Who: Jude Martin & Dr. Arthur Arden What: Facing off When: 6/18 Where: Dr. Arden's backyard Rating: PG - a whole lot of shade, but nothing really objectionable. Status: Complete
Dr Arthur Arden crouched beneath the greenhouse glass, digging with slow measured purpose as he transplanted his orchid. They were difficult plants to grow, being heavily subject to a timely schedule and highly specific conditions. Arden enjoyed it, though. Particularly the orchids he was currently growing, because they were the only ones in existence. A hybrid concoction of his own formula, nothing fancy but nothing to sneer at either. They were growing strong, much stronger than their needy counterparts.
That was the purpose of much of his work, of course: making things stronger. Making them as harsh and unforgiving as the world that surrounded them.
Jude was, not to put too fine a face on it, afraid. She’d come to Arden’s to see what his intentions were. If he dreamt. What had he dreamt. She vaguely remembered him from school, but she remembered him from the asylum right enough.
She’d been told to come into the backyard, but she’d stopped short of entering the greenhouse. She could see his silhouette, bent over what she could only assume was a difficult operation on some plant or another. She had to admit, there was beauty in the sight, but it didn’t make it any less daunting to confront him.
The sharp shadows cut by the brightness of the day let Arden know she was coming. He placed the orchid down, snapping off his glasses to allow them to hang from a chain around his neck. “Claustrophobic, Judy? Even when the box is made of glass?” he asked in his usual way that could be mistaken for playful teasing or mocking barb.
He stepped out of the greenhouse with an easy smile, pulling his thick gardening gloves off. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a very long time,” he said.
“Is it?” Judy managed. She smiled as best she could. “I just didn’t want to disturb you; you looked as though you were very occupied.” To ruin a plant would be bad. “Have you been in California long, Arthur?” Ah-thuh. He somehow made her Boston accent come out, even more than it usually did. Washington had taken some of it away.
Arthur smiled back. “How long is long? That’s a matter of perspective. Two months.” He pulled off his remaining glove, leaving the pair on a stepladder by the greenhouse. Arden motioned for Jude to follow.
“You’ve been a very busy bird, Judy. Flying all over Washington, over certain houses,” he said, walking up the stone pathway. Despite the gloves, his hands still had some dirt packed into the creases of his palms and knuckles. When he reached the house, he ran the kitchen tap, warm water washing all the soil away. “Very impressive.”
Jude followed, watching him, though she wasn’t entirely certain what she was looking for. Even in her dreams, the man wasn’t some kind of violent lunatic. Well. Lunatic maybe, but violent, no. Anything he did to her would be done over time. Slowly and carefully. “I had some good connections, and some good luck,” she replied eventually. “I did like my work.”
“And I like my work,” said Arden, drying off his hands. “I heard you took a fall from your position, though. Ah, well. Ay, que lástima.” He moved to the stove, removing the lid from a bubbling pot. “My chicken soup is just ready. Can I offer you some? Or at least a drink?”
“I did; no one’s fault but my own.” It had taken her long enough to accept that; she was going to cling to it now. “I’m doing all right, though. What sort of work are you doing?” Call her curious. “Some water would be nice, if you don’t mind.”
Arden poured her a glass of water, and decided to do the same for himself. Why drink alone, anyway? It seemed excessive to crack open the bottle he’d been saving just for the sake of rubbing Judy’s alcoholism in her face.
“I’ve opened a private clinic. The work I was doing these past few decades means I could afford to open it, and still make time for my own personal research,” he said. “And yourself? What does a politician do when she stops being a politician? I haven’t seen any books with you on the cover gazing wistfully toward the sun with a ridiculous title, so I know you haven’t followed the footsteps of your colleagues...”
That actually did make her laugh. “Nobody would want to hear it.” Jude knew she ought not to let her guard down, but so far he wasn’t being the monster in her dreams. “I’ve been working for a film studio boss. It’s not that different, really. Appointments, turning away calls from people who want things. I have a job, a boyfriend, a year sober. Small victories.”
Arthur ladled the soup into a bowl carefully. “Ah, the movies? Well, this is California,” said Arden. “And small victories are still victories.” A meaningless platitude, but there was no reason not to say it. Arden considered himself above her; he could afford her small pities. “Are you sure you don’t want some soup?”
“No, thank you, but please, don’t stop on my account.” Jude waved a hand. She wouldn’t eat anything he offered - even the water wouldn’t have been safe, if she hadn’t watched him every minute. “And the skill set is the same. In Washington, it was keeping annoying people away from the senator; here, it’s keeping annoying people away from the CEO. I can still apparently be persuasive when the need arises.”
