust me, you earned that,” Fitz said, not reacting to the push beyond regaining his feet again. “You probably earned a couple of hits, but I’m in a forgiving mood right now. You just get the one.”
Dex gave him another perplexed look, shaking his head. “You can’t put it into words right now, bullshit. Not really in the mood to take some shit from someone that’s PMSing by Proxy. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Are you saying I’m PMSing or one of them was?” Fitz asked, raising an eyebrow at Dex. “You did nothing wrong by the Dex Scale of Things, I’m sure. You did everything correctly according to Dex.” He shook his head, beginning to step away. “Oh, and if anyone comes by in a stroller, try not to steal the kid out of it,” he said, teasingly, over his shoulder.
Dex shook his head, as he was of the opinion that the world would be so much more simple if everyone just said what they fucking meant instead of pussyfooting around, but whatever. “Whatever,” he muttered, turning back to his boat without questioning Fitz any further. He’d expended quite a lot of energy with Gwen and he needed to eat something, or several somethings, before passing out.