Bella... 1

A moistened brown ring reflected light that emanated from a glass-encased candle sitting in the middle of the mahogany table, and her index finger traced it, hovering above at first then slowly descending onto the polyurethane surface of the table, widening the ring's width as she smeared the cold coffee. They would talk for another hour, maybe two, especially with the bottomless rocks glasses continually placed before them by the lethargic cocktail waitress. They wouldn't notice the minutes racing past as they raised the glasses to their lips and sucked liquor through the skinny straws, covering awkward silences with prolonged, forced laughter and sighing, distracted stares out of the wide windows.

She excused herself, and they didn't notice. The restrooms were, unfortunately, coincidentally, barely fifteen feet from their little corner table. Without a backwards glance, she walked right past them and took a left into the adjoining ballroom, which contained at least thirty-five or forty candlelit tables, glowing as a whole like a late-night concert crowd holding up their flickering cigarrette liters. Double doors led to a patio after another left turn, and she pushed them open with a shuddering breath of relief. October's chill enveloped her instantly, intensified by the vacuum that the opening doors created. She noted that although she had selectively tuned out the collective hum of the restaurant, coming outside onto the deserted patio was like walking into a tomb; the sudden and complete lack of sounds, of voices, of clanking silverware, pulled off the veil of nonchalance that she had worn the entire evening. Sweet energy seeped its way back into her bones and blood, and she stretched her back and arms to speed the process.

Avery would notice eventually that she had left him to fend for himself, and he'd probably order another round of drinks, another warm-up for her coffee, maybe even dessert. He'd mention, perhaps, her recent 'hardships', as he liked to describe them, he'd try to make an excuse for her stiffness. Talk would turn to her mother then, initiated by Avery or maybe the other, either way, it would further the gap of tension that had been growing between the three of them all night. Even in her absence, they would feel more uncomfortable about her presence: she had no desire to return to that.

A soothing green marble had been used for the bar, she noticed, as her fingers glided across it absentmindedly, a strange choice, since the restaurant throughout had a more muted feel to its decor. She liked it -- she would have chosen it herself, for its swirling, changing colors and exotic accent. Intruding upon her musings, the bartender set a shot glass down at her fingertips, and in one smooth motion, took the ten dollar bill she had pushed across to him. He handed her back two ones, and she waved them away as she lifted the glass to her mouth. Neck curved slightly backward, the liquor forged its path down her throat, igniting a pleasant fire on its way. Much more stimulating than the half-cup of coffee she had forced down within two and a half hours. She glanced at her watch and begrudgingly began her journey back to the little table for three.

"...can't have known, of course, but either way... Ahh, here she is... Bella, you minx. You snuck right out on us." Avery's drunken playfulness was no match for the obvious sneer on his face, and she pretended she didn't notice it.

"I needed some fresh air. It's going to rain soon, too, I could just feel it."

"Bella..." The tired face across the table surveyed her own as if he had forgotten it, then been reminded of it suddenly after years. It was searching.

"Vaughn." The Crown Royal had begun its odyssey from stomach to brain, she felt elated all of a sudden, elated and faint. Her uncle's eyes seemed to blur and refocus in her own vision. She took a sip of coffee, looked away.

"She wouldn't like to see you this way... such a shame..." He threw his head back with the last of his drink, let his hand fall back onto the table, the glass resonating loudly, jarring her out of her buzz. "She'll blame me, and what can I say in defense?" No one answered. "Not a damn thing. Not a damn thing."


2.

She had found herself staring, unfocused, at the pastels and bold crimsons and rich greens of the vase of flowers on the glass table, her eyes locked onto the aliveness of its form and tapestry of color without seeing it as a whole. Most moments lately felt like waking from a restless sleep, disoriented and unsure as to how she got to where she had woken up. This one being no exception, she shifted in the hard wood adirondack chair and diverted her eyes to the land before her. An emerald green lawn dropped off just beyond the edge of the enclosed porch, sloping down toward the breeze-tossed waters of Lake Norris.

The clear, uninterrupted beauty surrounding her would have induced a drowsy peace in any other person; in her it brought about a dazzling spitefulness that centered on the presence of Avery. Her comrade, they all thought, her supporter and handler all these years, faithful and devoted: "How selfless of him!", they all cooed, "How courageous!". As though Bella were a child, incapable of moving forward with a sense of decency and self-respect. As though she would have drowned in sorrow and wallowed in it for fear of returning to the life she had molded carefully for herself. Their foolishness did not surprise her, rather, it invigorated her.

She had adopted an aloofness that she knew would make them believe she was guarded, but in reality, gave her the freedom to refrain from socializing with anyone. Sacrificing a few hours every couple of weeks at whatever luncheon or dinner party, or outing for cocktails -- all the while sneaking outside for a cigarrette or to the bar for a shot of whiskey, to soothe her impatience -- was doable. Since weeks after 'it' happened, Bella accustomed herself to this different sort of attention that would undoubtedly be paid, and developed her strategy of ignoring it, and providing herself a way out of the uncomfortable, forced relationships she had suffered her entire life.

Avery congratulated himself on a daily basis for the clever ruse he was convinced he had orchestrated and succeeded in carrying out. Married rich at the peak of his success, took his foot off the brakes on his downhill journey into failure, lost his wife, but in turn won the hearts of her family and was given a soft landing after his unforunate hardships -- being left, business failing, losing his affluent estate. All he had to do now was dial a number, say the right words ('Bella' consistently being one of them), and he'd have plans for Saturday evening, Monday for lunch, Wednesday night cocktails. On the house. He gambled away his estranged wife's money over Friday and Saturday, earned it back through her family's favors during the week.

The money would never matter to Bella. She had no use for it, and was only vaguely disgusted at Avery's blatant obsession with it. His manipulation of her mother's family also did not affect her in any way at all, most of all it amused her, it was perhaps the only credit she could give to Avery -- at least he picked the right sort of family to exercise his wiles on. Bella harbored no affection for any of them, and this made it easy to alienate them knowingly without any feeling of remorse. Something else had borne her hatred toward Avery Weislind, and it had nothing to do with her or her family. Never had she spoken a word about it, even to herself, all she knew is that she would right it all on her own.