Arden set his own bowl on the kitchen table, and then his water. “We never lose our inherent skills of survival, I suppose,” he said, sitting down slowly. Arthur stirred his soup with his spoon. “And your boyfriend?” At your age?
They were in the papers; she couldn’t hide Oliver. Not that she’d necessarily wanted to. “Oliver Queen. He runs a charity. Photographers have a habit of following him, unfortunately, but you learn to ignore them.” She’d be damned if he was going to make her feel bad about a young handsome man who loved her.
Arthur kept his mouth impassive, but his eyes smiled gleefully. “Oliver Queen? I think I’ve heard his name before,” said Arden. “Couldn’t be the same, though. The Oliver Queen I saw in the papers was a very young man.”
Well, she hadn’t imagined that she’d get out of this scot free. “Oliver’s in his late thirties.” Judy kept her chin up, practically daring him to comment.
“Ah, I see,” said Arden, sipping his soup before finally smiling. “So are you robbing the cradle, or is he robbing the grave?”
“Do I look like I have one foot in the grave?” Think before you answer that, Jude’s eyes seemed to tell him. “Oliver and I are quite happy.”
Arden’s expression didn’t shift. “Well, I’m very happy for you,” he said. Lying was his second language, besides English and Danish and a few others. “I’m sure it’s quite a boost to your ego. And if Michael Douglas can do it, why not you?”
She couldn’t entirely help going on the offensive. “I’m just pleased to not be spending some of the best years of my life alone.” Jude said, smiling with just as much sweetness as she dared.
Arthur smiled back, but the glee was entirely gone from his eyes. “Well, it can be lonely, maintaining your dignity,” he said. “But worth it, in my belief. There’s nothing more pitiful than watching someone desperately try to cling to their last semblance of youth, is there?”
“I don’t think so.” Judy actually wasn’t offended - she didn’t think she was young, after all. She just didn’t think she was old. And she thought she saw a flicker of annoyance, which amused her. “But it’s also a different time than when my parents were alive. Women especially are more able to make their own choices.” And if he was anything like the Arthur in her dreams, that bothered him incredibly.
Another tight, sharp smile. “True. When I was a child, I didn’t think I’d ever end up voting for a certain Hillary Clinton. But times have changed...for the better. Mostly. Women in office. Homosexuals marrying. A black president. All good progress,” he said. “You know me, Judy: I don’t have a prejudiced bone in my body.”
“I remember you debating against segregation at school.” Judy didn’t say that his heart had never seemed to be in it. “I figure that progress comes whether we want it to or not. So I enjoy it - and I admit I enjoy watching people caught up in its tide. I mean.” She sipped her water. “We see it every day - religious bigots, neo-Nazis, misogynists. All of them powerless against people gaining the rights they ought to have.”
“Speaking as a scientist, I couldn’t agree more,” said Arden. He was a man who dealt in biological truths, after all. “History has proven time and time again; you can’t stop change any more than you can stop the tide from rolling in. At best, we can make the transition from old to new a smooth one.”
He actually seemed to be serious, in that regard. “An admirable viewpoint.” Judy said, inclining her head. “So, work is all right, life is all right? It’s been quite some time since college days.”
Arthur finished off the last of his soup and sat back, satisfied. “Everything is going smoothly. And yes, college is quite a long way away....I think we’ve both changed in many ways, don’t you? And maybe...stayed the same in other ways.”
“Do you think so?” Judy raised one eyebrow. “How do you think you’ve stayed the same, out of curiosity?”
Arden stood to his full height, towering over her as he picked up the soup bowl. “Well, we have to have some secrets, don’t we Judy?” he said, turning to the sink and soaking the bowl.
"I've had enough secrets," Judy said firmly. She looked at her watch. "I should leave you in peace, Arthur, but I need to ask you something before I go." Why not throw him a bit? "Are you aware of people discussing unusual dreams?"
Arden knew better than to let his thunderstruck feelings show on his face. Dreams? What did she know of dreams? “I’m afraid not. Not anymore than usual,” he said, turning to run the tap into the bowl. “I’m not much of a dreamer, Judy. Too much of a realist.”
She would actually have disagreed, at least in the dreams, but there was no point in talking about it now. “Just curious, as some people seem to think their vivid dreams are ... I don’t know. Some kind of past life.” Judy chuckled. “It’s silly, but I wondered if the madness had gotten to you, too.”
She rose, inclining her head. “I’ll leave you to your experiments, Arthur.”
Dr Arden turned back to her. “Careful with the madness, Judy. It’s like the drinking,” he said. “All it takes is one moment of weakness.”
As if she didn’t know that well enough. “Have a good rest of your afternoon.” She didn’t look back as she left the backyard.