He played the fool because Divorce had learned from the very beginning that appearance was everything. God or man, it was a rare thing for someone to judge by virtue of action or who you were versus what you said aloud. That was the reason why Mona had kept their British accent and was known for long legs and four-inch heels. It was why Desmond typically only put the accent on for women (most men had the habit of thinking him a priss otherwise), and why he scooted close to the table he shared with CeCe, propping one elbow on its surface and resting his chin on his palm. He watched her raptly, intense and seemingly unaware of the fond smile settled so comfortably on his face.
"Does that mean I won't get to hear about you?" he asked without skipping a beat. True to nature, he didn't wait for an answer before rattling right on. "Mona first, but only to make you happy and then it's the Charlotte Cook show or nothing. She's... been better, that's for damn sure." Glancing down, Desmond considered the tabletop for a moment.
"I haven't actually seen her--" Well, that was true enough. "--but we've talked. She sounds okay for the most part. Not great, but okay. I think she's still coming to terms with whatever happened." There. Informative but vague at the same time. He didn't particularly care for the tactic with CeCe, but this was delicate territory they were treading across.